An Overcoat and Two Bob
My life has fallen into a few stages.
As a child, I lived in Box Hill when it was a Village. I then became Pastor to the Slums of Inner Melbourne for eight years. I was then a Country Parson and a Teacher at a One Teacher Bush School out at Jackson Creek in Western Victoria and then for thirteen years, I was a Suburban Minister in one of Australia’s largest suburban ministries.
And now, for more than 20 years I’ve been Superintendent in Sydney of Wesley Mission, Australia’s largest church ministry.
I’ve told you stories of people in each of these places.
Tonight I want you to come with me into the heart of the city.
I had given three addresses that morning to some 300 missionaries in training or home on furlough. It had been a long hot morning. At lunchtime we all stood in queues of people waiting for lunch. Some official asked me to follow him so I could jump the queue. I replied that I was content with waiting in line like everyone else.
The couple waiting behind, appreciated me waiting with them, and started talking about their missionary service. “Actually,” he said, “We went into Missionary service from Wesley Mission Sydney.” I instantly asked their names, as I did not know them. They were Rev Joe and Olive Penrose, former missionaries to the Sudan in Africa with the Sudan United Mission. They had returned and were now serving as Chaplains to a Hobart Baptist Nursing Home.
Olive’s family is a remarkable one. Her sister Lorraine is a missionary and pastor’s wife in Fiji. Olive and Joe were missionaries in the Sudan. Her brother Rex and his wife Peg were missionaries in Papua New Guinea. Their father was a policeman who on retiring worked with homeless men at our Sydney Night Refuge for Men in Francis Street, Sydney
I asked how the whole family became missionaries. Olive explained: “In the 1930s, we lived in Newcastle. My Dad, Mr Glasby, was a policeman. We were nominally Church of England when we occasionally went.
One day my father dragged the body of a middle-aged man out of the water at a place called Nobby’s, where lots of homeless people lived. The man was unidentifiable to the police, except for his very nice coat. On the coat my father found a label and a name – F.H. RAYWARD.
Every one knew that Dr Frank Rayward was the senior minister at the Methodist Mission, Newcastle. My dad visited Mr. Rayward in his office at the Newcastle Central Methodist Mission. He saw Mr Rayward and asked if this was his coat. It was F.H. Rayward’s.
So why was the derelict wearing it? It was then that my dad got an unusual reaction. Mr Rayward wept. Why? He told my father the day before a man had come asking for money. He was unemployed, cold and hungry.
Mr Rayward was just leaving to carry out some duty. Mr Rayward took down his coat from behind the door and two shillings from his pocket gave them to the man and asked him to come back later.
My dad then asked Mr Rayward the reason for his distress. He replied that although he had given the man two bob and his overcoat, he did not speak to him a word about Jesus, just asked him to come back.
He had not said a word about his Lord to the man. Not spoken to him about his spiritual need, just gave him the money and coat and rushed off. Now it was too late.
My Dad asked him: “Have you a Sunday School in this place?” “Yes”, said F.H. Rayward. “Then you’ll have four more kids on Sunday”. “Do you have ordinary church in this place?” “Yes!” “Then you’ll have a family come to that too.”
Olive continued, “So we had a family talk together that night and decided that if the Mission cared for a man enough to give him a coat, and two bob and then shed tears over an old derelict, then that was the place for us! So we went for years to the Central Mission, both in Newcastle and then in Sydney.”
While the family were members there, they offered for missionary service in different places around the world. Mr Glasby was promoted to become a highly respected Inspector of Police at Headquarters. On his retirement, he spent of twenty years helping in The Mission’s Centre for Homeless Men serving the men dinner and their meals.
I asked one of the longest residents among our older homeless men, and he told me he remembered “The Inspector” as every one called him, and quite a few of us remember him as the one who put us away, but we all respected him.”
The Central Methodist Mission has a great tradition of caring service to the needy. Dr Frank Rayward was Superintendent of the Mission for the twenty years from 1938 to 1958. He was a great inspiration to me when I became Superintendent in 1978. I spent time listening to his experiences and he died a few years ago in his 102nd year.
Wesley Mission Sydney, as the Central Methodist Mission is called these days is still serving the needs of people with clothes and coats and hundreds of thousands of dollars to the poor in the spirit of Frank Rayward. But I am not sure we shed as many tears these days. Humble service is still the means of remaking lives. Humble service and remaking lives have been the two pole stars of my life, and they are the focal points of Wesley Mission.
The city of Sydney would grow to be one of the world’s great cities and Wesley Mission would grow to be one of the world’s great churches and I was privileged to spend each day in the heart of both.