Confessions of a pagan nun
Against a future downsizing from this house [but Don’t hold your breath], I regularly clear small handfuls of books off the shelves and take them to one of the charity shops. Often I can remember when and where I bought books and read them. But I recently came across Kate Horsley’s Confessions of a pagan nun, which was published by Shambhala, an obscure publishing house in the United States in 2001. Shambhala seem to specialise in Buddhist books. The book has a price sticker of 16,00€. But I have no recollection of when I bought the book and why.
Confessions of a pagan nun is beautifully written. The book purports to be the memoir of Gwynneve, a sixth century Irish nun who in her middle years works in a religious community, both men and women, transcribing the books of Augustine and Saint Patrick. In addition to this work she is recording memories of her pagan youth, and of her independent mother from whom she inherited a wild spirituality and a skill with healing plants. She looks back at her life and she mourns her lost druid lover. [Who may or may not have been abducted by tonsured monks.] Roman Christianity, she reflects, has brought improvements to the rural economy, with a greater variety of crops and of domestic animals, and has also led to a more literate population. But at the same time this new religion, imposed by incomers, has increased inequality, has substantially diminished the role and freedom of women, and has paid little attention to the beauty of nature. Disturbing events at the cloister bring Gwynneve into conflict with the abbot. Things do not end well.
Kate Horsley, I gather from the internet, is an American writer, who was born in Richmond, Virginia in 1952. As a college student she was involved in the civil rights movement and in anti-Vietnam war activism. She subsequently relocated to New Mexico, and is Professor of English at New Mexico Community College in Albuquerque. It seems that her move to New Mexico was inspired by her interest in Native Americans and she has published half a dozen historical novels.
Why I wonder did I buy this book ? I have little interest in feminist theology. [Though I do recoil with horror from the misogynist remarks of some Roman Catholic bishops.] And I have very little interest in what is loosely labelled as Celtic Christianity. Some thirty years ago I was at a Diocesan retreat on Holy Island, where the main speaker was David Adam, the then Rector of Holy Island, and the author of a dozen or so collections of Celtic prayers and meditations. It was a silent retreat. One afternoon I met [Bishop] Richard Holloway out walking. And I was unsure if and how to greet your diocesan bishop on a silent retreat. He hailed me enthusiastically from a dozen yards away: “Hello, Chris. What do you make of the speaker ? It’s complete rubbish isn’t it.” I love him.
Celebration
Susie and I are gearing up for a joint 80th birthday and Golden Wedding celebration in the former Priestfield Church. For a variety of friends from Edinburgh and further afield.
We look forward to seeing Andy and Kate, and Joan, from Christ Church, Duns; Diana from Lyon; Armin and Magdalena from Brussels; and Alain and Ann from Chantilly. And my brother and two sisters-in-law, and our children and grand-children , from down south. I had initially booked a skiffle group, but one of them had a severe stroke and they had to withdraw. Instead we have a jazz quartet, whom I’ve not heard play. Word is that their drummer played with Kenny Ball back in the day. And Rebecca Sergeant has come from south-west France to sing, a collection of songs by Gershwin and Cole Porter. She is encouraging us to essay a modest dance to go with True Love, reprising Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly from High Society. But I fear it may look more like a clip from They shoot horses don’t they ! We shall see.
July 2025
Through a glass darkly 