Not long after his appointment, Bishop Columba Macbeth-Green OSPPE was administering the sacrament of confirmation. One child’s mother couldn’t attend, and she asked afterwards what the new bishop was like. “Oh, he speaks bogan like us,” the young confirmand said.
Of course, a “bogan” is someone from the Bogan Shire, centred on Nyngan, where the Mitchell and Barrier highways intersect as you make the long drive in from Dubbo, Cobar or Bourke. Everyone knows that—especially Forbes local, Bishop Columba.
“I’m me. That’s it. I’m from here. I’ve never lost my accent,” he said.
A decade ago the Diocese of Wilcannia-Forbes was on the verge of being wound up. A bishop hadn’t been appointed in nearly six years.
Established in 1887, two years after one of the world’s richest veins of silver ore was discovered at Broken Hill, the diocese was formed to serve the spiritual needs of the thousands of Catholic miners resident in the area, along with farmers and families out the “back of Bourke.”
But BHP pulled out in the 1940s, and by the 90s, government and industry forecast there was maybe a decade’s worth of mining income left. In recent years the region has suffered floods, droughts and like many parts of rural Australia, the drain of youth to the cities.
“You almost had to restart the engine—they’d been winding the diocese down, getting ready for closure,” Bishop Columba told The Catholic Weekly the morning after his 10th anniversary celebrations, which in good country style stretched into the wee hours of the morning.
Wilcannia-Forbes’ comeback has been a common work of the whole church, but couldn’t have happened without the leadership of their new bishop, now well-known across Australia as an orthodox leader with a decidedly unorthodox style.
Bagpipes under his arm and a full tank of petrol in the 4WD, Bishop Columba said his first priority was to lift his people’s spirits, and bring back a sense of enthusiasm about the faith.
“People are used to getting knocked. Droughts, floods, they’re used to having resources taken away. They’re used to shops closing in their town, banks pulling out,” he said.
“You can get pessimistic. Or Stoic, and accept that this is gonna happen—when’s the church going, there’s not many people going anymore, when are they going to pull out? No! We’re back in business. There was a lot of PR work to let people know.”
In his first year, Bishop Columba estimates he drove 75,000km to visit every region and parish in the diocese. The next year, 70,000km. He revamped the religious education curriculum in the diocese’s Catholic schools, even personally filming videos on the faith and sacraments for students.
He took a record group of students and young teachers to World Youth Day in Poland—insisting Wilcannia-Forbes had its own bus and, most importantly, its own polo shirts, which fetched a high price from American pilgrims looking to trade merchandise.
The diocese, with support from the Archdiocese of Sydney, also made a number of investments in the local church. In Broken Hill, an historic Mercy Sisters convent was restored to the ownership of the Catholic Church in 2019, after 40 years. Mercedes House in Forbes was obtained in 2018, and serves as a “home base” for visitors to the diocese. And in 2021, in conjunction with CatholicCare Wilcannia-Forbes, the Sylo building and social enterprise was launched—which was where the bishop celebrated his decade of service.
The Archdiocese of Sydney’s Executive Director, Administration and Finance, Michael Digges, said at the anniversary celebrations that supporting the renewal of the diocese was “very enjoyable, rewarding work,” made easier by Bishop Columba’s can-do attitude.
“It is this point of his passion that continues to motivate me and the team from Sydney to support you with the administration of the diocese, so that the Word of God can be preached in the rural and remote parts of NSW,” Digges said.
As a semi-contemplative religious himself, Bishop Columba sees the return of contemplative religious life to the diocese as one of Wilcannia-Forbes’ greatest victories, after the founding of the Carmelite convent at Mathoura, near Deniliquin, in 2019.
“The whole idea of having religious, in particular contemplative religious, is they’re a sign of the resurrection and eternal life. They’re a sign of hope to us, by how they live,” the bishop said.
“If you’re in a marginal community—and my diocese is marginal economically—it’s tough out here. From isolation, to making a crust in little towns, everything’s a struggle. To see signs of hope, visibly, is very powerful.
“If you believe in the power of prayer, and sacrifice, and penance, then these are the church’s ‘special forces.’ I’m employing the SAS of the church because I’ve got extreme need for my people.
“People just love to know they have some special forces praying for them, living in the bush, like they do. Living out of town on a farm, like they do. Experiencing drought, like they do.”
Bishop Columba considers religious, like the diocese’s Missionaries of Charity, Mercy Sisters and Josephites, as invaluable signs of the authenticity of the Catholic faith: “They’re not some people on a holy card in Europe. They’re in Wilcannia-Forbes, they’re ours.”
Nevertheless, the diocese is well and truly “mission territory,” he said, and “a missionary attitude’s needed.” As with every diocese in Australia, Mass attendance took a hit in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic. The presbyterate is growing, but must cover an enormous territory. Much of the bishop’s work, from administering sacraments to attending the scene of accidents as a police chaplain, is hands-on.
Auxiliary Bishop of Sydney Richard Umbers is a regular visitor to the diocese, and travelled to Forbes for his friend’s 10th anniversary. He said Bishop Columba has to be, like St Paul, “all things to all men—omnia omnibus.”
“He presents the Gospel message in a very down-to-earth way. He meets people at their level, a bit like St Philip Neri or Don Bosco. That style of leading people, having a good time, to Jesus,” Bishop Richard said.
The need to teach the faith and administer the sacraments across such an immense territory left little time for grand plans, and required a practical approach to faith, Bishop Richard added.
“It’s a bit like when Our Lord spoke of John the Baptist: You didn’t go out into the wilderness for fine clothing and soft speech,” he said.
“Having said that, he treats the people liturgically to whatever they would expect in the city. There’s no reason you should cut things short.”
Even after ten years, nothing seems to be too much work for Bishop Columba, whether it’s donning full PPE to help distribute supplies during the pandemic, supporting local schools, encouraging the formation of youth groups, or driving hundreds of kilometres to make sure his people receive the sacraments.
“I go out to the bush and do a Mass in a shed somewhere, an isolated community without a church. I take my good vestments—the mitre, crozier, the good gear,” he said.
“I remember going to one tin shed, 20-odd people turned up, coming in from the farms, stinking hot. They said, ‘Bishop, you don’t have to dress up in all that—just wear minimal vestments, a stole or something, not all those heavy things.’
“I said, ‘This is what I’d be wearing in my cathedral on a Sunday, and you’re just as important as the people in the cathedral, aren’t you? If I’m here, you’re the cathedral today. Just because you’re out in the bush doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have something beautiful as well. It’s hotter, but you’re worth it.’”