Word: parsons
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...hero of Buechner's book is a parson of no importance in a small New England town, an infantile irreverend who tries to please the kiddies by mixing divinity with inanity-"Our Father who aren't in Heaven," he keeps chirping, "Harold be Thy name." He tries to please the ladies by mixing divinity with lust, but somehow he never quite makes the scene-the redheaded heroine has to employ her husband when she brings the novel to its mystical climax. "She laughed into his throat as the chill weight pitched over her, warm beneath the chill...
Feudal Chaos. The feudal chaos of special privileges is compounded by the fact that once most priests are installed in their parishes, they possess them for life as "parson's freeholds," and they cannot be budged except for heresy, grave crime or the promise of richer livings. As a result, about one-fifth of England's clergy gloom about in ghost parishes with a handful of communicants and faintly Trollopean titles. Another fifth can barely keep up with the man-killing spiritual work of fast-growing suburban parishes...
...grisly way. The victim is seated in Sweeney's barber chair, a lever is pulled, and chug, chug, chug--the infernal contraption hauls the fellow off to be chopped up for the filling of veal pies. Sweeney's activities affect a wide circle of people including a hypocritical parson, an asylum warden, a judge, various military gentlemen, a tubercular heroine, and other hangers...
...position, he says, is "unemployed parson" and thus he has more time for travel. So Lord Geoffrey Fisher, 76, retired Archbishop of Canterbury, flew into Sydney with his wife to visit their son. "We've come to Australia to see him and his wife before they've forgotten they're both English," he explained. As for the rest of his time since retiring, Lord Fisher has been doing what he likes-"going to schools and universities to give talks and be heckled...
Death of the Heart. Kurosawa made moviegoers sit up and take notice, and the next thing they noticed was Ingmar Bergman. As a man he didn't look like much-just a gangling, green-eyed, snaggle-toothed son of a Swedish parson. But as an artist he was something unprecedented in cinema: a metaphysical poet whose pictures are chapters in a continuing allegory of the progress of his own soul in its tortured and solitary search for the meaning of life, for the experience of God. In his early films (Illicit Interlude, Naked Night), Bergman struggles to free himself...