Childhood is a precious and fragile time. In the first years of life children learn and absorb at a rate that exceeds any other stage in life. From conception to birth and beyond, children are little miracles. Their very existence is testament to the profound genius of a creative God. Yet in the daily work of parenting the miraculous can be overwhelmed by the mundane. Parenting is hard. It can be humbling and frustrating.

Contempt for children for children is not new. The old Law of the people of Israel, written over three thousand years ago, makes it clear that children have ever been subject to the self-serving schemes of self-absorbed adults. When Jesus says “Let the little children come to me,” he says it against exactly the kind of adult view that something else matters more than these children.

The psalmist exclaims, “children are a heritage from the Lord” (Ps 127:3), a gift of God’s grace to parents that they may train their children in the ways of the Lord (Ps 78:5-7). Yet it is often asked: Are my children saved? This question, of course, reaches its sharpest focus in the sad event of an infant’s death. Even unbelievers frequently seek some reassurance that their child is with God. What can we say to such parents, whether they be Christians or non-Christians? How are we to view our children’s relationship to God?

The experience of reading books can have an enormous impact on the life of children and families. In this article, mother and grandmother Christine Jensen reflects on the wonderful world of books and children.

As a parent of a toddler and a newborn, I read a lot of parenting books. Someone once advised me that I should only read one a year, otherwise I’m liable to get too confused. I definitely agree. There are way too many parenting books out there with far too much conflicting advice. But I will make the bold statement that if you are going to read just one parenting book this year, then read this one.

There is a growing desire on the part of leading figures especially in the predominantly evangelical Diocese of Sydney, in particular, to authorise lay presidency, or “lay administration” as they term it, of the Holy Communion. We should actually be grateful to those in the Diocese of Sydney who have raised the question, since it forces all of us to re-examine our inherited tradition. The real opportunity for most of us in this debate is not to fulminate about what we are against but to remind ourselves of what we are for, and to ask how well our teaching and our practice represent truth, charity and the demands of the Gospel, and whether and how we might all need to consider changes.

While its significance may be lost on modern westerners, the breaking of bread with another person is a significant event with a long history. Our word ‘companion’ means one with whom bread is shared. In ancient cultures – Jewish, Pagan and Christian – sharing a meal and breaking bread was an indication of a cultural connection. It was a form of fellowship.

Most churches agree that the chief expression of fellowship between Christian people is the Holy Communion service. Paul called it 'the Lord's supper' (I Corinthians 11:20), which indicates what it is, namely the fellowship meal of disciples, by invitation of their Lord. Instituted by Jesus himself during his last evening on earth, it has been almost universally recognized ever since as the heart of Christian worship. Luke seems to indicate that, at least in Asia Minor in AD 57, it was the churches' custom on the first day of each week to assemble in order 'to break bread' (Acts 20:7). The Lord's Day would have been incomplete without the Lord's Supper. Some churches this century have been seeking to recover its centrality by making it the main Sunday service. Others believe they can best emphasize its importance by holding a Communion service for the whole church family on one Sunday a month.

Our Prayer Book calls it The Lord’s Supper because that is Paul’s way of referring to it (1 Corinthians 11:20). Our only window into the activity and meaning of the Lord’s Supper in the New Testament is First Corinthians chapters 10 and 11.

We all know the importance of food for the family, because we know it is important for ourselves that our bodies are fuelled with energy for life. While some live to eat, we all eat to live. Yet as Christians it is not only our physical nourishment that is important but our spiritual nourishment as well. That Jesus should institute a meal of remembrance for his disciples, whereby the reality of feeding on Christ was not only pictured but also conveyed, is of great significance for the family of God.

Dr James R Harrison discusses controversies over the Lord’s Supper after the New Testament era and reactions of first-century unbelievers to the Lord’s Supper.

The clear desire of the Synod of the Diocese of Sydney for lay administration provokes puzzlement, dismay and rejection in some other parts of the Anglican Communion. Sometimes it is seen as a sort of “pay back” for the ordination of women. Often it is regarded as thoroughly un-Anglican, almost a betrayal of the Anglican theology of sacraments and ministry. Frequently it is used as evidence that Sydney is extremist and totally unlike any other Anglicans anywhere. Sometimes, with more sympathy, the question is raised why such a development would be needed in an urban setting such as Sydney and in a Church with hundreds of priests available for Eucharistic ministry.

There are differing sacramental theologies in contemporary Anglicanism, which express themselves in quite different ways of conducting the Eucharist. The clearest distinction is between more ‘Reformed’ and more ‘Catholic’ emphases, and it would be naïve to suggest that these do not represent significant and even competing theological commitments. What is sometimes forgotten is that a number of the practices and ornaments to be found in the contemporary Anglican Church were illegal when they were introduced (often in the 19th century), and were certainly regarded as ‘unanglican’. Catholic innovation has now become very ‘establishment’ – but there has always existed a Reformed and Evangelical tradition in the church. This may now seem strange and, for the historically uninformed, even innovative itself. But at heart it goes back beyond the 19th century.

There is a growing desire on the part of leading figures especially in the predominantly evangelical Diocese of Sydney, in particular, to authorise lay presidency, or “lay administration” as they term it, of the Holy Communion. We should actually be grateful to those in the Diocese of Sydney who have raised the question, since it forces all of us to re-examine our inherited tradition. The real opportunity for most of us in this debate is not to fulminate about what we are against but to remind ourselves of what we are for, and to ask how well our teaching and our practice represent truth, charity and the demands of the Gospel, and whether and how we might all need to consider changes.

The past 100 years in Australia have been golden years. We have enjoyed freedom. There has been unparalleled opportunity. We have freedom of association, freedom of movement. This is a great country. Many take this for granted. It’s easy to think of it as a given, a right. But thinking people don’t. Reflect for a moment on what enabled our freedom. Reflect for a minute on the wars of last century.

The conflict in Israel is a complex drama of violence, injustice and tragedy. The roots of the problem sink hundreds of years back through history. The battle for land, nationhood and identity - not to mention compensation - involves a tangle of perspectives. Suicide bombers, gun-wielding settlers, stone-throwing youths and bombed out refugee camps might provide the footage for media coverage, however the situation is more complex than a three-minute visual and thirty second sound-bite. This article aims to provide an overview of the situation. This is not an exhaustive study of the crisis but rather a timeline of the conflict. For reasons of length 1882 has been chosen as the starting point.

War has been part of human experience since people first formed alliances and fashioned themselves into nations. War takes many shapes and is wrought for many reasons. Men take up arms in revenge, for greed, to achieve political goals, to obtain geographical advantage. Wars are fought for religious reasons, on ideological grounds, in self-defence and to protect the vulnerable.

Mention of the Battle of Waterloo tends to conjure up in one’s mind rows of soldiers in formation facing the enemy; likewise sailors manning ships in the Battle of Trafalgar. Even the more recent Battle of Britain suggests primarily airmen, planes, bombs and anti-aircraft fire, but the reality is a far more complex array of personnel and a diverse sequence of events.

Warfare in the name of religion is the most talked about topic right now. Certain elements in Islam - call them extremists or fundamentalists, or simply men and women who take their sacred writings seriously - have declared a holy war against the enemies of their faith. Of course, Christianity, as much as Islam, has had a tradition of holy war. Just as one finds within the Muslim world a variety of opinions regarding the waging of war, similarly Christians have historically taken different stances, the most notable being pacifism and the ‘just war’ tradition.

Christian ministry for Howard Dillon has always had a practical edge. Half a lifetime ago, as a young Anglican minister, he signed on for a tour of duty in Vietnam. He was sent to the hospital at Vung Tau, about 60 kilometres east of Ho Chi Minh City.

In any discussion of war, it is unlikely that ‘the Church’ (i.e. the mass of Christians) will speak with ‘one voice’ on the matter. That is because of two complementary aspects of the Bible’s teaching. On the one hand, the Bible teaches that people powerfully pursue their own goals at the expense of others—they ‘sin’ against each other—and such a world requires rulers who sometimes enforce peace by means of coercion (while resisting the temptation also to sin). Yet on the other hand, God intends for human societies to live in peace, without death and bloodshed, and redeems people for himself who are committed to this peaceful life, now and in future.