Father Anthony and Philomena

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     We just got word a few days ago that our dear friend, Bishop McCollip, better known to us as Father Anthony, had just passed away. We mourn for this great man, and wish we could be there now to share the grief of his wonderful wife, Philomena. I am reprinting this story in honor of this great man.
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     During our Australia adventure, Barbara an I stayed at a guest house in Sydney for several nights, as we explored Sydney, and I worked up my nerve to rent a car, one with the steering wheel on the wrong side, drive across that huge city on the wrong side of the road, and figure out how to negotiate multi-lane roundabouts, and head out up the coast to points north, toward the Great Barrier Reef.


     One night, at our dinner table, we met great couple, Father Anthony and Philomena. We seemed to hit it right off, and after we told him we were about to head north toward Brisbane as soon as I got up my nerve to do that, they told us to call them when we arrived there, they would come get us, and we could spend a night with them.


      A few days later, we did. They came to get us, and we soon arrived at their home.  A great meal followed, and while Barbara and Father Anthony washed and dried the dishes, Philomena and I poured over her road maps. We then spent a fun evening talking. He was royally insulted when Barbara told him they sounded British, informing us that Brits sounded like they “had a plum in their mouth, and were far more pompous.” I, in turn, was offended when he indicated American football players were somewhat less that manly,having to wear head gear and padding, while Australian Footballers used none. He had to admit, however, that many of their young men got an awful lot of concussions.

      He showed us a photo of him carrying the Olympic torch, and showed us their church. At that time, it was only a small building in their back yard. He said he was placing a photo of us over the alter, and they would pray for us daily.

Their church, he explained to us, was just like the Roman Catholic Church, except that the Priests were not celibate, an unnatural thing, and, since Jesus excluded no one, neither did they. Since that time, the church has grown very rapidly, with branches in many countries. There is an orphanage named after him in Africa, and he is now the Presiding Bishop. He was 65 at that time, she 70.  We still stay in touch regularly. It was nice to sleep in a real house that night, and we awoke to many strange and beautiful bird sounds.

      After breakfast, they drove us to the beach for a walk. They literally walked us both into the ground, several miles. They offered us the use of their beach house, half a day up the coast, but we had to decline, since we wanted to cover as much territory as possible during our stay. They led us out of town and got us started on the correct road, after giving us their official Catholic blessing.

      Since we have returned home, we have, as I said, stayed in regular contact with these friends. I told him once if they ever came to the US, we would come see them. Soon, he called, saying they were going to Hawaii for the official ceremony to make him a Bishop, wanted us to come. How does one explain to a Bishop that one can't keep his word? I had to start out by explaining how far Hawaii was from Arkansas. After he became Presiding Bishop, he once told Barbara that he was taking on the name of McCollip, in honor of a Saint. Then he said, “I personally believe, there are many living Saints in the world, today, like yourself.” Well, that bothered me some. Even though it was an off-hand remark, it was, after all, said by the Presiding Bishop of the Independent Catholic Church of Austraila. Just how official IS that? How does one live with a Saint? Can I still kiss her on the mouth? Can I sleep in the same bed? Must I always walk 5 steps behind? Just an awful lot I don't know about all that.

He once wrote to tell us their small dog, whom we knew, had got in a fight with a Cain Toad and died. How could a toad kill a dog? I looked it up. A Cain toad has a poisonous skin. Bite it, and die. Australia is full of deadly creatures.

Rest in peace, our dear friend. Though I know Jesus, in your casual conversation with him, refers to you as Bishop McCollip, you will always be Father Anthony to us. You enriched our six weeks in your wonderful country of Australia greatly.