narrow mindedness

Over the last few days a number of people have talked to me about the things i write for the paper. They all came from radically different theological perspectives: avowed atheists, a buddhist, a [self-described] raving pentecostalist, a progressive christian, a run of the mill orthodox christian. They all told me how much my words spoke for them. ‘Like words coming out of my own mouth’, said one. ‘It’s like you’re reading my mind’, said another.

I’m slightly horrified by the part of me that wants to cry all of them off, to say that i must be a really bad writer because, if they think we agree, then obviously i’m not communicating what i mean at all.

A much nicer reading of it is that we all actually have surprising amounts in common.


  1. I’m always a sucker for a warm fuzzy, I’m sure it’s because you “actually have surprising amounts in common”!!

  2. Let me say for the record that while I feel some empathy with your promptings, I rarely “agree” with all of your thoughts; I do however permit myself the indulgence of allowing you to prompt me. Your writing seems to cause my brain to make a left or right turn from where you started out which is probably why some of my responses bear little resemblance to your original pitch.
    Thanks Cheryl.
    P.s. was that a photo of Pallotti Autumn on your site? My wife & I lived there for 15 years. Autumn at Pallotti was someone very special.

  3. Mick Mc

    I really should engage my brain when I type. “Someone very special’ should be “Something very special”
    Oh me, oh my.

  4. Cheryl

    I’m not a sucker for a warm fuzzy! and I always gravitate towards things are different, not similar…

    mick, that’s a very funny typo! and it may well have been pallotti.

  5. Mick Mc

    Interestingly, the nub of why your writing provokes me, is connected with Pallotti. (Not that it was a bad place!!) My up-bringing as a “highly involved” Catholic & subsequent departure from its practises & traditions, has left me with a love hate relationship with all things liturgical. In our final years moving in Catholic circles, I found liturgical practises “constraining”, like wearing a shirt that is way too tight & doesn’t allow you to breathe. The liturgical practise was almost like a form of slavery, as if we had somehow forgotten that the liturgy was there to serve us & not the other way around.
    I have really enjoyed my last 10 years working within a “seemingly” more free environment for worship.
    You write of preparing liturgies & immediately I’m challenged to review my past. To not get “words” get in the way of the reality of what is being attempted. There are many paths up the mountain, and I know that the perfect church that i seek would cease to be perfect once I arrived there.
    Perhaps at your invocation above, I should air my contrary thoughts instead of filtering them first?
    Just a few ramblings whilst I sit at work & wait for something else to happen.

  6. Cheryl

    in the spirit of honesty, i also need to confess that i’m really bad at blog conversations. Once i’ve written something it’s out of my system, and i don’t have much interest in going back to revisit it, or explain it more. my head’s moved onto another place.

    blogs aren’t a great medium for introverts. once we’ve put it out there, as such, we’ve sorted it out as much as we want to sort it out… though i can really only speak for this introvert…

  7. Yeah, well Cheryl I’m probably the opposite to that. I prefer the “Leo Kottke” approach (whom I am going to see tomorrow night!!), where he once said “I’m going to demonstrate one of my favourite techniques by taking a lovely simple melody & drive it into the ground”

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