#communion and liberation

[songpasserine]

We need a total response that comprehends and saves the entire horizon of the self and our existence. We possess within us a yearning for the infinite, an infinite sadness, a nostalgia – the nostos algos (home sickness) of Odysseus – which is satisfied only by an equally infinite response.

The human heart proves to be the sign of a Mystery, that is, of something or someone who is an infinite response. Outside the Mystery, the needs for happiness, love, and justice never meet a response that fully satisfies the human heart. Life would be an absurd desire if this response did not exist.

Not only does the human heart present itself as a sign, but so does all of reality. The sign is something concrete, it points in a direction, it indicates something that can be seen, that reveals a meaning, that can be experienced, but that refers to another reality that cannot be seen; otherwise, the sign would be meaningless.

On the other hand, to interrogate oneself in the face of these signs, one needs an extremely human capacity, the first one we have as men and women: wonder, the capacity to be amazed, as Giussani calls it, in the last analysis, a child’s heart. The beginning of every philosophy is wonder, and only wonder leads to knowledge…

If wonder opens me up as a question, the only response is the encounter, and only with the encounter is my thirst quenched. And with nothing else is it quenched more.

— Archbishop Jorge Mario Bergoglio (Pope Francis), 1998

[gratiae-mirabilia]

I saw your post talking about chewing on the Eucharist and I am still confused by it because I thought it was okay to chew it a little so if I was receiving the Blood that I wouldn't have the Eucharist all over my tongue, but it would be swallowed. So is using your teeth whatsoever bad?

hi this is a good question and I’m not entirely sure if it has an answer lol. obviously all of us should be consuming the Eucharist in a reverent way. if you choose to chew, just make sure you chew reverently (ie, not with your mouth open or making loud chewing noises or anything like that lol). my post was mostly a joke though, don’t take me too seriously :)

[aainaalyaa]

“In every connection, the quest isn't dominance but love; in every destination, not seeking aid but discovering steadfast companionship. Within a committed bond, lies the sanctuary of prayers and unwavering support.

Mastery over the ego becomes imperative, for left unchecked, it morphs into the master of your existence.

What if our relationships were built on nurturing rather than command, and our journeys embraced genuine solidarity over dependency? What if, in quieting the ego's grip, we found liberation instead of confinement?

— Mle. AainaA-Ridtz A R, A Thousand Veils, A Thousand Nights

[macintaministries]

Facets Of Biblical Fasting #podcast :

Why We Should Fast, Part 3

#demons #demonpossession #authority #prayer #liberation #communion #fellowship #willofGod #lastdays #endtime #Bridegroom .

[orthopunkfox]

Being queer and a Christian is often very difficult. I experience alienation from both sides. Often these two parts of myself feel impossible to reconcile. But, I want to share something beautiful that my priest does that nearly makes me weep every time. The Orthodox Church is not known for its inclusivity or progressiveness. It is ancient and its gears turn slowly. During Holy Communion, those who are not confirmed members of the Church may come forward for a blessing. The blessing is done by gender.

"The servant of God [Name] is blessed..." for men,

"The handmaid of God [Name] is blessed..." for women.

The first time I went up for a blessing, I was hesitant. My gender is no secret and I do not try to hide my queerness. Which blessing would I receive? With sadness, I concluded the priest would do what was simplest and default to my assigned gender.

I stood before him and bowed my head, arms crossed over my (noticeably growing) chest. He raised the golden chalice over my head and lovingly said:

"The beloved of God Quinn is blessed, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen "

He has done this ever since and with this simple action, preaches one of the main, if oft forgotten pillars of Orthodoxy: It does not matter who you are, what pronouns you use, what colour your hair is, what clothes you wear, what mistakes you've made, what trials you have overcome, where you came from or where you are. You are beloved of God just as you are. You are created in the Image of God and are a sacred vessel of beauty, and there is a place for you here.

This is true inclusivity. Not the white liberal veneer placed on so many churches where the cishet, boomer congregation pats themselves on the back for the rainbow flag outside while actively misgendering the trans person sitting in the pew. My priest has not given any big speeches talking about how everyone is loved here. He doesn't have to. His genuine kindness and that of my fellow parishioners are the only sermon marginalised people need to hear. In these moments, the two parts of myself become one and I truly believe that the God I love delights in me.

[aphroditelovesu]

Kinktober Day Twelve — Exhibitionism

❝ — 🍷 lady l: day twelve of kinktober!! I hope you like it!! Also, art is not mine, credit to the creators, unfortunately, I couldn't find them. Sorry for any mistakes ❤️

❝🍷pairing: yandere!dionysus x female!reader.

❝warnings: smut, NSFW, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, oral sex (male receiving).

❝🍷word count: 1,130.

In ancient times, in the leafy hills of Greece, a fervent worship followed Dionysus, the god of wine, the party and ecstasy. Each spring, when the first sunbeams began to heat the earth, his followers gathered in ecstasy to celebrate his God in a spectacle known as Bacchanal.

The place chosen for this celebration was a clear in the heart of the forest, where centenary trees rose majestically around a rustic altar. Dressed with purple tunics and vine garlands tangled in his hair, followers of Dionysus danced and intoned songs in honor of the god of wine.

As the wine flowed freely into ceramic glasses, joy and passion took over everyone. Musicians played flutes and drums, and the flames of a large bonfire crackled in the center of the circle, casting a dancing light on the ecstatic faces of the participants.

Dionysus was represented by a young man, often chosen for his beauty and grace. He personified the god, and his followers paid homage to him, offering him grapes and wine. In the midst of the celebration, a reverential silence fell over the place when the young Dionysus ascended the altar and, in a gesture of divine communion, shared the wine with those present.

As the night progressed, the atmosphere became more intense and liberating. Followers danced barefoot, losing themselves in an ecstasy that connected them directly with the divine. It didn't matter their social origin, everyone was equal before Dionysus.

The Bacchanal of Dionysus was a tribute to the joy, vitality and strength of nature. In those moments of celebration, followers disconnected from the concerns of the everyday world, surrendering themselves to the power of the god of wine, in a search for spiritual transcendence through the party. And so, every spring, the Greek hills were filled with the singing, dancing and euphoria of Dionysus' devotees, in a festival that reminded everyone of the importance of celebrating life and the passion it offers.

You always knew that Dionysus was an armed exhibitionist and never had problems with that. Part because you were one too, but the idea of letting him fuck you in front of his followers was at least strange and a little uncomfortable.

His followers are all drunk, as they were always in the festivities, and they would hardly remember that, but you were still not sure.

Dionysus, however, already knew what he wanted and he always got what he wanted.

You on your knees and sucking him until you beg for him to fuck you in front of his followers. And he intended to accomplish this fantasy.

Dionysus stroked your face and removed a lock of hair from your eye and admired their color for a moment.

"On your knees." He said in an authoritarian way and you, not knowing how to react, obeyed him and fell on your knees to your God. You stuck your hand under his chiton and you stroked him as you felt his cock hard.

You approached more and pulled the chiton's fabric to the side, giving the complete sight of his cock for you. You could feel your salivary mouth and, without caring about the others, you licked the tip timidly. Your tongue moistened to the glans of his cock and Dionysus gasped.

You took his cock with your hand and suck him, swallowing the maximum of the length of the god you could handle. What was not fit in your mouth, you took with your hand and made light movements from top to bottom.

"F-Fuck!" Dionysus moaned and stroked your hair. The vision of you on your knees for him and sucking his cock was very delicious. He looked to the side and saw his followers observe you with interest. He smiled at them and drank a sip of his glass of wine.

You removed it from your mouth with an obscene sound and smiled to the god, your lips wet. You squeezed his cock and licked all the length, your tongue lingering on the glans. Dionysus moaned loudly and pulled you through the hair, forcing you to stop sucking it.

"Take off your clothes." He ordered and you, hesitantly, obeyed and slid your chiton through your body, giving the vision of your nakedness to all presents. Contrary to what you imagined, it filled you with desire and your core throbbed.

Dionysus removed his own chiton and stood naked too, he sat in the chair and slapped it lightly on his thigh. You understood what you should do and slowly, you took his shoulders, balancing, and after adjusting a little, your pussy was dangerously close to his dick.

"Ride me, sweetie." He whispered and you went down slowly, your cunt swallowing Dionysus's cock as you thrust his cock on you. You took a deep breath and moaned, feeling full. Dionysus grabbed your hip and gave a little push up, causing you to squirm with pleasure.

You moaned and squeezed the broad shoulders of the god and without caring about the crowd that watched you intently, you ride him. Your breasts moved as you moved your body and Dionysus kissed your neck, still squeezing your hip.

You whined when the god sucked the skin with a little force, definitely leaving a mark. You squeezed his shoulders and ride his cock frantically. Your cunt sucking his cock, your body receiving waves of pleasure with every move.

Dionysus looked around and smirked at his followers, who faced you with lust. Some drank his wine, others ate grapes and others kissed and touched.But they all had one thing in common, they never took the gaze from you.

"Your pussy is so good, princess!" Dionysus moaned and squeezed your waist, his head tucked between your breasts and licking your nipple from your left breast. You whimpered and felt your climax approach.

Dionysus threw his head back and moaned your name as he came inside you, his cum filling your tight pussy. You moaned and moving quickly on his cock, you came, your pussy clenching around him, cumming on his cock.

You clutched to the god, your body shaking a little. You did not dare look at others, not wanting to know what they were doing.

Dionysus lazily began to move inside you, his hip pushing up slowly. You looked up and looked at him in his eyes. He smirked.

"Our joke is just starting, princess." He drank a sip of his wine and kept moving his hip slowly. You moaned and grabbed him harder.

His followers never ceasing to look at his body.

[winged-thinged]

I lived for a while bending over backwards to try to justify how my liberal beliefs fit into my Catholicism, cherrypicking scripture and arguing with tradition. It's definitely possible. But you know what? It's exhausting, constantly fighting for a place in a community that ultimately does not want you and isn't interested in changing.

When I was a theology student, I snarled at people who suggested that what I was really doing was asserting my beliefs and then assigning them to God (because I knew that gay people were natural and good, and God was good, so God must think so too, right?). I talked a lot about "ongoing revelation." About "indwelling" and human reason. I had to justify it to myself, because I wasn't willing to question the foundation that I had built myself on.

Because so little of my belief was actually built on what the Church and the Bible said, many of the traditional debunking arguments just didn't work on me. I didn't think that. I was sure that I was right and those other Christians were wrong.

But all that work eventually begs the question. Is it worth it? Why call yourself a Christian at all, when you have already traveled so far away from the foundations of Christianity?

And so I took a good hard look at what most of the Christians around me actually believed and how they acted. I finally let myself ask the question: what if I do them the courtesy of taking them at their word? What if I take their claims seriously, instead of imposing my own ideas about right and wrong onto the god that they believe in?

And what I immediately felt was revulsion. If God was actually like what the Church teaches, and not like the image I had been building up in my head all these years, then I wanted nothing to do with him. I remember, shortly after asking myself this question, I took communion for what would turn out to be the last time. I couldn't swallow. I wanted to vomit. The idea of taking a deity who believed and acted like my community said he did into my body, letting him touch my soul, was despicable. I decided then and there that, if God was real, I'd rather go to hell than worship him. I walked away, and I have never looked back.

I am so much lighter, now, not having to twist myself into knots justifying how my beliefs fit into a Catholic structure. I cut out the middle man. It is enough to simply use my mind and my heart to observe the world decide what's right for me. I'm perfectly capable of philosophical and moral reasoning on my own. No divine revelations required.

[givemearmstopraywith]

sadly i think that liberation theology in general doesn’t get the traction it deserves both in (predominantly white) secular and religious circles because people, even the “good” christians who value social justice, are more interested in liberating themselves than they are in liberating other people. at some point christianity stopped being about communion and started being about how we can free ourselves from something: sin, guilt, shame, fundamentalism, etc. in actuality christianity is and has always been about other people, but nobody seems keen on acknowledging that in any way that matters. 

[letlovemeetlove]

“Mystical experience needs some form of dogma in order not to dissipate into moments of spiritual intensity that are merely personal, and dogma needs regular infusions of unknowingness to keep from calcifying into the predictable, pontificating, and anti-intellectual services so common in mainstream American churches. So what does all this mean practically? It means that congregations must be conscious of the persistent and ineradicable loneliness that makes a person seek communion, with other people and with God, in the first place. It means that conservative churches that are infused with the bouncy brand of American optimism one finds in sales pitches are selling shit. It means that liberal churches that go months without mentioning the name of Jesus, much less the dying Christ, have no more spiritual purpose or significance than a local union hall. It means that we -- those of us who call ourselves Christians -- need a revolution in the way we worship. This could mean many different things -- poetry as liturgy, focused and extended silences, learning from other religious traditions and rituals (this seems crucial), incorporating apophatic language. But one thing it means for sure: we must be conscious of language as language, must call into question every word we use until we refine or remake a language that is fit for our particular religious doubts and despairs -- and of course (and most of all!) our joys.”

― Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss: Meditation of a Modern Believer

[onedaughterofman]

Sin (Papa Emeritus x g/n reader)

Summary: Papa teaches you how sins are meant to be celebrated: on all fours, right in front of him.

Tags: +18, explicit adult content, Papa Emeritus being a manwhore manipulator, rough sex, oral sex, altar sex, overall blasphemy, religious references, religious trauma, some priest kink here. Around 2.4 K words. Reader is gender neutral.

Disclaimer: I wrote this thinking about Terzo but I guess it works with others too. Minors DNI pls.

“Please forgive me, Papa, for I’m afraid to sin.”

The crucifix sits heavy between your clenched hands. One by one, your fingertips stop on the beads, mentally recalling all those ancient prayers to the Lord below. Still, nothing releases the guilt that clings to your ankles and legs, that snakes up until it grabs you by the neck.

Inside the confessional booth, it’s impossible to see Papa Emeritus’ face. He remains silent, deadly so, to the point you begin to wonder if he’s there, if he can hear you.

“This is my first time confessing to you, Papa,” you continue, gathering a deep breath. It feels as if the air contains no oxygen, no richness to it. No matter how much you try to fill your lungs, it’s never enough.

The guilt. It’s all about the guilt, in the end. It consumes you right to the core, making it hard to get up the bed and do your work around the Clergy. Truth is, even if the veil covers your hair like a cold blanket, you have doubted whether or not you belong here. Previous experiences with religion have made you wary, bitter even.

This is supposed to be different, to release you from guilt and resent, from the trauma. This is your freedom now. Something you have to pursue, but it’s so hard when everything weighs so much on your body. A part of you is afraid Papa might be angry. The idea of him yelling and dragging you out of the chapel almost forces you to your feet, ready to bolt. You’ve barely interacted with him during the black mass, accepting the communion with an open mouth and open heart.

For a long moment, Papa states nothing. His voice is a low rumble when he speaks up, words laced with such kindness that it takes you by surprise. “Is that so?” He says, and you feel him leaning closer on the grille that separates both parts of the box. “And why?”

As much as the shame burdens your tongue, the words manage to escape through clenched teeth. “I don’t know,” you confess, the crucifix shaking in your hands. “There’s something I desire, but I’m fearful of it.”

Over the silence of the chapel, his words are too loud. They make you flinch. “Step out of the booth, please.”

Taking shaky steps, you obey. Standing right in front of him, his mere presence causes you to feel so small, so insignificant in the face of the chosen one. “Walk with me,” he instructs, a warm hand lingering in the small of your back, steering you into the dark.

You stop at the grand altar, right in front of the colored glass of the windows. The artwork is beautiful, intricate. Papa points to it, an open hand directing your gaze. “Do you know why we are here, standing in the open? Because there’s nothing shameful about having desires, and wishing to fulfill them.”

Contrary to what you initially believed, his voice is gentle, soft. His gloved hands ghost over your waist, fingers barely grazing your clothes. Yet, the touch delivers electricity down your legs, igniting sparks in your guts.

“Every time you desire something, that’s Lucifer’s voice whispering in your ear. It is only a matter of listening to his guidance, of trusting in his wisdom. There’s nothing wrong with sin, we were born from it, and were liberated from the clutches of tyranny thanks to it," he continues. "Good and evil are nothing but options humanity has. Satan has gifted us knowledge and sight. He gave us freedom to chase and fulfill our deep desires as we see fit. So, I ask again. Why are you so afraid?”

The question is something you have been pondering for years by now. Why are you so afraid of yourself, of your needs and wants? Why do you keep denying yourself, hiding? Is the real you ugly, sick and perverse?

Or is it merely free of preconceptions, of fear of judgment?

Even if there is not an answer inside your mind, you do your best to reply. “I’m ashamed, Papa. I’ve been told my desires are… impure, tainted. I know what I want, but I don’t know if I'm strong enough to get it.”

“It’s okay,” for a long moment, Papa Emeritus stays silent, contemplative. ”There’s a veil on your head, but you’re not wearing the habits. Have you taken your vows?”

“No, Papa. I’m lost.”

“That I can see. I see how lost you are, how much you’re hurting. Tell me, do you want me to make it better? Do you require me to show you how to enjoy a luscious, pleasant life?”

Right now, there’s nothing you desire more. You’re desperate, so thirsty for any kind of relief, willing to do anything to find a place to belong in this world. Breathless, the words escape your mouth like a confession. “Yes, please”

Papa smiles, a spark deep inside his eyes. “Then, let’s do it now. Let’s perform the oaths together. This shall be your communion.”

You hesitate, guilt gripping you by the calves, clutching your arms behind your back. He notes it. “If shame is what anchors your feet, then let me be the one to carry it for you. If you can’t take a full step forward, then take half, for I’ll meet you right in the middle.”

And half a step is what you take. “Oh, Papa,” you say, falling to your knees in front of him, nails clinging to the robes. “Please, instruct me. Be my guide into the darkness.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, extending his hand. “I’ll show you the way. Do you trust me?”

Against all reluctance, you do. “Yes,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. His leather glove is warm, soft under your skin. Papa offers you another smile, tighter this time. There’s a glint of something in it, something deep and dark, full of lust. It feels as if you’re making a deal with the Devil himself, as if you’re forfeiting your body and soul to Satan.

Even if that’s the case, what bliss runs inside your veins.

“We’ll silence your doubts together. There’s no better place to do it than here, right in the altar in front of the eyes of the Lord. This will be an offering to him and a lesson for you. Sin is to be celebrated, my dear. We’ll celebrate together as one.”

Escorting you right to the middle of the altar, Papa holds your hand and kisses the back of it. In a gentle but commanding tone, he orders you to take off your clothes. Slowly, button by button, the clothes fall to the floor. The cold air hits your exposed skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

Papa’s eyes follow the curves of your thighs, the softness of your abdomen and your chest before stopping in your face. His hand cups your cheek, thumb slowly caressing over the bone.

You’re shaking. Either from the cold or the shame, it’s hard to tell. It’s not easy to stand bare and naked in body and soul in front of this man, in the middle of the chapel. Anybody could walk inside and see you, see everything.

Almost as if he could read your mind, Papa speaks up. “There’s no need to feel shame. Is this your first time doing something like this?” He asks, tilting his head.

The answer is yes. You’ve never done anything similar. Old, past experiences can’t compare to this. This is sinful, blasphemous, so dirty. Getting fucked in a church, by a priest… is scandalous.

And so, so exciting.

Nodding, your eyes fall to the floor as the heat of blood rushes to your face and chest. “Don’t worry. The inexperience, that is what makes me tremble,” he confesses, leaning closer until he’s whispering in your ear. “I’ll tell you what to do.”

Papa’s first order is to kneel before him. The wood is unforgiving under your knees, so cold on your feverish skin. Your neck strains when you look up to him, wide eyes burning on his face. From this angle, he almost doesn’t look human. Instead, he’s divine, irresistible in a way that shouldn’t be possible. There’s no doubt he is the chosen one, the one blessed by Satan.

The leather of his glove tastes bitter. Papa’s thumb presses down on your tongue and on your teeth, thick saliva coating the material. Your eyes follow the movement of his other hand, see the way he undoes the buttons of his pants. The outline of his erection is clearly visible, even through the layers of clothing.

“Let’s begin with the rites. You’ll receive your communion now.”

Papa’s skin is so warm. The precum leaking from his dick is salty, a faint aftertaste on your taste buds. His hands are on your head, one on your cheek and another on your hair, to keep you steady as he begins to thrust.

The movement is slow, controlled, but you still feel your gag reflex activate as he hits the back of your throat. Breathing deep through your nose, you focus on his abdomen, on the open robes and the embroidery on the under cassock.

He is big, so heavy on your tongue. Your hands curl on your lap, sharp nails digging on the plush flesh of your thighs as a way to keep you grounded. Papa is gripping your head, thrusting hard and fast, chasing his own pleasure without a care in the world.

The sight of his face as he looks down on you makes you moan, throat vibrating with the sound. He grunts, one of his big hands falling down to your neck and squeezing, not enough to choke, but enough to make you feel it. You gag, tears falling down from the corner of your eyes, getting lost somewhere on your collarbones.

Finally, when his muscles are tense and his mouth is agape, Papa stops. Pulling out, the tip of his cock traces your lips, smearing spit and precum. His fingers grab your chin, tilt your head up so you can look into his eyes. “You’re good, so good”, he praises. “Doesn't it feel satisfying, to indulge in your lascivious desires? Don't you want to get fucked, here in the altar? You’ll enjoy that, si?”

There are no words in your mouth, only his cum. Nodding eagerly, you follow his instructions as he backs away, letting his robes fall behind. “On your fours,” he commands, pointing at the stained glass that adorns the chapel. “I want you to look at the Lord and recite His praise. This is not for us only. This is an offering in His honor. We’re doing it in the name of Satan.”

Breathing deep, you try to recall all those lessons. Imperator’s voice is completely lost somewhere in the mind fog when you feel Papa’s fingers entering you, one at the time. His hand is burning, so hot and rough. A part of you wants to turn around, to see for the first time the bare skin.

It feels sinful, too intimate, wrong even. His tongue clicks in disapproval when you catch a glimpse of what he’s doing, of his fingers going in and out of your body, glistening in his saliva and your excitement. “Recite.”

“Our father…” you start, voice faltering when he hits the right spot. Your spine curves on its own, nails digging on the hard wood of the altar.

“Our father, who art in Hell. Unhallowed, be thy name,” Papa assist, voice deep and commanding. It is enough to prompt you to follow him, pupils focusing on the colored glass.

It’s useless. Your voice dies as he enters you, a loud, deep moan invading your vocal cords. Papa’s hands grip you by the waist, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. In the morning, you'll have plenty of mementos, you'll wear his mark with pride.

His thrusts are relentless, powerful. At some point, Papa presses down on your abdomen, causing you to feel him deeper and deeper, in your guts and even poking at the stomach. You wonder if he can feel himself moving inside you, if he feels as good as you feel right now.

His deep growl in your ear tells you he does. Going faster and faster, Papa thrusts until your arms can’t hold you anymore. Falling to the ground, the wood is a cold relief in your feverish face. Your sharp nails scratch the altar, as he hits it over and over again.

The borders of your vision become dark as you come, legs shaking and toes curling, stomach tight and back arched like a cat. Papa continues, hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, hitting even deeper until his movement becomes erratic and he comes, filling your insides.

For a long moment, he doesn't speak. Gradually, he pulls out, leaving you open and dripping for him. His fingers trace a way down your inner thighs, travel up your spine. “By the grace of Our Lord, you have received the communion of the Unholy Spirit. Hail Satan.”

“Hail Satan,” you breath out, eyes closed and mouth agape. There’s not a trace of strength in your muscles, nothing but bliss.

“And Hail yourself, Sibling. I’ll wait eagerly to celebrate your next confession.”

Without any other word, he stands up. Picking up his discarded robes, Papa begins to walk his way out of the chapel.

“Yes, Papa,” you reply. before he crosses the door. The air is beginning to come back inside your lungs, as the blood cools down. Alone on the altar, you rejoice in the feeling of his blessing trickling down your thighs.

PD: This is my retirement from the Ghost fandom. I'll never be able to write something like this again /hj.

Ask box is open so you can confess your sins, you priest-fuckers.

[monstrousproductions]

TELL US ABOUT QUAKERISM

This is an absolutely hilarious thing to find in my inbox in all caps thank you so much 😂 I was going to say something like, "I'll try to keep this brief" but realistically I know I'm gonna waffle so BRACE FOR WAFFLING.

Quakers - also known as the Religious Society of Friends - are a denomination of Christianity that was founded in the mid-1600s in the north of England. It was part of the Dissenters movement, which is a term for a collection of Protestant denominations that grew up around that time out of criticism, dissatisfaction and... dissent... with the Church of England.

The branch of Quakerism that I belong to is actually in the global minority for Quakers. Most Quakers worldwide belong to evangelical branches and I'm not at all clear on how their theology differs from mainstream evangelical Christianity.

Those meetings (the Quaker term for churches/congregations) are what's called "programmed", which means their worship takes the form of a service easily recognisible by most Christians with hymns, a minister, prepared readings from the Bible, etc. I really can't speak much to that side of things as I know almost nothing abou it!

In contrast, my branch of Quakerism - by far the most common in Britain and Ireland, and I think I'm right in saying the most common in Europe and North Amerca though I'm not 100% sure - is "unprogrammed". There's no service, instead we sit together for an hour in silence. That silence might be broken by any person taking part who feels moved to stand up and speak - this is called "ministry" and for theist Quakers, it's understood as being a response to the promptings of what some people call the Light, some people call God, some people call the Holy Spirit.

This unusual worship style is an expression of the foundational Quaker belief that nobody has more of a connection to the holy than anyone else. A minister isn't better able to speak to God than a layperson, and we place a lot of emphasis on speaking to your own experiences of the divine and respecting others' experiences. A phrase often used to describe this idea is "There is that of God in everyone."

As well as unprogrammed worship, this side of Quakerism has historically been very socially and theologically liberal/radical. Early Quakers were very involved in prison reform and abolition of the slave trade, and that social consciousness has carried through the centuried to see Quakers involved in all sorts of social justice causes from pacifism and anti-war work to climate justice and queer liberation.

Quakerism is a non-credal faith, which means there's no list of beliefs you have to subscribe to in order to be a Quaker. It's also non-sacramental, so we don't have things like christenings, baptisms, communion, etc.

There is a difference between being a "member" of a meeting and being an "attender", but the differences are largely administrative and effect what kinds of roles you can take in the meeting rather than whether you're considered a "full" Quaker or not. Those roles are things like treasurer or clerk - logistical roles related to the running of the meeting rather than spiritual leadership - and they change hands regularly.

That said, there are some basic concepts aside from "that of God in everyone" that guide most Quaker ideas. These are called "testimonies", and there's no total consensus on what they are - I have a feeling different Quakers in the world have a different list - but the ones I'm familiar with are Peace, Equality, Truth and Simplicity. Some people add Sustainability, personally I think that's accounted for under the first four, namely Equality and Simplicity.

The Peace testimony might be the most famous Quaker principle. Quakers are a pacifist group (though not all Quakers agree on what that pacifism should look like...) and have oppose war and violence in all sorts of ways, from refusing to join the military and being conscientious objectors to not buying their children toy guns and so on.

Equality is pretty simple to get your head round! If all people have something holy in them, they all deserve to be treated fairly. Quakers resist personal and structural inequality, and we organise ourselves in a way that reflect that as well as working to make the world around us more equal and fair. This is both on a broad scale and on a granular one - some Quakers still use "thee/thou" because early Quakers did as a way of rejecting social hierarchies. Personally I prefer not to use salutations which stem from the same thing.

Simplicity is often simplified to a kind of general anti-consumerism, which is why I think Sustainability falls under this (I think it goes under Equality too because of the social impact of climate change etc). With this testimony, you're encouraged to find joy in simple pleasures and to appreciate the world around you. You don't need more stuff to be happy, and we owe it to ourselves and others to think carefully about how much we consume, what we consume, and why.

Finally, Truth or Integrity is about living up to your principles. It's about being honest with yourself about whether you're living your faith and putting your values into action, and about speaking the truth in all cases. Early Quakers refused to take legal vows or oaths, because they committed to always speaking the truth so it made no sense theologically for them to say "OK but for real now I'm actually being honest". I'd still "affirm" in court rather than take a vow, for the same reason.

All in all, I'm really proud of being a Quaker and personally I can see a lot of Quakerism in Monstrous Agonies (and all my writing!) which isn't very suprising because Quakerism informs a huge part of my life and worldview. It's not some kind of perfect, historically spotless religion - as well as being abolitionists, some Quakers were also slave-owners, for example, or were involved in the residential schools for Native Americans, and individual Quakers are as flawed as any other group. But I think we make a good effort at repairing those wrongs, being honest about our failings and making reparations.

Also, the porridge oats are nothing to do with us.

[cadmusfly]

Non Comprehensive List of the Nice Spanish Paintings That Mysteriously Ended Up in Marshal Soult's Collection

Sourced from the essay Seville's Artistic Heritage during the French Occupation in the book Manet/Velázquez: The French Taste for Spanish Painting, which can be downloaded for free on the Met's website which is frankly awesome but i wish someone OCRed their book

In 1852 at the sale of his collection, there were 109 paintings up for sale - 78 from the Seville School, including 15 Murillos and 15 Zurbaráns.

It's interesting that Soult wanted to legitimize his ownership of these paintings via receipts and official documentation - the biography of him I was machine translating talks about the king questioning his collection and him pulling out receipts for each painting. But, well, the essay puts it like this: "The existence of an official letter can be explained by Soult's desire to dress up in legal or formal terms what was in reality theft or extortion."

I might put excerpts from the essay in a different post, but for now, let's look at the list! Modern locations of the paintings are in parentheses, and I must say, for an essay critical of historical reappropriation of artwork, a lot of these artworks are still extant. Not a dig or anything, just an observation.

I do not condone extorting or stealing priceless Spanish artworks anyway

On with the show!

Murillo The Immaculate Conception (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) Virgin and Child (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool) Saint Elizabeth of Hungary Nursing the Sick (Church of the Hospital de la Caridad, Seville) Christ Healing the Paralytic at the Pool of Bethesda (National Gallery, London) The Return of the Prodigal Son (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.) Abraham and the Three Angels (National Gallery Of Canada, Ottawa) The Liberation of Saint Peter (State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg) Saint Junipero and the Pauper (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Salvador de Horta and the Inquisitor Of Aragon (Musée Bonnat, Bayonne) Brother Julián de Alcalá and the Soul of Philip II (Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Mass.) The Angels' Kitchen (Musée du Louvre, Paris) The Dream Of the Patrician (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) The Patrician John and His Wife (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) The Triumph of the Eucharist (Lord Farringdon Collection, Buscot Park, Farringdon, England) Saint Augustine in Ecstasy [Not sourced from the above book, from a Christies auction actually]

Herrera the Elder The Israelites Receiving Manna (unknown/destroyed?) Moses Striking the Rock (unknown/destroyed?) The Marriage at Cana (unknown/destroyed?) The Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes (Musée d'Amiens, destroyed in 1918) Last Communion of Saint Bonaventure (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Basil Dictating His Doctrine (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

Zurbarán Saint Apollonia (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Lucy Musée des Beaux-Arts, Chartres Saint Anthony Abbot (private collection, Madrid) Saint Lawrence (State Hermitage, St. Petersburg) Saint Bonaventure at the Council of Lyon (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Bonaventure on His Bier (Musée du Louvre, Paris) The Apotheosis of Saint Thomas Aquinas (Museo de Bellas Artes, Seville) Saints Romanus and Barulas (Art Institute of Chicago) paintings of the archangel Gabriel and Saint Agatha (both Musée de Montpellier)

Cano Saint John with the Poisoned Chalice and Saint James the Apostle (both Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint John Giving Communion to the Virgin (Palazzo Bianco, Genoa) Saint John's Vision Of God (John and Mable Ringling Museum Of Art, Sarasota) Charity and Faith (present location unknown; 1852 Soult sale) Saint Agnes (destroyed in fire in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin)

Uncertain source, thought to be Murillo at the time A Resting Virgin (usually identified as The Holy Family with the Infant Saint John the Baptist, Wallace Collection London) The Death Of Abel Saint Peter Saint Paul

Other artists in his collection whose specific works weren't named Sebastiån de Llanos Valdés Pedro de Camprobin José Antolinez Sebastiån Gomez

[effyrosemary]

oh my god unethical priest marius you're a genius!!!!! do you think armand resists the idea that letting his priest fuck him is totally okay in the eyes of god or is he relieved to finally let go and give into his baser desires.... or both! do you think it makes him less guilty or more? god and imagine if marius were to weaponize armand's guilt in order to keep him even more trapped, like yes you are so bad for this and i'm the only one who can absolve you. i'm so invested LOL if you have any hcs of how it would play out i'm aaalll ears

Omg! thank you! To answer your question:

I think it’s both kinda. I think for Armand it would be so liberating to finally give in to these desires, and I think the shame is also kind of what gets him off (it’s the classic “oh no this is so wrong, but it feels so good!”). But I also think that there’s still a small part of him that genuinely feels it’s wrong to do these sexual things. Armand desperately wants to believe in something, I think, and to have that stability so he can have a space for himself to rebuild and to trust again. (don’t get me started, I have this whole fic idea of Daniel trying to provide Armand with a cozy little home and emotional support and stability so Armand has a space to heal, but that’s another story for another day) But I also feel like Armand is very nihilistic in some ways, so maybe he feels guilty but he also goes against the guilt on purpose, to feel that hurt and to feel that shame, I don’t know if you’re following me hahah

And omg, Marius weaponizing the genuine guilt is so wrong and so deliciously GOOD. (idc! it’s fiction! they’re not real people! let us have our dirty thoughts OK!)

When I first saw “unethical therapist Marius” on @monstersinthecosmos I was so immediately hooked. (I then sent this anon bc I needed to talk about it lmao, I was still not familiar with tumblr again after being away for a long time and I thought maybe people will think I’m weird but now I say fuck it bc Anne Rice never shunned away from people thinking her stories/characters were strange/too much.)

Marius is always so seemingly in control, and I love when he’s fooling himself that he’s doing the right thing when he KNOWS he’s not. That’s also why I like Pandora and him together, she kinda sees through his mask. Spoiler: I still remember that one part in Blood Communion after Marius kills Arjun where they’re all sitting around the table and Marius is furiously talking to Pandora and Lestat says: “I had never seen him so angry”, in other words; Lestat has never really seen Marius’ mask break like that, except now that he is upset with/about Pandora. Or when he’s helped out of the ice by Pandora and Santino in QOTD where he childishly snaps at her and says “I can walk unaided, thank you!” when Pandora reaches out to touch him, and she just gives him a shove and is like ‘“Fine girl, walk then lmao”

He wants to be this voice of reason, this stability etc, and he is, but he’s also human. So I love it when those kind of characters secretly give in to their bad side and try to justify it! I also love it when usually reserved people finally snap and can’t control themselves anymore when they finally get what they want, it’s my favorite thing. (There is this beautiful fic by @0junemeatcleaver0 where Marius kinda loses his composure at some points and he gives in to what he really wants and it’s so good. Highly recommend that fic in general.)

I LOVE headcanons, please tell me if you have some! These are some of mine regarding priest!marius:

- Marius has to actively restrain his thoughts from going wild when he sees Armand on his knees, or when the boy is reaching up to clean a shelf and his shirt rises and Marius can see the silky skin of his lower back. He’s practically drooling :)

- Armand secretly kind of knows the relationship between them is wrong, but he tries to test Marius by experimenting. (Sitting next to Marius and accidentally letting their knees touch etc that sort of thing, playing it dirty but also safe you know)

- Armand gets turned on when Marius is preaching in front of the crowd (idk how that shit works I’m not even religious, I never grew up religious lmao! how bad I am!) because Armand loves to see Marius in a position of power, and he loves how the people of the church look up to him.

- Armand has definitely thought about sucking Marius off under his robes when he’s speaking in front of a church full of people.

- At night, when Marius can’t think of nothing but Armand’s shapely legs and his lovely mouth, he turns to his Bible with the stubborn will of A Good Man and tries to ignore the insistent throbbing between his legs. And he can manage it, at least for a while.

- But then one night, he walks in on Armand praying on his knees and he walks up to tell the boy to go on home because it’s late and he should get some sleep, and the boy looks up from where he’s kneeling and says in a small voice, cheeks blushing; “I can’t, father. I’ll have sinful thoughts when I’m trying to sleep, I need to pray first.”

- And Marius offers he can help Armand with these thoughts, if Armand is willing to learn how to be a proper man of God.

- Nothing gets Marius more worked up than the idea of Armand calling him ‘ Father’ when they’re getting dirty together, it drives him feral

Alors… as Armand once told David Talbot; “Look, I’m deranged x”

* English is not my first language so apologies if there are some typos. Edit: I can’t believe I forgot the word “not” in the previous sentence for DAYS I have No Brains

[talonabraxas]

My communion with divine consciousness flows through my undestanding of cosmic order.

AJNA Chakra Talon Abraxas

The sixth chakra, the Ajna chakra, is in the area of the third eye, which is found in the space between the eyebrows.

[kaedekolya]

on the religious themes in fyodor's ability, and how dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov is reflected in it

Crime and punishment — not antonyms, but not quite synonyms; inextricably linked, yet not exactly cause and effect. Fyodor’s ability. When he is murdered, the crime is rectified through the subsumption of his killer; a punishment that keeps the criminal beholden to their victim. An inevitable consequence, and a holy communion.

Jesus shed blood upon the cross to atone for the sins of the people; a sacrifice to deliver them from their collective sin and bear it on their behalf. In much the same way, Fyodor's spilled blood liberates the people it kills from their sins — absolving them in death — while Fyodor, who continues living, shoulders the weight of sin and atonement in their place.

Beneath this allusion lies the implicit premise that life is sacred. Yet Fyodor, through his ability, inherently desecrates the sanctity of life — by usurping another’s lifespan, and evading the natural inevitability of death. He is at once divine, and unholy; he is both sides of the coin that is religious faith. Sacred and sinful, pious and blasphemous, hallowed and accursed. Fyodor embodies sanctity, yet is sacrilege personified.

[ table of contents: religious themes in fyodor's ability, parallels between fyodor's character and dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov, dazai and fyodor as foils ]

< Fyodor’s ability, Crime and Punishment >

Take crime as corporeal wrongs committed on the mortal plane, and punishment as spiritual judgement, penance, atonement. Just as the material and spiritual realms are distinct but not disparate, coexisting as one, crime and punishment are two halves of a whole; you cannot have one without the other.

What makes Fyodor so formidable as an opponent is that his ability makes it impossible to kill the body without also killing the soul. In Dead Apple, unlike the abilities of other users, Crime and Punishment neither separates from nor turns against Fyodor. It is not just a power he can harness, or a part of him; it is him. When it activates, the borders delineating disparate identities vanish, and the room of a new body to inhabit awakens. Through it all, Fyodor’s consciousness remains constant.

Fyodor views ability users as inherently sinful — bearing the sin of ability itself. Add to that the moral wrong of murder, and the punishment meted out by Fyodor’s ability is the cleansing of this sin through death, where no ability can follow. Fyodor himself is divine retribution, for the inevitable sins of mortals — even while toeing the line between mortality and immortality. He cleanses sin, but in doing so, commits a sin himself.

< Dostoyevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov >

The activation condition for Fyodor’s ability comes not from the act of killing itself, but the intention behind it; Crime and Punishment targets not the mind-controlled vampire that stabs Fyodor, but Bram, the vampire lord that directed the murder. It is the age-old dilemma between actus reus and mens rea — the criminal act itself, versus the intention to commit the crime.

Amidst patricide and philosophical pondering, Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov spotlights the question: is the crime itself important, or does the intent behind it matter more? When Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov is murdered, suspicion brews amidst his four sons – the passionate Dmitri, the intellectual Ivan, the devout Alyosha, and the scorned Smerdyakov. Each of them has a reason to despise their father, and all of them could have — might have, would have — wanted to kill him.

While it is only one brother responsible for the killing blow that ended their father’s life, the novel questions whether the other brothers are truly innocent. Could they not be said to have been complicit in the crime, if they hadn’t done enough to prevent it? Turning their backs on their father, averting their eyes from his sins, forsaking him — does that not make them culpable, too?

In The Brothers Karamazov, epilepsy is a hereditary trait that lies dormant in the Karamazov patriarch, and manifests in his sons. In the novel, Fyodor — both the author and the Karamazov — gives these epileptic seizures to both the virtuous Alyosha and the vicious Smerdyakov; at once a woeful affliction upon a presumed angel, and a curse befitting an apparent devil.

This duality has its roots in real-life tragedy. Dostoyevsky lost his young son Alyosha to epilepsy, inherited from his veins, and the resulting grief led him to write a righteous protagonist in his son’s namesake. Yet Dostoyevsky also bore the guilt of passing down the condition that prematurely took his son’s life, and this perceived sin haunted him endlessly in his own seizures. Dostoyevsky named the irredeemable Karamazov patriarch after himself, akin to a confession of his shame.

In BSD, Fyodor’s anaemia and frail constitution can be seen as a parallel to the Karamazovs’ epilepsy. Fyodor lives to bear the sin of others; though his body dies a victim of murder, his spirit is granted a new birth. His physical suffering is an emblem of a noble sacrifice, while also being a price to pay for the sin of eternal life. Yet another religious parallel is brought to mind here; Jesus' physical body died to cleanse the people of their sins, while his spirit, his legacy, lives on in people's worship. In this way, Fyodor is the embodiment of faith itself.

Yet at the same time, Fyodor himself holds no such faith. If his ability is the faith that affords others salvation, then calling abilities sin and desiring to extinguish them all would be a blasphemous act, yet that is exactly what Fyodor does. Perhaps, just as God gave his own son up for crucifixion, Fyodor views his ability — and the eternal life that comes with it — as the will of an external power and not of his own.

In the moment of his death, pierced by a spear of rebar, Fyodor utters Jesus’ last words on the cross. Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani – my God, my God, why have you forsaken me? It is an acknowledgement of Fyodor’s metaphorical crucifixion, the death of his current form and the birth of his next incarnation; it is also a wry lamentation of the fate he is bound to.

< Dazai and Fyodor as foils >

Dazai and Fyodor are inherently set up as foils to each other — not only in terms of their ideals and methods, but also the very nature of their existence. The nullification of abilities — this lack, this nothingness — is embedded within Dazai’s being, regardless of his will. As for Fyodor, his existence itself is made possible through his ability; his life is irrevocably intertwined with it. Just as Dazai’s involuntary ability nullification preserves his life, Fyodor’s involuntary ability activation prolongs his own.

There’s an almost paradoxical juxtaposition here; Dazai uses his ability nullification to protect his fellow ability users and the city of Yokohama, whereas Fyodor utilises his ability in the pursuit of a world without abilities, and doesn’t care if the city gets destroyed in the process. The elimination of abilities to preserve them, and the activation of an ability to eradicate them.

This spiritual mirroring is what allows Dazai and Fyodor to comprehend each other, on an innate level that no others can reach. Their hypocrisy is not a conscious choice, but an inevitability woven into the very fibres of their nature. Dazai — with the help of Oda — has come to terms with this, resolving to keep striving forward against the currents that come his way for even the briefest moment of walking in the light.

Fyodor, however, cannot accept this lack of agency and autonomy. If he cannot have control over the activation of his ability, then he will wrest control in every other aspect available to him; he will lay down the chess pieces and manipulate marionettes on puppet strings, in order to manoeuvre when, how, and upon whom his ability activates. If it is impossible to stop the currents, then Fyodor will turn the tides to his will.

It is this gnawing, all-consuming need for control and certainty that affords Fyodor his far-reaching foresight — but it will also, likely, spell his downfall. Trapped within the binaries of crime and punishment, good and evil, sin and salvation, Fyodor cannot see that he is limited to both a false dichotomy and an incomplete union. There is no room for rehabilitation, no room for nuance, in his worldview — and while both his faith and the lack thereof have kept him alive, they may also herald his doom.

thank you for reading! my ask box is open, and i'll probably write a second part to this with a closer focus on dostoyevsky's the brothers karamazov — particularly the parallels between fyodor and ivan karamazov, from their atheistic intellectualism to their moral contradictions, and how the madness that overtook ivan may eventually consume fyodor too.

[murderballadeer]

another funny thing abt the quiet revolution is that ok so around the mid 1960s it became popular among liberal intellectual catholics to ask their kids if they wanted to take part in religious rituals. and my dad was born in 1960 and his parents were university professors so naturally in 1966 he was asked if he wanted to take communion and he said no bc he was 6 and didn't care. and that's how my father avoided ever taking communion and was never confirmed in the catholic church despite attending mass there well into his teens