'Looks a bit like a white caravan with horns,' I quip.
'Don't be silly Shelly,' my mum says.
'Mr Freeman I presume?' a young man says, trotting over to my father. He has short, brown hair, a fair complexion, and even though it's summer and quite warm he's wearing a suit, full, black and heavy. 'And the wife and daughter?' - he offers a hand.
'That's right,' my dad answers. He shakes the man's hand. 'This is my daughter Shelly, and my wife . . .'
'Mrs Freeman,' the man says. 'Pleasure. And Shelly. We've heard much about you. You have been the leader of some youth groups, and in the north also. You know, my wife and I recently visited Kenya and Malawi, to help spread the good word. It can be quite frightening entering a foreign land, a land where people act very differently. An interesting experience but very frightening.'
'Yeah,' I say. 'A great learning experience as well.'
'Learning?' the man says. 'Of course, they learn much from us don't they? And that is why we need teachers, more teachers, just like you. We are proud to welcome you to our parish. I'm sure you will love it here. It must be a relief to have escaped from the north?'
'Um . . .' I start.
'Of course,' my dad cuts in. 'Very much so.'
'Did you see the demilitarized zone? Is it much like the one on the Korean peninsula?'
'The harbor is not a nice place to be,' my mum says. 'Darling Harbour is not what it used to be.'
'A pity indeed,' the man says, as we approach the large cathedral door, one twice as tall as my dad. The man stretches out an arm and gently pushes the door open. Then he invites us in with a warm smile.
The inside of the cathedral looks just like any other I have entered over the years. The floor a solemn red, the pews wooden, smooth and basic, firm planks of wood for back support: enlarged versions of the rulers we would place between shirt and back in primary school so that we could keep our backs straight while sitting cross-legged on the floor of an assembly hall. And this place reminds me of such a hall. No doubt, it's a place for reflection, a place for contemplation, a place to think, ponder, remember, relax, and mourn.
'It's beautiful,' I say, pointing out a stained-glass window to the camera. 'Don't you think? The way each thick beam of light enters through the stained glass, and falls silently to the floor? The shape of the window, of each section of the window: the top section looks like three bright flowers, unfurled, basking in the sun. And every time I see a cross I feel like I'm in familiar territory, as though I have visited the area a hundred times before. I could walk into a cathedral in Amsterdam and feel the same way, stand silently at the back of the hall and watch a Mass take place and feel as though I have been standing there forever. It's simple. Whenever I'm inside a cathedral I'm in the presence of the Lord, no matter where I am. And now I feel so strong, so powerful, so calm. I think I like it here.'
I follow my parents to a pew several rows from the front, and I sit down. People sit down on the pew to our left and right, and others on the pews around us. A few people look at us as they past, as though surprised to see us here, as though they can tell we have been living in the north for some time, as though we look a little different or a little funny. But when I smile whoever is looking at me always smiles back. Soon, I decide to focus my attention on the lectern, and the person behind it. He clears his throat and starts to speak:
'Welcome to you all. Thank you so very much for coming. I first want to stress that this will be no ordinary Mass for these are not ordinary times. We are gathered here today in one of three parishes in the Wollongong area which together shine the light of Christ within and beyond the city of Wollongong*, as far south as Victoria, as far north as Central, where a once prosperous metropolis has fallen to ruin. Indeed we pray for the south-siders who still live in this area so close to the north. Daily we pray for their safety and well-being, for their happiness, and we hope our Lord and savior will keep a keen eye on them during these treacherous times. Our saintly patrons shine forth the light of Christ on our city nestled tight, snug, and secure between the Illawarra escarpment and the ocean*: The Mother of Sorrows* bore the Eternal Light and knew His sufferings, Saint Francis Xavier* bought this light to new southern lands, Saint John Vianney* enlightened parishioners, and Saint Brigid* shone with the great wisdom of Christ* in early Catholic New South Wales. Together we now shine the light of Christ and walk as the children of light*.
'We are so lucky to have with us today all our youth group leaders. One, Shelly Freeman, has just returned from the north where she spent several weeks spreading the good word of our Lord and savior. Shelly, please rise.'
I stand up slowly and smile. My cheeks are red. I can almost feel a beam of light filtered through some red tinted glass striking each cheek of mine. The people around me clap and I nod in appreciation. Then I sit back down.
'I must ask Shelly and the other youth group leaders to join me once I have finished speaking so that I can tell you all what the groups will be leaning about today,' the pastor continues. 'It is hard for us not to talk about the state of northern Sydney at the moment, for this area is a part of our state, and the district only a few hours away from where we now stand. It is scary to think that perhaps some north-siders are living among us, that perhaps north-siders are still crossing the Harbour Bridge, the ANZAC bridge or one of the many others in order to reach the south. In Wollongong we believe we are relatively safe. Here the community is predominantly Catholic, the people are respectable, trustworthy, kind, and we live in peace. For this, my Lord, we are grateful. We are grateful to live in an area far removed from the northern suburbs of Sydney, an area where our children can still play in the streets without fear, where every one is happy and content. Today you will hear two stories, each as important as the last. I will relate one of the stories to you, while the other is a movie you will watch in your groups, and discuss afterwards. These stories each help us to understand the current state of affairs, who the people of the north are in relation to those in the south.
'The first is a story concerning neanderthals. I must stress that neanderthals inhabited Eurasia merely 5000 years ago, for we know the world did not exist over 6000 years ago. For 1000 years these beings lived under glacial conditions unlike any we have known, for they were experiencing the wrath of God. These beings acted like apes, they were primitive, unintelligent beings, beings who we would not want to live with, beings with no concern for moral decency, the law, and the ten commandments. I must ask the children of the audience to block their ears. The men would rape and molest women, they would have sex indiscriminately, and treat one another with no respect. Children, you may unblock your ears. Parents please. Just over 5000 years ago the number of neanderthals began to decline and just under 5000 years ago there were no more neanderthals. Perhaps this was because they could not compete with the modern humans who inhabited southern Eurasia**. Or perhaps an unstable climate was to blame**. However, a group of researchers from Saint Petersburg led by Liubov Vitaliena Golovanova recently found layers of volcanic ash in a region once populated by neanderthals**. These layers of ash, and the absence of any traces of neanderthal in sedimentary layers younger than 5000 years, suggest that there was a volcanic eruption, a great volcanic eruption, which led to the death of the neanderthals. The neanderthals who were not killed by the the eruption itself perished in the volcanic winter which followed. Again, the wrath of God.
'But those living in southern Eurasia were unaffected by this volcanic eruption. These were the modern humans, the respectable, righteous, moral humans. They were happy now and lived in peace, and from these humans we all were eventually born. Once the neanderthals were gone the southerners were free to explore the northern areas of Eurasia without fear for their safety. In fact, the world we live in today would not be the way it is were it not for this volcano, a furious spurt of lava from the ground, a pure demonstration of the power of God. I would like to stress that south-siders will never be the victims of such a volcano. But the ground, dear friends, is shaky in the north. I believe that, yes, soon the earth will shake in the north, or liquid will rise from the ground beneath. This wrath of God is still strong