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His name is Paul and I met him on the streets at Parramatta in Sydney's west.
That's what Paul does these days; he walks the streets. He is homeless and he is alone.
But this wasn't always Paul's life. He had a family — a wife and children.
Paul was also once a soldier. He spent 17 years in the Army, including six tours of Iraq and Afghanistan. Paul was a Sergeant; he led men into battle.
That does things to a person and it has done things to Paul — terrible things. He is a shell now, bruised and tender.
It isn't long before Paul starts to cry. They're just little tears; there's still enough of the soldier to hold himself together, to stop himself falling apart.
He tells me war wasn't the hardest part; it was coming home.
"You're always constantly thinking of home and what's going on back home and your loved ones," Paul said.
"But the reality is that after all is said and done, you come home and it's totally different, everything seems to change.
"I don't know if it is you that changes or if it's the people that change."
'All I believed in was myself and my mates'
I was in Parramatta filming the latest episode of The Link. On this show we go to where the people are, to talk to them about what is important in their lives.
This week it was faith. What role faith plays in people's lives? How do they express their faith? Do they question it? Do they even have faith?
Most said, yes. Faith — belief in something — is important. There were Catholics and Buddhists and Sikhs.
One man told me he believes in the Dreaming; the living Indigenous connection to creation and being.
One man — one of nine children — told me how he was raised in the church but was no longer a believer.
Paul struggles now to believe in anything. He, too, once had a faith in God, but it didn't survive war.
"From the things I've seen — oh, it is tough one," he said.
"Ok, I will be straight up, I really don't think there is faith. A lot of wars are all over faith and we are the ones caught in the middle.
"All I believed in was myself and my mates."
Now he doesn't even have that. Paul told me he has lost himself.
Somewhere there is the man he was, but he doesn't recognise himself anymore.
As more tears well up, he says he just wants to find himself.
But it is hard.
Doctors haven't helped. Pills haven't helped. He is no longer in the Army, so he doesn't have his mates.
We spoke in front of a Church, but that doesn't work either.
Paul is among that minority of Australians — about one in five of us — who say they have no religious belief.
Australia is still an overwhelmingly Christian country — based on the most recent government numbers about two out of every three people.
There are more Buddhists than Muslims, more Muslims than Hindus and a very small number of Jewish people — fewer than 1 per cent.
Of the people I spoke to, all were raised with faith. One woman was born a Buddhist, educated in Catholic schools, and now attends both church and temple.
Some made a distinction between religion and spirituality. They were wary of organisations that they believed were more about power than people.
Called to a life of service
Jack Green, Chris Del Rosario and Joe Murphy are three men in their early 20s who are about to become priests.
They are in their final year of study at the Holy Spirit Seminary in Sydney's west.
They are rare today; the numbers of young men training for the Catholic priesthood has been on the slide since the 1970s.
According, to the church's numbers there are probably about 200 men in seminaries right now; that number fluctuates, but in 1969, for example, there were nearly three times that number.
So why become a priest? These three young men all had the same answer: they felt a calling.
"It was all I wanted in life, all God wanted for me in life," Chris said.
"From a very young age I felt attracted to the priesthood," added Joe.
"It was something that came and went throughout school … and it felt like I was being called to a life of service."
A calling? They all described it as a feeling of peace. It wasn't always welcome though.
Jack admits it took some time to accept it and he studied at university before deciding to enter the seminary.
There are many challenges, not the least a life of celibacy, but they say it is part of their sacrifice and commitment.
All three reject any suggestion that enforced celibacy has contributed to the crisis of sexual abuse in the Church.
They do concede that there has been a breach of trust and it will be their job to rebuild it.
"The royal commission has certainly damaged the church's reputation but I also know the church can learn so much from the royal commission — we learn from our mistakes," Chris said.
"I struggle for words — yeah, disgusting … this is a source of motivation for me," Jack added.
"I am here to help people know and love Christ."
People, perhaps, like Paul.
This soldier has seen how faith has helped some of his old mates suffering the same war trauma.
He shares their struggle — on his wrist is a band with the words 'Soldier On', an organisation set up to help wounded warriors. But try as he might, he can't share that faith.
"A lot of guys do believe, but they are all day, constantly questioning … I don't know if they're questioning their faith or questioning themselves," Paul said.
"But all I know is when they come back it is probably the last thing that keeps them together."
Choking back tears again, he told me he is still trying to work things out for himself.
"It's very hard, Stan," he said.
Paul wanted to hug me and thank me for talking to him.
It's the least I could do. I watched him walk away, his shoulders were heavy and each step looked like it hurt.
Topics: religion-and-beliefs, australia, sydney-2000
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