Sunday, July 29, 2012
Please Comment! And Follow!
Allow me to prostrate myself and beg for comments and / or followships. Two followers is better than none, but lots would be even better. And do feel free to pass this link on to anyone you think might be interested - the more the merrier! -Teufel
Stephen Fry Tweets Me; Churches Full of Surprise Priests
Well, I really, really, really didn't!
But here I am, some months later rather than precisely about one week, once again determined to write weekly, if briefly, and occasionally even cogently.
Big news! I have a new follower! So exciting. Thank you Brian! I'll probably email this out to everyone again, more for the older stuff than this, but IF I really do start writing weekly, and IF the regularity leads to some degree of relevance, it might almost be worth looking in from time to time. Stephen Fry has. Yes, he really has. I tweeted him after his bunjy jump, wittily enough for him to take up my invitation to read one of my posts - the one about admiring Dorothy L. Sayers. And he replied (favourably) after reading it! I resisted the temptation to crow about it at the time, thinking of the future, when we'll be bosom buddies, chatting about our latest publications and keeping up a sort of Sand-Flaubert correspondence, and not wanting him to be put off by the idea I might just be some common or garden stalker, trying to get the attention of the Great Tweeter himself. Ah well, the damage is done now: next time he drops in to this blog he'll shake his head in sage disgust at my pettiness.
Anyway. Must be brief, as much to do that I ought to have done yesterday but didn't.
While at Russell for the recent Birdman competition (mad mid-winter-festival wharf-leaping weekend) I thought I'd attend Sunday service at the famous Christ Church - the one riddled with bullet holes, and boasting the grave of the first Pakeha woman to be buried in NZ - instead of just gaping like a tourist as I usually do - and who should I find officiating but Paula Franklin, ex Otamatea Repertory, and husband Gary (drop-dead gorgeous PE teacher of my youth) also on the committee. It was Sea Sunday, and I was reminded of the beautiful setting of the hymn "For those in peril on the sea" by Marion of Minstead Players, in Minstead - part of our rehearsed reading of Nick Mellersh's life of John Newton, the author of "Amazing Grace." We sang that hymn, but with the normal, not-quite-so-stirring tune.
Last time I went to a beautiful church service - largely for the singing and the beauty of the old building - but I also find, despite being probably more strongly agnostic now than ever, that I derive benefit from a traditional church service, even while not believing more than about 25% of it. I think I veer more and more toward Lloyd Geering's view that despite the non-existence of an actual, supernatural "God" (although I'm more agnostic on that point than him), religious practice is good for us, and helps focus us - he says, of Bible stories etc, "Use all of it - the myth, the stories, the legends, the morality" (I'm paraphrasing horribly - might look it up one day but not today). Not just of Christianity, I think he would agree, but myth and deep tales of all traditions, that have taken a kernel of perceived truth and embroidered it to enhance its power to grab our attention and to remain in our memory.
Anyway, I believe I started a sentence about last time I went to a service in a beautiful old church - lo and behold, the priest that time was a dear friend of my brother Brian's, met on-line and through published journals via poetry a few times over the years, but only met in the flesh once, at Brian's funeral. I managed to convince myself that it wasn't her after all, but it really was! She'd been a priest for years, and I'd just never known. Paula Franklin, on the other hand, had only recently been ordained fully. Who knows where we'll end up in life, eh?
Well, must away - the day nearly done and only about a tenth of my list of things to do done. 'Tis so often the way. Ho Hum. Toodle Pip. Until next Wednesday or Sunday. Really really really!
But here I am, some months later rather than precisely about one week, once again determined to write weekly, if briefly, and occasionally even cogently.
Big news! I have a new follower! So exciting. Thank you Brian! I'll probably email this out to everyone again, more for the older stuff than this, but IF I really do start writing weekly, and IF the regularity leads to some degree of relevance, it might almost be worth looking in from time to time. Stephen Fry has. Yes, he really has. I tweeted him after his bunjy jump, wittily enough for him to take up my invitation to read one of my posts - the one about admiring Dorothy L. Sayers. And he replied (favourably) after reading it! I resisted the temptation to crow about it at the time, thinking of the future, when we'll be bosom buddies, chatting about our latest publications and keeping up a sort of Sand-Flaubert correspondence, and not wanting him to be put off by the idea I might just be some common or garden stalker, trying to get the attention of the Great Tweeter himself. Ah well, the damage is done now: next time he drops in to this blog he'll shake his head in sage disgust at my pettiness.
Anyway. Must be brief, as much to do that I ought to have done yesterday but didn't.
While at Russell for the recent Birdman competition (mad mid-winter-festival wharf-leaping weekend) I thought I'd attend Sunday service at the famous Christ Church - the one riddled with bullet holes, and boasting the grave of the first Pakeha woman to be buried in NZ - instead of just gaping like a tourist as I usually do - and who should I find officiating but Paula Franklin, ex Otamatea Repertory, and husband Gary (drop-dead gorgeous PE teacher of my youth) also on the committee. It was Sea Sunday, and I was reminded of the beautiful setting of the hymn "For those in peril on the sea" by Marion of Minstead Players, in Minstead - part of our rehearsed reading of Nick Mellersh's life of John Newton, the author of "Amazing Grace." We sang that hymn, but with the normal, not-quite-so-stirring tune.
Last time I went to a beautiful church service - largely for the singing and the beauty of the old building - but I also find, despite being probably more strongly agnostic now than ever, that I derive benefit from a traditional church service, even while not believing more than about 25% of it. I think I veer more and more toward Lloyd Geering's view that despite the non-existence of an actual, supernatural "God" (although I'm more agnostic on that point than him), religious practice is good for us, and helps focus us - he says, of Bible stories etc, "Use all of it - the myth, the stories, the legends, the morality" (I'm paraphrasing horribly - might look it up one day but not today). Not just of Christianity, I think he would agree, but myth and deep tales of all traditions, that have taken a kernel of perceived truth and embroidered it to enhance its power to grab our attention and to remain in our memory.
Anyway, I believe I started a sentence about last time I went to a service in a beautiful old church - lo and behold, the priest that time was a dear friend of my brother Brian's, met on-line and through published journals via poetry a few times over the years, but only met in the flesh once, at Brian's funeral. I managed to convince myself that it wasn't her after all, but it really was! She'd been a priest for years, and I'd just never known. Paula Franklin, on the other hand, had only recently been ordained fully. Who knows where we'll end up in life, eh?
Well, must away - the day nearly done and only about a tenth of my list of things to do done. 'Tis so often the way. Ho Hum. Toodle Pip. Until next Wednesday or Sunday. Really really really!
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