Patrick Oration 2025

The triple tragedy of earthquake, tsunami and nuclear meltdown in Fukushima in 2011 left the city and its surrounding villages devastated. The radioactivity released into the air, water and earth poisoned the land, contaminated the environment and rendered homes uninhabitable. Most of the citizens were evacuated in the wake of the disaster. But not all were, nor could. Some remained amid the lingering contagion.

One individual who stayed was a Buddhist monk. As he made his way around the desolated land, he began planting sunflower seeds in the dead soil. Those wide, open-faced bursts of yellow, always seeking the light, worked to lift the spirits of the remaining residents. In time, others took up the planting themselves, and I believe over eight million sunflowers eventually bloomed in that forsaken environment.

But those plants did something else as well; the sunflowers began to heal the soil into which they had been planted. As they turned full-faced towards the sun, they leeched the toxins out of the earth. The sunflowers broke down the cancer in the ground; with the power of light, they drew out the poison of death.¹

Ah, those beautiful, vibrant faces, turned to the sun, always seeking a light that could penetrate even into the darkness of death. Darkness to light; death to life. There was healing power in those sunflower seeds, sown to bring hope and renewal into a wounded land.

The seeds planted by early Melbourne Catholics—mostly made up of the working-class poor—were rather different to sunflower seeds, but they had a very similar intention. Their seeds were stone blocks, excavated from local quarries around Fitzroy, and purchased on the shillings and pennies given by the families who desired to see a great Church planted in the city. Those seeds, stacked on top of each other, would rise to become the bluestone edifice of St Patrick’s Cathedral.

In the 1850s, when the working poor, the homeless and the transported were trying to find ways to live and build families and homes, hope and light were desperately needed. As Caroline Chisholm was setting up shelters of respite and safety for families along the roads to the goldfields, the local Catholic families of Melbourne were providing for a different kind of dwelling, but with the same intent.

This House for the local Church of Melbourne would be a shelter and a sanctuary, and a place to sojourn, for God’s people in need. It took a few starts, but that home for God’s people, on the eastern edge of the city grid, would arise in bluestone, the people’s stone, to become a true light into the city.

It is likely that the stones that built St Patrick’s Cathedral were quarried, hauled and cut by the poorest of labourers, and then set and arranged in place by countless immigrants forging a life for their families in the still-fledgling town. They, along with Archbishop Goold, whose vision it was that gave us the Gothic-revival Church that we have, were committed to building a future for God’s people. And, like all good rootstock, seeds and cuttings were carried out from the mother plant, sown and nurtured across the many emerging communities and missions right through Victoria.

There is a deep spiritual and cultural history to be told here, but also a history of faith and hope, a story of light.

I have spoken before about the numbers and richness of those who visit our Mother Church. Half a million ordinary people pass through the doors of St Patrick’s every year. That’s around 8,000–10,000 people a week.

There are the regulars for Sunday Mass, and those who come along from their parishes throughout the Archdiocese. There are visitors to the city, often for the theatre or the sports, who come in for a quiet moment in prayer. Many people every day come to unburden themselves and to be sacramentally forgiven.

Then there are the office workers in the city who attend the weekday Masses. Each Thursday, there are the 100 or so mainly young people, who come to be with the Lord in silent prayer and adoration. People come for baptisms and weddings and funerals. Busloads of overseas tourists arrive every morning. And then there are those passing by, between the city and Fitzroy Gardens, who simply pause to say a prayer or light a candle for someone.

Of particular note, but not for trumpeting about, are God’s closest friends, who come to St Pat’s, for it is a place of sanctuary and safety for them. They might be poor and living rough, or struggling with mental illness and health challenges. Some come to escape—even for a brief moment—the wounds of violence and abuse, or in need of solace and healing.

But for all, within that house of God, there is for them a home of respite and healing, a place of hope for something new. It is a dwelling of light and a place to discover the beauty of God.

The story of this place of light is symbolically manifested in the very fabric of the Cathedral. At the Rite of Election this year, held only two Sundays ago, 215 catechumens (those coming to the Christian faith) and 133 candidates (those completing their Christian initiation) gathered with their sponsors and catechists for the liturgy of welcome into God’s family. That’s the largest number welcomed in 25 years. Around 2500 people were present that afternoon, from all corners of our vast Archdiocese.

For many who came, it was their first time in St Patrick’s. I love seeing their faces as they enter its vast expanse, captivated by its beauty and dignity. It is their home after all, their Mother Church, and it’s also spectacular. Then they experience the light! The great nave windows of amber glass illumine the whole space with a golden yellow glow. The light in St Patrick’s is something to behold or, more accurately, to be immersed in, for all who enter are lit up by the light. To quote St Paul, ‘Anything shown up in the light … becomes a light’ (cf. Ephesians 5.13–14).

Who are these folk, looking to become Christians? What is the light that they seek? Well, a couple of weeks ago, there were lots of Chinese immigrants among the Catechumens this year, discovering that they share in the life of Christ, and that the meaning of their lives is not the by-product of the state or some human conception. There were a number present who grew up in other faiths, whose lives had been illumined by coming face-to-face with Christ, and now quietly sitting among God’s people.

There were many catechumens and candidates who, through a family relationship, have now been introduced to Jesus, and who have received with hope the invitation into his kingdom. Some of these soon-to-be Christians had come forward because they had begun to find meaning for their lives that they otherwise lacked, in the truth of God’s presence. The journeys are all different, but all have turned towards the face of Christ, and all have been enlightened by him who gazes towards them.

This is not just about St Patrick’s. Around 400 adults will receive the Easter sacraments throughout the Archdiocese this year. That’s the largest number in many years. Post-COVID, average Mass attendance has gone from 84,000 in 2022 to 103,000 last year, an increase of 23 per cent. That’s an MCG filled every weekend. And in 2023, there were just under 10,000 baptisms of infants, children and youth.

At the Ordination of our newest bishops, Bishop Rene and Bishop Thinh, the Cathedral was filled well beyond capacity—I am pretty sure half of Vietnam and the Philippines turned up! It was such a joyously beautiful occasion.

On Christmas Day a few months ago, the Cathedral somehow expanded to receive around 12,000 worshippers at the six Masses, as people stood several deep down the aisles, and flowed out onto the forecourt. And I hear that this was repeated right across the Archdiocese in many parishes. Down at St Francis’ on Ash Wednesday, a couple thousand faithful came to Mass during their lunch break, returning to their offices with a story to tell about the mark on their forehead.

Eight seminarians commenced their studies for the priesthood last year, and five commenced this year. These are the healthiest intake numbers in years. And we now have 23 seminarians in formation for our Archdiocese. Our schools are seeing an uptick in enrolments, with 157,000 students enrolled this year. This is a major turn-around from ten years of decline, and there are now more students in Catholic schools in Melbourne than ever before.

This coming Friday, in a tradition that now goes back a number of years, the Cathedral will be filled to overflowing with representatives—both students and staff—of our 300 or so schools. They will gather for Mass to celebrate the feast of St Patrick and to witness the unveiling of a new icon to our patron, the first painted image of St Patrick to be displayed in our Cathedral. Present at that Mass will be the first students and staff of St Carlos Acutis Catholic Primary School, our newest school, named after that teenager of the early 2000s.

Throughout this Jubilee Year in the Universal Church, very many groups, from far and wide, small and large, will make the journey to St Patrick’s and to 12 other shrines in our Archdiocese as pilgrims of hope. Later this year, also as part of the Jubilee, Melbourne is expecting to welcome 12,000 young people from around the country to the Australian Catholic Youth Festival. That’s a hefty number to consider, and while those attending may not be able to fully articulate why they are coming, there is clearly something—or Someone—towards which they are attracted; they will not be coming just for the heck of it.

Friends, something is happening. Something is shedding a light on the secular wave that has surged over the past century or more. Despite the much-trumpeted prediction that religion is done and dusted, and the tide of Christianity has gone out, we may be seeing the swell of faith returning. There is a noticeable, if still fledgling, turning of the tide.

I note this is happening amid a still prevailing, upstream culture of personal uncertainty, social toxicity and tribal retreat. The constant cycle of fleeting pleasures and distractions is leaving people disenchanted, I believe, and with a deepening sense of anguish and loss of meaning. The mental health of whole cohorts of people in our city and suburbs, but especially among the young, is a symptom of this malady, which cannot be healed by more of the same.

This is not who we are, or at least not who we are meant to be. It is not what can bring us to a fulfilling life. To break free of the pervasive sense of uncertainty, disruption and solace in the fleeting, and the cynicism about life that this engenders, the truth and beauty of faith offer people and families a path to renewal.

The incoming swell of belief in God is manifesting itself in various ways, as I’ve noted. But one pathway seems particularly significant in enlightening people, as they come to—or come back to—faith. It is the way of beauty. The simple experience of meeting with what is beautiful can open a pathway to the search for God, and dispose our hearts and spirits to discover our Creator.

An encounter with what is beautiful has the capacity to touch people’s hearts, to express the mystery of God and of the human person, to engender wonder, and to be an authentic bridge to a culture of peace. In an environment where what is true has been instrumentalised and what is good has been relativised, the way of beauty seems to be a privileged means to get in touch with many of those who face great difficulties in receiving faith and living hope.

But why this path, why the way of beauty? At the conclusion of the Second Vatican Council, Pope St Paul VI said:

This world in which we live needs beauty in order not to sink into despair. It is beauty, like truth, which brings joy to the human heart and is that precious fruit which resists the wear and tear of time.²

Pope Benedict XVI called this way of beauty the most attractive route to God. He said:

[B]eauty is one of [human]kind’s greatest needs; it is the root from which the branches of our peace and the fruits of our hope come forth.³

We are made by God, and we are made for God. Our purpose is to turn towards the sun (Son), whose gaze brings light to our faces.

The call before us is to see the signs by which we are to lean into this incoming wave. How do we nurture these precious germinating seeds? And undertake the sowing of the fields into people’s lives? How do we ensure that the eyes and hearts that are newly filled with Light do not dim when they meet our own?

It’s worth remembering that the Church—that is you and I, God’s pilgrim people—accomplishes her mission by preaching the Word of God, by celebrating the sacraments, and by serving our neighbours in charity. How the Word is proclaimed, how the sacraments are celebrated, how those around us are loved and protected matters.

The Gospel, the sacraments, our Christian love are the rivers of beauty and light that offer hope and a profound invitation to a new way of living, in a world often marked by disharmony and rupture. Superficiality, banality and carelessness really have no place here. It is a matter of transforming into events of beauty the gestures of our daily preaching, teaching and charity. Here we may rediscover our true dignity and worth in God, offering not just personal healing but a vision for a more compassionate and peaceful world.

This begins, I believe, with strengthening our families, the very heart of society, where love, truth and virtue are taught and lived. We need to invest in marriage and families. The education of our young people is also paramount, guiding them not only in knowledge but in wisdom, teaching them how to live with purpose and integrity, and helping them to walk confidently, yet humbly, in the world as children of God. At the same time, we are called to support those in need and on the edge, recognising that the Christian life is a life of service, compassion and mercy.

It is through these actions—nurturing families, educating the next generations and serving our neighbour in need—that we truly live out our faith, transforming what is dark and poisoned in our times with the radiant hope and light of God. And isn’t that what we all hope for—real transformation that draws out the toxicity from the ground, allowing us to stand full-faced towards the light?

By walking this path with courage and conviction, we begin to reclaim the beauty of faith in God and restore a culture rooted in love, truth and justice, offering a powerful antidote to the loneliness and despair of the modern world, and lighting the way towards hope and transformation.

Christ is the eternal Son, whose light is more deeply and more broadly healing than anything crafted by human hands. A face turned towards that light is more lovely simply because it has. There is a power of attraction, and of healing—a beautiful hope—which comes to us as we turn our faces to the light of the risen Son of God.

Happy feast day of St Patrick to you all.