The The Unitarian Church in NSW PO Box 355, Darlinghurst NSW 1300 15 Francis Street, East Sydney (near Museum Station) Tel: (02) 9360 2038 SUN www.sydneyunitarianchurch.org Sydney Unitarian News Editor: M.R. McPhee

August/September 2006

WATTLE DAY PARTY!

Our final social event of the year, other than the Christmas Party, will take place in the church hall on Saturday, 02 September 2006 (Wattle Day being the day before). After our highly successful events this year with their Scottish and Russian flavourings (quite literally, where the food was concerned!), it has been decided to finish up with an Australian theme.

Peter Crawford is heading this one up, ably assisted by the men and women who made the previous events the marvellous nights that they were. Funnily enough, an Australian night will possibly be the greatest challenge, as the City of Sydney Council won’t allow us to set up barbecues on the street and we can hardly have them inside. However, we promise you an authentic Australian three-course dinner along with poetry readings and songs from our country’s history and culture.

The party will start at 7 pm, so be sure to attend and bring a bottle or two of your favourite beverage with you. Please advise the organisers if you have any contributions to make in the way of poems and/or songs. A donation of $10 per person will be needed to help with our expenses (to be collected on the night).

Due to our limited facilities, we can only accommodate the first 40 people to book – so, do not delay! This is an event not to be missed, and the numbers have to be exact for catering purposes.

Please RSVP to Michael Spicer on 0423 393 364 by 25 August 2006.

MEMBERSHIP RENEWALS

Please see the form on the last page if your membership is not current for 2006; also if you are not a member and wish to join.

1 Iek Diaha jilaiha; We light this chalice to bring light and warmth; Roshine saaygarmaiha; The Light and warmth that shows us the way; Jis naay iek rasta dikhaiha; The way to Compassion; Hamdardee koo apnaiha; The Compassion that is unconditional; Bina sharit lagaiha; The Unconditional that does not demand; Bina appnay jasa bana kay; Demand to be alike in our faith and beliefs; Iek Iman sounaiha; The Belief that Liberates from Human Tensions; Zahnee Dabaou, khuff aur; Fears and Phobias; Ihsasaay Ghounha saay churaiha; Guilt and Feeling of Sinfulness; Amen!!! Amen!!!

[This is the Chalice Lighting nominated by the International Council of Unitarians and Universalists for the month of June, submitted by the Unitarian Universalist Christians of Pakistan. The Urdu and English words were written by their national director and minister, Inderias Bhatti.]

SERVICE DIARY

Meetings every Sunday from 10.30 –11.30am (followed by coffee, tea and biscuits)

Date Presenter Topic 6th August Ian Ellis-Jones The Truth about Freemasonry 13th August Joy Rulewsky Summit Lighthouse 20th August Peter Crawford Power of Hinduism and its Lessons for Unitarians 27th August Peter Roger Music Service 3rd September Ian Ellis-Jones Krishnamurti and the Star of the East 10th September Rev. Sherman Kim Spring Communion 17th September Patrick Bernard What I Love about Russia 24th September Peter Roger Music Service

[Please check the church website (www.sydneyunitarianchurch.org) for updates. The program for October will be available from the beginning of September.]

LETTER FROM THE U.S.A.

Dear Sherman Kim,

I am writing to say thanks for ‘keeping the faith’ of Unitarianism alive and well. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was travelling alone in Australia and received some bad news. She wanted to go somewhere that she’d feel welcomed and supported, and although she’s not Unitarian she knew enough about us that she attended a service at your church. When I saw her a few months later, she reported that it was exactly what she needed – friendly people and a religious environment that helped her feel grounded.

Thanks, and keep up the good work! If you're ever in Washington, we’d love to have you at All Soul’s Church (http://www.all-souls.org/). I hope to make it to Australia one of these days, and will definitely look you up.

Rob Keithan, Director,Washington (DC) Office for Advocacy Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations

2 WHAT HAPPENED TO ELECTRIC CARS?

By Peter Crawford.

When I first became interested in the environmental movement back in the 1960s, like many young folk at the time, I dreamed of the appearance of electric cars. What happened? A compelling film, Who Killed the Electric Car?, by new film director Chris Paine tells us. The film was a hit at the American alternative ‘Sundance Kid’ festival a few months ago. It was released in American theatres on June 28th and we can only hope for its widespread release in Australia in the near future.

Hollywood’s love affair with the car is nothing new. We think of movies like ‘Thelma and Louise’ when the heroines surrounded by cops on the one side, and great canyons on the other put their foot down on the accelerator and simply fly to freedom. The sheer exhilaration infects the audience with delight. Then of course there is Hollywood’s endless obsession with car chases, and cars in gangster movies like ‘The Untouchables’.

But Paine’s film presents a new and entirely and provocative view of cars. The car he loved was no 1930s Buick or Cadillac, or antique or veteran car, or prestige European or boutique car, but rather an electric car. It was not some home made device with a dozen or so batteries, but a refined and beautiful car manufactured by General Motors. In the 1990s, when the more responsible elements of the Green movement controlled more of California’s political agenda than they do today, ‘Zero Omissions’ legislation was introduced.

Reluctantly though it was in its technological infancy, General Motors produced EV1, the most aerodynamic production car ever made. It was immensely popular among ‘the green and gadget loving set’ of California. The same consumers can today be found in the showrooms of the Toyota Prius. However, unlike the hybrid cars which are growing into an immensely popular alternative to strictly internal combustion engines, electric cars went out of production.

Motor Vehicle companies claimed that the reason for the failure of the electric car concept was lack of consumer demand. This is shown to be a furphy by the course of the film. One overhead scene, where a helicopter has entered a General Motors plant, shows the crushing of EV1s in complete contra- diction to GM’s claim at the time that it was going to save the electric car.

Who were the culprits behind the trashing of the car and the concept? We could imagine oil companies, the auto manufacturers, lack of consumer interest, even rational environmental legislators who perhaps saw electric cars as no answer to anything. In fact, this movie points to just one culprit and what a big culprit to boot! If this movie was just an environmental documentary, it could be just another boring recount. But it is not presented to the audience as a recount but as a story worthy of an Agatha Christie mystery.

According to the best reviewers of American alternative cinema, Who Killed the Electric Car? is worthy of seeing, not just to understand the cynicism and environmental irresponsibility of US auto manufacturers, not simply because a new generation of electric cars – including plug-in versions of modern hybrid cars – is inevitably on the way, but because the movie has the quality of a crime thriller. And, in the metaphorical and moral sense, it is a crime thriller.

NEWS FROM INDONESIA

The Unitarians of Indonesia, known as the Indonesia Global Church of God, have reported to the ICUU that the 27 May earthquake on Java damaged the homes of members of their Klaten congregation and destroyed houses in Yogyakarta, where they have another group. There were no IGCG casualties, as most of their members were attending the Annual Church Gathering at Sarangan in East Java, well away from the quake zone. The IGCG appealed for financial help for their reconstruction effort and in assisting a harder-hit community.

3 THE VICAR OF BRAY

In good King Charles’s golden time When Royal Anne became our Queen When loyalty no harm meant Then Church of England’s Glory A zealous high churchman1 was I Another face of things was seen And so I gained preferment2 And I became a Tory To teach my flock I never missed Occasional conformists base Kings are by God appointed I blamed their moderation And damned are those who dare resist And thought the Church in danger was Or touch the Lord’s annointed. By such prevarication.

Chorus When George in pudding time3 came o’er And this is law that I’ll maintain And moderate men looked big, Sir. Until my dying day, Sir. My principles I changed once more That whatsoever king may reign And so became a Whig, Sir. Still I’ll be the Vicar of Bray, Sir! And thus preferment I procured From our new faith’s defender. When Royal James possessed the crown And almost every day abjured And came in fashion The and the Pretender. The Penal Laws I hooted down And read the Declaration The illustrious house of Hanover The Church of Rome I found did fit And Protestant succession Full well my constitution To these I do allegiance swear And I had been a Jesuit While they can keep possession But for the Revolution. For in my faith and loyalty I never more will falter When William was our King declared And George my lawful king shall be To ease the nation’s grievance Until the times do alter. With this new wind about I steered And swore to him allegiance 1 High Anglican Old principles I did revoke Set conscience at a distance 2 appointment to clerical office Passive obedience was a joke A jest was non-resistance. 3 just in time

This delightful song (presented at a recent service) is of unknown authorship but must have been written in the early 1700s, given that it refers to King George I (whose reign was 1714-1727). The tune is that of a song called ‘Country Gardens’, composed by Thomas Walker for use in his Quaker’s Opera, which first played in 1728. However, the archetypal vicar of Bray-on-Thames (in Berkshire) is thought by some to have been an earlier cleric, Simon Alwyn, who survived more drastic swings between Anglicanism and Catholicism during the reigns of Henry VIII, (‘Bloody’) Mary I and . Others nominate the more contemporary Simon Symonds, who was similarly adept during the times of Oliver Cromwell, Charles II, James II and William III.

The second verse refers to the Penal Laws that had earlier forbidden people to worship anywhere but in Anglican churches and required an oath of allegiance to that faith for anyone seeking civil or military office. These were repealed by King James II, a Catholic, and his Declaration of Indulgence of 1660 applied to Catholics, non-Anglican Protestants, Unitarians, Jews, Muslims, other faiths and even atheists. Sadly, James and his Stuart dynasty were deposed by Parliament in the Glorious (or Bloodless) Revolution of 1688, which then declared William of Orange as king in his place. This led to the disastrous Williamite-Jacobite War in Ireland, where James was still recognised as king.

James and family went into exile in France and his descendants became ‘Pretenders to the Throne’, posing a genuine threat to later English monarchs because they had considerable support in their ancestral Scotland. Indeed, the first of two Stuart-led Scottish rebellions occurred in 1725, one year after King George I died.

4 THE DELUGE (Part 3)

By Patrick Bernard

27.7.2005, 6 am – Mumbai, India

This may come as a disappointment to some, including myself, but I did not die last night, swept away by Mumbai floods or crushed by a collapsing building as I had feared. After a night of writing melo- dramatic farewells I am still embarrassingly alive! I now have to reconcile myself once more with the absurdity of existence. My first impulse was to destroy everything I wrote last night but then, for reasons unknown, I decided otherwise. I rationalised afterward that, having had the luxury of time to write such long good-byes to my loved ones, I should save these notes in case I was not awarded the same opportunity in the future, should I pass away without warning.

Right now, I want so much to be hopeful and optimistic but I cannot find any reasons to do so apart, maybe, from Rajlaxmi’s smile. Rajlaxmi is a young woman who works with me here – tall, slender, dark as the preceding night and, in contrast, perfect teeth sparkle like the white keys on the finest piano. Although I was already well-aware of her great beauty before, it’s only now, in this desperate hour, that her timeless splendour transcends all my other concerns, my fears and my debilitating melancholia. Looking at her across the room, I start to believe again that there may be a point to life, after all. A dormant fire in my heart has woken up the pathetic old lover from his torpor. With great difficulty I prod him back into the doghouse where he belongs.

A spectral mist hovers over the silent metropolis. The diaphanous glow of the concealed sun filters evenly through the milky sky. A flooded city is a ghostly sight indeed, even in daylight. Impotent buildings emerge from the murky waters like grotesque monuments to the futility of all human endeavours. I want to return to the city of my dreams and rejoice in the doomsday silence of a world without cars. Where are the phantoms of the past? There is no point in seeking reasons for human misery. Tragedy mostly happens without reason. It’s just bad luck for some, for many, for most of us, really! There is no divine or human conspiracy. There is just pain and drudgery with a few rare moments of joy, our only joy being Love in its many forms, and nothing else. The further we expand the field of Love, the further we extend the possibility of joy. In the end, humanity will probably self- destruct, not as a consequence of grand, evil schemes but as a consequence of our stupidity, our greed and our bigotries putting the last nails in our collective coffin. Hannah Arendt rightly called this “the banality of evil”. In those circumstances, a drowning world is a pretty sight as we vanish without too much fuss in the cleansing deluge.

The day after a natural disaster is not unlike the first day of peace after a long war. Among the ruins and the devastations, as we bury our dead, there is still that disconcerting feeling that a brand new day has just begun and that life will go on regardless. New dreams will be born out of ashes and new cities will be built on the remains of old ones. The joys of tomorrow will follow with indifference the sorrows of yesterday. We shall celebrate any signs of life like children picking the flowers of Chernobyl. In the circumstances, to hear someone sing out “Come on! Rejoice! It’s a brand new day!” sounds more like a heavy penalty or a curse than a celebration. But still, those who decide to rejoice may have a point. Joy? Why? Simply because there is no alternative to the joy of living apart from lamentations. So then, let’s rejoice! Let’s celebrate with excess! Let’s go on and on, and on, and on, as if we were destined to live forever, as if all the sufferings of yesterday were only a bad dream. To protect our sanity and to ease our burden, let’s pretend that everything is fine.

Cornelius, a normally flamboyant South African, says without conviction “the rain has stopped”, but we all interpret this as “the bombardment has been suspended…for a while, at least”. We fear it is only a lull before the final onslaught but after a couple of hours this fragile truce seems to be holding. We don’t want to celebrate yet but there is now room for hope. Hope! – the great human narcotic! The floodwater level drops rapidly as if someone had pulled a Herculean plug from the bottom of the city. In fact, this image was not far from the truth as I found out later – the main reason for this catastrophic flood is that there is no official garbage collection in a city of twenty million inhabitants like Mumbai. As a consequence people dump their rubbish everywhere indiscriminately and, at the first monsoon, these mountains of trash are swept away and block all the stormwater drains.

5 The devastating storm has passed. A new day rises over this damaged land. There is no more electricity in the air, only heat and crushing humidity. The dark clouds have slowly rolled over the horizon to go and spread havoc elsewhere, leaving behind them a clear sky with the rosy tint of a new morning. The ocean has recovered its composure and the mermaids have returned to sing. An old fisherman rows safely into a tranquil bay.

By mid-afternoon we all watch from our windows in disbelief the slow emergence of lamp-posts, street signs and some submerged vehicles. In one of them a whole drowned family slowly appears like bloated underworld ghosts. As daylight fades, we even begin to see some high parts of Linking Road. I wondered if this could be our last opportunity to venture outside and attempt to return to our respective homes. We all agreed that it would be wiser to wait a little bit longer. In any case, I didn’t particularly want to paddle waist high in effluents, amongst corpses of all kinds of creatures, including human beings. It is never easy to decide whether patience or action is needed. A long haunting silence follows, enveloping the world in a mantle of sorrows, as the survivors count the dead.

But right now my mind is elsewhere as Rajlaxmi, looks at me. I am crouched like a bag of musty rags near my desk, sweaty and smelly. Meanwhile Rajlaxmi sits elegantly in the opposite corner of the same room, wrapped up in her purple and gold sari, peacefully smiling. Is she smiling at me or am I fantasising once again? Her smile is the gift of a five thousand years-old civilisation. It is feminine without being vulgarly enticing. It is gentle without being fragile. It is strong without arrogance. It is refined without affectation. It is truly beautiful without artifice. It is mysterious without unpleasant secrecy. It does not promise anything. It is simply a kind acknowledgement of my existence and, considering the circumstances, it is a blessing. Mumbai, as wrecked as it is, has suddenly become an enchanted garden. Her piercing dark eyes seem to read me like an open book, which is quite embarrassing, really, considering my thoughts. Her smile seems to say: “Yes! We’re alive! We’ve made it!” – thus opening all sorts of biological possibilities in my one-track mind. For a young person, there is nothing more worthy and glorious than to celebrate life itself. Her smile suggests the return of spring after a long winter.

I seem to be the only one surprised when suddenly, out of nowhere, appears the young boy who visits us several times a day to sell us over-sweetened tea and milk for two rupees. How did he make it to our building with his couple of thermal flasks and useless plastic cups? He is wearing dirty brownish shorts and no shirt. The only clue we have that he has indeed arrived from outside is that his legs are wet and muddy, but we can’t ask him how, where and when he has come because no-one speaks his South Indian dialect. I would be quite happy to go on without food for another day or two, but my students are not. Their stomachs ache and grumble while mine hibernates. The hunger of youth! As we get older, we lose our appetite for everything. The sweet smell of death drifts in through the open windows with the grim news harvested by Ramesh and Chandra.

The news is beginning to sift through spasmodically. Ramesh ventured outside with Chandra to try to find some snacks and bottled water for us all. They have just come back drenched in that putrid sludge paralysing Mumbai. Ramesh mumbles between sobs that “many, many, many people have died…it’s horrible sir!” His tears touch us all. Apparently an entire hillside collapsed on a poor neighbourhood not far from here. Bulldozers are already trying to clean up debris and bodies indiscriminately. Federal and state governments have issued warnings on the risks of diseases and epidemics. There is the growing fear of cholera, malaria, leptospirosis, dengue fever, encephalitis, hepatitis, and even bubonic plague – the Black Death of the Middle Ages which killed 60% of the European population.

In the eyes of fate, one disaster is never enough. Having already suffered the consequences of a tsunami on the 25th of December 2004, Indians are understandably edgy about a repeat of that pheno- menon. Apparently, in the middle of last night, a false rumour began to spread in the nearby Juhu Beach district that a tsunami warning had been announced. This false alarm triggered a stampede of fear-stricken residents who tried desperately to run through muddy floodwaters for the safety of higher grounds. In the hysterical panic that followed, dozens of people were trampled to death. Most of the victims were poor dwellers from the slum areas sprouting along the seashore right in full view of well- guarded luxury apartment complexes where many Bollywood film stars reside.

6 There are now shortages of food, water and medication everywhere. As far as drinkable water is concerned, I am very lucky. I had brought two one-and-a-half litre bottles to work with me yesterday morning but I had forgotten to drink any of it, as I often do. Now this water is the most precious commodity and I have to confide that I selfishly enjoy every single drop of it. I always conceal my water supply in a locked cupboard behind my desk because of my fear of germs. In this case, my paranoia was a blessing as it has secured me enough drinking water for a while. I am ashamed to admit that, when people complain about being thirsty, I keep my dirty little secret to myself and, every so often, I sneak into my office for another nasty little sip. It’s nothing to be proud of, but I exonerate myself with the thought that three litres of water would not quench for long the thirst of sixty-two people. To give myself a clear conscience, I now collect tap water and meticulously boil it in my small electric kettle and, when it has cooled down, I distribute it ‘generously’ throughout the building. Everyone thinks I am a ‘nice man’, but I know otherwise and I find it hard to conceal my embarrass- ment. Sometimes, small despicable acts like this can haunt us for years afterwards and I cringe with shame as I recount this sordid anecdote – but it has to be told without embellishments.

In the following days, it was announced that up to five thousand people died as a consequence of last night floods. A few weeks later, Cyclone Katrina claimed 1300 victims in the New Orleans area of the the southern United States. Numbers do not matter, really. The death of one human being of any race, anywhere in the world, is a tragedy, but the extraordinary media coverage given to the victims of Cyclone Katrina in comparison to the token mention given to the victims of Mumbai is very saddening. When I came back to Australia, many people had not even heard of the Mumbai floods. By contrast, the Australian government ‘spontaneously’ sent rescuers to help the richest country in the world. In the name of globalisation, our insurance premiums will go up to help finance the rebuilding of New Orleans. There were no such contributions going towards Mumbai and its residents in their moment of need.

By late afternoon, large sections of the road had begun to appear, revealing dozens of human and animal corpses intertwined in grotesque embraces. In an irresponsible display of impatience and machismo, I decided to lead everyone out of our building into the remaining floodwaters. I wrongly assumed that everyone would follow me and then go on to find their way to their respective homes. Most of the males did follow me but the females, wisely, did not. I stepped first, knee high into the brown soup, with a teenager’s careless insouciance. An endless exodus of people was walking stoically in the middle of the road, where the water was at its shallowest. Many smiled and waved amicably, somehow happy to see a Westerner in the same predicament. Disaster is the great equaliser. At one point, taking mindless risks to get home faster, I fell into a hole and the putrid waters rose to my neck. Everyone around me burst out laughing and, to save face I laughed with them – but, in truth, I was beginning to worry about the risk of disease to which I had idiotically exposed myself.

After some further struggles through the devastation, I was relieved to finally see the friendly face of Rahul, the senior security guard of my condominium. He went through hysterics at the sight of me and kindly offered all sorts of services I did not want. Now here I am, back in my white marble palace, my tower of solitude, my air-conditioned island of opulence in a sea of squalor, still unable to comprehend the magnitude of the events I have experienced over the last twenty-four hours. At first, I threw all my pestilent garments away and then I furiously scrubbed myself with any kind of detergents I could lay my hands on. What frightful disease is already insidiously devouring me? The phones are still out of order, but this does not bother me. Dark clouds have returned, but that does not concern me either. Nothing seems to matter anymore.

For no apparent reason, an old saying circles in my mind like a loquacious vulture, repeating ad nauseam: “be careful what you wish for – you might get it!” Indeed, my present life is what I most desired but, now that my wish has been granted, I don’t know what to do with it and all I can see is a vast unforgiving emptiness. Lacking in Oriental wisdom, I don’t know what to do with emptiness. Nirvana is beyond my reach. I am a mere Westerner who needs at least a few straws to cling on to. Oh, India, you sorceress! – what have you done to me? Other voices? What other voices? All I can hear is this endless soliloquy that started about fifty-six years ago and nearly ended last night. Some of us, not necessarily the lucky ones, are just condemned to live.

[To be continued – the previous two instalments can be accessed on the SUC website.]

7 COMMITTEE NEWS

The most significant item of business at the 02 July meeting was that Peter Crawford and Sherman Kim have commenced an ambitious campaign of distributing leaflets promoting our services in various residential areas of the city and inner suburbs. Over 6000 leaflets had been letterboxed by that date and this is expected to continue at the rate of 2000 per week.

Curt Fraser continues to add material to the SUC website, which now includes a lengthy history of SUC and previous issues of this journal. If you missed a service, you’ll often find the text of the address provided in the ‘Writings’ sections under ‘Publications’ – these are listed in reverse temporal order, with the most recent speeches at the top.

The next Committee meeting will be held on 03 September. If members have any issues which they would like discussed at the Committee level, they should contact the Secretary on 0423 393 364 or email: [email protected].

CONTACT US

The SUN welcomes any and all contributions other members may have. If you have any items you believe would be of interest to the congregation, please submit them for publication. As you can see from the contents of this issue, such items can be serious articles, informative ‘fillers’, poems or even jokes. We also welcome your comments and suggestions, either as ‘Letters to the Editor’ or just to let us know your views.

Deadline for copy for the August issue of the SUN is Sunday, 23 July 2006. The preferred method for sending documents is as an attached WORD file to: [email protected] – otherwise, simple email is suitable for short items or messages. Alternately, copy can be posted or brought to SUC (see mailing address in the masthead).

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MEMBERSHIP/RENEWAL FORM

I, (name) ______of (address) ______

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Phone(s): (home) ______(other) ______

Email: ______apply to join/renew membership in (delete one) the Sydney Unitarian Church and agree to abide by the rules as set down by the Constitution and management of the church.

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Cheques should be made payable to: Treasurer, Sydney Unitarian Church. Membership is valid for the calendar year 2006 and should be renewed by 01 January 2007.

* Annual membership is $20 and includes the SUN journal; subscription to the SUN only is $15.

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