Thoughts of growing up days and church. My mother, ensured the family got its weekly share of church. For some reason, for a reason beyond me at that time, we always sat at the very back. Since it was a very big church (by Colombo standards), this meant we were very far away from the Reverend (that's what we called the preists in our church. Reverend. Hmm. Person who is reverential? Chief of revering? Interesting choice on noun for a preist. Very interesting, as compared to, father, boring, and also too family-like for us methodists. We wanted to make it very clear we were not related in any way At All. Also not, pastor. No, that was for only those neo-liberal low-churches. We, with our stip upper lips, and suede shoes, didn't need pastoring at all. We were not sheep. We were in the cat family, we chose to be reverent, or irreverant as we felt. In those days, we actually sang bona-fide hymns. No happy-clappy hand gestures and guitars for us. It was always pre-1900, and it was a...
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