Goodbye Kumbaya is a comment on the experience of being a Catholic, particularly in Australia, and particularly now. It began with a decision to leave one place and find another.
I have a young family, and the parish we attended was itself attended to by a litany of distractions. Chattering, before and after Mass, to a point that may have embarrassed the local Westfields shopping centre. The long removed alter rails overtime became a signal for parishioners to cross the sanctuary at will. Genuflecting became rare and bowing uncommon. The (now former) priest, once out of church, did not dress clerically. Then there was the successful infiltration of PowerPoint projections, thrown up, one after the other, tempting easy distraction with pretty pictures of rustic loaves, crimson grapes, footprints on beaches, sunsets and hillsides.
And one day came the man. The man with a beard and an acoustic guitar to replace what would have been a parish mission with a concert of Catholic songs from the 70s and 80s. It occured to my wife, more slowly to me, that this was no longer a parish which would assist with the Catholic raising of a child. It was time to say ‘goodbye Kumbaya’, and so we went elsewhere.
And one day came the man. The man with a beard and an acoustic guitar to replace what would have been a parish mission with a concert of Catholic songs from the 70s and 80s. It occured to my wife, more slowly to me, that this was no longer a parish which would assist with the Catholic raising of a child. It was time to say ‘goodbye Kumbaya’, and so we went elsewhere.
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