Unreliable Memoirs of Fr Robert

Fr Robert Sharplin

Ah.... How the mists of time roll back and we can arrange our history the way we would have liked it to be. There were five ordained from our seminary year group; four from Hamilton diocese who all stuck it out in spite of each other and a lanky Southlander, Michael Hishon, always known as Mac. He and our year group formator Fr Mark Chamberlain were the first experience the rest of us had with 'Rrral' Southlanders who had connections to Inverrrcarrrgill, Rrriverrrton and best of all GorrrR. I thought our 'gentle' ribbing of the southerners for their unique accent was all taken in good part until I noticed Fr Mark avoiding Eucharistic prayers with too many worrrds  in them.  Mac was to take his revenge on me later.

One of the best things about the location of the seminary in Mosgiel was that invariably we had several spiritual retreats/holiday jaunts into Central Otago; often staying in holiday homes of either Mac's or Fr Mark's cousins - who were so numerous that it was prudent to treat most Catholics south of the Waitaki as in some way related. We were in several seminary cars heading towards Queenstown for one of these first year getaways when we stopped in Alexandra for hot chocolates which owing to the chilly vagaries of the Otago climate are always excellent and available everywhere. I was dawdling down the main street when Mac said rather urgently that we should get on the road again. I got into the front passenger seat and Mac went round to the driver's side; I had just settled myself in when I noticed a packet of treasures nappies under my feet and a floral hat in the back which 1 was sure hadn't been there before. With one eye I saw Mac and my co-passengers standing several vehicles beyond, by the seminary car, which was very similar to the one I was in and laughing uproariously. I jumped out with murder in my heart but noted with the other eye a somewhat anxious looking young mother emerging from one of the shops and heading towards her car. We took off at rather high speed to avoid what I am sure would have been very tedious explanations and apologies. Yes, as late as the 1990's most people in Central Otago left their cars unlocked perhaps because they were all cousins!

This was not the only time that quiet, unflappable Mac (currently the Parish priest of Milton for his sins) was to surprise me and indeed the rest of our little band but more anon. I would not want anyone to think that the seminary was six years of swanning round the tourist traps of the South Island. On the contrary there was serious work to be done as we were all enrolled for the Bachelor of Theology degree at Otago University. We had to work hard as our fellow theology students were from Presbyterian Knox College and so we couldn't let the Catholic side down. Things got off to an ominous start however. Early on in our first year when it was still thought that we were not dangerous, we were taken for an orientation visit to the stately Jacobean magnificence of Knox College Dunedin.

We couldn't help but be impressed by the beautiful wood paneled interiors and corridors even longer and more echoing than at the seminary - all the best that the lingering riches of the Otago Gold Rush could have bought. We were tiptoeing over the highly polished floors guided by a genial Presbyterian minister who would later teach us Church History when we passed an old fashioned telephone booth. Michael Gielen's hand reached unstoppably for the receiver and in a stage voice that seemed to be magnified by all the hard clean surfaces he cried; "Operator get me the Pope urgently!" Several bystanders looked startled but our guide managed to smile indulgently. Yes even then the future Parish Priest of Mt. Maunganui was affirming his loyalty to the Roman magisterium. But this was only the beginning of our group's ecumenical misdemeanours which would reach a highpoint early the following year.

We returned to a heavy academic load in our second year, travelling into Otago university most weekdays for lectures and tutorials. One of the foundational courses was Old Testament Scripture studies presided over by the redoubtable and erudite professor Judith McKinley of Knox College. The summer really lingered throughout March that year and the tall windows of the lecture room in the Old Quad were drawn back as far as possible to attract any hint of breeze. Professor McKinley was expounding knowledgeably upon recent developments in Biblical archaeology but the attention of many of the students was clearly wandering on account of the warm afternoon air. The professor drew her lecture to a close and asked for questions. You could feel the impatience of classmates when one student made an obscure point about a shard of pottery that was supposedly incised with an early Hebrew name of God.

I was very surprised then when Mac, whom I had presumed to be snoozing, stood to ask his question. "Professor" he said "Have you heard that they have discovered the bodies Of Adam and Eve?" The professor who no doubt had put up with quite a lot in the course of her teaching career maintained her equanimity but the rest of the class looked somewhat stunned by the revelation. I, having heard a similar edge in Mac's voice once before, started heading for the main doors. I was almost through when Mac continued without interruption. "You know how they knew they were Adam and Eve?' and into the further stunned silence Mac delivered the finale, "BECAUSE THEY HAD NO BELLY BUTTONS!" Ecumenical relations are said by some to have gone into a decline in recent years. Perhaps this incident was merely a symptom or was it the start? Remember you read about it first in SMILE.  More theological profundities and navel gazing next issue.