Listening to a parishioner, or at his September desk with
pastoral lists (Ah! Spring!), whooping it up half-time at a symphony, he’d be
smoking. After, he went out to visit the sick. We could visit the sanctum
sanctorum. Erinmore Mixture in yellow tins, Peterson pipes in a rack,
everything kept in order for slow intakes. Smell of childhood, curtains filled
with fumes. Eugene Peterson’s The Message is not the world’s greatest Bible
translation. Taking liberties is the modus operandi. His ‘Vanity' in Vanity of
Vanities and All is Vanity is ‘Smoke'. Withdrawn to his study, he packed a
fresh pipe.
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