Tortoises, homesickness and the rollercoaster of the anglican communion

This week, characterised as it has been by humidity, holy huddles and driving deadlines, has been on the lower end of the "wow-aren't-I-having-a-great-time" scale. There have been extreme highlights, however, and they have all been unexpected.

But first, tortoises.

We had a storm the other night. It was a big thunderstorm, and I spent the duration of it sleeping on the carpeted bathroom floor. When we went down for our breakfast the next day, our host Lisa said she was a bit worried that when it had started raining, she realised she hadn't brought the tortoises in and she didn't know if they liked getting wet. It was the sweetest thing - but it also made me realise that I should have had faith that at some point God would reveal why I was inspired to add tortoises to my Google news feed.

Then, later that day, we passed a sign that said roast tortoise, until we got closer, and realised it said roast topside.

Purple highlights - and lowlights.

I felt extraordinarily out of sorts the day after the storm. Very homesick and having forgotten my happy pills two days in a row, my head felt more thundery than the skies. The topic of the day was rather intense - basically, the abuse of women, both in the wider world and in the church. It was an extremely confronting topic. I assigned myself to covering it, and attend the Big Top where the bishops and spouses were put together.

I have sworn the Official Anglican Secrets Act so I'm not allowed to reveal details, lest I be hurled into the fiery pits forever. I can however reveal that there was a dramatisation of the Gospels that wove together the story of the woman who was to be stoned for adultery, Jairus' daughter, the prodigal son (only this one was the prodigal daughter) and the woman who touched the hem of Jesus' robe to seek relief from her haemorrhaging. It was... shattering.

It wasn't just the powerful acting and the even more powerful denoument where the women are healed and revived, only to remain in the way of women across the world: tolerated only when young, useful or invisible.

It wasn't just the emotional temperature that gradually rose in the tent as this group of immensely powerful people were confronted with the hypocrisy of the church.

It was knowing that here I was, face to face with flesh and blood sisters who will go back to communities where women are traded, beaten, used for sex, reviled, raped as instruments of warfare, and forgotten about, again and again. The moving story I watched on stage was the reality of womanhood for many in that tent.

I have always been a feminist. I've always cared deeply and become very angry. I've always had a strong intellectual grounding and a visceral desire for equality for women. But on Tuesday, God broke my heart for it, and I realised, it's not enough to just care, or get upset, or shed tears.

Women like me need to be confronted with women like them - the interconnectedness and the bigness of that to which we belong came together very powerfully this week. I hope to be able to listen carefully to where the Holy Spirit leads me in this - not for my sake, but because it is what the Lord requires. You cannot look at these women and not require it of yourself.

A story I wrote on it was later quashed. I won't go into why. But that was a definite lowlight but again, if I care for my eternal soul I dare not go into detail.

Yesterday I was able to film the Archbishop of Melbourne with some of the bishops of the Sudan. It was very moving also.

Today I was able to get my own back on that reporter. Today was very important - the press conference was along the theme of human sexuality, which is of course The Big One (as far as the media are concerned, anyway). This woman didn't bother turnign up for the very encouraging and frank presentations by those giving the conference today. she turned up fifteen minutes late with her lunch in her hand and then jumped up and down ('pick me! pick me!') with her hand in the air... and was overlooked.

Incensed that her Divine Right to be Picked At A Press Conference had been thus transgressed she flounced up to the media officer for the Primate of Australia and asked why journalists weren't being given an opportunity to ask questions (that is,all the journalists except the fifteen or so who did ask questions because they were there in a timely manner). I butted in (now there's a hint) and told her that with all due respect, if she was going to turn up ten minutes late she shouldn't expect to be given any favours at all. I don't know that she responded - I don't care. Media Officer was very happy with me.

It is incredibly hot and sticky and it smells like barbecue all over the campus. Before it smelled like burning horse poo so I guess that's an improvement.