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Paul Kingsnorth's avatar

This is great, Graham. I'm with you.

One thing occurs to me as I read: in early Ireland, the faith was monk centred. Abbotts rather than Bishops took the lead. That seems right. I think we still need the hierarchies: who else will guard the tradition? We are not protestants, after all. There has to be a centre. But the job of the centre is to hold the truth so that the margins can pursue it truly. Which is up to us.

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Andrew's avatar

I love this and I love you, my friend. I wasn't sure what I wanted to be when I grew up before reading this, but an illegal parasynagogue might be in the running now. I am taken with the image of the mother of cain animal-ing out after the roots of Eden. I think the almost Hobbesian fear of this sort of casting-off from hierachy island going too far would be more charming if there was even a faint possibility that the Church often stumbling into such open-hearted chaos was at the root of the centuries of stupidity and murder.

A living way that trues the space between it and others with love and beauty is the only guard for one's particulars. I suspect the anther and pistil of the word of G-d is heavily clustered in the human imagination. As such it seems more likely to flourish in wind and the symbiotic mix of life around it than under the glass at some self-identified center. I have often wondered if the burying of the talents in the Yeshua's parable refers to this guarding of truth. What you bind on earth is bound in heaven and what you loose on earth is loosed in heaven. Just an outsider here, but I think lads (and it has been mostly a phallic project) who cannot bear the thought of a trueing that is more mutable than fixed and more multivocal than monologued have won the day for centuries and the world around them has grown grey with their breath. Why not give standing on the other foot a whirl for a bit of a minute. You can always go back to punching heretics and Jews in Chrysostomesque granduer if cats of your dogmas start sleeping with the dogs of some slinky catechism. G-d is the type of memory for which repetiton without innovation is the gateway to dementia. In the end, I am looking in from outside. Not an intact tablet guy. Not even a broken tablet safe in the box guy. More of a dust of the tablets on the tail fur of a hare tangled in the robes of Klee's Angel as it all blows out from Eden kinda guy.

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