True faith
Last night we argued about religion and science again over their rum and my green tea. Today I baited a catholic nun with the tale of orpheus and the underworld after having detected the irksome scent of the moral & sexual high ground in her mention of Lot's wife and the pillar of salt. She'd informed the Traveller women that their story of an old woman who turned to stone after heedlessly trafficking with Satan was a reworking of the biblical tale, but was nonetheless dismissive of the greek legends, full as they are of 'monsters with two heads like that minotaur'.
I sat there in a room full of Irish Catholics feeling in turn vaguely guilty then glad I'd issued the challenge, before hearing the priest's tale about a Traveller man saving his life when he was being beaten by a gang of drug dealers. A bit of a fighter, the priest fought back for a while after they cornered him ... until he heard the approaching voices of the young people in whom he'd been instilling the confidence to tell the dealers to fuck off out of Gorton...
'If Jesus our saviour was crucified on the cross to redeem our sins, by God I can take a beating. These children can't see me fighting.'
A little while later he looked up from the pavement, through a river of blood in his eyes he said, to see the feet of Travelling man Jimmy Reynolds next to his face, pointing away from him as the man and his brothers formed a human shield repelling the attackers: pushing them away bodily as they came at him, again and again; saving his life he said.
The priest, a man large in stature and charisma, humour and irreverence, cried as he finished the parable, having learned of Jimmy Reynolds' death. He hung himself a year ago, the final desperate act in a lifetime of depression. I watched and listened as the story banished and absolved the anger and guilt of the women in the room, who still blame themselves for not listening to his appeals, assuming he still cried wolf when the pack was finally at his door.
The moment contained a palpable magic, healing and transformative.
Ho hum... and maybe I could learn a thing or two from Lot's wife and all; a woman frozen, looking back over her shoulder to what long ago turned to dust, lol
Last night we argued about religion and science again over their rum and my green tea. Today I baited a catholic nun with the tale of orpheus and the underworld after having detected the irksome scent of the moral & sexual high ground in her mention of Lot's wife and the pillar of salt. She'd informed the Traveller women that their story of an old woman who turned to stone after heedlessly trafficking with Satan was a reworking of the biblical tale, but was nonetheless dismissive of the greek legends, full as they are of 'monsters with two heads like that minotaur'.
I sat there in a room full of Irish Catholics feeling in turn vaguely guilty then glad I'd issued the challenge, before hearing the priest's tale about a Traveller man saving his life when he was being beaten by a gang of drug dealers. A bit of a fighter, the priest fought back for a while after they cornered him ... until he heard the approaching voices of the young people in whom he'd been instilling the confidence to tell the dealers to fuck off out of Gorton...
'If Jesus our saviour was crucified on the cross to redeem our sins, by God I can take a beating. These children can't see me fighting.'
A little while later he looked up from the pavement, through a river of blood in his eyes he said, to see the feet of Travelling man Jimmy Reynolds next to his face, pointing away from him as the man and his brothers formed a human shield repelling the attackers: pushing them away bodily as they came at him, again and again; saving his life he said.
The priest, a man large in stature and charisma, humour and irreverence, cried as he finished the parable, having learned of Jimmy Reynolds' death. He hung himself a year ago, the final desperate act in a lifetime of depression. I watched and listened as the story banished and absolved the anger and guilt of the women in the room, who still blame themselves for not listening to his appeals, assuming he still cried wolf when the pack was finally at his door.
The moment contained a palpable magic, healing and transformative.
Ho hum... and maybe I could learn a thing or two from Lot's wife and all; a woman frozen, looking back over her shoulder to what long ago turned to dust, lol
posted by Bothered | Monday, April 03, 2006
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