Conclave: (n) a private meeting.
Yet another word a writer should never use, because everyone reading his or her work would know a thesaurus had been consulted.
Because right now our world is plagued with a convergence of unrighteous conclaves.
Since we’re convinced that we can’t get along, we are shrinking our circle of affection down to those who agree with us on every point, and then meeting
together to be critical of all opponents to our ideas.
Such a conclave of young boys caused me to believe, until I was in the sixth grade, that girls actually did have “cooties.”
Such a conclave made seemingly rational monarchs and religious leaders decide to go on Crusades to slay the infidel in the Holy Land.
Such conclaves deemed it necessary to lynch those with black skin who dared to be “uppity.”
A conclave was responsible for the Third Reich.
Conclaves brought about the assassination of a great leader–whoever he or she may be.
A dynamic human being once stated that “wherever two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst.”
But unfortunately, often such conclaves of a gathering of a pair or trio do not always bring about the sharing of Good News.
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