#fall of pentecostalism

[escaping-amish]

BREAKING NEWS: Ex fundie -- who was raised to believe that any attempt at jewelry, makeup, hair coloring, polish was falling victim to the spirit of vanity — gets the wildest set of nails to date!!!!

Turn to your neighbor next to you and tell them - dang they look good don’t they??!

[monsterblogging]

Links to Pacific Rim creator Travis Beacham's own posts on drift compatibility and drifting

Drift compatibility is psychological, not genetic

The better you know someone, the more likely you are to be drift compatible

Drift compatibility is potential, not fate

Drift compatibility can be a choice

Friendship is the foundation of drift compatibility

The drift requires trust

Trust is fundamental; also drift compatibility can be determined with anything that tests how well you can anticipate each others' moves

That even includes multiplayer video games

Many cadets wash out during Pons training when secrets come out in the drift and shatter their relationships

A lot of pilots get messed up by flinching over sexual thoughts

Trying to avoid thoughts just makes them worse

Not everything you see in the drift is always real; also the way to deal with thoughts is just let them flow by

Pilots communicate through "headspace"

Illustration of a conversation in headspace

First drifts can be very confusing, because partners don't understand each others' minds very well yet

The drift exposes pilots to each others' raw, unfiltered thoughts

Raleigh knew what Yancy was going to say

The drift doesn't let you read your partner's mind like a database, and you may not necessarily understand what you see. Also when Pentecost says he carries nothing into the drift he means he's calm and stable.

Pentecost gained this calmness through meditation

Trying to block your partner from your mind will make you lose control of the Jaeger

Pilots who fall below 90% sync will be in trouble

General information plus info on RABITs

You can chase your partner's RABIT

Another post confirming you can chase your partner's RABIT

More RABIT info

More general information

Travis Beacham defines ghost drifting

Partners' personalities can rub off on each other

Neural overload doesn't hit you all at once; it accumulates

The time a pilot can go solo varies, and it's a steep curve from fine to dead

More info on solo piloting

Being high in the drift probably makes it harder to avoid chasing the RABIT

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

I think I’m vaguely ~triggered~ and I’m feeling nauseous and weird so this is gonna come out rambly as hell and I apologize but: 

Not only is this true, it’s expected.

Not only are people taught that others don’t experience love, there is at the very least an implication that they are not capable of it and are inherently evil unless you show them the light and they choose to overcome that evil and accept Jesus as their savior.

Not only is this implication there, but it becomes your duty and purpose in life to save everyone you possibly can from an eternity of torment and suffering.

Not only is that your duty and job, if you fail your love will be a punishment because everyone you love will be lost. 

And the only way to convince them to “save themselves” is to make them see how desperately they are in need of redemption, which usually comes out in a woefully misguided stream of “love” through comments about how fundamentally wrong, evil, and disgusting we all are. 

Your entire life is meant to be spent in anxiety and fear disguised as “hope” and “love” because this life means nothing but at the same time if you get it wrong you and everyone you love will suffer and burn forever. 

(Now, there are varying viewpoints on this, but even those who don’t believe in all of the “lake of fire” bs tend to define hell as a separate plane of existence distanced from God in emotional torment forever.) 

As for indulging in sin, it can be as basic as exposure to or experiencing anything from the “secular” world. Non-Christian music. Non-Christian movies. Non-Christian books. 

I was told by a very close friend as a teenager that she had “seen demons entering my home” because I dared to read Harry Potter. I was told that I should stop watching my favorite movie because I was “too enthralled by it” and was “dangerously close to worshipping false idols”. I was told that my depression was a product of the secular world and that it was “demonic” and “a bad influence on those around me”.

Your worth is determined by how clean you keep yourself from these and other “sins”. You are not supposed to love or care about anything on this earth more than the potential for what comes after, and doing otherwise is worshipping false idols.

I used to lie awake at night desperately anxious because when it came down to it, of course I loved my mom and dad more than I loved this God I had never seen or heard or really ever felt, no matter how much I was supposed to pretend otherwise. So if the rapture were to come right then and there, would I go to hell for loving my earthly parents more than my “heavenly father”? Would they, because I failed them? My grandma wasn’t a Christian, she was definitely going to go to hell... how did I fail her so badly? 

Can you imagine that kind of pressure and anxiety at eight fucking years old? 

It’s exhausting and terrifying and so, so damaging to grow up believing with all of your heart that at any given moment the world may end, damning possibly you and others you love to eternal suffering, but that if you “do your job right” you can “save” them. All you have to do is make them hate themselves first. 

I am grateful every single day that my parents were never completely in it like the other people in our social circles were. I listened to secular music and read books and watched movies, and their biggest concerns in life were that I was happy and that I was kind. 

But I also went to Christian school K-12 and Christian college. Whether or not it was being taught at home, I was exposed to it and absorbed it from mentors, teachers, and peers constantly. And when that’s your social circle, you just kind of assume everyone believes it because of course no one is going to say otherwise and invite doubt and speculation against themselves! So I never voiced any of these concerns with anyone until I reached late high school, I was devastatingly depressed and anxious, and I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. 

I said this a couple years ago (one year ago?) and most of the comments on tumblr actually did not know this, so to reiterate what you’re up against: a VERY mainstream belief among American Christian fundamentalists is that they are the only ones who experience love. They raise their kids to think that everyone “living in sin” (all other faiths, atheists, and LGBT people) goes through life sad and empty, falsely believing they know what love feels like, and will never know until they’re “saved.” It’s not as simple as them diminishing the humanity of others out of hate, but being deeply brainwashed to believe others are automatically mentally less human. They are also very good at convincing new converts that they really are experiencing this “real” love for the “first time;” the same way members of all cults can become wholeheartedly convinced that they’re receiving psychic alien messages or communing with spirits. Cult conditioning is simply that powerful.

[ireadvintage]

To celebrate the James Baldwin Centenary and Pride, we commissioned the very talented @dtaphanel to create art for Tumblr inspired by Baldwin's debut novel, Go Tell It on the Mountain. 

This powerful novel follows John, a stepson of a Pentecostal preacher, as he grapples with the complexities of his identity on his 14th birthday. The image depicts John lying on the ground, fully immersed in a religious vision and surrounded by members of the church—here rendered as saints (as members of the Pentecostal congregation will refer to one another). The image beautifully captures one of the novel's most climactic scenes. 

Read an excerpt from Go Tell It on the Mountain by James Baldwin:

“He knew without knowing how it had happened, that he lay on the floor, in the dusty space before the altar which he and Elisha had cleaned; and knew that above him burned the yellow light which he had himself switched on. . . .  

He wanted to rise—a malicious, ironic voice insisted that he rise—and, at once, to leave this temple and go out into the world. He wanted to obey the voice, which was the only voice that spoke to him; he tried to assure the voice that he would do his best to rise; he would only lie here a moment, after his dreadful fall, and catch his breath. It was at this moment, precisely, that he found he could not rise; something had happened to his arms, his legs, his feet-ah, something had happened to John! And he began to scream again in his great, bewildered terror, and felt himself, indeed, begin to move—not upward, toward the light, but down again, a sickness in his bowels, a tightening in his loin-strings; he felt himself turning, again and again, across the dusty floor, as though God's toe had touched him lightly. And the dust made him cough and retch; in his turning the center of the whole earth shifted, making of space a sheer void and a mockery of order, and balance, and time. Nothing remained: all was swallowed up in chaos.”

[eesirachs]

a part of the narrative that matters, this morning—the holy spirit finds everyone in the house, the oikon. pentecost falls through the kitchen, meeting full mouths and occupied hands; it hits the hearth, heat on heat, flame on flame. the roof shifts, and those sitting up there reel. peter—seeing his eleven friends stumble, feeling the room shift, hearing feminine voices on the upper floor uttering things he knows he shouldn't know—has to remind himself that they're sober. hand on the mantle, hands on each other, pentecost happens here, in a home archaic yet familiar

[trstalks]

Appalachian moonwater au

Remus and Regulus both have religious trauma, but Regulus’ is because he was raised catholic in NYC and Remus’ is because he was raised Pentecostal in small town Appalachia. They’re obviously very similar in some aspects, but they’re SO different.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Remus’ particular brand of religious trauma in this au, because it’s modeled a lot after my own. I can’t wait to write him falling in love with Reg because religious guilt is insane!!!! But so is the fact that love was modeled to him as sacrifice and torment, so once he realizes that he loves Regulus… I’ll let y’all fill in the gaps here.

[flowersnaturecody]

Pentecost (from Vulgar Latin - in the Neapolitan dialect the name "Pasca rusata" - Easter of the Roses is used, and in Aromanian "Arusaľi"), is known as the religious holiday of the Descent of the Holy Spirit / Descent of the Holy Spirit . Pentecost, a Christian holiday celebrated on the fiftieth day after Easter , always falls on a Sunday . Pentecost celebrates the "Descent of the Holy Spirit / Holy Spirit " on the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth and the Holy Virgin Mary , Mother of God , gathered in the upper room. According to the writings of the New Testament - Acts of the Apostles 2, 1-11) this event took place on the Jewish holiday ( Shavuot ), 50 days after the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth . That is why the Christian holiday is also called Pentecost (in Latin Pentecostes , in French La Pentecôte , German Pfingsten d, in Hungarian Pünkösd etc., a term that comes from the ancient Greek - πεντηκοστὴ ἡμέρα / pentêkostὁ hêméra, "fiftieth day").

[snapscube]

your food allergy and trigger metaphor is incredibly apt not just from your perspective but also from mine because it made me realize that the emotion when I'm told a lemonade has pineapple in it is the same emotion as when a comedy show has an incredibly upsetting murder in the first episode. and that emotion is ".................. why?" But yes. I do agree with you that ppl should assume you're smart enough to know that the japanese detective game from 2000 might have triggers in it. It's like when ppl tell me not to drink something with the word TROPICAL on it in neon. Like yeah thanks I knew that from the everything about it.

LOL yeah like, I enjoy going into games I play completely blind. But completely blind does not equal "completely without context" yknow? Like I am absolutely capable of formulating my own expectations towards something I'm about to experience just based off of either the meta info about that series (release date, studio, target audience, etc) or even just cultural osmosis. And even more importantly, I am also very capable of processing when a piece of media DEFIES those meta expectations, positively or negatively! In fact, some might say that I actually really value the experience of determining why something might put me through that experience at all and that's not something I can fully determine for myself if I'm going in with colored expectations haha.

And like... in my case specifically it's a little bit of bonus frustration cause I straight up like... don't really have triggers when I watch/play/read/etc something? Literally I can think of ONE experience off the top of my head as an adult where I had to go out of my way to pause something I was watching because it triggered an anxiety attack. It was Midnight Mass, and I still came out the other side of that experience LOVING it. Plus, it was literally such a specific and nuanced thing I don't think anyone would have even thought to warn me about LOL like I'm not getting any messages that say "hey penny just so you know this show you're about to watch has a moment that depicts a very particular form of hysteria in the middle of a church building that calls back to a few specific memories you have of your Pentecostal upbringing"

Anyway all this to say... I'M GOOD! You are correct. I do not think that media falls out of a coconut tree.

[driftwithme]

Chaleigh for comfort + Herc and Mako <3

Herc collapsing in the floor with relied and disbelief because he can't believe all the kids survived Pitfall.

Mako and Raleigh falling asleep on both sides of Chuck in the aftermath of Pitfall.

Chuck having an identity crisis because his life centered on being a ranger and Raleigh doing his best to find out who Chuck Hansen is when he's allowed to actually live.

Raleigh giving CPR to Chuck to save his life and Chuck being so embarrassed about it... Because his teen self used to have fantasies about it lol.

Mako and Chuck making jokes about Raleigh being half alien now.

Raleigh being at peace at the way G. Danger went down. Chuck holding a private funeral to Striker Eureka, the Jaeger that despite it all, ended up saving Chuck's life.

Chuck mourning Striker like an actual parent because of how deeply attached he was to it and Raleigh walking him through the cycle of grief.

Chuck asking about Yancy and Raleigh healing a bit more each time he talks about his brother.

Chuck and Raleigh bonding over repairing stuff because Chuck is a wonderful mechanic and Raleigh got used to the work while he was employed on the Wall.

Raleigh adopting a stray dog.

Raleigh hugging Mako during Pentecost's funeral and Chuck staying near in case she needs anything.

Mako walking Max to give Raleigh and Chuck some time to sort out their feelings for each other in the kwoon.

Chuck realizing that it was easier for Herc to show his feelings of protection towards Rals because he doesn't know how to bridge the gap in his relationship with Chuck.

Herc realizing Chuck was taking out on Raleigh a lot of his frustration with himself, because he thought he needed to prove to everyone that he was the best (that Chuck deserved to be loved, celebrated, that his existence meant something).

Raleigh being happy that Chuck survived on Herc's behalf, but knowing the scar it'd leave Chuck now that he survived his copilot.

Chuck crying when he tells everyone that he felt Pentecost cut their connection, so they wouldn't feel each other die in the drift.

Raleigh and Chuck sitting side by side as they watch the sun rise on a new day.

[the-french-belphegor]

Happy Mother's Day! (Mother's Day falls on the last Sunday of May here - OR the 1st Sunday of June if the last Sunday of May is Pentecost.) I was toying with designs for Juniper (Scanlan's mom) and found a couple I liked a lot, and today seemed like a good day to post them!

Clothing-wise, I mixed traditional Basque garments for everyday dress (red skirt with one or several black stripes at the bottom - but I made it purple because I figured it was a good place for Scanlan to get it from - and a shawl and apron) with traditional Cretan waistcoats for the equivalent of Sunday clothes. Canonically the Shorthalts mother and son were poor, but I like the idea of her finding inexpensive ways to tweak and decorate her clothes and look good. (like a slightly vain streak she passed on her son.) In my head she was also a fiercely loving woman and mother who loved music a lot. (I based that pose of her with her hand up on Scanlan's in the first TLOVM lineup we got!)

I hope we get a LOVM design for her in season 4 💜

[alwaysrememberjesus]

From Denial To Destiny

“So when you have repented and turned to me again, strengthen your brothers.” — Luke 22v32 (NLT)

The world will discard you over failure, but Jesus will restore you through it. Too often people are devalued or dismissed because of what they’ve been through. Some because of the wrong they’ve done, others because of what’s been done to them. Either way, the shame sticks, and the judgment follows. But not with Jesus. He knows how to find treasure in broken places. He knows how to pull purpose from failure. He knows how to look at a life and see more than what others see. They might see a mess, but He sees a mission.

Peter denied Jesus… not once, not twice, three times. He swore he’d never do it, and then did it under pressure. His shame ran so deep he returned to fishing, to what he knew, to what was safe, to what didn’t require faith. If Peter were a pastor today, we would have called for his resignation. But when Jesus rose from the grave, Peter was the first one He came looking for. Jesus never brought up the denial; not once. Instead, He asked one question: “Do you love Me?” Three times, one for every failure. And with each answer, Jesus responded, “Feed My sheep.” (John 21v15–17 NKJV)

Jesus didn’t disqualify Peter, He re-commissioned him. Jesus had already told him, “When you have repented and turned to Me again, strengthen your brothers.” (Luke 22v32 NLT) He saw the fall coming and planned the comeback ahead of it. The same man who denied Christ became the one who preached boldly on Pentecost. The same man who failed publicly became the one who led faithfully. Why? Because Jesus doesn’t define you by your lowest moment, He defines you by your eternal purpose.

So always remember: Yes, God will correct you and call you to repent, but His correction is never meant to ruin you, it’s meant to restore and release you to strengthen others. Your failure is not the end, it may be the beginning of the very thing God uses to set someone else free. You may be down, but you aren’t out.

[williamoftyred]

The Phoenix of Jerusalem Chapters 5 and 6

Chapter Five: A King Alone, A Man Remembering

They were six miles from Montgisard when Baldwin dismounted for the final time that day. The sun was already low, casting long shadows that bled into the dust. His fingers were stiff. The linen beneath his gauntlets was damp with blood and sweat.

The men joked behind him, low voices crackling like firewood.

He did not stop them.

He needed the sound. It reminded him they were still alive.

"...she was a widow, and not modest about it either—said I had the hands of a priest, but the hips of a butcher—"

Laughter erupted from the group of younger knights gathered around a wineskin. Another chimed in.

"My cousin's girl in Nablus swore she'd wait for me until Pentecost."

"Which Pentecost?"

More laughter.

Baldwin sat apart from them, a cloak pulled over his shoulders, veiled as always. Not one of them noticed him listening. That was the strange advantage of disease. It turned even kings invisible in plain sight.

They spoke of lovers, of girls with strong arms and nimble fingers. Of warm thighs, stolen nights, whispered promises beneath olive trees.

He listened, expression unreadable.

And found himself—unexpectedly, helplessly—thinking of her.

Not her body. He had never allowed himself such imaginings, not clearly. Not before, and not now. He was a king, a leper, a living relic. He knew what desire could not be.

But there had been moments. Fleeting.

Her hand brushing his shoulder after a long examination. Her eyes narrowing as she threaded a needle. Her voice, unadorned by flattery, telling him when he'd grown too thin.

She saw him, and it made him... ache. Not with shame. Not even with longing.

With recognition.

This is what it means to be wanted for more than your crown.

Even as a boy, he had only ever trusted one person that way. That fig-stained girl who gave him books and made him laugh until his lungs ached.

He hadn't known what to name it then.

He still didn't now.

Only that when the world narrowed to pain or duty, her presence—Amira's presence—brought a kind of silence. A kind of peace.

At dawn, they rode into the teeth of the enemy.

The battle came fast, brutal, and sun-blinded.

He wore armor that chafed his ulcered skin. He swung a sword with a hand that barely held it. He fought with the desperation of a man whose body betrayed him every hour but who refused to die lying down.

He remembered little of the worst of it—only flashes: blood on his horse's flank. The sound of metal cracking bone. A Saracen standard falling at his feet. Pain. White, blinding, obliterating pain.

He was pulled from the wreckage at dusk, half-conscious, burning with fever.

The last thing he heard before darkness took him was a voice—not one from the battlefield.

A woman's voice.

Calm. Familiar.

Calling his name.

He awoke a day later beneath clean linens, weak as water. The scent of myrrh and herbs clung to the air. His right arm had been redressed. His fever had broken.

And at the foot of the bed sat her.

Not reading. Not preparing. Just... waiting.

She looked up when he stirred. No smile. No false softness.

Just eyes like remembered wood, and silence that carried the weight of something unspoken.

"I don't deserve you here," he rasped.

"I'm not here because you deserve me," she replied, softly. "I'm here because I chose to be."

His throat tightened. He closed his eyes.

And realized, finally, that what he had felt back then—the reason he'd followed that girl through the gardens, and remembered her laughter more vividly than any hymn—was not just loyalty or fondness.

It was the shape of a feeling he had no name for as a boy.

But he did now.

Chapter Six : The Girl Who Would Not Forget

To heal him was never about pity. It was the only way to return.

Ysolde sat at the edge of the king's chamber long after he fell asleep. His breaths were shallow but steady. The fever had broken. The worst, for now, was over.

She adjusted the linen on his forehead with practiced care, watching the faint twitch of his brow as he drifted deeper into rest.

You came back for him.

Not for gold. Not for favor. Not even for forgiveness. Only this.

It had taken everything she had.

From the ashes of her childhood, she had crossed into a world that did not welcome her. A half-Jewish girl in a foreign land, orphaned, nameless, scarred. Her father's name—once spoken with respect in Jerusalem's court—was no shield in Aleppo. No one cared who she used to be.

The wounded crusader who took her in taught her the first rule of survival: Learn quickly. Speak little. Earn your place in silence.

Ysolde had done more than that. She devoured texts in Arabic, Syriac, Latin. She snuck into anatomy lessons forbidden to women. She sewed up dying soldiers. She treated children with skin eaten by fire and watched them recover because she had acted faster than the men around her.

She was denied positions she earned. She watched less skilled men step over her. She was called a witch, a foreigner, an ornament. But no one could deny the steadiness of her hand.

Abu al-Maʿshar had been the turning point.

He never smiled. Never praised. But he kept her. And that meant more than words.

He let her copy his anatomical diagrams. He let her mix his tinctures. And once—only once—he said, "Your mind is sharper than most men's. But it is your grief that fuels you. Make sure it doesn't burn you instead."

She never told him what that grief truly was.

She had been thirteen the day she overheard it.

A merchant from Jerusalem had come through Aleppo, trading linen and dates. Ysolde was sent to fetch bandages from the man's caravan. She lingered at the edge of the firelight, listening to voices not meant for her.

They spoke of a young king. A boy.

Baldwin, son of Amalric. Crowned too young. Too sick.

"Leprosy," one of the merchants whispered.

Ysolde had dropped the jar in her hands. It shattered at her feet, unnoticed.

She had run, fast and far, until she reached the dark grove outside the infirmary. She vomited behind an oak tree and cried for the first time since her mother's voice vanished in the riots.

Not because he was king.

Because he was Baldwin.

Her friend. The boy who threw figs at her. The one who wrapped her elbow in silk when she fell and called her "dangerous and brilliant" before he even knew what either meant.

And now he was dying.

She hadn't even said goodbye.

That night, she made a vow she never spoke aloud: I will not let him be alone.

Not as long as she had breath. Not as long as her hands could hold a scalpel.

Years passed.

She earned names—Amira, the White Physician, the Lady of the Iron Needle.

But none of those names meant anything the moment she stood before Baldwin again, veiled and seated on his throne, his eyes just the same. Searching. Bright. Burdened.

He didn't know her.

But she had known him from the first breath.

She had not returned to burden him. She had no fantasies of romance, no delusions of reclaiming their childhood. That time was dead and buried with the city they once knew.

But she could give him dignity. Relief. A measure of peace, if not a cure.

That would be enough.

Tonight, she sat beside him, watching his fingers twitch in his sleep.

His hand had changed. Twisted. Scarred. But it was still his.

She remembered when it had held a feathered hawk. When it had tugged a branch low so she could steal a fig. When it had reached for hers and whispered, "You'll never fall if I'm here."

She had fallen anyway. They both had.

And now she was here. Not to ask for the past back.

But to honor it.

To stand beside him, as she once promised—quietly, steadily, until the end.

[happydazy82]

Coffee Hour

PENTECOST, 06/08/2025

There is always danger the fire of the Spirit will fall afresh on the human race, so I keep my Stunt Double du Jour on hand to quench the Spirit and put out fires before they start.

[15-lizards]

What do you think the princesses in the Maidenvault would've worn? I checked your tag and only saw Rhaena wearing the pointed hair pieces

Since Baelor is like some weird RETVRN TO TRADITION Catholic convert to me, he makes his sisters dress in out of date modest clothing that their grandmothers wore. Imagine those Pentecostal wives who wear long sleeves and skirts down to their ankles all the time yk what I mean.

Rhaena develops Stockholm syndrome immediately and enjoys going full Septa for her brother. She doesn’t protest when she wears shapeless, heavy gowns, and she doesn’t mind wearing veils and headdresses that cover her hair to “protect her virtue”, even before she becomes a septa. Full medieval fashion pulled straight from the late years of the conquerors reign

Elaena is a goth To Me. She doesn’t let herself be pushed around as much as Rhaena, and her gowns usually fairly normal compared to her sisters. Always black, with a lower cut neckline than Rhaena’s but less decoration than Daena’s, she falls squarely in the middle of the spectrum with fashion that’s evocative of Maegor’s reign. Elaena most mormalest girl of the mid 160s AC

And obviously Daena is the most dramatic of the three, wearing the most modern clothing she can. Refusing to wear anything other than white after Baelor didn’t consummate the marriage, she also refuses to wear the more matronly and septa-like fashions that her sisters do. She demands fine silks and brocades and velvets be brought in, and all of her gowns have low cut necklines and golden trims. Her hair is either flowing wildly or tied up in a garish headdress because if there’s one thing she hates she hates her brothers stupid ascetic Christian lifestyle

[useless-catalanfacts]

A Medieval relief representing Pentecost. Sculpted between 1360-1363 by Bartomeu de Robió, one of the best Catalan sculptors of the Gothic style group known as the Lleida School. This piece used to be part of the altar in Lleida's cathedral. It was there for 400 years, until the 18th century when, after the Castillian army occupied Catalonia and as part of the new Spanish monarchy's militarization and punishment of Catalonia, Lleida's cathedral was turned into army headquarters and the population who lived in the hill slopes was expelled. In that moment, the retable that included this piece was disassembled and dispersed. Source: Lleida Museum.

Today is Pentecost, also known in English as Whit Sunday and in Romance languages as Second Easter. It's one of those holidays where in some places it's a day off but most people don't know exactly what it is that we're supposed to be celebrating...

Pentecost means "the 50th day" in Greek, because it's a holiday celebrated 50 days after Easter Sunday. Since it depends on the date of Easter, it follows the moon calendar and falls on a different calendar day every year. Even though it's not widely celebrated by the public like other holidays related to religion like Christmas, Corpus, Carnival or Easter, the Pentecost is an important feast days in most Christian churches, including the Catholic, Orthodox, Lutheran and Anglican churches.

The Pentecost celebrates two things. First, it commemorates the Jewish holiday called the Feast of the Weeks or Shavuot. This holiday is held on the day in which it's believed that God gave Moses the Ten Commandments (the tables that say the basic laws of Jewish and Christian religions). Secondly, it commemorates the event 50 days after Jesus Christ's resurrection in which, according to the Christian belief, the Holy Spirit descended to Earth while the Twelve Apostles, the Virgin Mary and other followers were together celebrating Shavuot. This symbolizes the formation of the new Church: Christianity. For this reason, Pentecost is considered the most important Catholic religious celebration after Easter, Corpus and Christmas.

[trickstersaint]

i've took the "what are you the patron saint of quiz", "assigning you a patron saint of", and "are you an angel or a devil" quizzes (got martyrdom, saint cecilia, and angel before the fall respectively) and have been getting Really normal about the saints as a result (ex pentecostal kid) so. thanks for that!

also if i'm remembering correctly one of the quizzes mentioned a line from your poetry and it was something about communion and eating the flesh of christ so some part of you was holy and. ugh you should know that's been a worm hanging out on my brain all day, seriously so good!!

we are really normal about the saints... together...

ough you have me in a hole trying to think of what line that would be (guy who writes about communion a lot). going back into the catholic saint quiz most of the lines i pulled from my preexisting poetry are from fragment on sainthood (a personal favorite of mine). maybe i used to think that every church did that;/handed you flesh, handed you blood, told you to partake,/told you that it came from some glorious future born of a glorious past.... or else the option for the eucharist from the question on sacraments. [ eucharist/first communion (your first time eating of jesus' flesh and drinking of his blood; the host is dry in your mouth and the wine is bitter, but finally, your body is one with his. there is something of jesus in you. consumption. you of him and your sins of you.) ]

anyway. as a recommendation, i suppose. here are some lines that i think of from my writing on communion making you holy

so maybe that did it. maybe it was all that blood,/all that flesh, heavy in your stomach, that did it;/will divinity change in your body if you abandon god?/your stomach doesn’t sit well these days. it roils./being without god has left you unfulfilled. left you hungry. // transubstantiation

drink the blood of the lamb like a drug—/taste it once and you will never forget how it felt,/never live without it again./how many times will you confess/to be brought back to goodness?/how long can you stay away?/glut yourself on a promise of purity./there is always more, always more,/if you are willing to wait:/all in moderation, they say,/so you’ll wait. and think of the wine/between sips at the end of an aisle/and wish they had invented a word for dying of thirst. // withdrawals

drink the lamb’s blood, know that it’s real;/know that you are kept holy only by this,/this moment, this blood in your mouth./this is the purest devotion: your teeth sunk into flesh,/your tongue washed over with ecstasy and iron. // communion

+ a bonus poem that mentions saint cecilia for you:

saint cecilia died three days late of three swords to the neck but we do not remember her bloody./we do not remember her sweaty, bedridden, surviving the three days to die in earnest./she is a murdered, pretty girl with a harp, presumably dead for the love of god. // ophelia