Mea culpa
I first became interested in church history at school, a couple of generations ago, and followed it up as a secondary interest at university. However, I am embarrassed that it has only been over the last few days that I realised how uncritical I have been. I've always, I guess, preferred story over analysis. Whether that was instilled by my education or retained out of complacency I suppose is now unimportant. The story I've been looking to write recently is an account of instances of burning Bibles in Ireland in the nineteenth century. In brief: the Authorised, King James, version so loved by Anglicans was heresy to Roman Catholics. Should a copy find its way into the hands of a Catholic Priest it was to be destroyed by burning. (I propose to explore this in more detail later.) However, in searching for instances of bible-burning, what came to light was something of the nature of English colonialism in Ireland, its self-deceptions, and my own scotosis. Simplistically, Cat