#become a member of the church of Christ

[yeslordmyking]

Matthew 9:12 — Today's Verse for Thursday, September 12, 2024

[unreadpoppy]

Sometimes I lay in bed and think

By Catholic standards, my brother and I are bastards

[ramshacklefey]

It's amazing to me just how good the Mormon church has been at hiding just how bad they really are from public view. Even the shit that gets spread around is the relatively harmless bullshit. They had a crazy prophet with magic glasses. They believe in god-mandated polygyny. They think everyone who is good enough will get their very own planet after the world ends. They wear magic underpants. Mormon men are all paladins.

Here's one of the ones you hear less often:

See, like many other Christian sects, the Mormons really do believe that the existence of Christ obviates the existence of Judaism. Judaism was just a placeholder until the "real" church could be established by Jesus.

And the Mormons in particular believe, dead ass, that the entire inheritance of Israel has been given to them, because the Jews failed to recognize the Messiah when he was on Earth. They really do. They have this whole system where people are given a "divine revelation" about which of the Tribes of Israel they're a member of (don't worry, they decided that most people belong to the two tribes that are willing to "adopt" people. Only the most specialest boys and girls are members of the original ten).

Let's sum up so far. The Mormons believe that they are the people of Israel, chosen and protected by God. If Jews want to get back in on that party, they can always repent and convert to Mormonism, the one true church to which God gave all the rights and blessings that were originally bestowed on Abraham's house.

But it doesn't stop there!

The Mormons also believe, in all seriousness, that all Indigenous peoples of the Americas are descended from a small group of Jewish people who left just before the fall of Jerusalem (~600 bc iirc). Their entire weird-ass extra bible is a chronicle of those people's history in [unspecific part of America]. At the very beginning of the book, two brothers in the original family turn away from god, so they and all their descendants are cursed with dark skin, so that the good Nephites (who remain "white and delightsome") will always be able to tell themselves apart from the wicked Lamanites.

So, you've got supposedly Jewish people running around the Americas. And the "good" ones are white, and the "bad" ones are brown. Then, ofc, Jesus comes to visit them (I guess supposedly that's part of what he was doing during his dirt nap? Or possibly after he left again, it's not clear), and they all convert to Christianity, which they think is clearly the natural evolution of Judaism. Well, at the end of the book, all of them become wicked, in a kind of weird pseudo-apocalyptic series of events. They are all cursed with dark skin, until such time as they repent for their ancestors sins and return to the gospel.

But of course, Mormons being the good and kind people they are, they want everyone to receive the blessings of God and be brought into the houses of Israel etc etc. And it isn't the fault of those poor little Indigenous children that their distant ancestors turned away from God and became wicked.

So what's the natural answer? Well, Mormons are real big on missionary work, as we all know. But apparently that wasn't enough in this case.

Because the Mormon church has been one of the big players in abducting as many Indigenous children as possible, in order to indoctrinate them into being good Mormons, so that they can turn white again and be blessed. My mother remembers hearing talks about this in the 70s and 80s. The church literally had a "Lamanite Adoption Program," where families in the church were encouraged to get as many Indigenous children as possible away from their families and not let them be reunited until they were fully assimilated and ready to go back and proselytize about how wonderful the church is.

The church leadership literally talked about how wonderful it was to see these children becoming whiter. Actually whiter. Like, saying that when they finally saw them with their families again, it was beautiful how much paler they were.

I'm pretty sure this program has been officially ended, but it doesn't take a genius to speculate about who might be behind the curtains on the movement in the western US to gut the ICWA....

So yeah. Next time someone tries to tell you that the Mormons are just harmless weirdos, please remember that they're an antisemitic cult that advocates for the forced assimilation of Indigenous children to help them escape the cursed brown skin of their ancestors.

[odinsblog]

This is definitely a trend for the hateful, christofascist, religious reich. Hobby Lobby did the same thing at previous Super Bowls.

It’s right wing, Islamophobic, homophobic, anti-abortion Christian nationalism, masquerading as “caring” religion.

The Servant Foundation: the power behind the ads

The $20 million "He Gets Us" campaign about Jesus - is funded by an influential donor to some of the most active and litigious Shadow Network groups working to undermine church-state separation.

The Servant Foundation

The Servant Foundation, also known as The Signatry, is behind the “He Gets Us” ad campaign that debuted during the 2023 Super Bowl. Over the next three years, the Servant Foundation plans to spend “about a billion dollars” toward this public relations campaign. They’ve hired a PR firm to address, in the firm’s words, the problem of “How did the world’s greatest love story in Jesus become known as a hate group?”

Of course, they’re the cause of their own problem – not only has the Servant Foundation funded hate groups, but the PR firm, Haven, has represented these organizations. Key Shadow Network members Focus on the Family and Alliance Defending Freedom are in their portfolio. ADF is a noted anti-LGBTQ hate group that has argued repeatedly in courts that religion, and specifically Christianity, is a license to discriminate; they have one such case pending before the Supreme Court right now.

The money trail

The Servant Foundation is one of ADF’s biggest financial backers. A recent exposé reports that, “between 2018-20, the Servant Foundation donated more than $50 million to the Alliance Defending Freedom and that those contributions “were among the five largest donations given out by the foundation in each of those three years.”

Other recipients of the Servant Foundation’s billion dollars in assets include:

Nearly $8 million went to Answers in Genesis, creationist Ken Ham’s fundamentalist ministry behind the Creation Museum and Ark Encounter, an organization that has been championed by Speaker of the House Mike Johnson, a former ADF attorney.

Over $1 million was designated for the anti-LGBTQ Campus Crusade for Christ (rebranded as “Cru” since 2011).

$374,800 went to Al Hayat Ministries, an organization that seeks to “respectfully yet fearlessly unveil the deception of Islam,” and runs an Arabic-language Christian satellite TV station with the goal of converting Muslims to Christianity.

In 2020 alone, we found donations to prominent Shadow Network members American Center for Law and Justice, First Liberty Institute, and Liberty Counsel.

(continue reading)

[dandelions-143]

Sinners

Felix Masterlist

All member Masterlist

Pairing: non Idol, bad boy Felix x rebellious Fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, this one’s pretty tame. Intense make out session, a few dirty words, thats about it.

Wk: 3976k

Summary: Felix who is struggling with himself finds y/n at church of all places. With a rebellious attitude and a craving for adventure y/n joins him for a night of criminal activities. Things heat up between Felix and y/n but, as his obsession with y/n grows little does he know just how out of reach you truly are.

A/n: (there’s a lot of internal dialog/thoughts in this one) This one might be a bit of a flop… but I’ll let you guys be the judge of that. I hope it’s not too boring but, I wanted Felix’s fic to start out a bit softer than the others. I hope you enjoy it!

The Church was nearly empty as Felix walked through the doors. His long blond hair was pulled back in a low bun. His black dress pants along with his navy blue sweater fit him perfectly. He walked down the aisle, his hands plunged into his pockets.

The Catholic Church was a place he had attended as a child. His mother would bring him here religiously. It was a place that felt like home to him when his own home was too much. The marble floors clicked beneath his black dress shoes as he made his way to the confessional. After his mother left him and his father he still came. Begging his nannies to bring him back, then he just liked being away from his abusive father but, these days it felt like he was trying to find solace in the person he had become.

He took a deep breath before entering the confessional. Felix made the sign of the cross as he greeted the priest like he always did, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Felix simply confessed his sins as he always had. Some were the same.. stealing cars, laundering money, drugs, sex. He was not shy in confessing what was lying heavy on his heart and mind but, despite knowing and feeling bad about the things he does… he also lived for the thrill of it all.

He ended his confession with, “I am sorry for all of these sins and the sins I cannot remember.” Felix sat in the confessional waiting for the Priest to give him guidance but, there was a very long pause. “Father?” His deep voice was only above a whisper. Just as Felix began to think he had been talking to no one a very sweet and angelic voice spoke up, “Wow, you really do all that shit? Can I join in the fun?”

Felix’s brows went up in shocked surprise then down into scrunched confusion. “What? Who the hell?” He said as he opened his confessional door only to rip open the door next to his. A very pretty girl sat cross legged in a plaid skirt with a nirvana tshirt hanging loosely off one shoulder. As Felix looked down at you he noticed the end of what looked to be a scar running across your left cheek. He was instantly curious about it but, when his eyes met yours all coherent thoughts halted. It was like time stopped for him that is until you spoke up. Your big eyes widened even more at the sight of him, “Oh, you’re pretty.”

Felix faltered just a bit at your boldness and your beauty. “Who are you? Where’s the priest?” You stood up, smoothing your skirt out a little and took a step towards him. You were a little less than a head shorter than him. He smelled devine, Felix’s cologne wafting out in small floral tendrils around you. “I murdered him.” You said so matter of fact that for a second he wasn’t sure if you were joking or not.

You slipped past him and walked towards the back pews. Felix watched you walk away; his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he decided to follow you.

“Hey wait!” Felix grabbed your arm gently to stop you. Standing just outside the church doors now you spun around, an amused smile on your face.

When your eyes connected to his.. Jesus Christ he was pretty. You raised a brow waiting for him to say something. Felix finally let go of your arm like it had given him an electric shock. “Uhh, I’m Felix Lee.” He held out his hand for you, “What’s your name?” You smiled even brighter at him but, you didn’t take his hand.

“I like your accent, Felix Lee.” You said, a playful tone to your voice as you began to back away from him. Felix only smiled back at you as he dropped his hand to his side. You were walking away now, your back to him, “Hey! You gonna tell me your name?!” He shouted over the busy city street.

You turned around just long enough to shout, “Y/n L/n!” You walked backward for a few steps keeping your eyes on his before turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

“Man.. she was.. she’s...just something.” Felix was leaned against one of the stolen cars from the other night. A deep blue mechanic’s suit on, half undone and a rag flung across his right shoulder to wipe his hands on. He was currently explaining his interaction with you that morning in the church to Han who was working on something beneath the hood of that same car Felix was leaning against.

Han poked his head out from under the hood so he could fix his round eyes on Felix, “You literally said two sentences to the girl.” Seungmin was behind the big metal desk they kept towards the back of the shop. He was filing away some papers that made them look like a legit mechanics shop but, it was all bullshit for the most part.

“Yeah but, there was a vibe, yah know?” Felix sighed and kept scrolling through his phone trying to find you on any and every social media cite. As Seungmin got up and began walking over to the two men the quiet garage was filled with a loud BANG! “Son of a mother fuck-“ Han was holding his right hand and jumping up and down. Obviously in pain.

“What the hell happened?” Felix asked as he walked over to Han’s side, meeting Seungmin in the process. “I mashed my finger trying to get those bolts out!” Han yelled at the pretty blonde and looked down to assess the damage.

“Let me see..” Seungmin took Han’s hand in his and looked at the now very red middle finger he had mashed. “You’ll be fine, just be more careful.” Seungmins soft yet steady voice seemed to calm Han a bit. “I’ll go get you some ice.

Han glanced over at Felix who was pouting at him, “Poor baby mashed his wittle finger.”

“If you would get your head out of your ass and help shit like that wouldn’t happen!!” Han raised his voice again only making Felix chuckle at his expense.

For two weeks straight Felix had attended every single service the church was having. He even made it a point to go to confessional almost daily in hopes that he would run into you again.

It was late in the evening as Felix sat out on the church steps. The church doors had long since closed and Felix was feeling a bit defeated. The man was confused at himself.. wondering why you were constantly on his mind. It was like he was addicted and he knew nothing about you yet.

Felix pulled out his phone in one last attempt to try and find you among the many social medias. As he was scrolling through the many profiles with your name a familiar soft, sweet voice immediately stopped his scrolling. “Stalking me now?” You stood next to him, in ripped blue jeans and an over sized black Britney Spears tshirt. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun, only a few pieces of hair fell over your left cheek where the scar was.

Felix was on his feet so fast he almost stumbled over. “Y/n, hi.” He said with that very pretty grin of his. His brown eyes seemed to light up the moment you two locked gazes. “What are you doing out here? The church is closed.” Your eyes fully assessed him now. He was not just pretty but handsome as well. His freckles were the best part of his features you thought to yourself.

Felix laughed awkwardly and pushed some blond strands of hair out of his eyes, “oh yea, I was just um, killing time. I have a job to get to in a little bit.” Silence fell over you two for a beat, “but I could ask you the same thing.” Felix was looking at you as if he was seeing the sunset for the first time. A soft wonderment in his eyes.

You watched his full lips move as he spoke which made Felix even more nervous. Then your eyes dipped down to his neck seeing some black ink there.”What’s that?” You boldly reached over and touched the tattoo on his neck.

Felix’s mouth instantly went dry as the pads of your soft fingers lightly grazed over his heated skin. The feeling of you touching him sent little electric shocks directly to his dick. He didn’t even know you, yet you had consumed him for two weeks and now even his body wanted in on this. Felix’s mind was reeling. When you dropped your hand you mumbled, “Oh sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh! No! Uh it’s a dragon.” Felix laughed softly, “My Korean name is Yongbok. I just thought it was fitting.” You confidently stepped closer, tugging down his collar just enough to admire the intricate artwork tattooed there. “Yongbok” you said his name slowly, as if you were tasting it.. tasting him. Felix swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly in his throat.

“I like it.” You seemed to have decided on how you felt about it as you stepped back and placed your hands at your sides. Felix’s face flushed.. what was wrong with him? He never acted this way around any man or woman. People were usually intimidated by him. If not by his interesting look of androgyny then, by his very deep voice. But not you. Instead you were curious, intrigued, and not intimidated at all.

“Well I should be going now. It was nice to see you again, Felix Yongbok.” You had a soft teasing smile playing on your lips as you took a bow and turned to leave. “Hey!” Felix said a little louder than he needed to. He was a bit embarrassed but shrugged it off with a hand carding through his hair. “Do you want to come with me?” The question just tumbled out of his mouth before he could really think about what he was asking.

He really didn’t expect you to say yes but, you surprised the freckled faced man when you looked up at him with your big eyes and said with no hesitation, “I have nothing better to do, sure.” Felix hesitated for a split second, Chan was going to kill him. “Oh, okay. Um this way.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and lead you down the street to his car. A black on black Benz.

You whistled when you saw the expensive vehicle, “Oh so you have money, money.” Felix gave an awkward laugh and opened the door for you. He didn’t respond with words, only giving a little nod as he watched you get in. Your scent wafting up to him, sweet vanilla and a hint of something spicey. She even smells addictive… he thought as he finally closed the door and walked around to get in the drivers side.

He should be trying to figure out how to explain you to Chan but, he had other things on his mind. Like the way you crossed your legs, the way your hair was blowing about your face, that mischievous smile that seemed to always be painted on your lips.

As he took his time driving to his destination he glanced over at you every now and then. You seemed so confident and relaxed as you leaned back in his passenger seat. The window down, your hand outstretched feeling the rush of wind as he drove down the highway.

Felix cleared his throat, “So, tell me about yourself.” You looked over at him that little smirk stretching up one corner of your pretty lips. Fuckin gorgeous.. he thought. “What am I suppose to tell you?” You were not one for small talk. There usually wasn’t a lot to tell. Felix came to a stop at a red light. “Well.. where are you from? Your favorite color? Do you have siblings? What do you do for a living? Things like that.”

You instantly began to giggle. Not exactly at Felix but, you thought all of that was irrelevant. Felix felt his cheeks flush with slight embarrassment as he put the car in motion once again. “What’s so funny? Is there something wrong with getting to know you?” He asked just as he pulled up to a large white house.

Your soft laughter died down and you watched him for a moment. The silence was killing him, “I just want to know you, y/n thats-“ you cut him off with a finger pressed to his soft lips. You gave him an exasperated sigh. “You talk too much, handsome.” You moved your face closer to his. Your lips mere centimeters from his own, “If you want to really talk.. you can talk between my legs.”

Felix felt his heart pounding out of his chest. The shock of your words hitting him hard. He wanted to move in, pull you in and kiss those lips he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of. This close he could see your scar clearer despite covering most of it with your hair. He wanted to move that hair and press his lips to it so bad.

“Felix! What are you doing?!” Someone whisper shouted bringing him out of his thoughts. You moved away from him to get a better look at the man standing in front of the car. He was with six other pissed off looking men. “Are these your besties?” You asked sarcastically and got out of the car before Felix could make a move.

“Shit..” Felix said under his breath as he got out as well and walked around the car to your side. “Listen I know what you’re thinking but, she’s cool. It’ll be fine.” Felix tried to explain before anything was said. All of their eyes were on you. Judging you in a curious way except for one. The only one that spoke, who had dark short curly hair and tattoos covering most of him.

He stepped up to you and looked you up and down, trying to intimidate you. Then he moved over to Felix. His cold eyes boring into him, “I’ll ask questions later but, if she fucks this up you’re taking all the blame. You understand!” You furrowed your brows, who did this man think he was! You thought to yourself. You thought Felix was his friend not his minion.

Your eyes scanned the others, some of them had small propane torches, others had gasoline cans. “So let me guess we are burning someone’s house down?” You spoke up, interrupting whatever that asshole was saying to Felix. His head snapped to you and his eyes narrowed, “Why? You scared?”

The bulkier man began to walk closer to you but, Felix grabbed his arm. “Chan.” Felix’s dominant voice of warning made your eyes jump to him and a small throb in your core made you want to press your thighs together. “No..” you said as you walked past him, grabbing a torch out of Chans hand. “I want to be the first to light the bitch up.”

You kept walking as they all stared after you. “Well.. you heard her!” Felix said to Chan. Chans cold demeanor seemed to soften a bit and he shook his head. “Im killing you later.”

Chan led the way inside the house through the back, busting down the door. Felix explained to you that this house belonged to one of Chan’s father’s colleagues who had done him dirty. Stiffed him on some drug money or something. The family was currently on vacation and the owner of this home kept a safe somewhere in the house. Their goal was to find the safe, get whatever money was in there, set the house on fire, and leave.

The fact that Felix and his little gang were actual criminals made you like him even more. You knew this wasn’t a smart idea but in all honesty you didn’t care. Your life was horrible and you craved an escape… Felix seemed to be that escape.

Once inside everyone seemed to begin their search. Pairing off going in separate directions. You of course followed Felix upstairs into various rooms. It was dark but he kept a warm hand in yours, making sure you stayed close to him. The heat from his body made you want to be even closer to him and in the darkened bedroom you did just that.

You pressed your body into his side shamelessly. Felix stilled, whispering, “What are you doing?” You let go of his hand and even though you could barely see him your hands found their way up his torso to grip his shirt so you could pull him closer. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much.”

You didn’t allow him to utter another word because your lips were on his. Felix didn’t respond at first. The overwhelming reality of your lips on his.. he only sighed as if to say… finally. Just as he felt you pulling away it’s like he woke up and remembered to kiss you back.

His lips were not rushed but firm and oh so inviting. As you put your hands on his face he pushed you back into a dresser. Pressing his larger body against yours and you both fit together so well. As he gripped onto your hips firmly the room seemed to fall away. Felix had never been kissed like this before. He had never gotten lost so deep in a kiss. He felt like his heart was skipping beats. The space around you exploding with an instant connection.. addiction. His hands kept gripping you, pulling up your shirt to feel the smooth skin of your sides, he couldn’t bring you close enough.

His tongue slid deliciously over your own, tasting the sweetness that you were. Thoughts of tasting you in other places made him roll his hips gently into yours. A tiny gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hard erection through his pants which made him smile against your mouth. Satisfied he could get this kind of reaction from you. Felix felt as if he’d been starving.. the taste of you so intoxicating.

He had kissed many people before but he never felt a burn like this.. a deep yearning for more. His hands snaked up your ribcage to palm your breasts over your bra. He was rewarded with a soft moan, your head falling back to expose your delicate neck to his searching lips. Felix would have kept going. He had every intention of ripping those jeans off you, craving to see and feel just how wet you were for him. But, you two were interrupted by Minho’s annoyed voice, “What the fuck, Felix? You can get your dick wet later. We got the money, let’s burn this place and get out of here.”

You reluctantly pulled away from the man that just stole the sole right out of your body. You fixed your shirt and moved towards the door. “Come on, lover boy.” You acted as if you weren’t minutes away from fucking a stranger as you and Felix followed Minho down stairs.

Chan walked up to you holding out a torch, you looked at him confused. “You said you wanted it, right? Here you go.” You licked your lips and looked down at the torch. You were good at talking a big game but, you had never actually done anything like this before. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/n.” Felix said behind you, sensing your uncertainty.

“We don’t have all fuckin night..” the tallest in the group muttered as he eyed you. That was all you needed to make the decision. You took the torch from Chan and turned it on. The flame was orange at first but then turned blue as it grew hotter.

The guys had already doused the place in gasoline, you could tell by the pungent smell in the air. The few others that had torches as well followed your lead and went to various rooms on the bottom floor. One by one fires sprung up, rapidly engulfing the place. You all rushed out of the same door you came through and for a moment the entire group just stood outside watching the furious flames eat away at the once beautiful home.

Only when distant sirens could be heard is when everyone scattered. You and Felix rushed to his Benz and jumped in, peeling off. Adrenaline pumping through both of you. He was letting out excited yells as he raced down the darkened street, you laughing freely in his passenger seat.

“That was fucking amazing!” You yelled to him, the adrenaline slowly dying down between you two. He reached over and gripped your thigh, his eyes meeting yours and you knew exactly what he was thinking. You would be lying if you said you weren’t thinking it too. That heat that you felt earlier when he had his hands and lips on you returning.

It was so wrong… for so many reasons… but you wanted it. You wanted him.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?” Felix spoke softly, worried he may scare you off if he pushed too hard. You wanted to.. fuck did you want to but, you couldn’t. “Changbin, the bigger guy you met tonight.. he’s my roommate but, he won’t be home.” Felix clarified when you didn’t answer right away. “I can’t.. not tonight. Is it alright if you take me home?” You bit your bottom lip, wondering if this would be all you would see of him.

Felix’s smile faltered just a bit but, he recovered quickly. His sweet disposition making him even more handsome to you. “Oh sure, sure. Where do you live?”

You gave him directions to your home, it was nestled right outside the city limits. A small little house. It was your father’s but, he left it to you after he passed. When the car was parked by the curb outside you leaned in and gave him a small peck on his cheek. “Thank you, Felix. I had fun tonight. Who would have thought being a deviant would be so much fun.” That made him laugh, a deep chuckle you felt in your chest.

You began to get out of the car but Felix stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “Can I have your number?” His eyes were hopeful, shiny with confidence. You began to open your mouth when your name was being called. “Y/n! Aye girl! Where the hell have you been!” You sighed in frustration and got out of the car fully.

Felix watched as a man not much bigger in build than him come out of the house and stand on the front porch. Of course he was curious as to who the hell that was but you gave him no time for questions. You stopped at the drivers door leaning down to be eye level with Felix. “I’ll find you, okay?” You mumbled, giving felix a small smile but, it didn’t reach your eyes this time and you walked toward your house.

Felix felt a lump in his throat grow as the man grabbed your arm roughly the moment you were close enough. He jerked you up closer to him and drug you inside the house leaving Felix concerned and confused.

Was that her boyfriend? He instantly thought. Couldn’t have been her dad he looked too young.

Felix eventually drove off feeling uneasy and worried for you but, it wasn’t right for him to interfere. Not this early on. But he knew his obsession with you had already begun.

I hope you enjoyed this! Don’t worry the spice will be much spicier in the next parts to this!! Thank you for all the love and thank you for taking the time to read my works. Let me know what you think in the comments! ♥️🖤

Taglist OPEN

@cashtonsbetch @hearts-444lix @moonndustx @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn

[literaryvein-reblogs]

can i request any words/ phrases/ themes linking to the word ‘relic’?

Writing Notes: Relic

Relic - an object esteemed and venerated because of association with a saint or martyr; souvenir, memento

Relics - remains, corpse; a survivor or remnant left after decay, disintegration, or disappearance; a trace of some past or outmoded practice, custom, or belief

Reliquaries - the containers that store and display relics

Where the bones of martyrs are buried, devils flee as from fire and unbearable torture. —St John Chrysostom

Etymology

Middle English relik, from Anglo-French relike, from Medieval Latin reliquia, from Late Latin reliquiae, plural, "remains of a martyr", from Latin, "remains", from relinquere "to leave behind"

Related Words

Afterimage - a lasting memory or mental image of something

Artifact - an object remaining from a particular period

Corpus - the body of a human or animal especially when dead

Decedent - a person who is no longer living; a deceased person

Memento - souvenir

Oddment - something left over; remnant

Oeuvre - a substantial body of work constituting the lifework of a writer, an artist, or a composer

Remnant - a usually small part, member, or trace remaining

Souvenir - something kept as a reminder (as of a place one has visited)

Vestige - a trace, mark, or visible sign left by something (such as an ancient city or a condition or practice) vanished or lost

Martin Luther complained about the profusion of relics and the absurd claims being made for them: "What lies there are about relics! One claims to have a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel, and the bishop of Mainz has a flame from Moses’ burning bush. And how does it happen that eighteen apostles are buried in Germany when Christ had only twelve?"

Examples

ANCIENT GREEK RELICS. At Athens the supposed remains of Oedipus and Theseus enjoyed an honor that is very difficult to distinguish from a religious cult.

BUDDHIST RELICS. Relics of the Buddha and various saints were (and still are) venerated. Following the Buddha's death, his bones and teeth were divided for the purpose of being used as relics in order to illustrate his teaching of impermanence (anitya). These relics were so valued that they caused armed conflict between factions for possession of them. Afterward, these relics were taken throughout Asia with the gradual spread of Buddhism.

CHRISTIAN RELICS. Since the dawn of Christianity, relics have been an important part of Christian devotionalism. During the Middle Ages, the selling of relics became a lucrative business. The concept of physical proximity to the “holy” was considered extremely important. A pilgrim's possession and veneration of a relic was seen as a means to become closer to God. Instead of having to travel hundreds of miles to become near to a venerated saint, a Christian could enjoy closeness with him/her through their relic at home.

MUSLIM RELICS. Although certain sects of Islam strongly discourage (or outwardly prohibit) the veneration of relics, a very large collection of Muslim relics is preserved in the Sacred Trusts, located in Istanbul, which contains more than 600 treasured pieces in the Topkapi Palace Museum.

The Roman Catholic Church makes a distinction between veneration and worship of relics and icons.

3 Categories of Relics According to the Vatican

First-Class Relics: Items directly associated with the events of Christ's life (manger, cross, etc.), or the physical remains of a saint (a bone, a hair, a limb, etc.).

Second-Class Relics: An item that the saint wore (e.g., sock, shirt, glove). Also included are items that the saint owned or frequently used (e.g., a crucifix, book). An item more important in the saint's life is considered a more important relic.

Third-Class Relics: Anything that has touched a first- or second-class relic of a saint.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Hope this helps! Do tag me or send me a link to your writing if it does. I'd love to read your work.

[nerdygaymormon]

A Brief History of the LDS Church's Transgender Teachings and Policies

Gender identity and gender roles are important in LDS theology and practices. For most of the 1800s, church presidents Joseph Smith and Brigham Young had men, women, and children sit separately for all Sunday meetings. Nowadays, some of the Sundays church meetings are still divided by biological sex. Temple worship is also similarly divided.

For decades, the LDS Church believed that in the premortal life, when intelligences were organized into spirits that they may have chosen whether to live as male or female during mortality, and that poor choices during their time on earth could demote them back to a genderless condition. Joseph Fielding Smith, who was made an apostle in 1910 and became president of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1970, was well known for teaching that those who do not reach the Celestial Kingdom will be neither man nor woman, merely immortal beings.

As a teenager in the 1980's, I remember being in Sunday School class and the teacher saying that when we're resurrected we can look down, and if we don't see a penis or vagina then we know we're not making it to the Celestial Kingdom.

Along with this, for many years the LDS Church seems to have viewed all queerness as a form of gender confusion, whether it was a man thinking he's a woman or a man who is attracted to other men.

As the fight over gay marriage ramped up, the teaching about genderless spiritual beings was replaced with the idea that gender is forever and this was incorporated into the 1995 Family Proclamation which states that "gender is an essential characteristic of individual pre-mortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose."

The idea is that each of us are a son or daughter of heterosexual & cisgender heavenly parents, and we are meant to become like them. There is a strict binary of spiritual gender identities and gender roles. Ideally, our bodies should be formed in a way that reflects our spiritual body, including our spiritual gender, but the reality of the physical world is that things often don't work as we'd expect them to, but that doesn't change our spiritual gender.

Let me take this moment to point out that the notion of gender being eternal does not exist in scripture, this is a fairly recent evolution.

And while the idea is that gender is an innate and unchangeable part of our souls, the Church has also felt that gender needs to be nurtured, protected, and defended. There have been many rules about what women may wear to BYU and to Sunday services. For many years the advice to leaders on how to counsel with young men experiencing same sex attraction was to have them spend time around manly men and participate in masculine activities, and to not wear androgynous or feminine styles.

For a long time, LDS Church leaders were more aware of homosexuality and focused on this, and their mentions of trans people remained pretty infrequent.

In 1980, Spencer W. Kimball was president of the LDS Church and was outspoken opponent of homosexuality, however he authorized the sealing of a trans woman to her husband in the Washington, D.C. temple. Perhaps in response to this, later that year LDS authorities updated the official General Handbook of Instructions to officially prohibit “transsexual operations.” The handbook stated that “members who have undergone transsexual operations must be excommunicated” and that “after excommunication such a person is not eligible for baptism.”

I first got access to Handbook 1 in 2016, and excommunication was still the standard, although it said "elective transsexual operations" (not sure when the word "elective" was added). Surgery was the boundary line which if crossed would result in excommunication. However, the phrase "elective transsexual operations" recognized there are some circumstances where such operations are required or aren't the choice of the individual. For example, a man whose genitals were injured and couldn't be kept, or an intersex person who had surgery performed on them as an infant or child.

Any individual who was considering "elective transsexual surgery" was not allowed to be baptized, but for an individual who had undergone "transsexual surgery" and now wanted to be baptized, it had to be approved by the First Presidency. If they were allowed to be baptized, they would not be allowed to receive the priesthood or participate in gender-separated temple rites (which limited them to doing baptisms).

There was some wiggle room on whether top surgery is considered "transsexual surgery" and depended on the local leader's interpretation. There was no policy on transitioning in ways that didn't involve surgery, such as hormone therapies, “cross dressing,” or other means of living out one’s gender.

In January 2015, Elder Dallin H. Oaks said, "I think we need to acknowledge that while we have been acquainted with lesbians and homosexuals for some time, being acquainted with the unique problems of a transgender situation is something we have not had so much experience with, and we have some unfinished business in teaching on that." This reflects the growing awareness of trans individuals and showed some humility on his part. Elder Oaks had often spoken out on homosexuality and gay marriage, but this statement was thoughtful and many took it as cautiously optimistic.

Some transgender Mormons in explaining that their bodies do not reflect their gender identity would point to the Family Proclamation which says "gender" is eternal but not necessarily their sex. In response, in 2019 Elder Oaks said that “the intended meaning of gender in the family proclamation and as used in Church statements and publications since that time is biological sex at birth.”

In 2020, a major revision of the Church's general Handbooks were made. Handbook 1 (which was only available to bishoprics, stake presidencies, and General Authorities) was combined with Handbook 2 and put on the Church's website for all to see. This revision included major changes for transgender members.

The term "elective transsexual surgery" was gone, and now any social, medical or surgical transitioning would bring restrictions. Many saw this as more restrictive, it took away the space to transition in ways other than surgery while remaining in good standing as a member. Some saw it as a step at being more accommodating as excommunication was not the de facto punishment for transitioning. A church member could decide if transitioning was important enough to them that they'd be willing to be without a temple recommend.

The 2024 Handbook update seems like they felt some local church leaders had taken things further than had been anticipated, and so they had to plug in the gaps from the 2020 Handbook that leaders had used to be inclusive and accommodating of their trans members. Now members who transitioned in any were not allowed to be baptized, restricted from holding almost all callings, specified which meetings & activities they may attend, forbids trans youth and young single adults from overnight activities, and even has specific rules about under how a trans person may use the restroom.

[walkswithmyfather]

“What does 1 Corinthians 3:16 mean?” By Bibleref.com:

“Verse Commentary: This verse creates the third metaphors that Paul uses to describe the local church in Corinth. First, he compared them to a field being planted and watered by himself and Apollos as God's workers (1 Corinthians 3:5–9). Then, he compared their community of Christians to a building being constructed on top of the foundation of Jesus Christ by other teachers and leaders (1 Corinthians 3:10–15).

Now Paul compares them to the temple of God. The word for "you" here is plural, not singular. He is asking his readers, as the local church in Corinth, if they understand that they together are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in them.

This would likely have been an unusual idea to those living in this area. Those who had seen it would likely have pictured the massive, sprawling Jewish temple in Jerusalem, truly an impressive structure. By comparison, the church in Corinth likely had no building of their own, meeting instead in smaller groups in the homes of various members. How could they possibly be God's temple?

Paul's answer is to the point: God's Spirit lives in them (1 Corinthians 2:12; 6:19). To be clear, God's Spirit lives in each believer individually, but Paul shows here that in this way the Holy Spirit occupies the collected believers known as the church. Thus, they become the temple of God, even without a physical structure to meet in. As Christians often say, "the church" is the people, not the building.”

Amen! 🙏🕊️🙌

[heathersdesk]

Infertility in the LDS Church is such a weird place to occupy because it's the place where so much of the Church's messaging on sex and gender, on complimentarianism and divisions of labor within the Church, completely fall apart.

Being a parent may be the most important thing some people will ever do. I have no issue at all with people saying this about themselves to describe their own journey through the world. But that's not universally true for everyone because of someone's gender or alleged propensity for reproduction. The fact that infertility exists at all is all the evidence you need of that. If it was somehow necessary for a person's salvation or exaltation for everyone to have children, it wouldn't be withheld from anyone.

So why do people, including church leadership, treat having children like it's essential to our salvation, when neither the gospel of Jesus Christ nor any of the covenants we've made present it that way?

Power consolidation. Boundary maintenance. Cultural curation for the kind of person who treats children as an identity marker and avatars for their own influence on the world.

It's how the Church is trying to ignore the problem of dwindling membership, which this exact messaging has caused, instead of addressing the gender disparities reflected in this messaging.

No one is entitled to have children, and to use those children as a means of self-fulfillment, spiritual education, or approximations to the divine experience of being God. Even if you can have children, this is a harmful way of viewing children because it makes having children all about the parents and their needs.

You don't have children to meet your needs. You have children to meet their needs. I didn't need to have children to learn that lesson, or many of the other lessons that people needed to become parents to learn. There is more than one way to approach that kind of selfless love, in all kinds of relationships. Parenting is one of many, not the only kind of selfless love, and certainly not the most important kind of selfless love for many people.

And what kills me in talking to members of the Church who try to push back against this perspective is this: they claim to be the arbiters of the ultimate form of selfless love because they are parents. But these are the same people who will pound on the single piano key about parenthood to such an extreme that it alienates other people. And when they do, and someone tells them it's harmful, they're the first ones to say that what they're doing is more important than anyone else's feelings. They talk of a selfless love they don't actually possess—not for people outside of their family and, I would argue, not for anyone inside of it either.

All this to say: the Venn Diagram overlap between people who don't respect or value people at church with infertility and the people who also enmesh themselves in disturbing ways with their own children is a circle. Catch neither one of us wanting to be at church with them as adults.

[yeslordmyking]

Isaiah 9:2 — Today's Verse for Monday, September 2, 2024

[poppyfamily]

hello no one asked but i brainrotted a bit over a charashamangela church choir/youth group au bc of That games video. thoughts under cut.

tw: minor religious trauma lol

Chanse and Angela growing up in the church. Each of their parents pushing them to be more active in the church through children's choir. Chanse probably starts earlier, maybe like a month before Angela. Chanse is the type of kid who their choir director had to be told to stop riffing because the purpose of a choir is to sound the same, Chanse. But Angela takes to him immediately and they become best friends.

They are eventually invited to join the church's youth ministry and they get so into it, probably dancing to One Way Jesus very enthusiastically. It's a staple for them to play Joseph and Mary during Christmas plays and are like super chill when facilitating prayer sessions. (They understand that people aren't necessarily there for Jesus or w/e but believe that the spirit of the ministry is to find Christ in one another or some shit).

They stay for a couple of years and manage to drag in Arasha, who goes to the same school as them. She's not Christian and is just there because she was sick of inviting them to do shit on Saturday nights only for them to say no and also for the vibes and free food.

Amanda comes in a little later and is forced by her mom to actually join because she was frequently getting into trouble so she'd rather just know that her daughter is praising the lord (or whatever the fuck goes down in youth ministry) on Saturday nights instead of swimming in people's pools or some shit idk. Becomes besties with Chanse, Arasha, Angela.

Making this about Amangela bc I can't help the way I am: Angela welcoming Amanda to the ministry because it's her job as one of its leaders and Amanda is obsessed with her immediately. Probably constantly inviting her to sit right next to her for Sunday service, surreptitiously holding hands during the Lord's Prayer, going out for ice cream together once Amanda gets her driver's license. Something something horny something something repressed, they end up regularly making out (and more?) in Amanda's car without really talking about the implications but they know they feel SOMETHING. Lots of Catholic guilt - but not being able to stop because it feels nice, because it feels right.

And because I like angst - Something something tension because Amanda starts being deprogrammed from Church rhetoric at some point. She still sees Angela doing the thing to appease all the old church ladies and pastors who give her a sense of self because it's really all she knows and are willing to offer her a scholarship for college so there is Even More Pressure.

But Amanda sees all this and sees just how much she's hiding who she is, feeling like she can't really call her out on it because they are Not. Together. Amanda also sees how this is hurting Angela, but Angela is just so young and so confused and just wants to do right by her family, by God, etc... Amanda starts feeling pain and resentment about it.

In my mind, the older active church members think Angela and Chanse are gonna end up together, get married and all that shit. Chanse and Angela never saw each other that way.

Chanse quits out of nowhere and people speak of him like they're speaking the devil's name, basically erasing all history of his contributions (because he's gay.) Amanda soon quits after, and basically stops speaking to Angela. Amanda and Chanse run into each other months later, make comments about not seeing each other in church anymore, and then they reconnect and become besties.

Arasha doesn't quit, she just stops attending because she becomes busy with college. It's just not the same because Chanse and Amanda aren't there. She doesn't really have an obligation to do so, but she still keeps in touch with Angela.

Arasha and Angela become roommates in college. And because this is the first time Angela experiences independence, she goes on a SIN rampage - secular (lmao) theater, drinking, drugs, sex (lmao). All the things the church loves to police. And she has an identity crisis about it, crying to Arasha about it even.

Arasha, not knowing where the fuck all this Christian guilt is coming from calls Amanda and Chanse for backup and it's the first time they all see each other in a while. They all commiserate in the dorm room and bond and it's beautiful.

Angela wakes up. Amanda, Chanse and Arasha remind her that she's worthy of love no matter what. Once Angela finally internalizes that, she unpacks all the ways she hurt herself and how she's hurt others. Angela and Amanda finally talk about the shit that went down between them. They apologize for hurting each other, and decide to try again with a better understanding of themselves.

And they all live happily ever after. The end.

[nepentheisms]

This is it; this is the Big 'Un that's been knocking around in my head since the bookclub's inception.

When it comes to mentions of the biblical parallels in Trigun, I've seen that Wolfwood is most frequently discussed as a Judas figure. I think it's important, though, to note that carrying out the Judas role to Vash's Jesus was a job he was ordered to take, and it's one he went through the motions of following while having the ulterior motive of killing the one who gave him the order in the first place. In fact, when Wolfwood does turn traitor, it's actually Knives and the GHG he chooses to betray. He ends up Judas-ing the guys who assigned him to the Judas mission - that's some sweet irony!

And as Wolfwood's time in the story draws to an end, he takes the path completely contrary to Judas' ignominious end by suicide. He instead takes a leap of faith and dares to place his trust in Vash's vision for humanity's future. His faith remains imperfect, but in the midst of all his doubt and uncertainty, he persists anyway.

This last stand of his becomes Wolfwood's ultimate affirmation of his devotion to Vash's ideals, and he effectively becomes a martyr, which places him far outside the image of Judas. In fact, I think that when we look back on his character arc as a whole, we can see how it more neatly lines up in trajectory with the story of another apostle: Peter.

Like Peter in the gospel narratives, Wolfwood finds it difficult to have the kind of faith that is asked of him. Vash goes into his battle with Rai Dei insisting to Wolfwood that he can finish the conflict without taking a life, but Wolfwood intervenes against Vash's wishes because he was worried about Rai Dei's next move. Peter sees Jesus walking on water and goes out to join him, but with the rough winds blowing around him, Peter becomes overwhelmed by fear and begins to sink. After these failures of faith in their respective stories, Peter and Wolfwood are then chastised by the men they follow.

Matthew 14:31 (NRSV) - Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

And it's these struggles with doubt, these moments of fear and cynicism overtaking faith that are so instrumental to the Christian perspective on salvation with its message of "You are flawed by nature, but you are loved beyond all comprehension nonetheless. Accept this love that it may save you and change you."

In Peter's case, although he is singled out multiple times for his failures (e.g. denying Jesus three times), he still holds a special place of prominence among Jesus' disciples. The 21st chapter of John features a conversation between Peter and the resurrected Jesus in which Peter affirms his love for Jesus three times (a reversal of the three times he denied Jesus), and Jesus responds by instructing Peter to care for his flock. After Jesus ascends to Heaven, Peter continues the work set out for him in building the early church until his eventual martyrdom, which, according to church tradition, occurs via upside-down crucifixion (see Caravaggio's rendition here). Interestingly, Wolfwood's martyrdom also involves lots of grievous bodily harm being dealt by crosses.

So the saint gets brought to death's doorstep, and that brings us to the infamous whiskey bottle

Others have already pointed out that "The Bride" likely refers to the Bride of Christ. This excerpt from the Catechism of the Catholic Church sums up the concept:

The unity of Christ and the Church, head and members of one Body, also implies the distinction of the two within a personal relationship. This aspect is often expressed by the image of bridegroom and bride. The theme of Christ as Bridegroom of the Church was prepared for by the prophets and announced by John the Baptist. The Lord referred to himself as the "bridegroom." The Apostle speaks of the whole Church and of each of the faithful, members of his Body, as a bride "betrothed" to Christ the Lord so as to become but one spirit with him. The Church is the spotless bride of the spotless Lamb.

Now Peter is of particular importance when talking about the Church as an institution, because in the Catholic tradition, Peter is believed to have been granted a distinguished position of authority as the very foundation of Jesus' church, and every Pope is considered a successor to Peter in their occupation of the Church's highest office.

So Peter = Pope = the head of the Bride of Christ. And if we take the reading of Wolfwood as a Peter analogue.... you see where we're going. The Bride of Christ has been sanctified through a powerful demonstration of sacrificial love and prepared for the wedding to the bridegroom, but right here Yasuhiro Nightow subverts the biblical metaphor to devastating effect. The wedding doesn't come to fruition, because Vash can't bring himself to step into the role of the heavenly bridegroom. In this moment, he just feels all too painfully human in his grief. Wolfwood ascends - celebrated across the sky by those he saved with his selfless love, but Vash descends - acting as an ordinary person mourning the loss of a loved one.

John 13:36 (NRSV) - Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, where are you going?” Jesus answered, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now...."

[whencyclopedia]

The Letters of Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles

Paul was a member of the Jewish Pharisees in the 1st century CE, who experienced a revelation of the resurrected Jesus Christ. In this vision, Jesus commissioned him to be the apostle (herald) to the Gentiles (non-Jews). After this experience, he traveled widely throughout the Roman Empire, spreading the "good news" that Jesus would soon return from heaven and usher in the kingdom of God on earth.

In the New Testament, we have 14 letters traditionally assigned to Paul, but the scholarly consensus now recognizes that of the 14, seven were written by Paul:

1 Thessalonians

Galatians

Philemon

Philippians

1 & 2 Corinthians

Romans

2 Thessalonians, Ephesians, and Colossians remain debatable among some scholars. The other major letters (1 &2 Timothy and Titus) were most likely written by disciples of Paul’s, using his name to carry authority. The letters that have survived range between 52 and 60 CE, and although we cannot pinpoint when Paul’s letters were collected, Clement, a bishop in Rome in the 90s CE, quoted from 1 Corinthians.

The Nature of the Letters

We understand these letters to be circumstantial. They were not written as systematic theology or as treatises on Christianity. The letters are responses to specific problems and circumstances as they arose in his communities. Paul spent time in cities establishing a group and then moved on. He received letters and sometimes reports with detailed questions or advice on how to settle conflicts. Unfortunately, when Paul’s letters were saved and circulated, the original letters from the communities were not preserved. The reconstruction of the original problems can only be determined by Paul’s responses.

Known as the most famous convert in history (from the Acts of the Apostles), Paul did not actually undergo conversion. Conversion assumes changing from one religious system to another, but at the time, there was no Christian system for him to convert to. Paul himself was ambiguous when it came to his self-identity:

To the Jews I became like a Jew... To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) ... To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law) ... I have become all things to all people. (1 Corinthians 9:20-22)

In relation to what happened to Paul, it is better to follow what he says, in that he was 'called'. This is the tradition of the way in which the Prophets of Israel were called to their individual missions.

I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel I preached is not of human origin. I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it; rather, I received it by revelation from Jesus Christ. (Galatians 1:11-12).

Paul argued that this experience gave him as much authority as the original circle in Jerusalem (Peter, James, and John). Paul’s call to be the Apostle to the Gentiles was shocking because, as he freely admitted, he had previously "persecuted the church of God" (Galatians 1:13). He never really explained what he did, nor why he did it. It is in Paul’s letters that the name Jesus is combined with Christ, the Greek for the Hebrew messiah ("anointed one"). Understood as a title, "Jesus the Christ", it became common as a phrase that indicated his identity and function.

Continue reading...

[chimivx]

‘…and when you’re gone, i’ll tell them my religion’s you…’

Jisung’s dreams are an arms length away, lying in the hands of his superior who gives him a test, one that challenges everything he’s ever known, a taste of a life so intriguing. It’s only a matter of time before he’s faced with a choice… Who’s hands does he take?

✞ sacrilegious!minsung au

✞ 12.5k { one of ??? }

✞ ‼️ 18+, sacrilegious- it says it up top, blasphemy, its all very religious, they live in a clergy home, religious imagery, praying, god/christ/lord usage, they’re all devoted, eventual explicit sexual content, alcohol use, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug usage, light cussing, once again they spend a lot of time at church doing church things and working in a church, if something offends you it costs nothing to keep scrolling, IF I FORGOT ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW !!

Three times.

Deafening, three chimes of the clock tower is all it took for Han Jisung to stretch his legs through the courtyard, skipping over the crooked cobblestones, slipping into the crack of the dilapidated wooden door of the clergy house.

Just through the back door hanging on its hinges lived a kitchen, one always hot and steaming. The house's caretaker, Ann, slaved away day and night ensuring that the men who resided within the home were well fed and taken care of. Between long hours lost in books or prayer, Jisung has had his fair share of visits from Ann, the tall, hollow cheeked, grey haired woman knocking on his door into the hours of the night after he’s missed dinner, or if he’s left his light on for too long.

Many times he’s found himself being dragged out of the church by his collar, the elderly woman forcing a meal into the gangly boy with a waist no wider than the length of his forearm. While he’d sit on the stool beside the stove shoveling whatever it was she’d filled the bowl with for him, he’d listen to her scold the older men, the priests in the other room, damning them for working him too hard.

Sunday was the big day, Jisung couldn’t help himself, they were his favorite. Everything would be perfect, and they always were perfect, ever since he’d been granted the internship everything has been perfect.

If he ever caught himself lost in daydreams, gazing out the window at the land draped in green, the tans and beiges of the courtyards speckled with pink and purple flowers, he’d sometimes begin to wonder if that was why he’d never been offered a higher position. Everything’s perfect. If he were to acquire what he wanted the clergy would be forced to pick someone new to fill his, now, entirely too large shoes. The three priests who lived in the home, who preached in the church just next door, they’ve grown accustomed to Jisung and his perfectionism, though it’s the very thing that made him consider himself flawed.

He’s spoiled them rotten, and if not to excel himself forward in his career, his lifelong dream of becoming a preacher, showing off to the older men that he was worthy, that he was more than capable of reading his own sermons and shaking parish members hands after mass was held, being showered in their thanks, their gratitude- he did it to spite them. Not that he’d ever admit that. 

It was a feeling he’s swallowed down his entire life, one he’s often attempted to pray away. Not the overwhelming infatuation with being absolute perfection, but a constant berating need to be so terribly good that no one else could ever compare. 

Only one priest above him could come close in the race that was perfect intern. Christopher, a man five or so years older than Jisung who always wore his curly hair short and well kempt. A man who Jisung noticed liked to undo the first two buttons of his black shirt while he read in the study late into the night, a hand rolled cigarette burning between his plump lips that pursed as his eyes scanned over the words scattered about the page. Christopher took pride in being the one to hire Jisung, taking him beneath his wing, cracking jokes over drinks with the members that Jisung had surpassed him in expectations. That was how he knew it wasn’t his time. Until right now.

Quickly approaching two years of daunting tasks, cleaning for hours on end, preparing for masses, ensuring the hours of worship went exactly as planned, Jisung was instructed to meet with Christopher after he finished his duties in the sacristy. Organizing book after book, arranging throws of freshly cleaned fabrics, sorting through hundreds of candles, dusting antique gold, the second that tower told him it was three o’clock and that he was free to go, he bolted.

Years he’s worked for this, sleepless nights he’s acquitted for this, it was finally here, minutes away from falling right into his slender little hands. As he barreled through the kitchen, making sure to express his greetings to Ann who gave him nothing but a smile, he couldn’t help but begin to wonder what he’d be allowed to do first. Surely not Sunday’s mass, it was only two days away, he wouldn’t have enough time to prepare, and besides, Christopher was set to preach then. 

Breezing through a short hallway that toward the left led to a laundry room, and toward the right led to a small bathroom, Jisung stepped into the more than adequate living room with ample space to house three large couches around an apple wood table facing a fireplace with a structure that matched the cobblestoned sidewalks outside. To his right, a wall of glass outlined and accented in dark wood, the study, a room through the chestnut archway with bookcases for walls and comfortably cushioned chairs that Jisung has fallen asleep in once. Hardwood creaked beneath the sunken blue rugs all of the furniture sat upon, the house impossible to sneak around in. 

Behind the fireplace there was a staircase that matched the floors, hardwood that took one up to the second floor where four bedrooms fit the men with ease. Christopher in one right at the top of the stairs, the two other priests, Hyunjin, a quiet man who used to scare Jisung a bit, and Jeongin, the eldest and wisest, resided in the two bedrooms to the left of Christophers. Their three rooms were close to the stairs and big enough to house another person within it without feeling cramped. Jisung’s bedroom was shoved toward the back. Up the stairs to the right, down the hall and around a corner. A bathroom separated the pattern of rooms, but regardless, his room may as well be off the map. There certainly was little to no one room to house anyone else with him.

With a promotion though, things could change. Jeongin did just hit his mid-thirties, certainly he wouldn’t want to live out his entire life in a home with three other men. Though he did appear to be the one most dedicated to his faith, following every little detail of every single scripture like his life depended on it, Jisung couldn’t imagine Jeongin living here forever. Perhaps a promotion meant other things would change as well. 

Passing by the staircase he calmed his racing heart with a deep breath, pushing the air deep into his chest, repeatedly telling himself to not get his hopes up too high. There was just no way that this was anything else, Christopher asking to meet with him, setting up an appointed time and everything. This had to be it. 

Tugging at the collar of his white button up Jisung stepped into a dark hallway standing in front of a white wooden door with a golden handle. The smell of cigarettes and musky cologne wafted through the cracks, through the broken keyhole beneath the knob. Christopher was here, he was already inside. Jisungs heart sprung up into his throat.

Wrapping his hand around the cool metal, Jisung pushed the door open with a breath, stepping into the sunlight that poured through the white linen curtains into the office. Unable to help the smile on his face, he grinned as he closed the door gently behind him, placing his hand flat to it for a few seconds before he turned to face Christopher, the broad shouldered man perched upon the edge of the large desk.

A cigarette hung from his lips, the glowing tip bobbing as he smiled larger than he already had been. “Jisung!” His deep, melodic voice echoed in the room full of chairs that matched the couches out in the living room, bouncing off bookshelves and filing cabinets.

Smile faltering as Jisungs eyes spotted another head in the room, dusty brown hair in a chair pointed toward Christopher, the boy took a couple steps forward and planted his focus on his superior.

“Christopher,” he breathed, nodding his head as if to bow to the older man who waved his formality away and beckoned him closer with a wag of his fingers. “I came as fast as I could.” Jisung started through the room, his focus forward.

“I’m sure you did,” Christopher said, something sly pulling at his lips, cigarette ash sprinkling onto the hardwood of the office. Jisung approached the desk and the priest gestured to a chair to the right of him. The other man in the room was seated to his left, dressed simply in slacks and a button down like Jisung, but with silver jewelry dripping from his wrists and his neck.

Glancing from the man who didn’t spare him a look just yet, Jisung set his gaze on Christopher as he sat down on the edge of the flattened cushion, a curiosity growing within him. 

Taking the rolled paper from between his teeth, the priest stood to his feet, adjusted his belt, then rounded the worn wood carved desk that had been set in this clergy house for decades. History was written within it, written on it, beaten into the top of the wood, whispers of clergy members' past left behind for future ones to remember, to protect. He sat down in the chair behind it with a creak and folded his hands, resting his muscled arms over the desk.

Christophers brown eyes darted between the two sitting before him, the ghost of a smile making a home on his plush lips. “Jisung, I’d like you to meet the newest member of our parish,” he said, eyes zeroing in on his intern. Trying to hide the breath that corrupted his lungs, Jisung folded his hands in his lap and pressed his lips together. 

Here we go.

They’ve found a new intern, someone to take his job from him, and he was about to be handed a new one. Interesting choice though, Jisung would tell Christopher later, considering this man wore a straight fringe over his forehead slightly parted toward the center, with silver jewelry wrapped around his joints, chains linked together like Jisung’s never seen before. His jaw, sharp, matched his nose in curvature, the details carved delicately. His features may as well have been handcrafted by Michelangelo himself. 

His neck, slender in size, had one of those silver chains wrapped around it, hugging it ever so perfectly. Beneath it lived another. Beneath that one, a cross, dangling between two milky buttons. It seemed ordinary, the shining cross generic, not like the one made of pure gold, encrusted with genuine jewels that hung around Jisungs neck. He tucked it into his shirt every morning. The crucifix belonged to his grandfather, a token passed down to him from his grandfather. When the time was to come, Jisung would hand it down to his grandson, hopefully after a marriage or when he would take up the family trade and work in the church, serving his God.

He appeared legitimate. Strong faced, proper posture though his legs were crossed, an attentiveness while Christopher spoke. His dark eyes, a deep brown, or a mahogany, or a warm, rich chocolate, they studied. Analyzed. So statuesque, when he turned his chin to look at Jisung, the boy nearly leapt back into place.

“This is Lee Minho,” Christopher said, holding out a hand toward the man who’s analytical gaze had gone cold. Rich milk chocolate turned dark and bitter, and Jisung didn’t like the way it tasted. Within seconds this man had gone from someone whom Jisung would like to get to know to someone who just set their boundaries without even opening his mouth.

Facing him completely, Jisung was now able to see just how beautifully crafted Minho's being had been blessed. Completely symmetrical, his eyebrows set in place above his eyes, two straight lines that set further boundaries for him, his slender lips, the top plumper than the bottom, softening the sharpness his edges created. This was a man who was to not be messed with. Every little siren, every red light going off, flashing in Jisung’s head told him plenty. 

Minho was here for business, he was going to get what he wanted, and Christopher made a mistake hiring him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Minho,” Jisung said, dipping his chin.

Something shifted within his jaw, a setting taking place as the analytical eyes flashed back onto his face. Then, he smiled, only the corners of his lips lifting, rounding the apples of his cheeks. “The pleasure is all mine, Jisung.” He didn’t seem to blink often. His eyelashes have dusted his cheek maybe three times since he’s looked at Jisung.

Beneath his gaze was hot. It wasn’t fun being on the receiving end of someone studying you. Since he was young Jisung has always been the studier, not the one being studied. If this was how everyone he’s been caught observing felt he’d regret every single one. Like Minho had reached over the chairs and wrapped his hands around Jisung’s neck, warmth crept up through his chest, his cheeks hopefully not turning pink. Air a foreign subject, the darkness within his eyes wound Jisung thoughtless, the bitterness laced with a charismatic charm. He felt so small. Minho had only been looking at him for not even a minute and he’d already established his dominance. His place.

Jisung could only suck in a breath when Minho turned to smile at Christopher.

“He’s moved down here from Soro,” the priest said, nodding toward Jisung, “and he’ll be working beside you. I wanted to formally introduce the two of you here.” Parting his lips, Jisung sat straight up, tucking his ankles beneath the chair, knitting them together. “I’ve already told Minho how great you’ve been, Ji. The straight A’s in school, the honors, the awards and degrees and all the decadence from every institution you’ve walked into and tribalized into your own.” Christopher glanced at Minho with a smirk. “He is the best of the best. You’re going to learn great things from him, and one day, because we have the space, you’ll be one of us.”

You’ll be one of us.

Jisung narrowed his eyes, pointing them back at Minho who shared a smile with Christopher, his teeth making an appearance, all perfect in a row.

Today was the day Jisung was supposed to be made one of them.

“We’ll find space for you in one of the bedrooms upstairs, though you may be paired with Hyunjin or myself. Jeongin, since he’s been here so long, we allow him this sort of seniority, you know, for lack of better terms to describe it. I’d say that you could room with Jisung, but I’m not sure the space is enough. Though it’d be perfect, wouldn’t it?” Christopher smiled at Jisung, the boy now watching him with his brows nestled above his eyes. “The two of you will be spending a lot of time together, it’d make sense to share a room, Minho, you’d be a pro in no time.”

He couldn’t get a read on the situation at hand, couldn’t make sense of it. Picking it apart, putting it back together, it was too simple. Too simple for Jisung to come up with something logical to explain why he hadn’t been granted a higher position. Now that Minho had arrived, he’d been hired, taken under here at the house like Jisung had been two years ago by Christopher… Or, maybe, that was it.

Jisung’s last and final task.

Lee Minho.

Something about it didn’t feel right, however. Whether it be the way Minho carried himself or the way his eyes seemed to devour Jisung on the spot. It’d be a challenge. As threatening as he came off, Jisung mentally prepared himself to take this on, to whip Minho into shape and mold him into Han Jisung quality. No matter how painful the matter appealed to Minho, a certain dread was written on his face whenever his gaze brushed over Jisung, the man bobbing his clenched jaw while Christopher spoke, spilling more stories of Jisung and his successes.

He came from Soro, this man with the bitterness steaming out of his ears, a town poorly developed with only one church in the center of the madness they considered community. Jisung had visited twice. Once on his own while enrolled in his years at university, and another with Christopher, accompanying his senior on a matter of business, an exchanging of private documents that Jisung has yet to read with his own eyes.

That trip had only happened a few months ago, sometime in the spring. He supposed Soro wasn’t so bad then, the flowers along the streets reminded him of here, Avida, home. Trees greener than green lined streets of cracked pavement and misery, an immediate heaviness invading his chest when the car crossed the lines of Tamoe, the neighboring town, and sped them deep into Soro. It wasn’t a nice place to be in terms of people and behavior, Jisung had been told his entire childhood to avoid it.

The only reason he’d ventured there on his own after he’d turned eighteen… His own pure, impulsive curiosity. Jisung needed to know. Sitting beside his treacherous perfectionism, one throne below, his insatiable need for knowledge.

Lee Minho came from Soro, from that church he’d visited months ago with Christopher. In fact, he may have even been there when Jisung stepped through the gnarled wooden doors accented in faded bronze and tarnished gold. The tiled floors needed to be redone, the pattern had been chipped, the colors dingy from years of dirty shoes treading over them, like no one took the time to scrub between the grout. His heart seconds away from sinking in as he tipped his chin backward, up toward the high ceilings as he walked and found dust layered on the ornaments, cobwebs hanging from chandeliers with flickering bulbs.

Jisung had been able to care for his church for years without help, on his own, with the occasional five minutes of straightening up after a service by the priest. How someone could and would allow their sacred place, their sanctuary, to be so mistreated, it drove him mad. It fueled the passion he held for his own church. He would never see it turned to what he experienced that day, he wouldn’t stand for it. Priest or intern, Jisung intended to care for what he loved.

Minho came from this church. He must have. If he was their intern, or something of the sorts, if he worked for them, it meant he had taken part in the church becoming so desolate. Uncared for. Messy and one gust of wind away from ruin.

This would be a challenge. Jisung would need to watch him like a hawk.

“I’m very happy to be here,” Minho said, his voice like a needle to the skin, like the rest of him. He stood to his feet, his slacks loosening around his thighs. Stretching a hand toward Christopher who also rose out of his chair, the priest grabbed onto it and shook it with vigor. 

“Spend the rest of your time today getting acquainted with the place.” Christopher's grin made Jisung’s skin crawl. How he could hold his hand innocently without a second thought as to who he was allowing into this parish… They walked into that church together. They experienced the heaviness together. And Christopher now held it by the hand and welcomed it into his home. Their home. Jisung’s home.

Minho thanked the priest, then turned to Jisung who sprung to his feet. Stepping closer to the boy, the bitterness evident in his eyes, Minho held out a hand, one Jisung took out of pure submission, not knowing what else to do. His grip, strong, tight, dismantled any chance of defense Jisung could muster up. His hand engulfed Jisung’s entirely, his fingers reaching his forearm, the digits probably capable of making a perfect circle around his wrist. In more ways than one, Minho was much larger than him. With him standing on his feet he towered over Jisung by a few inches, looking down at him, his eyelashes unmoving.

That energy from before that rendered him breathless came back, a weight sitting on his chest, triggering a tingling within his veins, a nervousness. Tearing his hand away Jisung shoved them in his pockets and glanced toward the floor, swearing that Minho snickered to himself as he turned back toward Christopher who sat back down his desk. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Father,” Minho said, a smile on his lips, one Jisung could hear. Bowing his head Christopher smiled back and gestured toward the door. With one more look down at the boy in front of him, Minho blinked and the smile wiped from his cheeks instantaneously. “Shall I meet you outside?”

Jisung cleared his throat and pressed his palms to his thighs within his pockets. Shaking his hair aside, he met Minho’s eyes and stuttered before pushing, “I’ll come find you,” from his lips, just above a whisper. Three seconds of silence passed, then Minho removed himself from the room, his shoes clicking on the hardwood until the door was pulled shut.

“Jisung,” Christopher said softly, allowing the boy to take however long he pleased to look at him. To his surprise, it took no time at all. Jisung, with his hands pressed to his legs, bounded for the front of the desk, twisting his eyebrows together. Christopher froze, his jaw agape with lost words between his teeth.

“No warning at all,” the boy whispered, tightening his jaw. “Do you know how-” Jisung cut himself short, shoving the tip of his thumb between his front teeth. Christopher waited with a patience unknown to the pistol in front of him. “Why blindside me?” Jisung took a breath, dropping his hand to his side. “I’ve been here two years, I’m in full control of this position, and you throw me this.”

Christopher shifted in his chair, sitting backward. “It was sprung on us, Ji, I had no choice but to do it this way. I’m well aware of the high standards you hold yourself to, and you know we admire you as you are, but keep that ego in check.” Jisung gulped, lowering his glare to the wood of the desk. “Show some humility. Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support. Welcome him, show him around. You remember your first day here, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jisung whispered, looking the priest in the eye. “I was twenty, about to turn twenty one, and I held within my heart a desire to serve you, to serve Hyunjin and Jeongin, to serve our Lord, and continue this journey in my faith.” A smile tugged at Christopher's lips. “With a single bag on my shoulder I left my parents behind, whom I served all my years prior, and I devoted my life to you. To Christ.”

Nodding once, Christopher thought with his hand, drawing it around in a circle before pointing it toward Jisung, stating the obvious that flew over the boy's head. “Jisung,” he breathed, taking the fingers to the bridge of his nose, “I admire your devotion, I really do. If anything, that is where you outdo all three of us.” Christopher looked at the boy, his wide, somewhat saddened mocha colored eyes and his fluffy hair laying over his forehead. “I know what you expected, coming here today,” he lowered his voice, “I feel sorry for not being able to give it to you.”

Jisung pressed his fingers to his palms, willing away the urge to snap at him out of frustration. It wasn’t his fault, Christopher was a mere pawn for the bishop to play with, giving his orders for the priest to flesh out within his own parish. All over the country it worked this way, Jisung knew his place, he knew Christopher’s place. While in this house he was the one to carry out these decisions made together with the three of them, most of the time they were ordered by the bishop to follow through, which in turn meant Christopher had to follow through.

Hyunjin argued he was too softhearted to deal with being the bearer of bad news, even good news, any news at all. He didn’t want the responsibility in his hands, he knew Christopher had a clearer way of speaking, of relaying his thoughts. A confident charisma. Jeongin had the position before and simply didn’t want it any longer. When Christopher came around the eldest handed it over with little worry that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the expectations. Like Jisung, Christopher straight away proved himself more than worthy.

“You deserve it,” the priest said, and Jisung softened. “Trust me on that, Ji. You of all people deserve to be where we are,” he paused for a moment, making the boy look up at him, then, he whispered, “You just have to do this one last thing. I promise.”

“He’s come from Soro, Chris.” Jisung’s concern spread onto his face, his soft cheeks.

The priest hung his head for all of two seconds. “I know,” he whispered.

“The church of Saint Denis,” Jisung continued on, “We both walked through it. That’s where he’s come from, isn’t it?”

“He’s right out there, Ji, why don’t you go find out for yourself?” Christopher leaned forward onto his desk, his hands folding over a grey folder full of papers with 1959 written on the front. A full report of the year so far, the records, the history made. Some type of paperwork from Minho would be in there, just like Jisungs was in the folder labeled 1957. “You could make a friend, you know, he’s not much older than you. Surely you can’t enjoy spending all of your time with us old people.”

Jisung cracked a smile, one Christopher returned. “You’re only thirty, I’ve just turned twenty four. We’re not so different.”

“Ah,” the priest raised his chin and his brows, “So you think.” Pressing his lips together he flickered his eyes toward the closed door and sighed. “Go, Jisung. I’ll be here if you need me, but I have no doubt that you can handle this on your own.”

Jisung stepped out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him quietly, always careful to not disturb the peaceful air that hung about the house. The priests moved just the same, quietly, with a poised purpose and a courtesy to the other men that resided within the cinder block walls. After speaking with Christopher Jisung’s doubts for dealing with Minho had faded somewhat, that is until he turned within the dimly lit hallway and found him perched against the wall opposite of him.

Arms folded over his chest, over the cross that hung from his neck, he had one foot on the wall, the other outstretched before him. That stone cold look was on his face, and it felt as if Jisung hadn’t spoken to Christopher at all. In a single look Minho could swallow him whole and spit him back out, only to devour him once more, finish him off. Jisung, not usually uncomfortable in front of new people, part of the reason why he was so certain he could preach in a room full of utter strangers, felt nervous. Especially now that he stood here alone with the man.

Somehow, beneath the chilling rest of his face, Minho wore the ghost of a smirk, a reminder to Jisung of that arrogant snicker that left him in a breath so quiet that Christopher couldn’t hear it. Jisung wondered if the priest would even believe him if he told him about it.

“Uh, I’ll be honest with you,” Jisung willed his breath to remain steady, “I wasn’t prepared to give out any tours today.”

Minho’s eyes looked from Jisung’s attempt at a smile, then drew back up to his eyes. “That’s not very star student of you, is it?”

Lips parting in shock, Jisung couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “I just… No one told me that you were coming, I didn’t have the chance to…”

His smirk grew ever so slightly, his fingertips pressing into the fabric of his white shirt around his biceps. “Relax, Han Jisung, I’m messing with you.” Pushing off the wall with one foot, Minho took a step closer to the boy. “Besides, you’d be able to pull something out of your ass in seconds wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh,” Jisung sighed, his eyes widening. “We don’t use profanities on property.”

The dark chocolate of his eyes danced around Jisung’s face, the analytic showing through once again. “‘Course you don’t,” he said above a whisper, narrowing his glare slightly. “Apologies, Han Jisung.”

Tilting his head, the boy let out a quiet laugh. “You can call me Jisung.”

“How old are you, Jisung?”

The intensity of his stare had the boy rocking on his feet. “I’ve just turned twenty four a little over a week ago.”

Minho was a statue. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you,” Jisung whispered. “And… and, you?” 

“I’ll be twenty six in about a month.”

“That’s great,” Jisung swallowed, hard, “We’ll certainly celebrate, Hyunjin is a stickler for recognition and tradition. He’s our feeler, if you will.” Minho turned from him, releasing the strangling hold he had over Jisung, the boy feeling like he was allowed to breathe again. He studied the walls and the next room while Jisung spoke. “Christopher’s the brains, as you can probably tell, you go to him if you have any issues or things you need to work out. Jeongin, he’s rarely seen unless it’s for meals or prayer, but he’s our scholar. A teacher. I learned a lot from him and I continue to do so, if you ever need to-”

Minho turned to face him abruptly, cutting him clean off. “And what of you, Han Jisung?” 

“I’m- I’m sorry?” Jisung stuttered, shaking his head. Minho prodded his cheek with his tongue.

“Come on, don’t get humble on me now.” Minho smiled. He actually smiled, and Jisung’s knees buckled. “You’re all three of them wrapped into one, aren’t you?” 

Jisung never thought about this. He was always his own entity. Sure, he was inspired by the priests he worked for, but he’d never compare himself to them. Every move he made was his own. 

“I- I never… I don’t think I’d say that,” Jisung laughed, a nervousness wavering within it, “The three of them, they’re extraordinary, the best our church has seen in years, I cannot compare.”

Minho dropped his gaze down to Jisungs shoes and allowed it to drag up his stature with ease. Jisung longed to shrivel into a ball of nothing. “Interesting.” A curiosity burned where the bitterness once lived. “Han Jisung of Avida, belonging to the Saint Joseph Calasanz Church, astronomically successful in his schooling which then led him to his position here working alongside the best and the brightest?”

Mouth suddenly dry, Jisung gave a meek nod. “That’s… that’s me.”

“I feel like…” Minho paused, walking closer to the boy, a few inches between them. Jisung held his breath. Lifting a hand above the boy's head, Minho measured a foot of air. “I feel like you need to be here,” he muttered. Jisung blinked fervently, pointing his eyes up at his hand, then to his face where he believed a smile was resting. Minho moved his hands to Han’s shoulders, hovering them above the white cotton, then extended them outward. “And, here.” 

They met eyes and Jisung pursed his lips, Minho blinking down at him.

“You’re so…”

“Small?” Jisung offered, a mere squeak from his squished lips. 

Minho squinted, his lips crinkling. “Hm, no, I was going to say awkward,” Jisung gasped, his eyes shooting open, making Minho laugh, “But, small works, too. Maybe you are somewhat self aware, Han Jisung.”

The boy cringed. “Call me Jisung.”

Rubbing his lips together, Minho then nodded, and said, “Okay, Jisung.” Stepping backward, he nodded behind him. “Work your star student magic, this is a test. How perfect will this tour be?”

With one word he managed to wreck the ‘he’s kind of alright’ image Jisung attempted to build. Here in this hallway, within a few minutes, Minho undid what he’d done in the office, but with one word tangled it all back up again.

He’s the test.

Lee Minho, the challenge.

A cathedral stretching tall into the greying skies of the September-esque weather lived cozily on the edge of the massive green plot of land, the clergy house situated directly behind it, hidden by the peaks and towers atop the church. Around it, the crooked cobblestones, the path winding around the building on both sides, meeting the grand staircase that led up to the delicately carved, well preserved double doors that one often needed two hands to pull open. Along the grainy bricks of pure stone that made the two stories of the church were gardens of flowers and freshly trimmed hedges and bushes alike.

Trees lined up, separated by four feet of space on the other side of the cobblestones would grow across the way, their branches hanging over the paths, creating a canopy of sorts, granting passerbyers a break from the beating sun. Soon the green would settle, and the happy hues would turn a warm yellow, and orange, a comfort, the leaves one day covering the stones. 

Oftentimes when it’d rain in autumn, they’d become so slippery that one would have the hardest time rushing from place to place. An act that took Jisung three times to learn. One can only hit the ground with books stacked in their arms so many times before realizing the leaves were trying to teach him something.

Everyday when he passes through the alleyway, the small strip of stone between the church and the house, he’s reminded to slow down. To breathe. To take him time. To think things through.

The round stones laughed at him, rattling as he stepped over them with Minho trailing behind, the man lagging by a few steps, hanging behind Jisung as they walked throughout the house, brushed by Ann in the kitchen and stepped outside to the overcast skies. 

“She’s always in that kitchen,” Jisung said, wiggling the heavy back door to the clergy house open so that Minho could follow him out. The wood drug, caught along the concrete of the step. Minho, once outside, tipped his chin backward, his stoic gaze taking in the church and its size. “Ann is kind,” Jisung said, forcing the door shut with both hands, then joined Minho at his side, “As long as you’re kind to her.”

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” Minho asked, shifting only his eyes sideways to look at the boy who shrugged. 

“Ever since I’ve been here she’s been kind.” Jisung stepped off the concrete and onto the colored stones, starting for the back door of the church. “Christopher used to tell me I was lucky that I didn’t deal with her rigidness the first few weeks. Both Jeongin and him endured it, before they earned her trust.” 

Three strides. 

Jisung grabbed the shining handle and twisted it, yanking the door open with ease, a blast of heavy, musky, incense filled air washing over him. Glancing over his shoulder, Minho was already there peering inside, his jaw closed tight. With a slight jump, startled, Jisung whirled himself around and stepped inside.

“What of Hyunjin?” Minho asked, letting the door close gently behind him, one of his hands guiding it shut. Dim light engulfed them. A soft glow from the stained glass, well sheltered windows illuminated the space, but nothing more. 

Having taken to putting things in their place already, as if he wasn’t here an hour ago, Jisung straightened out some books and gave Minho a curious look. “What about him?”

“You didn’t mention him,” the man said, his voice the quietest it’s been. Inside the sacristy, a room half the size of the sanctuary that resided through the curtain on the archway and outside the double doors behind that, the air was still. Every sound that they made became incredibly muted, yet entirely loud for either of them. Almost sound proof. The fabrics hanging around, draped on the walls, and the books lining the shelves acted as a barrier, a different type of sanctuary.

Minho stepped around with a caution, hands in his pockets, letting his eyes do the discovery of the cluttered, yet organized space around him. His gaze fell upon Jisung a few times, the boy never happy with the placement of something.

“That’s because the two of them started like Ann and I,” he reached above his head, rising to his tiptoes, pushing a line of books back on the shelf so that they were in line with the rest. 

Minho stopped behind a table with wooden chests stacked on top of it, little and large and all sizes in between. Dragging his middle finger along the edge of one he popped the yellow gold latch open and lifted the lid an inch. Three thick cream colored candles laid inside, every single one of them in their purest form, perfect and untouched. When Jisung turned toward him, wiping his hands on his slacks, Minho closed the lid and met his eyes.

“Hyunjin joined our parish when he was a child.” Jisung came to Minho’s side, his attention dropping the table where he flicked the latch of the chest to lock it, then brushed his hand over the lid, wiping away imaginary dust. “He’s lived here in Avida all his life, his parents belonged to the church.” Minho watched Jisung work, yanking at the chests, pulling them out of place just to put them back where they started. “He decided what he wanted to do with his life when he was very young, and he’s been working here since age ten.”

A smile tugged at Minho’s lips. “Someone more ambitious than yourself, I see.”

Jisung straightened himself out, taking in the amusement that trickled onto Minho’s expression. It jostled something within him. Jisung couldn’t place if it were frustration or anger, or both. The feeling wasn’t debilitating, he could handle it, he wouldn’t let it fuel his response. Swallowing it down, fingers curling over top of a wooden chest, Jisung bobbed his head and blinked.

“I, uh, I suppose so,” he said, willing his tone to be strong, telling himself to ignore the comment. Minho’s the challenge, he was meant to come with these types of hurdles. The frustration settled in further as Minho’s amusement grew. 

“How old is Ann, anyway?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the table and Jisungs clenched fist. His eyelashes fanned along his prominent cheekbones. With a breath, Jisung shrugged.

“No one knows,” he said, and Minho looked up at him. He glowed in the splashes of color from the windows, the warm tones setting his skin alight with a blush Jisung wasn’t sure Minho would be able to produce naturally. Shadows contoured his already chiseled jaw and nose, deepening his artisan aura.

Jisungs frustration threatened to turn sour. No man's appearance ever filled Jisung with envy, his faith wouldn’t allow it. 

‘All men are created equal.’

‘We are all equally made in God’s image.’

‘Every human being is the object of the love of God.’

Through his word Jisung has never needed to feel inferior, nor has he ever been presented with a situation where he’d feel less of himself. Standing here with Minho, since he’s laid eyes on him in the first place at that, he begins to assume that that's what this feeling is. It has to be. An envy of how perfectly symmetrical his features had been placed, a jealousy being spurred on by the utter man he was. Strong, wide, taller than Jisung. A man who’s filled out his face and knows how to fix his hair. A man who knew what to say to knock Jisung down a peg when for two years he’s been living in a comfortable solidarity that everything he’d been doing was perfect.

Jisung couldn’t remember to comb his curls some mornings, not when there was work to do. The mess would hang over his forehead, the black locks brushing his eyebrows unless they were pushed backward from his forehead hours into work. He wasn’t tall, nor would he consider himself strong. Compared to most men, including all three in the clergy house, Jisung’s probably half of what each of them weighed. His clothes hung off of him, his belts desperately clinging to his waist to keep his slacks in place. He was small.

Growing up he’d never been an object of affection, not that it was his goal, nor was it ever really a thought. Girls in school would pay attention to him, but he’d go through his days without needing that attention like other boys would. The matter never bothered him, he had his school work to worry about, he couldn’t see why some of his old friends would waste time running after girls. Little did he know his round cheeks, fluffy hair and gentle build were what the girls wanted.

Inferiority. That’s the feeling Minho gave Jisung. That was the lesson to be learned here.

Puffing out his chest, or attempting to, Jisung nodded toward the curtain. “Shall we continue?” 

Minho relaxed his face and blinked. “You’ve not told me about this room.”

God, why did he talk like that?

“Surely a man of your expertise who can land a job like this knows what room this is, Minho,” Jisung said, snapping his jaw shut. With a harsh turn of his body he hurried away from him, tugging the curtain in the curved archway aside. 

Through the archway was a long, skinny hallway stretching to the right and left, both ends winding around to the front of the church’s entrance hall where the double doors and grand staircase hugged the outside. Along the hall were a few doors to offices, small rooms where records were held or where the priests would work for church matters only. The floor, covered in marble tile outside of the carpeted sacristy, shone in the light fading in through the small rectangular windows built into the walls just below the tall ceiling.

Jisung flew through the double doors, the sound of them being pulled open echoing into the spacious sanctuary, the church. Hidden behind the altar, a tall marble structure that built into the ceiling, Jisung ascended a staircase of five steps, matching the tile of the floor, and took a moment to himself. Closing his eyes, folding his hands over his chest, he breathed in the crisp air laced with nostalgia and released with the quick mutter of a prayer, one his father and his father before him taught him.

‘Oh Jesus, my King and Lord, by the grace of the heavenly Father and the power of the Holy Spirit, guide me in all righteousness as I serve You today at the Altar so I may be always worthy of Your presence.’

Engraved in his mind since he was a young child, Jisung recited the words aloud, whether quiet or with his chest, whenever he was to cross the altar or approach it. A sacred place, the most intriguing part of all for Jisung. The body and blood of Christ, the Bible, one that’s met the hands of priests from centuries before Jisung, before Christopher, before Jeongin.

Unlit cream candles upon it now, in their golden candelabras matching the sconces along the pristine walls of the church, ones Jisung has replaced and scrubbed clean again and again. The altar, free of any objects now aside from the candles as there was no mass taking place, glittered in the sunlight of the fading afternoon. Along both walls that seemed a mile high lived matching sets of stained glass windows telling the story of Christ, of the Virgin Mary and her life's journey with her one and only son. In the four o’clock hour now the sun poured in casting rays over the chestnut pews that Jisung adored much more when they were full of smiling faces, old and young.

Walking across the front of the altar, many steps above the church, looking down into the pews, he imagined what it’d feel like to stand here in a sanctuary full of people. Full of worshipers like himself, their eager ears listening to what he’d have to say, his own homilies, his own take on the scripture left behind for their naked eyes looking for direction. A direction he’d give them, he’d guide them, he’d take them someplace unimaginable, a place full of hope and undying love.

“This place is huge.”

Startled once again Jisung’s shoulders ate his ears, his heart leaping into his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Minho muttered, and Jisung could hear the smirk he wore. Turning to face him, evidently he didn’t wear much on his face which was somehow worse. Standing on the altar within the town's most beautiful, most prestigious church, walking into it for the first time he didn’t show an ounce of appreciation in his stoic self. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jisung sighed, giving his head a shake. “You’re sneaky,” he said quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets. Averting his attention to the altar behind him and the angelic statues situated above and around it, he took another longing deep breath. “Are you always so quiet, Minho?” Stepping up to the shining altar Jisung took out a hand and placed it on top, the marble cool to the touch, soothing his frustrations within. 

The man’s feet scuffed along the floor, alerting Jisung he was moving closer to him. “I suppose I am,” he said. He snuck up to Jisung’s side, placing a hand on top of the altar. Continuing his slow stroll he rounded the side, dragging his fingers along the marble until he was across from Jisung, their hands mirroring each other, fingers splayed out to cover as much space as they possibly could. Three feet separated them physically, but the moment Jisung looked into his eyes it was as if the air between them ceased to exist.

“Your church in Soro,” Jisung said, keeping his voice low though it bounced around the vacant space without even trying. “The Church of Saint Denis.” Minho’s eyes shifted to the marble, his chin maintaining its height. “That’s where you’ve come from, isn’t it?” He nodded in answer, his brown eyes taking back to Jisungs, now a grappling hold. “I wanted to ask you if it was alright… I’ve visited before, and-”

“I know you have,” Minho whispered. Jisung clamped his jaw shut. The mans demeanor didn’t change, but Jisung did not like the way those words spewed from his lips. “And I know what you’re going to say, Han Jisung.” Every pause between his words festered a nervousness in Jisung’s gut. “I encourage you to not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.”

Jisung hung his head. “I know the words,” he whispered. “Please accept my apology, it was not my intention to offend.”

“You really do live your life by the book, don’t you?” Minho asked within a breath after a beat of silence. Jisung looked to him in surprise, eyes wide and shining, finding Minho waiting for an answer with baited breath, his own gaze engrossed in a curiosity Jisung couldn’t make out. “Surely I thought you’d be able to weasel the information you wanted out of me, or you’d fight back with something smarter, more obscure than Matthew or Luke, but… Simple words from simple passages and you’ve been subdued.”

Jisungs fingers on the altar moved into a fist. Minho took note. “The words aren’t simple, they’re sacred, as are the passages.”

“Of course they are,” Minho said, beginning to round the other side of the altar, approaching Jisung with a tenacity. “The word of the Lord.” Pausing at his side, Jisung turned his chin to look up at him. “Have you never wondered what life would be like if they were wrong?”

“Never,” Jisung whispered.

“Have you never looked on the outside, have you never challenged the text, never thought your own thoughts? Never wondered why we’re confined to the rules within the passages written by, and translated by people of the past again and again, where something could’ve and may have been misread?”

That frustration Jisung attempted to hide away leapt into his chest, his blood boiling beneath his skin, a disbelief clouding his expression as this man stood inches away from him, a man he’s to share his position with. A man speaking words Jisung has never before attempted to think about in his life. He’s never seen the other side, he’s never wanted to. Never has his curiosity ever threatened to drag him that way, never threatened to take him down a path that goes against everything he’s ever known.

“I challenge you to do so. It wouldn’t just open you up to empathy beyond your imagination, it would broaden your perspective as a preacher. How do you expect to stand up here in front of hundreds of imperfect people looking for answers if you don’t even understand where they’ve gone wrong to have the need or the desire to sit within these pews? Every person you’ve ever met, every person you will preach in front of has sinned somewhere in their life whether or not you have, Han Jisung.”

Jisung gulped, willing his voice strong enough, he said above a whisper, “I liked you better when you were quiet.”

A toothy smile flashed onto Minho’s face, knocking Jisung breathless. “And I like you just the way you are, Jisung.” He held onto his eyes for a few more seconds before directing his attention toward the entrance hall doors that seemed a mile away. “The choir sings from there, correct?” Minho gestured a hand to the second floor balcony that opened up above the church, shoved toward the back behind all of the pews so the voices in the choir would shower down onto the churchgoers.

“Yes,” Jisung said, unable to produce anything else to plead his case, or argue back. Minho knew it too, and that killed Jisung tenfold. The amusement in the man's cheeks made him sick. 

“Take me there,” he said, looking at Jisung, knowing.

The boy sighed and glanced up to the balcony nestled under the painted ceilings of the cathedral, saints and angels dancing about the blues and whites of the ethereal sky. “Ann will have us for dinner soon, we shouldn’t take too long. It’s your first dinner, that’s important for her.” It also explains why she’s been working in the kitchen since early afternoon. She only did so for special occasions, Jisung should’ve seen Minho coming.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Minho, still wearing a smile, said, “The clock hasn’t struck five. When it does we’ll head back, I’m not done here yet.” Jisung didn’t have anything to say, he was entirely defeated, pacified. “Not done with you, either.”

Within the warm kitchens brick walls there was a table that could seat six and this evening five of those chairs were occupied. Sitting at the end of the table Jisung had Christopher to his left and Hyunjin to his right. Beside Hyunjin sat Jeongin who took a sudden interest in the house's newest addition, Minho, sitting at the other end of the table, directly across from Jisung. In the yellow glow from the light fixture mounted into the ceiling the men ate, they sipped their wine, and they laughed.

Conversations flowed through stories of the past, Jeongin ensuring that Minho knew his fair share of history before he retired for the night. The eldest telling stories meant that his first descendant below him was correcting him, Hyunjin flashing looks at Jisung that were making him giggle when Jeongin would get details all wrong.

“You’re thirty six, have you left your memory in the first half of your thirties?” Hyunjin hollered, outstretching an arm to shove Jeongin’s elbow off the table, the man with neatly styled hair scoffing at the one with hair that grew down his neck. Thin, half rimmed glasses sat on the end of his button nose, Hyunjin tossing his head back with a laugh, catching the spectacles before they fell to the floor. “I mean seriously, Yang, pull yourself together, it’s no wonder you can’t keep your mother happy.” 

Snickers sounded around the group, Christopher nearly spitting out his wine across the table at Hyunjin. Jisung laughed along with them, picking at his plate of various meats and veggies. The others had scarfed it down it seemed, the moment they were presented with the food it was gone in a flash. Even Minho at the other end of the table, he filled up a plate after watching the elders do so and had dug right in. Acting as if he’d been here for months, Minho slipped into the laughter and chatter with ease, asking all the right questions at the right time.

At Jisungs first dinner the boy couldn’t shut his mouth. Full of excitement that bled everywhere on top of everyone, he overwhelmed them with questions, with statements, with facts. The elders couldn’t get the information out fast enough, they were forced to, otherwise Jisung would begin assuming things on his own. They learned quickly that night that his brain worked faster than his mouth, more often than not that first dinner his foot may as well have been on the plate because it made a happy home in his mouth.

With Minho, maybe it was his age. Jisung was a mere child when he started. Minho has had years of practice in another church, he was about two years older than Jisung, so it wasn’t a wonder as to why this socializing came easy to him. He portrayed himself a different Minho than Jisung had just spent two whole hours with, however. For some reason once he shook the hands of Hyunjin and Jeongin it was like a wall melted away. At the table tonight as he smiled at him, the rigidness of his being didn’t exist.

Until he’d spare a glance toward Jisung moving food around on his plate with his fork knitted tightly in his fingers. Then the walls built back up.

Maybe Minho was right, maybe Jisung was just awkward.

“A working memory is important to women,” Christopher said, adding to the teasing of Jeongin. Tipping his glass toward him, he pulled his lips down into a smile and laughed.

Jeongin exchanged a glance with Minho who took a sip of his wine, enthralled with the discussion. “You’d know all about that Christopher, wouldn’t you?” 

“Oh, you’re a nuisance!” Christopher threw a hand toward him, sitting back in his chair. Jisung nibbled his bottom lip and gave a look to the man to his left. As if he could feel it, Christopher looked back at him while the men talked amongst themselves. “He’s kidding, Ji. Don’t you let those words get stuck in your head.”

“A joke from years ago, Jisung,” Jeongin said, turning the attention back on himself. “Before his sudden switch to God's grace your role model there was quite popular with the ladies.” A small smile took to Jisungs lips as he glanced to Christopher.

“You’ve never told me this before,” Jisung said, and the older man shrugged, sipping his wine.

“It was never important,” he muttered. “Besides,” he sighed, sitting forward, setting his glass on the table, “It was why I made the sudden switch. Women are wonderful gifts from God, but involvement with the wrong kind and you’ll be wishing for more than forgiveness.” Christopher gave the boy a look that informed him he’d speak of it later, that now was not the time.

“What about you, Jisung?”

The question shot a hole into his gut. Christophers face lit up, his eyes darting every which way, Hyunjin furrowed his brows, and Jeongin chuckled aloud. Meeting eyes with the man who asked the question, Jisung tightened his grip on his fork. The insecurities he felt looking at his face seemed to double beneath the pressure of the question.

When it took a few seconds for him to sort out his thoughts, the older men around him attempted to answer for him.

Hyunjin uttered, “Jisung is a sweet boy.”

“Our Jisung certainly wouldn’t think that way, not after all he’s been through,” Jeongin said.

Christopher listened, then added, “He’s so one track minded, I’ll be shocked if he…”

Minho held up a hand with a smile and slight roll of his eyes. “Let him answer for himself,” he huffed a laugh, and the men around him agreed. How? Jisung wasn’t sure, because if he were him he’d be reprimanded until the following morning. “Seems you all need to learn about it, too, let’s see what he has to say.”

Four sets of eyes burned into him, Jisung only able to stare into the ones that taunted him from the other end of the table. Sitting backward in his chair, his legs crossed, his silver cross hanging over his chest, he was smug as ever. In seconds he’d been able to tug him right back into the church, on top of the altar where he blatantly asked him of his sins. And now, here he was, at the dinner table with men who have become his family, asking him again.

Christopher may have been able to admit it, his history before he ventured into the church, but Jisung? Not only was there nothing to admit, nothing to say, but there was a disgust that grew there in that empty spot, and Jisung couldn’t place why.

“No,” Jisung whispered, glancing down at his full plate he certainly wasn’t touching now.

“No?” Christopher asked, his voice soothing the harshness this once comfortable setting was turning into. Jisung dropped his fork and tossed the napkin from his lap onto the table. “Ji,” Christopher nearly shouted as the boy pushed his chair back abruptly. 

Standing to his feet, Jisung threw his hands out to his sides and looked over the men around the slab of wood. “How can you all sit here and have this conversation? I preferred the stories, or when we discussed scripture, not women.”

“We weren’t even discussing it, it was only a question, we’ll move on,” Hyunjin said, willing Jisung to sit with a wave of his hand. The boy grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it under the table, rattling the glasses on the surface as he did.  

“Han, sit down,” Jeongin said, acquiring a look from Minho.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t,” the boy muttered, dragging a hand through his curls, exposing his forehead. Without another second or another peace offering from one of the men, Jisung turned on his heels and hurried from the kitchen, through the living room and up the stairs. He left them in silence, feeling sick and hungry all at once.

“Strong sense of justice that one has,” Jeongin said, shaking his head. “Even jokes he can’t take.”

“But, it wasn’t a joke,” Hyunjin said, his voice smooth and melodic, entrancing Minho every time he spoke. “It was a legitimate question, he has every right to feel upset or uncomfortable.”

“Of course you would say that,” Jeongin muttered, reaching for his wine.

Hyunjin jutted his head backward. “You know how he is, Jeongin, it’s not like this is the first time you’ve met him, Jisung has stormed away from this table more times than I can count. Even when we’ve had guests, members of other parishes here with us, other priests from other churches. You know Jisung, we all do, he’s going to stand firm in what he believes in even if that means causing a scene.” The man with the long dark hair and glasses balled up his own napkin and tossed it beside Jisungs, rising from his chair. “Now let me go talk to him like I always do, I’ll get him back down here.”

“No,” Minho said suddenly, politely holding up a hand. Three heads turned toward him. “Please,” he said, standing up, tucking his chair beneath the table neatly. “Let me. I think I may have said something to him earlier that brought this on. Please, let me apologize to him.”

Hyunjin, after a glance at Christopher, sent Minho on his way with a nod. “Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.” Once he was gone, a satin white flash, Hyunjin sat down and leveled with Jeongin, focusing on Christopher. “Has it been decided where he’ll be living?”

“I was thinking of putting him with me, but Hyunjin, if you’re up for a roommate…”

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, the man the face of peace and serenity, a calmness exuding him. “Put him in your room, Chris,” he said, then looked at Jeongin who gave him a nod. “He got comfortable way too fast, you’ll need to keep your eye on him.”

Up the stairs to the right, around the corner.

The floor creaked louder on the second floor than it did on the first, Minho approaching Jisung’s door as quietly as he possibly could. Behind the inch of plywood Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, leaned over his knees with his head in his hands. The light bulb hanging from his ceiling flickered as he took deep breaths down into his stomach, easing the emptiness and the nausea that existed in unity. 

The entire day played through his head, a cassette rewound and replayed as soon as it was over. A normal morning spent preparing for the weekend, for the three days of mass, in peaceful quiet, nothing more to do than hum to himself while he prepped the books and set up the candles. Waiting anxiously excited for his meeting with Christopher, he had no idea that his entire belief system was hours away from being threatened, questioned. 

He’d been told stories like this one, how temptation would waltz straight up to the door and not even knock before allowing itself inside, seducing one without them even realizing it was being done before it was too late and they had nothing left to do but beg the Lord for forgiveness. It looked him in the face, it said the words to him, it put thoughts in his head he’s conditioned himself to ignore. When it came from such a pretty face it became believable. Considerable. His tongue was persuasive though Jisung batted it away, fought it out of his head. 

Then, at dinner, to involve his seniors in such a discussion, one he didn’t even start, but continued. They’ve never spoken that way around Jisung before, that could only mean it was his doing, his persuasion even if he didn’t speak it aloud. He brought an energy that encouraged others to turn, even the strongest of the strong.

He’s just arrived, it hadn’t even been a full day, and he was already infecting the house and the men that lived inside. Jisung wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t stand for it. Tomorrow he’d speak to Christopher, he’d express his doubts whether or not the elder assumed it came from a place of envy, which it did not.

A knock sounded at his door.

Dropping his hands he glanced up at it and sighed. He’s met Hyunjin this way numerous times, he was simply waiting for the knock at this point. Sliding off his bed he took three strides over the hardwood and gripped the handle.

“I know what you’re going to tell me,” he said before he opened the door, “You can save your breath if you’d like.” Stepping back from the wood as he pulled it open, his breath catches in his throat.

“Do you?” Minho asked, a different type of emotion laced in his brows as he stood in the doorway, an emotion that Jisung couldn’t place.

Jisung longed to slam the door in his face, but he was paralyzed in place. “I thought you were Hyunjin,” he mumbled.

“I asked him if I could come instead,” he said, pressing his hands to his thighs. “He defended you, by the way, after you left.”

Jisung clenched his jaw and perked a brow, Minho watching it. “He usually does,” he whispered, sure of himself, and Minho swallowed a laugh. “Why are you at my door and not him? Go back downstairs and involve yourself in conversation of wrongdoings with men I thought I knew.”

He bobbed his head every so slightly, that ghostly smile hanging around his lips. “I need to apologize to you, may I come inside?” Jisung lowered his brows and pouted in thought. He wanted to come into his room and apologize. “Better to not do it out here where everyone may hear me, I want to talk about what happened in the church.”

Jisung scoffed. “You keep your irreligious ideology out here, Minho.” Pushing the door shut, Minho caught it with one hand, staggering Jisung backward a bit.

“We started this all wrong,” Minho said, poking his head around the wood to keep his eyes on the boy. “Please, hear me out.”

“We didn’t start anything,” Jisung sneered. “You let me know exactly who you are and what you’re here to do.” A crack appeared on Minho’s face for the first time since Jisung had laid eyes on him. The cold exterior, the walls he’s built up, the facade he’s been portraying. It cracked, and Jisung sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Minho took a step back. 

Christophers words came back, “Minho came from a place that couldn’t shelter him, he needs our support.”

‘Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.’

“Ephesians 4:31-32,” Jisung whispered, stepping back from his door, opening it as far as it would go. 

Minho blinked, taking Jisung walking into his bedroom as an invitation and stepped inside. Taking the door in his hands he closed it gently and took his time turning around. He recited the passage aloud, the one Jisung stated, and turned to find the boy waiting, a plea for forgiveness on his face.

“You don’t have to give me that, it is I who needs to apologize to you, and ask for your forgiveness,” Minho began, taking a step closer. “I went too far. I said some things I didn’t mean, things that have been stuck within me since I was young.” With a twist of Jisungs brow, Minho breathed through a laugh. “People like you, people who have nothing but faith and total trust in their God, you challenge me.”

Jisung took a step backward and sat down on his bed. Gesturing to the desk in the corner and the space beside him, he allowed Minho to make his own decision, finding a spot to sit in the wooden chair that he pulled from under the old school desk, sitting on it backwards.

“If I give you a life story I expect one back, Han Jisung,” he smiled.

The boy nodded, his face never changing. “Just speak, please.”

Intaking a breath, one far too deep for Jisung’s liking, telling him he was about to get hit with the cold hard truth, Minho settled his arms over the back of the chair and spilled his mind.

“For the record, I’m not here to be a priest, even though Christopher said it when we met,” Minho shook his head, “That’s not what I am here to do. I’m quite content living my life doing your job. I stated that when I moved here, and I’ll be willing to say it again, as many times it seems fit so that you know that I am not here to take something away from you.” Jisung swallowed, keeping his head moving as Minho spoke, expressing he was actively listening. “I’m not fit to be a preacher, it’s not in my nature, I mean, look at us right now. You’re sitting here listening to me apologize to you when we’ve only met hours ago.”

“People aren’t my forte,” Minho said, then nodded his head. “But, they are yours. This life was meant for you, Jisung. I’ll admit, my behavior stemmed from a place of envy.”

Jisung sat up straight. “Envy?” he muttered, and Minho nodded again.

“You’re a legend now, Han Jisung,” Minho said, squinting his eyes. “Everyone who comes up in the schools behind you, they know your name. The two years you’ve spent here, creating another perfect name for yourself, you’re setting the standard. All of us in your position, we’re compared to you, and so many of us are rooting for you to move up.”

“Even you?” Jisung whispered, his eyes locked on the man in his chair.

Minho tightened his jaw. “Even me,” he raised a brow. “It may not seem like it based off of today, but I am.”

“What was all of that?” Jisung asked, gathering the fabric of his slacks between his fingers. “You had me up here contemplating whether or not to tell Christopher to fire you.”

A flash of that cracked expression hit his face as he looked away and shook his head. “Deserved, I suppose.”

“The words you spoke,” Jisung breathed, the disbelief clouding over him like it once had, “They were unnatural to me, Minho. A person in your place, here in this church, you can surely understand why it scared me.” 

“Of course I can,” Minho answered. “Please understand I am still learning. I wasn’t brought up like you, like Hyunjin. I am much more like Christopher, having lived a whole other life before turning to Christ.”

Silence fell between them. After three seconds, Jisung lifted a hand, encouraging him to continue. The two sitting with one another like a sinner and preacher in penance. Minho, fluttering his lashes, pointed his eyes to the floor and dropped his chin.

“I was lost. I’d just started my late teens, maybe nineteen if I can even remember correctly, and I fell in love.” Lifting his eyes he met Jisungs. “Not with a woman, not with a human being, but poison. I was around some bad people at the time, the kind of people who speak like I had spoken to you earlier. Their influence was intoxicating, sometimes even more so than the garbage we fueled ourselves with.” Minho’s lashes brushed his cheeks with every blink. “I grew up with God, my mother, a single woman who had me quite young, she introduced me to his word the day I was born. We attended church every Sunday, that church up in Soro,“ he flashes Jisung a look, “Sometimes we’d even go during the week if she was able to get us there.”

“She was beautiful, everyone tells me I have her face,” he laughed to himself, and Jisung yearned to smile, because he believed it. “I left her when I turned eighteen, don’t ask me why. If I had to come up with a reason I’d tell you what I tell everyone else, that that teenage syndrome got me. She gave me everything and I ran from it, I abandoned her, my faith, my life that was quite alright, all because I met some people who sparked my interest. People who questioned my love for Christ, people on the other side who challenged me like you do, and you’re on the right side.”

A long sigh left him, Minho taking a second to collect his thoughts. The right side, Jisung was on the right side. According to Minho he’s been on the right side his entire life.

But, what of this wrong side?

Minho never said it was wrong. He’d simply addressed, and suggested believing in Christ was the right side, the right thing to do. Jisung knew what existed, he knew his probabilities after death, but this one was a new one.

Where there is right, where there is wrong… Is there something in the middle? A place in between it all where neither right or wrong exist? Could both be true at once? Could someone be right and wrong?

“What of the middle?” Jisung whispered, and Minho looked up in a hurry. “I was wrong as well, Minho. To dismiss your words in such a hurry that is, though I’m certain if they delivered differently and not in a way that attacked my faith I may have listened to you. I now know that either way I should have just listened to you, you know, if I’m looking to become a well rounded preacher.” Minho smirked. “I’ve never seen this other side, I’ve only known faith. Forgive me for the judgment, I don’t want to be this… know it all who looks down upon others.

“Just a know it all, then, right?” Minho teased. Jisung rolled his eyes while he laughed. “Come on, star student.”

“No, I don’t want that,” Jisung said, relaxing his smile. Shaking his head he took a breath and ran his hands along his thin legs. “I’m very good at what I do, but I’m humble about it.” Minho perked a brow. “I’m learning to be humble about it.” The boys shared a soft laugh. “When you’re isolated here with three other men who praise you like their lives depend on it, it’s a little hard to come down.”

“They care about you,” Minho said, and Jisung expressed his gratitude by closing his eyes and pressing his hands together, tipping his chin backward. “They want you to succeed. But, they keep you in check.”

Releasing a breath, Jisung dropped his hands and shrugged toward Minho. “They do, it’s necessary.”

Minho narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Do you ever get time to yourself? When you aren’t serving them?”

A playful smile evaded Jisungs face, his disproportionate lips flattening. “Don’t test me, Minho.”

“I’m serious,” he held up both of his hands, his dark eyes shooting open wide. “I’m asking you person to person, unrelated to faith.” Grasping the back of the chair he tilted his head again. “I think it’s also me… checking on you. Do you ever get the chance to be you, and not Han Jisung?”

Looking from his hands to Minho, Jisung clenched his jaw along with his fists. After a breath, he mumbled, “I don’t think I ever allow myself to.”

Something flickered into place on Minho’s face, his eyes blinking, reopening to a complete fresh start. “Perhaps I can teach you, while you teach me.”

masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ talk to me ✧ thank you for reading

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[slushiecookie]

Tw: Bright Colors + Religious Stuff (Priest & Crosses)

Hey y'all, so I noticed that I'm not getting much reach recently so I hope that making the first 5 tags important will help me ^^

Anyways, here's my OC: Father Novel. I've made a mini-series for him because I just gave him a new story!

Basically, he was a regular priest until the demon apocalypse happened, and basically all of his church friends & members were killed except for Bishop Sorrel. In the demon apocalypse, pretty much everyone is either possessed, dead, or just doesn't care

Bishop Sorrel uh...is not happy that he's out of his job (because everyone in the church is kinda dead) so he decides to get Father Novel to make money for them both, by becoming an exorcist

Of course, Father Novel has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but thankfully, Bishop Sorrel will share his wisdom he gained with him. I'm just joking he doesn't know either

Also, yes, obviously they're supposed to be from the catholic church or something like that, but in my oc world they don't have Jesus or like THE God (Christ? Sorry I don't know much about catholicism I ain't religious lol), they simply worship uh...well A god, but even they don't know who it is, they just believe that there's a god but he's too magnificent to fathom, so they don't have crucifixes or stuff like that, just regular crosses

[moontyger]

Trump has changed what it means to be evangelical

After evangelicals embraced Trump, something odd happened. As other Christian denominations hemorrhaged members, evangelicals saw their ranks grow; from 2016 to 2020, their share of the White adult population increased to 29 percent, from 25 percent, according to the Pew Research Center. The catch was many of these new evangelicals didn’t go to church. They became evangelicals because of what it meant politically, most of all because it was a way to signal support for Donald Trump. Among White Trump supporters who were not evangelicals in 2016, 16 percent began to identify as evangelical by 2020, suggesting again that politics rather than religion was the driving factor.

The idea of evangelicals who don’t go to church was once unusual. Now, it is surprisingly common. In 2008, only 16 percent of evangelicals said they never or seldom attended church. By 2020, 27 percent did.

Evangelicalism, in short, has become about shared political convictions. In one survey of Christian attitudes, for example, 43 percent of evangelicals said they did not believe in the divinity of Christ. But it gets even more bizarre. According to the 2022 Cooperative Election Study, 14 percent of Muslims (and 12 percent of Hindus and 5 percent of Jews) described themselves as “born-again” or evangelical Christians. This is not a joke.

If we look more closely at the numbers, what’s happening becomes clearer — and it’s fascinating. About three times more Republican Muslims and Republican Jews identify as “evangelical” than their Democratic counterparts, according to an analysis of the data by political scientist Ryan Burge. In an America that is rapidly secularizing — in just two decades, church membership has plummeted to under 50 percent, from about 70 percent — partisan commitments are replacing religious affiliation as people’s overarching source of identity.