My most successful blog post of all time is just about to get its annual boost. Always gets readers in the week running up to pancake day.
Yes – it is the Provost’s Famous Pancake Recipe.
Full instructions here: http://thurible.net/20040224/pancake_receipt/
I like the painting very much, but, forgive me for my ignorance , what is this “explains much” of which you speak? Ohh, and the literal minded in me says – even as a baby – as the child of Monica of Hippo – he was still Augustine of Hippo.
Surely at this point he was Augustine of Tagaste if he was of anywhere.
So beehive hairdos are that old? The things you learn from art. If that Tardis that sells coffee outside the Botanic Gardens actually worked, I would go back and kidnap that straitjacketed infant, materialise at Woodstock and hand him over to the nearest couple of flowerchildren. Just imagine a Church with no Jansenists and their ilk! Okay we’d have to do without Pascal but just think what Glasgow would be like without You-Know-Who glowering over it. From Clyde Street.
I’ve just lost ‘What Theologian Are You?’ which I’d reached through a suggestion above, however I did the quiz and though I often thought ‘yes, but I wouldn’t put it that way’ and came up with a tie between Charles Finney (of whom I’m entirely ignorant) and AUGUSTINE! With Calvin a close third. I’m doomed. It’s predestined.
That last entry had scarcely been uploaded more than 2 minutes before the doorbell rang and my colleague from Stirling said, “Do you want a liturgy for licensing a Lay Reader?” Almost enough to make me believe in divine intervention. Almost.
It strikes me as odd that in a church which is supposedly celebrating variety of ministries we appear to have no liturgy for recognising a lay ministry.
Me: Well, “temporary” as a description of a website is a bit of a red herring. After all, websites are all both temporary and not temporary simultaneously.Him: Thank you Confucius.
Was awakened by the most almighty crash at 0230 this morning. It was clear from the noise of pounding hooves that the last trump had sounded and the four horsemen of the apocalypse were riding through the bedroom. [Bear in mind that I had seen an opera last night in which Nero quite properly appeared…
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