Zölibat in der frühen Kirche. Die Anfänge einer by Stefan Heid
By Stefan Heid
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Extra resources for Zölibat in der frühen Kirche. Die Anfänge einer Enthaltsamkeitspflicht für Kleriker in Ost und West
On Santa Ana days, when desert winds move the moist air out to sea, the horizon expands and the sea dwarfs the sky. I know what the ocean is like down there. I know how the waves break against the sand. I have seen gray whales oﬀ that beach and dolphins. I’ve watched shorebirds scoop in the wet sand for a meal. I have walked that beach in summer and winter, on bright fall days and cool days in spring. It is a common stretch of beach but enough to satisfy what I’m looking for, enough to remind me that my body is mostly the same salt water that crashes at my feet, and that I share the sloshing and pulling that keeps me breathing with the creatures I see before me and those who live in the waves.
Despite the empty road and the silence, despite the thud-thud-thud of the helicopters overhead, I am aware that in some part of my mind I am calculating whether I can make the appointment I’ve scheduled to get my hair cut in downtown Malibu. Only after I see sheriﬀ’s deputies stationed where the road I’m on dead-ends into Paciﬁc Coast Highway and hear radio reports that all of downtown is under siege do I decide I should change my plans. Abandoning the excuse I’ve prepared for the sheriﬀs, who are now turning away even residents whose homes are in the path of the ﬂames, I take a polite right turn away from the roadblock.
I have distant but solid memories of the ﬁres my father set in the log lean-to on the shore of our Adirondack lake. I remember Girl Scout campﬁres I built myself, and ﬁres in mountain cabins or on a beach. I have been warmed by these ﬁres and cheered by their light and lulled asleep to their crackle. I know the hiss of a pine log added to a roaring bonﬁre, the snap of pitch exploding, the camaraderie of a campﬁre on a moonless night. The spring after the Kanan ﬁre, I climbed from the beach up the mountains’ western ﬂank to where I knew there was a pond on top, ascending through lupine and poppies and fresh new growth on the manzanita bushes, the wildﬂowers so thick and bright against soil still dark with ash that it was like a Sunday stroll through a park.