So we have two authors whose private lives have been exposed and are now subject to intense scrutiny.

Phillip Yancey confessed to an 8 year long affair and recently in Perth, Craig Silvey was arrested on charges of possessing and distributing child exploitation material.

I really enjoyed Silvey’s novels, Jasper Jones and Honeybee, but now all around the country his books are being pulled from school curriculums and any associations with Silvey are being severed. No one wants to be associated with a child porn offender.

That said, his writing is still excellent and his books address real issues… Should shops continue to stock Silvey’s stuff or should he be literarily ‘cancelled’.

Then there’s Yancey who was engaged in ministry for 8 years while cheating on his wife. Yes – a double life and one that does raise the question of whether he really is ‘smoking what he’s selling’ or if he was just ‘maintaining the brand’ so that the money kept rolling in.

This leads to the question of ‘what do we do with Yancey’s books?’

Unfortunately that question is coming up all too often as Christian leaders topple and their credibility evaporates. I’m thinking of Hybels, Zacharias, Vanier and Yoder just to name a few. It makes you wonder, which of the people who are highly respected and sometimes put on a pedestal aren’t screwing around? Who can you actually trust?

I find it interesting that our culture and society has chosen to respond so quickly to distance themselves from Silvey and the disuse of his material seems to be publishers and associates stating that they want nothing to do with him.

But… his writing is still very good. And he isn’t attempting to teach or instruct. He is simply telling a story. His censoring says something about the world in which we live. Child related offenses are to the worst and no one even wants connection with that person.

Begone Craig Silvey…

Then there’s Yancey – whose books are highly instructional and to some degree his capacity to teach is dependent largely on his own character and integrity. This has been shown to be flawed and more than an abberation – rather a pattern of behaviour and deception.

People who have admired Yancey and been inspired by his work are quite within their rights to feel cheated and lied to by this author, but what to do with his books. ‘What’s So Amazing About Grace’ is still a brilliant book. ‘The Jesus I Never Knew’, maybe he’s still looking for him?… And his most recent memoir was a valuable insight into his life.

How would I approach each author personally?

I would happily give people Yancey’s books as their content is so rich and his failure doesn’t change their quality. I might just add a caveat about his failure, so that a reader doesn’t find themselves engrossed in his books, developing a connection with him, only to feel betrayed when they google his name to find more of his writing.

I imagine the question will be moot in 100 years time as he will be largely forgotten – a very good Christian writer who blotted his copybook towards the end of his life, but his books may still be read and valued.

As for Silvey, his behaviour also doesn’t change the quality of his writing, but I’d be more hesitant to recommend him – which probably speaks to my own perception of his failure – it’s of enough significance to consider putting an outright stop on him. Certainly our secular culture has responded speedily to cancel him, and while we may speak of forgiveness, grace and moving on, this one feels a bit too big to overlook.

Yancey will fade away and probably never be heard of again – a tragic end to a life that brought so much hope to so many trapped in legalism and guilt. Silvey will spend in time in jail, where I imagine he will continue writing, but society has a long memory and publishers valued their reputations. I’d say his career is over…

I dunno if we still use that phrase a lot but it kinda sums up my mate, Mase – he was a ‘top bloke’. (Imagine Darrell Kerrigan from The Castle saying it) The kinda man you love to hang out with, you’d want in your corner in a fight and the kinda bloke you can have a real, honest conversation with. 

I remember standing in Lesmurdie Baptist Church back in 1996 and speaking to a group of people who were checking me out to see if I would be the new youth pastor in the church. And I remember vividly seeing Graeme and Sharon’s faces and I thought ‘I am gonna like these people.’ They look like fun people to be around! I met them after the service briefly and I thought I do like these people. I got the job and I ended up with working with Graeme & Sharon in youth work for 5 or 6 years and they were some of the best years of our lives. It’s probably partly why his funeral is being held in that church. It was formative and significant for both of us.

What I remember most strongly about both Graeme and Sharon was that when we hung out we laughed – a lot – and not just chuckles… Deep belly laughs – roaring guffaws and splutters – often at things to do with bodily functions or anything polite society would consider totally inappropriate. I remember watching the first ‘Jackass’ with Mase – and I don’t know if I have ever laughed as much – two men totally unhinged watching other men do ridiculous things. (That should probably be filed under ‘confessions’…. )

And I loved that Mase could laugh at himself too. He was no prima donna. At one point in our youth work we had an issue with the young people leaving the church in a bit of a mess at the end of the night and we were getting sick of being cleaners as well as youth leaders. At one of our team meetings we began talking about ‘the cleaning fairy’ – who is this magical person who turns up every night and puts everything back where it belongs again? And then the idea came… let’s send in the ‘cleaning fairy’ to put the hard word on the young people about he mess. So Mase became that fairy, complete with tutu, alfoil wand, tiara and high heeled shoes. The ugliest fairy in the history of fairydom, but it did get the message across with a lot of laughs!

One of the things Mase and I shared deeply was a real desire to connect faith with ordinary Australian people who maybe found the church culture foreign, or who just worried that they didn’t/couldn’t fit in. We were both fans of a bloke called John Smith who started a Christian mission to outlaw biker gangs  – he was the kinda guy we gelled with because of his earthy approach to mission, grounded in well thought out theology. Smithy used to say if you want to have Australian people understand faith then we need to communicate in the language of the vernacular. Mase was good at speaking the language of the street – because he cared about the people on the street.  He was concerned to make a big deal about the things that were a big deal to Jesus. A few expletives here and there weren’t the focus of Jesus’ attention – but orienting your life towards the people who life seemed to have left behind was his sweet spot. 

I remember chatting with him after he had experienced a profound moment of revelation from reading Isaiah 58 – these verses particularly: 

The Lord will guide you always;

He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

And will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

Like a spring whose waters never fail.

12 

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

And will raise up the age-old foundations;

You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

I remember him saying to me – this is who I am – a repairer of broken walls – translation = I come alongside people whose lives are in tatters and I help put them back together. Mase had a lot of love and a lot of patience for those whose lives were messy and broken and he wasn’t one for standing in judgement at any time. It’s ironic and tragic that knocking out a literal ‘broken wall’ was what killed him.

Working with the Dept of Justice in Carnarvon he was on the front line of the challenges faced by young people in the system and I remember many conversations with him about the people he was trying to help and his love for them. It was hard, draining work, but he was in his sweet spot.

And he could hold his own in conversations with university academics, or with bogans at the drags. We came at life from opposite ends – him a tradie turned professional (and then back into a tradie again) while I started off a professional and finished up a tradie. I still remember Mase coming round to help me put up a garden shed… I can’t believe I was once that DIY useless! To his credit he didn’t make me feel like a numpty for being so incompetent.

The youth ministry days have some wonderful memories – too many to write in detail, but here are a few:

The youth camp at Busselton where we spent the afternoon at Yallingup on a gnarly, stormy day with a big chaotic swell… and the kids asked if they could go into the water and ‘just walk on the reef.’ I said ‘yes’ (and I knew I should have said ‘NO!’) and then not even 10 minutes later T & R are washed off the back of the reef and drifting into the bay. It was dangerous that day – not water I would choose to enter voluntarily, but with 2 kids drifting towards South Africa making a rescue attempt seemed the only option open to me. With no lifesavers on hand, and no-one else even in sight, I grabbed a kid’s bodyboard and started paddling out, hoping one bodyboard between 3 of us would do the trick. I was genuinely scared and not even sure we would make it back in. 

I got to the kids and turned for shore – only to see Graeme coming towards us… I wasn’t a great swimmer and without being unkind, he wasn’t looking like the lifesaver I was hoping would come out. I was more than a little worried that his 120kgs might be more than the bodyboard could handle. In the end we were really fortunate. We sidestroked our way to safety and back to shore. Bu the sight of him paddling out had me thinking ‘crikey now I’ve got 3 to save!’ You had to love his willingness to jump in and put his own safety on the line.

Another memorable (for all the wrong reasons) youth event was the prayer and fasting camp at Gooralong in Serpentine. Graeme and I were leaders and we were joined by 6 teenagers. Unfortunately we didn’t get the memo that a tribe of about 40 bikies had also planned a night of drinking and partying at the same campsite. So there were 8 of us and a gang of bikies… In hindsight we should have just packed up and gone somewhere else, but early in the evening they were just getting warmed up and seemed fairly docile. However by the time we were in our tents they were in full swing, loud and menacing and they kept partying until about 3am. I was awake the whole time and I know both of us were scared silly… 

There were the specific people Graeme influenced, one of them being ‘little Al’. Al was a fully fledged Midland bogan complete with standard issue black DB’s, who for some reason ended up at LBC one evening and then hung around for a bit. Graeme saw Al and asked him if he’d like to join the music team and play guitar. To be fair (and I spoke with Al about this today) it was a bit of a roll of the dice… We didn’t know Al and he wasn’t a Christian at this point so who knows where it could have gone.

When we spoke today Al said that someone saw him and gave him a chance – and as a result Al became one of our most valued leaders. He later went on to complete a youth ministry diploma, led a local church youth ministry in Chidlow before meeting a girl and moving to Port Lincoln. In our conversation today he told me that at the age of 51 he has just put his hand up to move back into the youth scene at his local church because they need a hand. Al would say Graeme is a huge part of the reason he is where he is today. Someone saw him, spoke his language and invited him in…

Random – I heard a quote this week about farts. ‘People who don’t laugh at farts are missing out. Because you end up with the same number of farts in your life, but a lot less fun.’ Let’s just Graeme was a lot of fun.

When we moved into Butler to plant a church and experiment with mission in new ways, Graeme and Sharon came and joined us. Mase and I had been doing the reading and thinking around incarnation mission and understanding the context in which we were living. To put it simply, I got the theory but not the practice – I was always on the prowl looking for someone to convert. (Sounds crass when I say it now… but that was where I was at). By contrast Mase simply became friends with people but without an agenda and I know he was much loved by his neighbours. He ‘got it’ and I didn’t in that time. Coming alongside people as a mate was simply his MO every day so he showed up as ‘himself’ rather than as an evangelist. Thanks for the lesson Mase.

There was a time when Graeme and I had some significant relational biffo. As the time in Butler ended for the Masons we were at odds for various reasons and the relationship was in danger of being deposited in the ‘too hard basket’. I can’t remember all of the issues now and I really don’t care… What did happen was we caught up one Saturday afternoon in our lounge room and we put it on the table – do we both want this relationship to continue in our lives from this point on? We both said we did – albeit a little thru gritted teeth. We knew we had something good that had gone bad – but it could be good again – if we made the effort – if we wanted it bad enough.

It was after this the Mason tribe moved to Narrogin and staying in touch became harder. We had dropped the baggage that had come between, us but proximity was an issue – us in Yanchep them in Narrogin – it’s a fair old hike for either of us. In 2019 Danelle and I set off on a 4 week rambling caravan trip to the south west, starting with a couple of days in York. As we looked at the map I said to her ‘hey Narrogin isn’t that far from us here – why don’t we call and see if the Masons are free for a night?’ It’d be fair to say we had all but lost touch at that point, but not the recognition that we both loved each other. Fortunately they had space and time and so we went and hung out for a couple of days and the laughter returned. From that time on we have taken the time to be in one another’s lives and the thought of dropping in to see the Mason tribe is something that always fills me with joy.

A few weeks back with a quiet weekend ahead I said to Danelle, ‘why don’t shoot down to Narrogin for a night?! It will be fun.’ We didn’t end up doing it… One of the hardest parts of Graeme’s death is knowing that we won’t have those moments again – not in this life…

So – if you have read to the end I hope you have a picture of this man who I loved so very much and who I will miss deeply. If you’re one of those people who loved him and you have a story then feel free to drop it in the comments so we can share it.

And pray for his family – you don’t lose a bloke like this and not get battered around…

There is barely a sound to be heard in bone-dry, outback Wilcannia. The piercing heat of the day has finally eased and we have drifted off to sleep. But the buzz of my phone vibrating in the bedside cabinet at 11.37 was enough to wake us both.

‘Probably my dad’ I thought. Lately he has been accidentally calling at odd times… But when I picked it up I saw the name – the wife of one of my close mates. I assumed (but more hoped) it was a pocket call and hung up, not wanting to rouse from sleepiness – maybe just not wanting to believe that anything could be wrong. I figured if it was important she would ring back

Immediately it rang again and even in my half awake state my heart skipped a beat. This is important… I knew something was about to go down.

She never calls me. It’s always him. This can’t be good news. All those thoughts ran across my mind in a split second.

So I answered with a question. ‘Sharon?’ She was sobbing. ‘Andrew I have some terrible news.’

I felt myself brace.’No… What’s happened?’ I asked.

She struggled to speak – just tears.

‘Go on Sharon – tell me…’ I urged her, at the same time wondering what bombshell had dropped on their life that she would feel the need to call me. And I realised that my brain had somehow already reached the conclusion that something had happened to Graeme – otherwise he would have called…

‘Graeme was working today when a roof collapsed on him and…’ she paused, ‘he has passed away.’ She got the sentence out then was again overwhelmed with tears.

‘No… No… Sharon… I am so sorry…’ That was all I had.

I groaned and writhed as I struggled to absorb this news. Graeme was mid 50s and a very skilled jack of all trades running his own building / handyman gig in a small country town. He was loving life and had found a niche that gave him a lot of joy. With three adult children all out of home and living their own lives, things couldn’t have been much better for this family.

Beside me Danelle is also groggy, but trying to listen in, trying to piece the story together. Sharon can’t speak any more, so her son takes over and I open the phone towards Danelle. Thru his own tears he let’s us know that ‘dad was found at the site he was working on. The roof just collapsed on him.’

I see the shock form on her face…

I’m utterly lost for words. I know these calls to friends and family who need to know. I remember those moments. There is nothing you can say to help and the pain just burns in you. 

This is that kind of call…

When I turned 60 I intentionally had a very small gathering of 5 of my close friends – men (and their wives) with whom I had developed significant friendships over many years. I wanted to gather these people and thank them for their presence in my life, but I also wanted to say to them that as we enter the ‘home straight’ I want you in my corner. I want us to be friends to the end. Graeme was one of those men.

I pass the phone to Danelle so she can speak to Sharon. They are long term friends too – sisters – our families have grown up together – worked in youth ministry together, planted churches together, gone on holidays together. They walked with us through our pain in the loss of Sam – a loss they also suffered. And now we must share in their loss. It’s not something we would ever ‘want’ to do – but this is the inevitable cost of friendship and love. Sooner or later grief comes to us all. Cancer, divorce, kids in trouble, all bring deep pain – but sheer, sudden loss is devastation of a different kind. This one has no ‘bright side’, no hope of a better resolution. It’s a sharp, violent and permanent hack that can never be prepared for.

Danelle ends the call and we lie together, hand in hand, bewildered that another life of someone we love has ended way too early.

A restless night ensues as we struggle to get back to sleep. Somehow we now have to imagine a world without Graeme in it. We can’t grasp this. How can his family? We think of his parents who lost their other son in a motorcycle accident around 20 years ago. How do you lose two kids and keep your shit together?

Another person in our life has died too young… 

As we enjoyed Christmas in Newcastle with Danelle’s family I counted 3 who were missing due to early checkouts. One was just 6 weeks old, another a victim of motor neuron disease and then Sam…

Is that normal in a group of 30-40 people? Maybe it is. Maybe death is more common than we realise because we tend to look away when it happens – until it happens to us. I’m told by others that we have had more than our share of misfortune.

I know it sounds a tad morbid to say ‘there are no guarantees of a long life – that we will all get to retire and exit gracefully ‘, but that is the reality. I’m writing this as we drive home across the Nullarbor – conscious that simply a drive of this type, with caravan in tow, being overtaken by idiots desperate to save 3 or 4 minutes, carries an element of risk (as does most of life…)

Either that or we refuse to fully live ‘just in case.’

Who could have forseen a roof collapsing on Graeme as he worked?

As we drive home I pray for our friends Andrew and Simone, who for a second time are the ‘first responders’ to dreadful grief. They met us at the Mandurah Harbour when Sam died. They have dropped everything once again to go and be with this family. If you have to have anyone with you in this time then these two are the people you want. Somehow they are able to just ‘be there’, to listen and to care. But no matter how gifted you are, you are never hoping for these types of events to happen.

I have some other thoughts I’d like to write about Graeme, but they are more of the fond memories kind – not the sort that belong in a lament. And I will save them for another time.

For ever those 5 minutes in Wilcannia will be etched in my mind. Another good man whose life has ended way too soon – and another family navigating the treacherous waters of grief.

Ok – here is my snapshot summary of the books I have either read or listened to since leaving home on Dec 5. These are intentionally short.

Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides – a moderately interesting ’thriller’ with a couple of twists however the writing itself is dull. I stuck with it only because it was reasonably short. 5/10

Demon Copperhead – by Barbara Kingsolver – another audio book, although I did have the advantage of having read it a few years back. Kingsolver is a brilliant writer and every sentence seems to carry meaning and energy. But the real winner in this was the narration. It is cast as a modern day David Copperfield, and set in the Oxy epidemic of rural USA. It’s a hard gritty read – and it’s looong- but so worth it! After the drab prose of the Silent Patient this was like a long cold drink. 10/10

Eden by Mark Brandi – Audio via Spotify – a relatively short story of a man released from prison who is trying to find his way and ends up being recruited for some nefarious activities by his new workmates. He has to choose which way he will jump. The narration is very flat which possibly made this harder going than it needed to be. We gave up on it at the 50% mark and only came back because we were out of mobile signal range and had it downloaded . 5/10

The Hiding Place -by Kate Mildenhall – This one I actually read… the story of 5 families who together purchase an old village complete with pub. The whole story is about their first weekend there where these wholesome, politically correct middle class Australian people discover they are much darker than they are willing to admit. I found the actual events of the weekend a bit difficult to believe – but the point was made that the distinction between ‘good’ people like us and those ‘other nasty’ people may not be as wide as we think. The wrap up to the weekend is punchy and the story has a good ‘message’ if you could call it that. An easy read 7/10

Die with Zero by Bill Perkins – I started this, got half way thru and gave up. I didn’t like his assumption that we should ‘die with zero’ as it seemed to be implying that our goal ought to be that of using all of our earthly wealth to purchase experiences and things that will satisfy us now. It may have a redmptive arc, but it felt a bit like simple hedonism to me. ‘You can’t take it with you so spend it now (on you)’ 4/10