The New Church of the Counter Culture

Cafe Locked Out December 3 2021

She finally took her daughter to get the jab. Why? Her daughter loved dancing, but she wouldn’t be able to attend her classes unless she was vaccinated. Her daughter hated needles. Her mother held her hand as the vaccinator did their thing. When it was over, her daughter looked up at her mother and said, "Okay, now I can dance."

A few days later, her mother was near St. Paul’s Cathedral. Feeling as though she were falling, she went inside, only to be met by two black-uniformed security guards at the door.

They wanted to know if she was double-jabbed.

She told them how she had lost her job, had no future, and just wanted to speak with her God for guidance. But it made no difference. If she couldn’t provide her status, she wasn’t getting in.

"Are you even Christians?" she asked.

"We work for a security firm," one of them replied.

Still feeling as though she were falling, but burning now, she asked, "What am I supposed to do?"

They didn’t answer at first, but as she walked away, one of them called after her, "Follow your path."

Unsure whether he was mocking her, she turned around and charged at the gap between them.

They stopped her.

"What are you doing?" one asked.

"What does it look like? I’m following the path back to my God."

Still refused entry, but hurting, she wandered off and found us in the new church—the one we were building on the stone steps of Parliament House. We had no priests; the priests were too scared to come. Anyone could pick up the loudspeaker and offer the rest of us a sermon. Our walls were constructed from homemade banners calling for freedom, and as the line of police looked down from the higher steps, we, who owned no ceiling other than the heavens, welcomed all those seeking shelter from tyranny. You could sit quietly, talk, or make a speech. We had food and water supplied by the public. And while the government and media called us all manner of names to try to get the rest of Victoria to hate us, we knew this place was sacred, beautiful. These were the Steps of Solace, the foundation of our forming church, and this mother, now a parishioner, had just joined us.

For several weeks, the protesters had been turning up daily and sitting on the steps. But after the bill passed the lower house and moved to the upper house, the protesters set up camp. For two weeks, they slept there, kettled between two parallel rows of orange bollards, installed by the council to try to move them on. Instead, the protesters used them as seats and the walls of their church.

The only church in Victoria where no vaccination status is required.

A church whose forming dogma is interwoven with decency. A church that celebrates mass each Saturday with a march through the city, where the vaccinated, disgruntled with the government, walk alongside those who have chosen not to get vaccinated.

It is a church being built by the people. A church called and calling for freedom.

It’s true that, after a great fight, we lost the battle over the bill. It’s also true that, as the police moved us on, a thunderstorm washed all of our chalk writing off these steps. But this isn’t the end. This is just the latest test of our resolve. It’s as if life is asking us two questions:

What do you want?
Freedom.

When do you want it?

This Saturday, we are meeting at the Steps of Parliament at 12pm, then marching from there. Make a sign and come down, holding it up high like a prayer.

Unite with us again, or for the first time, and help us show those installing this authoritarian regime that we can not only take a good punch, but that rather than being dismantled, the church is now within us all—and is building, forever building. The battle to take back and defend not only our freedoms, but those of our children and grandchildren, well, that war has just begun.

Michael Gray Griffith
Cafe Locked Out