I am back in North Carolina and will be easing back into blogging with bits of theology, since I have been immersed in theology for most of the summer. Not treatise theology, but theology that often speaks in narrative and poetry and liturgy. A bit of treatise theology too, but not much.
Her Grace the feline bishop, who received food and water and cuddles from a series of cat-sitters (or as the Rev. Liz Zivanov calls them --the term actually came from one of her cat-sitters, Dr. Elizabeth Drescher-- au-purrs) was mightily peeved at me when I returned. First she gave me the silent treatment and pretended to ignore me. That lasted about thirty seconds, tops. Then she yelled at me. All this time I sat still on the floor and waited for her to come to me. Eventually she did and began by sniffing my feet. (They and their shoes had been in California and on two airplanes and in a car belonging to the best friend of the Adorable Godson --both boys picked me up at the airport-- so there was plenty to sniff.) Then of course she climbed on me and we had a good snuggle. She scolded me on and off for several hours and slept on my chest at night. Now we are back to normal, whatever normal is.
I am happy to be back with +Maya Pavlova. I am not so happy to be back in muggy weather with bugs ready to bite the minute you walk out the door, after six weeks in the Mediterranean climate of Northern/Central California.
So, on to a little theology. It will be readable, I promise. It's not my writing, it is that of others, for your pondering pleasure (or distress -- theology should disturb as well as console).
Oil painting by Harry Simpson
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