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alexwatchesshows · 8 months

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Black Sails X review (S2E2)

Spoilers for up to and including E10.

"Strange pairs, Lieutenant, they can achieve the most unexpected things."- Thomas Hamilton

Billy's back! I mean, he's being tortured, but he is still technically back. Unfortunately, because my brain only ever wants to cause me pain, my first thought was of what he's going to go through when he finds out Gates is dead.

We go from that awful biblical torture, to Thomas Hamilton reading the Bible (I want to say Genesis, but I truly know so little about it), and I'll get to the flashbacks later but the way the camera pans over to Flint as Thomas reads "it is not good that he is alone" just breaks my heart.

Anyway, first to Nassau, where shit's getting real. Ned Low's quartermaster is mad at him because he did massively fuck up with the blood on the crates and all that, but Low's violent, vulgar humour and whatever the hell that personality is has somehow won over his men. It's a bit like the season 1 Flint/Gates dynamic, in that Low has convinced his men to go along with his bullshit under the promise of some kind of passive payout, while painting the logical quartermaster as some kind of villains for pointing out flaws in the plan. In this situation, however, the captain seems to be completely irredemable and his plan for massive riches is to endanger and exploit a teenage girl. It's a much harder sell for the audience than attacking an empire. Missing the support of his crew, Meeks seeks support from Eleanor, who is less than happy about her reputation as someone who "(deposes) captains", given what it did to her the last time she did it. I mean, as it was with Vane, it would probably be a good idea to get rid of Low, just on the basis of him being kind of evil and also a massive dickhead, but, again, looking at where Vane is now, I can see why she wouldn't want to risk it. Speaking of Vane, he has somehow been talked into attending the consortium meetings, even if all he does during them is smoke and look general detached from everything. Baby steps, I guess.

Vane's attendence is the only thing that's going well for Eleanor and the consortium, though. The whole shipping plan that was presented as the solution to everything last season is barely working, and, even worse for Eleanor, it's her family name that's the problem. Vane's reputation is proving useful, but, as he (at least feels that he) holds all the power, it's down to him to decide whether Eleanor and her consortium can coninue to hold any power in Nassau, which is not ideal, because he's unreliable at best. Still, he's not entirely wrong when he refers to Eleanor as "a tyrant too weak to enforce her own tyranny". It's a harsh interpretation, sure, but it's not necessarily fully incorrect. Maybe it's this accusation of weakness that pushes her to take a harder stance with Ned Low. That was probably a bad place to start, though, because that man does not care about anything and angering him only results in further violence. Like, a lot of violence.

This level of violence is probably what causes Eleanor to relent and go to Vane for help. She knows that she can't appeal to him with her power, as he's already expressed his disdain for her "tyranny", so she appeals to his "concern" for her. Honestly, these two just keep making each other worse, but maybe if Ned Low's downfall can be brought about as a result of their dysfunctional relationship, maybe it's worth it. And then there's the "prize" Eleanor mentions. Poor Abigail Ashe.

And while violent shit is going down at Eleanor's bar thing, soft, romantic shit is going down at the brothel. I love this plotline so much-- the way it shows Anne slowly coming to terms with her sexuality and processing what it means for her and Jack is just so well-done in all its complexity and,,, emotion. Oh god I love them all so much. This is also possibly the first relationship in the show that is portrayed in a genuinely romantic way, and it's a sapphic relationship, which is one of the many reasons I love this show. It would also have been so easy to just take this whole Anne/Max/Jack dynamic and just put Jack in the role of jealous boyfriend and portray Anne and Max's relationship as just cheating, but my beloved Black Sails had better plans than that. Instead, we show Anne's internal conflict between her feelings for Jack and what she feels she owes him and her feelings for Max-- ones she probably hasn't let herself acknowledge before. Similarly, we all know by now that Jack isn't the kind of person to cause a massive scene and confront the other two, nor does he necessarily even want to. Instead, he just turns up to talk about his business plans. I mean, those are some good ideas, but there's a time and a place. They could also have had Jack go down the route of just completely ignoring the relationship, diminishing the importance/significance of sapphic relationships, but instead we get his wonderful reaction: "Darling, I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell me about this, but please know that all I have ever wanted is for you to be happy. Come to bed when you're through." Just everything about it, from the tenderness of the darling, to the acknowledgement of the conflict Anne must be feeling, and the way his love for her just radiates off him. I don't think I've ever loved Jack (or Anne for that matter) as much as in this moment.

Now to the Walrus crew (technically not on the Walrus but I can't be asked to differentiate at this point). Our unlikely couple are finally getting their shit together and making each other worse. Silver is still asserting that he does not want to be a pirate, and is simply sticking with the crew for the sake of Flint's get rich quick scheme. Flint is so committed to being a pirate that he's going to take down the british empire... somehow. These two are obviously going to work so well together. Both of them are using manipulation as their tactic of choice, but on different levels. Flint knows what he wants and goes directly for leadership. He starts with a slightly misguided attempt at small talk about books with Dufresne (he's so me fr), then turns the conversation into a confession, as if he believes that he can convince Dufresne that he's really really sorry and then Dufresne will just let him be captain again. Don't get me wrong, I do believe Flint when he says the guilt is killing him, but I just don't thing D is the best audience for this. Flint also knows this, as he (maybe) goes for a different tactic. It's never made explicit whether Flint meant to deceive or advise Dufresne. I'm sure his intentions weren't purely to help Dufresne, but he might have genuinely been advising Dufresne for the reasons he believed-- that if Dufresne had successfully taken a prize, his position would have been much more secure. I think it's much like the scene with Billy, neither we nor, possibly, Flint, know what his intentions were. Either way, Dufresne goes ahead with Flint's idea, one that De Groot approves of from a sailing perspective, which really says something about Flint's talent not just as a leader of men, but as a sailor. It really makes you think about what would have happened had he not had to leave London for whatever those reasons were.

As Dufresne's mission to capture a merchant ship goes on, it becomes harder to believe that Flint has the crew's best interests at heart. He narrates the whole thing to Silver and clearly knows what Dufresne should be doing, but makes no effor to advise him on this. As a result, the attack quickly goes downhill. Dufresne also runs into another problem-- aside from his lack of experience-- which is that he doesn't have Flint's notoriety and nor does he have the charisma to make up for it. It's probably this that tips the merchant captain off and gives him the confidence to call for his crew to resist. Then Dufresne's lack of experience also comes through as he doesn't know how to handle the crew in such a situation. Controlling a crew under fortunate circumstances is one thing, but, as we've seen with Flint, retaining their loyalty under hardship and chaos is something else entirely. Dufresne took control of the Walrus crew after a patch of difficulty under Flint, then found fortune under his time as leader but, as soon as he has to deal with something like this, he crumbles. As Mr Logan points out "no one is in fucking charge" on the ship-- Dufresne is too stubborn to give up on a mission that the rest of the crew have lost faith in, De Groot, voice of wisdom though he may be, doesn't hold much authority as a leader, and Flint is still disgraced. Ultimately, Flint is essentially decided as the best option, helped by his willingness to immediately order an effective retreat. Then he heads off to the captain's quarters with all the confidence in the world. The vote hasn't even happened yet, but he knows how to lead well enough to know exactly what he's just done.

At the end of the day, he's still nice to Dufresne, reassuring him that the vote was close-- Flint isn't the type to gloat, at least not in such an over way, and Dufresne could still be a powerful ally. And, most importantly, Flint has a new jacket.

Silver, meanwhile, is taking a different approach to winning back his position on the crew. Honestly, this showcases what I love about S1/2 Silver: he's scrappy. He's not necessarily inherently a team player, but he knows how to work with and against people to ensure his own survival, and, unlike (sorry) Flint, he does it in such an entertaining way that he also ensures that he's well-liked. Flint, god bless his autistic heart, has absolutely no idea what the hell Silver is playing at, and Silver gives him some kind of story about his past. Now, given Silver's track record of lying his ass off, we have no idea whether or not this is true, but, regardless, it's the only insight we've got into his life pre-merchant vessel. Honestly, it doesn't tell us a whole lot that we don't know-- well-off men were rarely conscripted onto merchant vessels as crew members-- but it still fleshes out the sense of powerlessness and potential tragedy in Silver's past. Either way, as the days go by, Silver's ploy of playing the men off against each other starts yielding some results, and, as Flint-- who he has formed an uneasy alliance with-- comes back into power, his survival becomes almost guaranteed.

And now we get more London flashabcks, i.e. backstory of Flint's previous unlikely partnership. In this partnership, however, Flint/McGraw is the realist, and Thomas is the dreamer. He's the one who tells McGraw that, in approaching Nassau, he should forget the pirates. Sure, he's not necessarily wrong in framing piracy as a symptom of a wider issue, but very few men, let alone members of the nobility, would have had the optimism and insight to take that approach. McGraw still tries to point out the flaws in the rest of the plan, listing the extensive resources that would be needed to establish stability on Nassau, and still Thomas is unfazed. I'm not sure whether he's being incredily smart or incredibly stupid about this, but honestly I support him.

Then we get a little insight into the other side of McGraw's life-- his relationships within the navy. It's clear that Admiral Hennesy holds him in some regard, and sees his potential (honestly, he's giving father-figure vibes in this scene, not necessarily good ones though), but, because of his class status, his peers don't hold him in that level of regard. This is yet another problem with the empire/civilisation that we haven't explored much yet, but classism is clearly a massive problem in both James' life and British society as a whole. Then, as the taunting continues, we see what we recognise as Flint's kind of passion and violence arise in McGraw, and a fight breaks out. Hell, he even looks more like the man we know as Flint as he gets roughed up and even gets some blood on him (a key aspect of Flint's appearance). I don't blame him for reacting, but Hennesy isn't wrong when he expresses about "the thing that arises in (James) when passions are aroused [where] ... good sense escaped [him]", and what it could become when "exposed to extremes", which we have already seen with Gates, and which I can't help but think is going to make some kind of comeback in episodes to come.

#sorry this one took so long I've been quite busy #black sails #black sails spoilers #black sails review #my posts #tv #tv show review #episode review #spoiler #tv shows #tv reviews

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agentnico · 4 years

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Judas and the Black Messiah (2021) Review

Surprisingly not directed by Spike Lee. Seems like a movie right up his alley!

Plot: Offered a plea deal by the FBI, William O'Neal infiltrates the Illinois chapter of the Black Panther Party to gather intelligence on Chairman Fred Hampton.

This is one definitely for the history buffs. A look into the past of American’s racism, but also really contemporary if you look at it in the context of the now with the Black Lives Matter movement because there are all sorts of parallels, very much reiterating that history constantly repeats itself, yet if we come together, we can try to supress this unjust system. It’s like a famous monkey named Caesar once said - “apes together strong!” Okay, maybe Planet of the Apes is a bit of an obscure reference, but the point still stands. We can only defeat this in a united rebellion. And Fred Hampton was yet another of these revolutionaries who wanted to bring everyone together and stand against the police brutality in the US. Did he succeed? Well, if you folks have been reading your bibles the title of this film provides you with the answer clear and straight. Yet, the expected outcome doesn’t mean you should miss out on this viewing.

We have to talk about the performances. First and foremost - Daniel Kaluuya. This actor is proving time and time again that he is a force to be reckoned with. Funny how this is the same guy who played Rowan Atkinson’s side-kick in one of those Johnny English films a decade ago. He’s come a long way, that’s for sure. He’s an absolute beast in this, giving a real magnetic powerful performance as Fred Hampton, and it’s his political speeches to the crowd that really stand out. Many quotable discourses, and the way the guy proclaims “I am a revolutionary!” no wonder they used that line so much in the marketing trailer. However Lakeith Stanfield is also not to be overlooked, as Kaluuya gets the more show-offy big role, however Stanfield’s more subdued and quieter performance relies fully on the small details of his facial expressions, and he delivers his character’s internal struggle so well. And his character - William O’Neal, is so flawed, yet he isn’t a completely lost soul. Like with the New Testament where there are versions of Judas where he shows signs of guilt for betraying Jesus Christ, O’Neal is too tormented by such emotions to the end of the film, and in a wiki-crawl during the end credits you find out the sad conclusion to O’Neal’s life. However the way the film treats O’Neil and his motivations and inner conscience is at an arm’s length. He’s a very blurry character, and when he defensively states in regards to his actions with simply “I was in the struggle” makes you wonder if there was much remorse in him for even though he was forced to be an FBI informant, he enjoyed getting paid handsomely with envelopes of cash and medium-rare cooked fresh steaks, whilst his participation in the Black Panther Party rebellion was all a façade. He’s a very complex character and the movie doesn’t try to provide an answer to what went through his head, though it does make it easy for you to hate his character. Regardless, Stanfield does great in this role. Also Jesse Plemons as the FBI agent who hires O’Neal is the kind of Plemons you expect with his unique facial look, and is appropriately sleazy.

Shaka King directs the movie as if it were a crime thriller, getting the camera right up close to all the action, and manages to make a fairly familiar story play out in a very engaging way. This movie is very informative and its simply fascinating to see yet again how corrupt the American system is. It’s similar to why last year’s The Trial of the Chicago 7 left such a powerful stance. In conclusion, the US system is screwed, proven yet again with Donald Trump getting acquitted from his impeachment trial. They never learn. In any case, Judas and the Black Messiah is a powerful picture and definitely one that forces you to stick you thinking caps on. If you want something less mentally demanding, I’m sure the Big Monke and the walking nuclear power plant will be more up your alley!

Overall score: 8/10

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anarchotobioism · 4 years

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the biblical references in the yorknewcity arc:)

note: this is just an edited version of a rant i posted on tiktok!

i think we really overlook the biblical/christianity references in the yorknewcity arc (or at least with the phantom troupe). there are obvious references, such as the cross on chrollo’s forehead. there’s also chrollo’s book, and with the stance he usually uses when he has it open (direct reference to jesus and bible), and when the massacre during the auction occured, he stood with open hands. look familiar?

in the phantom troupe, there are 13 members, with chrollo as the leader, and the 12 others. this can be seen as a parallel to jesus and his 12 disciples that are present in the last supper. however, chrollo doesn’t exactly see himself as a god—he literally says that a spider can still survive without the head (him to the troupe). jesus himself never called himself a god, and advocated for equality and peace...that last part probably doesn’t fit chrollo so let’s ignore that LMAO

i see the phantom troupe as an anti-hero version of jesus and the 12 disciples. its almost like they’re a religious group that believes in a alternate version of christianity. a huge part of religious element in this arc is related to the prophecies/fortunes that chrollo gives out. first of all, they’re mainly in prose or a form of poetry. i did a bit of research and apparently a decent amount of the old testament is in some sort of poetic form! on top of that, every fortune that chrollo gives out ends up being correct. not only does this allow for a decent amount of foreshadowing, i think this represents how chrollo believes in predestination, or that fate cannot be changed. this would make a lot of sense since chrollo doesnt really find joy in harming people, he simply doesnt see people as people with their own sense of free will, and therefore they’re devoid of value. in contrast, jesus never wanted to cause anybody pain because he advocated for free will and believed that everyone’s life had value. interestingly enough, chrollo’s cross is considered to be a “reversed” cross, which means that he may represent him being an anti-christ.

anyways thats all! bye asf

#hunter x hunter #chrollo #chrollolucilfer

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wesleyhill · 3 years

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He Descended to His Enemies

A homily preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on Holy Saturday 2021

“The gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that, though they had been judged in the flesh as everyone is judged, they might live in the spirit as God does.”

I would speak to you in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

That line from our epistle reading today that has struck many Bible readers over the centuries as tantalizingly cryptic: “The gospel was proclaimed even to the dead.”

From the church’s very early days, Christians have interpreted this verse as a reference to Christ’s descent into Hades or hell which we confess in the Apostles’ Creed: “he descended to the dead.” Within a couple of hundred years after Jesus’ resurrection, Christians were already spinning out elaborate mythologies about Christ’s journey through the underworld on Holy Saturday after His death and before His resurrection. Listen to how the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus pictures the scene:

While Satan and Hades were… speaking to each other, there was a great voice like thunder, saying: Lift up your gates, O ye rulers; and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting gates; and the King of glory shall come in!Hades, hearing the voice…, answered as if forsooth he did not know, and says: Who is this King of glory? The angels of the Lord say: The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. And immediately with these words the brazen gates were shattered, and the iron bars broken, and all the dead who had been bound came out of the prisons, and we with them. And the King of glory came in in the form of a man, and all the dark places of Hades were lighted up.

There continue to be modern versions of this story, too, like Evan Dahm’s remarkable new graphic novel The Harrowing of Hell.

I confess that I don’t think this scene is really what our epistle reading is talking about when it says that the gospel was proclaimed to those who have died, but I am still absolutely enthralled by the picture.

Most of all, I love the icons of it.[1] The classic Eastern Orthodox depiction of this shows Jesus trampling down the gates of hell and grasping the hands of Adam and Eve, the parents of the entire human family, and pulling them up from the pit. He dies on the cross and goes down, down, down to the nethermost parts of the mythological world to rescue the openly rebellious, the brazenly defiant sinners who plunged the whole human race into ruin and destruction. And then the Gospel of Nicodemus pictures Christ also turning to the rest of the damned and miserable denizens and saying, “Come all with me, as many as have died through the tree which [Adam] touched: for, behold, I again raise you all up through the tree of the cross.”

As I say, I’m not convinced that this is what the first epistle of Peter originally meant, but I still think there is real truth in this picture of the “harrowing of hell” because what it pictures is Christ going down to the lowest point to be with those who had turned against Him, those who had betrayed and denied Him, those who were His enemies — and hoisting them up out of their sin and torment to enjoy His victory.

Theologian Sarah Hinlicky Wilson wrote in her newsletter this week about Christ’s descent into hell, and she suggested that the picture is ultimately the same picture as the Gospels’ accounts of Jesus coming back to His faithless disciples after His resurrection. The point is that Jesus doesn’t die in order to escape from those — us! — who nailed Him to the cross. He dies and goes down to death precisely for us who are His betrayers and deniers and backstabbers and executioners.

You see this in all four Gospels. In Mark’s Gospel, the angel says to the women at the tomb on Easter morning, “But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going before you to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he told you.” Tell Peter! — the one who denied that He knew Him and left Him alone in His time of greatest need — tell Peter that He will meet him again.

Matthew tells the same story but adds a twist, as Wilson points out. “Jesus exposes himself to the risks of re-entering community: ‘And when they saw him they worshiped him, but some doubted.’ … Yet he’s so determined to stick it out with them that his last words, the very last words of this Gospel, are: ‘And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’” Jesus dies and goes to be with the very people who doubt Him, the ones whose fidelity to Him is wavering, the very ones who sent Him to His death.

In the Gospel of Luke, after His resurrection, He meets a bewildered couple who are, as He tells them, “foolish” and “slow of heart to believe.” And yet, even so, He reveals His identity to them as He breaks bread together with them. He comes to them with mercy, in spite of themselves.

And in the Gospel of John, Jesus has an extended conversation with Peter where He gives Peter three opportunities to reaffirm his love for Jesus and in that way reverses the three times he had denied Jesus on the night of His arrest and trial.

Wilson sums it all up like this: “It’s a miracle that Christ descended into hell. It’s a miracle the Christ rose again from the dead. And it’s every bit as much a miracle that Christ walked right back into the midst of the other people who comprised his own personal hell… He left the solitary stance of the noble martyr to reenter the company of the sinners who betrayed him.”

Friends, this is the good news for us this Holy Saturday. Whatever personal hell you or I are living through, Christ has died in order to descend into that hell with us and for us — and, ultimately, to hoist us out from it.

I have a friend who wandered away from Christ for several decades. He considered himself an atheist and kept far away from church. But he eventually made his way back. I asked him one time, “What brought you back?” He said: “A catastrophic need for grace.”

I’ve never forgotten that phrase: a catastrophic need for grace.

Isn’t that why you’re here today? Isn’t that why I’m here?

Aren’t we all aware of the ways we have abandoned Christ, betrayed Him, denied Him, turned against Him, killed Him? And yet He descends into our deadness. He comes to the very ones who deserve His wrath.

He throws open the gates of our hells and says, “Arise, shine, for your light has come!”

Amen.

[1] In this, I share the Lutheran theologian Robert Jenson’s view: “One will, I fear, have to construe the three days according to the construal of the salvific relation between the Lord’s crucifixion and resurrection found in one’s theological tradition and own best reflection. I confess my own leaning toward the theology of the Eastern icons, which is not that of my own tradition” (Canon and Creed, p. 44).

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dailyaudiobiblechronological · 3 years

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6/15/21 DAB Chronological Transcription

Psalm 134, Psalm 146 - 150

Welcome to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm Jill, it's the 15th day of June. And if this is not your first day around here, you know that we have turned the page together and we are looking, listening, opening and centering ourselves around God's word to hear what he might speak to us, to open our eyes and our ears to what he might say, to open our heart, to receive all that he would want to do within us as we hear the word of God read fresh today and look into the pages of our own story, our own lives, to see what we can find relatable. We are in the Old Testament and we're reading today in Psalm and we're in Psalm 134, and then we're going to jump over and read Psalm 146 - 150. And today we're reading in the New Living Translation. Psalm 134.

Commentary

So maybe last week, a week ago, I can't really remember off the top of my head. Oh, we talked about guarding our heart, the importance of guarding our heart. And it's always so refreshing and so interesting to me that as adults we do not know the message of our heart. We don't know the importance of our heart. And I don't say that with any shame or condemnation because I learned it as an adult and nobody taught it better to me than the Ministry of Ransomed Heart. Our friends John and Stacey Eldridge at Ransom Heart, formerly ransomed heart ministry, now Wild at Heart Ministries. So that being said, we touched on this a little bit of a reference point for it. But then the scripture today, one of the most important things that God does for us that I think can really easily get tossed aside or overlooked or sort of shoved down at the bottom as far as a matter of priority is in today's reading, it's in Psalm 147:3 he heals the broken hearted and bandages their wounds. There is a place and there is an importance and there is a relevance to all of the things that we can make a matter of priority that that we say matters to God, matters to Jesus. Oh, you've got to find your spiritual gifts. You've got to you've got to find your prophetic voice. You've got to you've got to pray that you can lay hands on the sick and heal them. And I believe all of those things we're going to learn so much in the New Testament about the life of Jesus and the things that he said and and that he tells the disciples before he leaves that greater things will we do. And we're not there yet. So I got to slow my roll. But we make those things so much more high priority, so much more important. We give them a place, we give them a stance and a number and and a position, in alignment of importance. I go so far as to say, because I see it all the time, we question someone's salvation based on the works that they are performing. What I love is this little hidden gem, this little hidden treasure in Psalm 147:3 today, the reminder that he heals the broken hearted and bandages their wounds. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God that parted the Red Sea and let them walk through the waters on dry ground. I mean, let's just sit with miracle after miracle after supernatural after extraordinary thing that he's done thus far in our reading that we have sat and listened to and witnessed with our own ears. Whether we believe it or not, that's entirely up to you. I happen to be one that believes and I believe it to be true. And it's not to discount any of the things that I just mentioned or that we have already read. It's to say, let's not discount the healing of our broken heartedness. We can't discount it when we understand the importance of our hearts, when we understand that all source of life flows from the heart. Then we understand the importance of God healing our broken heart and binding up bandaging our wounds. Our wounds matter to God, it matters that they get healed, because when we don't broken, people walk around and break people wounded, people walk around unintentionally wounding people. It is a vicious cycle. It is what we sometimes call generational curses, curses that we blame some spiritual being that just came and inflicted, possessed or infused its presence that's caused us to do these terrible things, live this terrible way. So many times when I have sat with it and got to the core, I've realized these are generational wounds unhealed, untreated, unaware. And let me go a step further and say sometimes un willing, it is hard to go back and return to the pain, return to the memories, return to all of the emotions evoked within us. But let me just say, God cannot fix what we are not willing to face. It's really, really important that we get our broken hearts healed. It's really, really important that we do hard work. And I know, like I get it, nobody wants to voluntarily sign up for. Yeah, sign me up for that hurt. Sign me up for that pain. Yeah. Let's walk right back into all of that mess. Chaos, clutter, trauma, but let me remind us that that place, that past is not our residence. It is not where we reside. It is a reference point of our story. And the more healing you get, the more healing of that brokenness, the more bandaging of those wounds, the easier it is to look back. And you don't even have to go back there. You don't even have to enter the premises any longer. You simply can look back and it not hurt, sting and ache as much as it once did, and I've had women argue with me, that's just not possible. I cannot look back and never not feel the pain. And I'm not trying to argue, not trying to diminish. But I promise you, the more healing, the further you get down the road of healing, the easier it is to look back and not have the same effect on you. It no longer has its claws of venom gripping, just holding on to you. You can totally be free. You can actually be free. From the things I tried to break you, you can actually be whole. When you allow God to heal your broken heart and to bind your wounds.

Prayer

So, Father, once again, we thank you for this hidden treasure of truth. We thank you for this reminder that is so simple, just two sentences. That you heal our broken heartedness and you bandage our wounds, and my guess is that we put this off and we make this less glamorous because we don't get a lot of attention like we do when we lay hands on people and when we prophesy over people and when we use our spiritual gifts. It's such a different place when we are the ones giving and pouring ourselves out. It is such a different view for us to be sitting in our brokenness. Allowing you to heal us, allowing the process where it sometimes get worse before it gets better. And we're exposed and we're vulnerable. That's very scary, it's very risky or some it's very unsafe for some people, too. But we thank you, God, that your presence is safe. I think that your healing is the safest place in the entire universe. The presence of God is where we can be our truest, our most vulnerable, our most unashamed selves. So, Father, here we are once again so far this year. Handing over to you our brokenness, handing over the things that we have refused to even take inventory of the things that we have swept under the rug, we have shoved into the closet, and the door is bulging and the pile is stacked so high because we have avoided the hard things of allowing you to come and tell us from the inside out. So we give you that brokenness. Give you that pain, we give you that rejection, we give you that abuse, we give you our abandonment, we give you the things that we self-inflicted, the choices that we made to cause the damage that we have deemed irreparable. Only you alone. God can come and heal, restore, renew, redeem again and again and again. But we will never change without giving you access to come and do what only you can do. And you have the power to heal us, to set us free, to change the course, the direction, the future of generations to come, that we don't have to live under the curse. We don't have to live under a false diagnosis of generational curses that are just untreated hurts and traumas and aches and pains that we are too prideful to allow you to come and heal. So with everything in me, I ask you to come even in the next minutes as we just grant you permission to come.To come to come even closer, to come into areas that we thought we may have dealt with, to come into areas that we have sealed off, locked up, thrown away the key. Holy Spirit, come and do only that, which you can do. Heal us, heal us from the inside out. Once again, I ask father, son, and Holy Spirit,amen.

I think once again, I'm not going to do announcements, I'm not going to play calls, I think maybe it could just have a few moments of silence, just imitation. Just intentional pause of quiet, surrendering, giving, allowing, granting permission access. Just as the Lord would bring up anything, anywhere that hurts, we go to the doctor and we tell him what hurts and we give them this threshold of pain on a scale from one to 10. You're healer is here and present. Maybe just sit with a question, where does that hurt? Maybe just tell them where it hurts today. I promise you he can handle it. Let him do what only he can do. Thank you, Father, for being here and present with us in these moments. Father, son, and Holy Spirit, amen.

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hms-chill · 5 years

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RWRB Study Guide, Chapter 8

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

James I (203): James I/VI (First of England, Sixth of Scotland) is known for both translating the Bible and being just... so, so incredibly gay. The book mentions that he promoted a dumb jock to gentleman of the bedchamber, but it leaves out that 13-year-old James would just make out with dudes in public, and that the dumb jock (George Villers) was James’s third serious adult relationship. His friends introduced him to George because his last boyfriend was bad for the kingdom.

George Eliot (205): Mary Anne Evans wrote under the pen name George Eliot to escape the stereotype that women could only write romances. She wrote seven novels, of which Middlemarch is the most famous, known for their realism and psychological insight.

Daniel Defoe (205): A pioneer of the English novel, Defoe wrote Robinson Crusoe as well as a series of divisive political pamphlets and tracts.

Jonathan Swift (205): Irish political writer most famous for A Modest Proposal, a satirical piece that suggests cannibalism of infants as a more humane response to the British treatment of Ireland than letting them grow to starve in adulthood.

Dickens... “woman who languishes away in a crumbling mansion wearing her wedding gown” (205): Charles Dickens wrote stories concerned with the lower classes. This quote in particular refers to Miss Havisham from Great Expectations, who was left at the altar and refused to take off her wedding dress or even put away the food set out for the wedding.

Sense and Sensibility (205): This is probably Austen’s second most popular novel (after Pride and Prejudice); it follows the four Dashwood women in their move to a new home following the death of Mr. Dashwood. Like most of Austen’s novels, the opinionated narrator follows the women through a series of romantic mishaps, culminating in a happy ending.

Green American Money (206): Fun fact, British money is blue and orange and purple and all sorts of fun colors! It also all looks different, because (at least in Scotland) four banks are allowed to print pound notes, so there are four different designs all in circulation.

Sean Hannity (206): A conservative American political commentator.

Harvard rowing (206): Rowing is like... the bougiest of sports.

Pleiad (206): In Greek mythology, the pleiades were the daughters of the titan Atlas who became stars following his entrapment under the earth. They are remembered for their beauty and loyalty. Myths of the missing pleiad explain why only six of the seven stars are visible to the naked eye. According to some sources, the missing pleiad is Merope, who was shamed out of the sky for her relationship with a mortal.

Minute Maid Park (206): The baseball stadium associated with the Houston Astros baseball team; it seats just over 41,000.

Politico (207): An American political opinion news source.

Drop-kick Murphys (208): An American Celtic punk band. (listen here and here)

The Klan (209): The Ku Klux Klan, an incredibly racist organization that has been responsible for the lynching of thousands of people of color.

Kim Nam-June (210): Kim Nam-Joon, known as RM or Rap Monster, is the leader and rapper of the K-pop group BTS.

Milwaukee (211): The largest city in and main cultural center of Wisconsin, which is a “swing state”, meaning that it could go either way politically in a national election.

Seth Meyers (211): An American talk show host and comedian whose creatively titled show, Late Night with Seth Meyers, is liberal-leaning. He hosts celebrities and often chats about politics or the news.

Clear Crystal Quartz (211): Apparently the most “iconic” crystal, it is believed to be able to help with clarity and the achievement of goals.

Wimbledon (213): The oldest tennis tournament in the world, considered by many to be the most prestigious.

Royal Box (213): The royal box at Wimbledon is a section of the best seats, reserved for royalty and specially invited celebrity/politically powerful guests.

David Beckham (213): A former professional soccer player and current fashion icon known for being hot and wearing nice suits.

McQueen (214): Alexander McQueen was an openly gay British fashion designer who rose from a lower class background to become one of the most famous designers in the world. Though he died in 2010, his brand continues to be known for unconventional fashion shows and theatrical imagery.

Dashikis (215): A colorful, ornate piece of clothing somewhere between a shirt and a tunic originally from West Africa.

Orangery (218): A very large greenhouse or conservatory designed for growing orange trees.

Woman at her Toilet (218): This painting shows a woman in her bedroom putting on her socks with a little dog next to her; you can see it here.

Baroque bed* (218): Baroque art was designed to show off a monarch’s power; it is incredibly extravagant (Versailles is pretty much the iconic Baroque thing; you can see more about it here).

The Killers (219): An American rock band formed in the early 2000s and known for having donated over $1 million to charity (they did “Mr. Brightside”). (listen here and here). According to McQuinston’s twitter, the song Henry plays is “When You Were Young”, which you can listen to here.

Dred Scott (219): In the 1857 Dred Scott v. Sandford case, the US supreme court ruled that the constitution did not extend to or protect Black folks.

Nina Simone (219): An American singer/songwriter/political activist whose music spanned a variety of genres and whose activism focused largely on the civil rights movement and was largely influenced by her “friend” Lorraine Hansberry, a Black lesbian playwright. (You know Hozier’s “Nina Cried Power”? She’s Nina) (listen here and here)

Otis Redding (219): Considered one of the greatest singers in American pop music and was one of the foundational soul artists in the US. (listen here and here)

Brahms (219): A German composer known for sticking to more classical forms of music while his contemporaries often leaned toward more dramatic or opulent styles. (listen here and here)

Wagner** (219): A German composer who wrote both the music and the librettos for his operas; his works tend to be very complex, and he has been credited with beginning modern music. (listen here and here)

Romantic (219): Artistically, the Romantic movement was a direct response to industrialization that called for a return to and celebration of nature. Queerness was very much a part of this movement, as it was seen as a return to or celebration of one’s natural state (think Byron).

War of the Romantics (219): A music history term used to describe the split between conservative composers like Brahms who wanted to stick with the Baroque, opulent styles of the past century and radical progressive composers like Liszt, who favored newer styles that blended music with narrative and morals.

Liszt (219): A Hungarian composer known for a diverse body of work and his position as the leader of the radical progressive group in the War of the Romantics. (listen here and here)

Alexander Scriabin (219): Russian composer known for his atonal or dissonant music. (listen to the piece Henry mentions here)

Elton John’s “Your Song” (219): A song written before Elton John came out, but with his queerness in mind. In a 2013 interview, John referred to it as “a perfect song”, and that the lyrics (written by Bernie Taupin) got even better as he got older and sang it more. (listen here)

Consecrated (220): made holy.

DNC (221): The Democratic national conference, when members of the Democratic (liberal) party get together to prepare for a presidential race.

College Republicans of Vanderbilt University (221): Vanderbilt University is a private (and therefore more expensive) school in Nashville, Tennessee. Its location in the South and its price tag would both mark it as being more conservative.

Cage match (221): A type of wrestling match that takes place inside a steel cage; the most common way of winning is by escaping the cage, usually by climbing over the top.

Paul Ryan (222): A conservative retired politician and former Speaker of the House.

The Second Amendment (222): The second amendment grants Americans the right to bear arms (have guns).

Salon (222): An American news and opinion website with a politically liberal editorial stance.

Air Force One (222): the president’s plane

“My Canadian girlfriend” (223): A running joke that someone (often a high schooler) whose partner goes to another school or lives somewhere else is made up.

Five Guys (225): Five Guys Burger and Fries is a popular fast food burger chain across the US.

Vampire Weekend (225): An American indie rock band.

The general (226): the general election in November, when Americans would vote for their president

Plainclothes (226): out of uniform

The Beekman (226): A very fancy hotel in Lower Manhattan, near the Brooklyn Bridge.

NATO (233): the North Atlantic Treaty Organization; an intergovernmental military alliance between 29 North American and European countries.

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*every time I read this, I flinch just a little bit. Baroque architecture is just... so much, and the concept of a Baroque bed when beds/bedrooms are supposed to be simple to help you rest... It’s just so much and I hate it with all of my being. I’m sorry if you like Baroque furniture, but especially for Henry, who dreams of a simple life where he can just write and be anonymous... It’s a big yikes.

** Literally no one asked, but his stuff is just... it’s so boring? Like I’m sure it’s great to fall asleep to or calm down to, but I tried to listen to it while I wrote this and I just couldn’t. Liszt is better, but he’s no Mozart. Also? Mozart wrote BOPS. ONLY. “The Birdcatcher’s Song” slaps and no one can change my mind on that.

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

—–-

Chapter 1 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 9

#rwrb study guide #English Major Brain™#English Major Brain™️#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb analysis #analysis #red white and royal blue analysis #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #alex claremont diaz #FirstPrince #june claremont diaz #bea fox mountchristen windsor #pez okonjo #nora holleran

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massieh · 4 years

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Transfigure ( rewrite ; first draft ), Chapter 1. word count: 3,270.

The full moon illuminated the river, casting the world around us in black and white. The river, a sheet of obsidian glass beneath the glow, wrapped around my feet and begged that I join in with the current.

Just let it all go; be free.

Something hit my hand, hard and cold. At first, the feeling sent a chill down my spine, and reflex demanded that I throw it. Though useful in the field, that instinct was well out-of-place here. Carefully, calmly, I raised the object into the candlelight.

It was one of the bottles that Kane repurposed for a candle holder, an idea he had when we first found the place months before. The wax stick jammed into the top had already burned down so far into the neck that it stained the glass around it black. Even the wax seal could not hold back the smell. Whatever was inside, its stale scent gave the impression that it could only be useful for cleaning wounds.

I tried to push it back. How did he roll a square bottle?

“Nah,” he demanded, kicking it back over the short distance I had managed. “We had a deal.”

“Yeah, and I’ll hold up my end with or without yours.” In truth, I was sick of feeling stupid. It sounded fun to face the impossible, but that was before I found out that even trivial things could hold that title.

“Both ends are my end. Now go.”

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath and raised the bottle again. I tried to ignore all the other details. The shape, the scent, the weight—anything that would be important under any real circumstances was useless now.

Words. I had to figure out the words.

With the old world gone and the city ripped apart, readers weren’t all that common. This place was built by a group of strangers, after all. Each was stripped from their home and dropped here to make a new life alongside the others. Some kept their families in tow; most came alone. This lack of community, alongside the shared goal of survival, led to an illiteracy rate that I didn’t notice until Kane moved in.

As a neighbor once told me, if the old world’s skills were so useful, we wouldn’t be where we are today. It didn’t make that much sense, but everyone else thought so. Who was I to argue?

Kane was one of the lucky ones. He came here knowing how to read. Though we were left wanting for books, he still managed to keep that talent sharp.

Both of my parents could read. My mother all but spoke in code, and it was holy texts that made up my father’s foundation. Both tried to show me their worlds; both kind of succeeded. Reading, however, was never included.

There were a few words scattered throughout the city that had been burned into my mind through recognizance. “Voodoo” and “girls” made the top of that list. Try to make sense of the Bible on that alone.

Three days after Kane figured it out, he came up with his greatest plan yet: he would be the one to teach me the sacred art of literature. His words, not mine. Boredom replaced his brilliant curiosity with a rabid need for purpose a long time ago. So, as any idiot would, I eagerly agreed. He dedicated our first week to the alphabet. I was to say it forward and back fifteen times every few hours to make sure it stuck.

Simple enough.

Then, we moved on to the next logical step: “Sound it out.”

Despite the roll of my eyes, I did as I was told. “J-aysk”

“No, no. Where are you getting the’s’?”

“What do you mean?” And after he hissed the sound back at me, “Right there.”

“That’ s—no, that one makes the same sound as the ‘k’.”

I changed my mind. This sucked. “That makes no sense.”

“The ‘a’ makes the sound like ‘at’, too.’”

“Jac-k?”

“Don’t pronounce them both.”

“Both what? It’s four—”

“Just, ‘Jack’.” He chopped at the air with one hand, but the motion’s meaning was lost on me.

My response was the forced sigh of, “Okay. Jack,” followed by another, meeker attempt. “D… e… nials?”

Kane snorted behind me.

As I shifted back to lean on my elbows, the bottle turned over in my hand, allowing me one last whiff of the foul liquid inside. “So, what. This Jack guy was so ashamed of this stuff, he had to say it on the label?” The bottle sang out an eerie scrape as I returned it to the slab of concrete at Kane’s feet, and its ring somehow made more sense than the next word from his mouth.

“Daniels.”

“What?”

He sputtered again. This time, it sounded like a laugh. “It’s Jack Daniels. It was whiskey. Alcohol, but not the kind you use on cuts.” And because I clearly didn’t get it, he added, “A drink for, uh… entertainment.”

It was exhausting how much he knew about the old world. Some would say too much. Though it was easy to agree, it was almost impossible not to be fascinated by it. At the compound, there were rooms dedicated to artifacts and treasures worth more than any ten men together could afford. It would not surprise me to know all of that, in addition to what was left of the natural wonders, paled in comparison to Kane’s collections.

“You’re stupid good at a lot of things,�� I told him after an agonizing moment of self-debate. The added spice of his own slang would hopefully soften the blow. “But you might be the worst teacher I’ve ever had.”

This time, his laugh was flimsy. “Well, I’m not a Minister or a Control Chief, so that’s a weird corner to throw me in.”

Oh, good. No harm done.

Kane was always this easy. I could be a little bit mean, and he’d just be happy to hear himself talk in-between. The banter served as a low-effort veil between us and the void of boredom, sure. When things got deep, though, it was the true void that stared back. His teaching needed work, but Kane filled the silence with more knowledge and life in a single minute than any amount of time with my parents ever did—official, familial, or otherwise.

A second bottle clinked against the stone at my left, this one with some of the original contents still inside. I waited for the same set of instructions. Instead, what he gave back read something like, try it. One sip, and I spit it out instantly. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”

“It is what it is. You’re doing fine.” His shift in tone was so swift that I nearly forgot about the acidic film on my tongue. “It’s just been a couple of weeks. It took me like a month, I bet.”

“You’d also be six.”

“And you’re seventeen—“

“Eighteen.”

“The arguments make themselves.” I looked back, and his smile was as smug as his tone. “Like I said. You’re doing just fine.”

If the right response existed, it was lost beneath an awkward laugh and the gentle sound of the flowing river.

Even without many character references to place around him, Kane was odd in a way that even his sacred art of literature would have trouble capturing. Though he only stood a few inches taller than me, no room could contain his personality. His body was more weapon than temple. From appearance to mind to words—everything but his eyes, he kept sharp.

One of the bottles floated out from the cove and into the river without either of us noticing. The water tugged it one way and another. It was the flickering of the light that caught my attention. The flame rose and fell in the hot air, twisting as the bottle bobbed from side to side, and finally went out altogether when it tipped over and washed out.

The light was now too low to read, but both ends were Kane’s, right?

“Let’s go,” I mostly grunted just before scooting from the pavement’s edge and into the river. Wading beyond reach of the shore to where the cool stream rose high enough to combat the humidity, I turned back to face him.

Kane maintained both still and silence surprisingly well.

“I promise it’ll be less fun if we do this by force.”

Only the still broke. He slid from the jutting knees of a cypress onto the slab below to remove his boots, socks, and the sidearm he kept strapped to his thigh. After sliding those over to join my things, he moved on to rolling his tattered jeans until they threatened his circulation. Stalling was routine, same as the distance in his eyes and the occasional sighing.

In a lazy attempt to match his performance, my hand moved in slow, dramatic circles in a gesture to hurry up. By the time he touched the water, my arm was a quick snap away from falling off my shoulder and drifting out to sea.

It was by no small feat that he was able to reach me. Though the water gathered only at his hips, if even that far, he could only do so with his eyes clenched shut. It was impressive.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he told me once his hands were safely in mine. His stance was so tight that his grip almost hurt. Determined, he may have been, but Kane looked anything but ready.

“I won’t make you do anything yet,” I said. “Just stand there. Get used to the flow. Try to open your eyes, maybe?” They tightened at that. “Hey. If anything happens, I’m right here.”

The sentiment did little to calm him. At the very least, it did encourage the hint of a grin, fleeting though it was. When it was apparent that he couldn’t control his own breathing, mine became slowed and pronounced for him to mirror. After what felt like an hour of coaching, but must have only been a few minutes, his breathing began to fall smoothly in time with the steady sound of waves crashing in the distance.

Sometimes, when the fog cleared enough to see the endless expanse of the southern sea, and the river rose just a little higher than usual, he would mention his home sector. Not much more was given than what he wanted to remember. I knew it must have been somewhere west because he always mentioned how the morning sun blinded him on the move over. The way he marveled at our trees for the first three years said it must have been pretty dry.

When Kane spoke about it, he did so in hushed tones, as though home could be all that scary. Maybe it was. In some ways, I was less surprised by his aquaphobia than his decision to tell me about it.

Kane dropped my hands and took another deep breath through his nose, rereleasing it from his mouth in a tight stream of air. Not that his first thought would be the position of his face in relation to mine. A warning just would have been nice.

“Alright,” he repeated. With just enough bravery sucked in with a second, more generous inhale, he coaxed his eyes open.

Had I not been watching, I would have missed the literal instant regret set in. “What a face. Think you’ll live?”

His mouth pressed into a firm line.

“Dude. You have to breathe.” Maybe he wasn’t feeling talkative, but at least he was present enough to listen. “You’re doing way better than last time.”

Last time was a wrestling match just to get this far. It ended with Kane falling in and scrambling his way back before we could make any more progress. Victoria thanked me that day for forcing her son to bathe. This time, though fear was still evident in the way his eyes darted between the water below and the sky above, Kane was able to restrain himself.

It was a noble effort—one lost the moment he looked to the branches of the looming trees. “They’re gathering late tonight,” he noted, referring to the growing amassment of crows.

“You think it’s dogs?”

“Probably.” The commotion of subsong and wings replaced our voices for a moment before Kane turned his eyes on me again. He tried to grab my hands again and added a desperate, “I’ll walk with you.”

My hands were held up for him to see while I backed away. “Hold on, hold on. We have time.” Already, the soil of the riverbed pulled me down, seeping between my toes with each step. I’d seen panic drown too many in this river to join them. So I allowed the distance between us to expand instead.

We were only a couple of meters from the waters’ edge. Still, when I finally reached the wall of trees and turned to face him, he felt oceans away.

The collection of candles had melted over the bottles’ necks, their labels now impossible to decipher beneath the wax coating. It was as good a time as any to turn in. I raised the last, still burning, high for him to see.

“When it goes out.”

“You know, one pack took out an entire team last week.” His voice was soft, nearly inaudible over the water.

“So I heard.”

“I should really get you home.”

“They got a whole team. Having one extra body won’t keep me any safer. You worry about you.”

A distracted laugh, both forced and cautious, slipped past Kane’s worry just to free-fall into silence. No longer were the cicadas singing, the birds paused in quiet wonder, and for a moment, even the water fell into an uncomfortable still.

The sector grew quieter by the day, it seemed. Together, we survived war, famine, disease. I’m sure you can piece together what happened to the rest. My uncle always liked to say that book of Revelation didn’t prepare us for an after. Nine years old may have been too young for that lesson, but I understood all the same.

Over the past week, more stories from the Cage made it to the dinner table. My mother told us that one of the things inside had a wingspan twice as long as its own body. She said it tried to take to the skies, but its wings were too heavy. Instead of lifting itself from the ground, it destroyed three buildings and killed two people before being captured. Suits spoke in hushed tones throughout the Complex about how the webbed pinions left an ashen residue on their uniforms.

The rest was a matter of who told the story.

Kane tugged me from the thought by prompting from his position in the water, “Hey, Andy. Can we tuck in yet? No rush, but I’m starting to freak out.”

To get back to the road meant scaling the city’s deteriorated retaining wall and the roots that had nearly devoured it. Kane beat me to the top and triumphantly threw both fists in the air as if the effort were for glory rather than escape. It was the pair of boots, hanging together from one clenched hand as I remained at the water’s edge to lace my own, that gave him away.

The trees served as a veil between the southern wilderness and what was deemed before my conception as “civilization”. Once we passed through, our usual banter had to be capped. We stepped lightly, even slowing our breathing to a shallow and cautionary flow. The smallest sound could bounce through the empty streets and lead something much worse than the river’s wrath to us.

From the gaping mouth of an old storefront, the sun-bleached cast of a massive, toothy lizard smiled at us. Could you believe it was a real thing? Not the smiling part, but the creature itself. Kane told me all about it when his family first joined the sector.

They were big, sometimes twice as long as he was tall and three times his weight, he said. I asked if he knew all that because he had to kill one. Kane only gave me a strange look and said everyone knew what an alligator was. But that wasn’t true. I didn’t. For all I knew, they were no more real than his Mothman.

A time did exist where the buildings along our hike were beautiful. Time and the elements faded their colors, shattered their windows, and darkened their doors. Here and there, shop signs still clung to their rusted mounts. Due only to their current state, which was battered too far beyond recognition for even Kane to read, was I brave enough to look at them for more than a glance.

The path was so familiar that I could have walked it backwards with my eyes covered. Every step was as much a part of me as my own two hands. The shape of the street names, I had memorized before Kane joined the sector.

St. Peter.

Bourbon.

Bienville.

And at the end of Bienville was home. Well, it was my home. Kane’s family relocated so often that I stopped keeping track. At first, the frequent moves were quirky. Then, they were frustrating. While the other kids moved on to new friends, I knew there was a different solution. I just had to get good at finding him.

Home was a single cross-section of road, separated from the ruin and wilderness by tireless grooming. Even as we crossed over the threshold between broken asphalt and the intact pavement that bound the structures together, Maintenance took stock of tomorrow’s workload.

As always, they paid us no mind.

The Complex stood three stories high and only an echo of its former glory. Like the rest of the city, it battled weathering of its own. The Northwest corner and an entire block of the cemetery were swallowed by the earth four days after my twelfth birthday. Before was the contagion. And after? That was the Summer of Lights, which burned down more than half the city.

Yeah, it wasn’t that fun.

Kane led me to one of the clone doors and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Tomorrow’s a big one,” he told me.

“You ready for it?”

“Never am. Don’t sleep in.”

And I responded, “Get good sleep.”

He disappeared beyond the dim glow of our stoop light, leaving me to drown at the hands of anxiety. The Course—like I could forget. If I failed, then what? There was always the Ministry, but if I couldn’t read and failed a glorified physical exam, even they would have no use for me.

As my mind swarmed with thoughts of tomorrow, the still dark of the entry felt like a gift. It meant that my feet could make the weary climb to the second floor without the help of a conscious mind. Mine was too busy repeating the phrase, “Do you accept?” To the question, it shouted the oath.

Outside my window, the moon still shone over the city, either oblivious to its state of distress or indifferent. It lit the single-block cemetery there, and I could swear there was more life in those mausoleums than remained throughout the whole sector. I could see Kane perched on one of the roofs, thumbing through the pages he stashed inside an oven crypt.

Past him, past the concrete structures, past the contorted knot of crumbling highway, I could see the six points of the Cage reaching into the night sky.

This was home.

#; there are likely typos in this but again #; first draft of a rewrite #; i'm proud enough of where it stands #ooc.

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formofaservant · 4 years

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Musings on the Destiny of the Unevangelized

So I received a question from a couple students about the church's position on the Eternal Destiny of the unevangelized. The unevangelized are people who die prior to being able to physically "hear" the gospel preached to them. This is a difficult question because the bible does not speak directly to the destiny of those who have not heard or presumably will not hear the gospel during their lives on earth; however, this does not mean that the church has not thought about this issue somewhat in depth. The problem with answering this question is that much of it is shrouded in mystery namely because, as we said, the bible doesn't speak directly to it. With that said, it doesn't mean that the bible doesn't somewhat allude to it. The church has been careful in making sure that it does not contradict the more fundamental aspects of the faith namely that Christ alone reveals the Father in His fullness and that Christ alone is Lord and Savior of humanity. What this implies is that Christianity must be in some sense exclusive in that it does not allow for competitors to God's throne to be options for deliverance from death and sin. Although the Christian faith is exclusive in the sense that it provides only one option in terms of humanity's salvation, it in no way is exclusive in whom it calls to join the story and life of Christ and His church. All, regardless of background, are invited to join in this way. If this is the basic criteria then it would probably surprise you all then that a universalist approach, the idea that all people will be saved (eventually), does find its way within the broader Christian dialogue in trying to answer this question. Although a Christian universalist will say that all the unevangelized will be eventually saved, they qualify that it will only be because they will in someway be transformed and meet with Christ Himself. In other words, Christian universalism suggests that all will be saved because Christ will eventually save everyone. It does not suggest that anyone and everyone will be saved outside of Christ as if a non-Christian will be saved as a non-Christian. All will be saved because all will eventually become Christian. This view can find its roots in the universalism of one of the early church fathers, Origen, whom we spoke of when discussing one of the many theories of the atonement, namely the ransom theory. He believed that since all souls proceeded from God that they would somehow find their way back to Him at the end of all things. This view was summarily rejected and considered a heretical point-of-view (although they did not totally reject Origen himself). Still further, another important church father Gregory of Nyssa suggest something similar along the lines that love must win. The assumption is that if only a few are saved, then love did not entirely eradicate evil. This would be an astute assumption to have if it weren't the case that's not what the story of God is about. The "competition" between Satan and God are not over love's power, but love's reputation and character. Neither of which requires the absolute salvation of all regardless of their responsibility to respond properly to the knowledge that all humanity has of God (Rom. 1:18-19).

There are plenty of scripture verses that suggest that Christ alone is humanity's savior outside of whom there is no salvation (1 Jn. 5:11-12, Jn. 14:6; Acts 4:12; 1 Cor. 3:11; Ps. 16:4). Yet, there is no need to read these in a way that implies that all who die unevanglized outside of Christ meet an unavoidable eternal destiny of separation from God. The main objection for thinking otherwise is that it would seem a bit cruel, extremely selective, and contrary to the purpose of evangelizing the whole world if the unevangelized meet not uncertain eternal demise (the implication being that all would go to eternal separation having no chance whatsoever to respond in kind). Scripture texts such as Luke 3:6 in its reference to Isaiah 40:5 seem to also suggest that everyone will "see God's salvation." When seen in light of other texts, Jn. 12:32, 1 Cor. 15:22-28, and Phil 2:9-11, one can easily see that a universal knowledge of the gospel is the ultimate end game. Although, this again in no way implies that all will be saved. It only implies that all will in some sense be "evangelized."

There is also the question of "if" that we need to consider. Matthew 11:21-23 has a curious case of Jesus calling down woes upon the cities of Bethsaida and Capernaum. He states that if the cities of Tyre, Sidon, and Sodom (not unknown for their wickedness and sinfulness) has seen the same miracles these two cities had, they would have repented long ago. Some have pointed to this to suggest that God would save those who would have repented if He revealed Himself to them; however, this is a somewhat faulty implication. The thrust of the woe itself is not that God wills to save these sinful cities, only that God specifically chose not to save them despite their capacity to repent and turn. The point Jesus is making is not that God would have spared them, the answer is clearly that He did not. The point is that these wicked cities had the capacity to repent and would have if they could, yet these cities who are showered with God's miracles are so obstinate to the work of God that they refuse. The contrast is stark. The one who had no chance was not spared, the one who had a chance willed not to be spared. But here's one lesson to draw from this: God is in no way necessitated to save anyone who has already rejected Him since the days of Adam. Otherwise, it wouldn't be considered "grace." There is no biblical reason or logical reason why God has to save anyone. Unless the Lord extends His mercy, one's capacity to repent even in itself cannot save.

But then we must ask this question: if there are some whom God clearly passes over to leave them to their own demise, are there some God seems to pass over who will inevitably hear the gospel post-mortem and given a chance to repent? What we do know for certain is that Christ descended into the lower regions (hades or hell) as our creed states. But what was Christ doing there? In 1 Peter 3:19-20 we are offered a glimpse of Christ's post-mortem activities. It stats that Jesus "went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits - to those who were disobedient long ago when God waited patiently in the days of Noah while the ark was being built." This offers us perhaps a clue that there is [or was] a proclamation of the gospel [presumed from context] to those who had died. It could very well be possible then that there is offered some ability for people to repent or turn in the confines of hades. Such a proclamation seems to have been foretold in Isaiah 24:21-22, "And it shall come to pass in that day, that the LORD shall punish the host of the high ones that are on high, and the kings of the earth upon the earth. And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited." Is it possible that the unevangelized will be evangelized in the depths of hades? I would think most certainly. We have positive evidence from Holy Saturday and Christ's harrowing of hell. But we also have positive evidence, although cryptic, from Philippians 2:10-11 which states that "at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth..." The key phrase here being "under the earth." How can does "under the earth" bow their knees unless they have heard? It is not that they are mole-people to whom we must go as a church. They are the dead plain and simple. This, however, does not mean that those who have heard the gospel in life and rejected it are therefore given another chance post-mortem. No such hope is left for them, although I personally do not entirely rule this out. What all of our study does suggest is that concerning the unevangelized there does seem to be some hope for God's mercy even within the grave.

Now, some may point to Hebrews 9:27 which states, "And as it is appointed to men once to die, but after this, the judgment." They read from this that there is no occasion to repent after death because one is presumably judged and therefore no such occasion but judgment is given. Perhaps this could be true, except the evidence we have seen elsewhere. There are a couple of assumptions from those who read this verse in this light. First, that there is an absolute temporal proximity of judgment as death. One must assume that the judgment here is speaking to the moment right after death; however, the judgment here could easily be referring to the judgment of all on the last day and that the time-frame between death and judgment are much larger than first appearances. The most we could garner from these words is that there is a logical link between the two: death and judgment. Furthermore, there is no absolute reason from the context of the verse that requires us to read it with the temporal proximity of those who may think the unevangelized are damned. Although I do not say that this is the reading of those who have this stance, there are many who may misread "judgment" in a negative light, namely condemnation." They do this because they have made the two words synonymous; however, judgment can also be a good thing in that one can judge something to be of value.

So in conclusion: The destiny of the unevangelized is ultimately based on the grace of God and from the looks of it, it seems that God is willing to take every step and measure to see that the gospel is known by all. This provides an occasion for those who may not be evangelized now to be evangelized later. Some may think that this puts a dent in our evangelistic work as if not evangelizing provides the same outcome; but I think this is rather wrong-headed. I offer two quick thoughts as to why: 1) we should desire everyone to have the life we experience now, rather than later, 2) Christ wants us to imitate Him and that means in witnessing to others as well, there is a certain kind of transformation that occurs when we ourselves participate in evangelism. But I will say that knowing that God does evangelize the dead does put my soul somewhat at ease knowing that even though I am a vital part of God's mission, I am not the only one working. It also teaches me not to presume the grace of God to not be somewhere that it very much can be. I know that the grace of God is in His church, in His Word, in His sacraments, in the liturgy, but I cannot rule out that His grace cannot be experienced outside. I, of course, can give someone any assurances that God's grace is found here or there outside of the church, like I can with God's grace within His church, but I do not presume then that such a grace cannot be found. Like the case of Cornelius, God can come to us through various means and perhaps in this life lead those who are unevangelized to the doorsteps of the church. Like the case of those who died long ago, God comes to the unevangelized to proclaim the gospel of the kingdom, an occasion that none of us should pass up.

So with that, let us pray for the dead, for those who are unevangelized both here on earth and under the earth, and for those who are evangelized but have not yet committed themselves to the Lord.

Lord have mercy.

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reksekhet-blog · 5 years

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I'm finally reading The Satanic Bible ReVision and I absolutely could not put it down last night until sleepiness forced me to. My on-again-off-again relationship with Setianism has been like a collision orbit.

From a young age, I've always been fascinated with the concepts of transformation and metamorphosis. I would work with psychological concepts and my own theories within the safety and harmlessness of imagination and stories. In terms of philosophy and especially the occult, I shunned outside sources and came up with my own observations of consciousness. I had this sense that there was the potential of everyone to become a better and ideal version of themselves, and I called this The Great Becoming. In college, I made a friend who was heavy into occult reading, and it would be often that I would relate something of my own that would be met with a surprised and enthusiastic "I read that in a book once!" My reactions to this were annoyance at first but as it continued, I wondered if there were essential truths of consciousness, in the same way that there are of Natural Laws, and anyone can discover them if they looked enough.

It was actually "The Four Agreements" that finally severed me from Christianity back in 2009. It is ultimately a RHP book, but it firmly presents to the reader the reality of their own Subjective Universe and the SUs of others, as well as the concept of willful change of the personal SU. I spent the next few years flirting with (but never committing to) Wicca and Buddhism, and a Wiccan book about Becoming A Goddess propelled me even farther. I wish I could remember exactly what that book was but I had to read it secretly as a library loan, lest my ultra-Catholic parents stumble across it. Having it actually in my personal collection would have been an unnecessary risk.

When I began my relationship with my now-husband in 2013, his hard (yet Eastern-leaning) atheism snuffed out my vulnerable "generalized spiritualness". I gradually embraced his stance, thought the more I tried to be content with the Natural Universe as the everything and my consciousness and self-awareness as merely a delusion of animal intellect, the more miserable and depressed I became. I began flirting with an atheistic form of paganism, seeing gods and goddesses purely as psychological archetypes that I could temporarily align with and nurture within myself. It helped, but I needed more.

I joined The Satanic Temple in late 2014. I'd heard about them from a news story about their public antics and so I researched them and found their tenets to be, well, completely reasonable and in alignment with my own beliefs. It was a great formal stepping stone to the LHP - a firm rejection of Christianity. However, it was still firmly atheistic. I read a copy of The Satanic Bible. Wait... I am my own god? Of course. At last, the beginnings of something for my starving spirituality, even if at first embraced as nothing more than pure psychology. I could work with this. I'd spent so many years of my life being taught and rewarded for giving away my own power that using it for myself felt wrong. Nevertheless, I persisted with unlearning the ways in which I'd been domesticated.

While perusing the TST forums, I came across the first reference to the Temple of Set (TOS) presented as part of a trinity of current LHP alongside COS and TST. This caught my attention. I immediately went to the TOS website and devoured everything there. There it was, my simple notion of The Becoming, but FAR more mature. It made so much sense while seeming so crazy - I had to have more. I searched and found a PDF of Black Magic. Reading that text, I had the epiphany of my life: many of my own philosophies, here I was reading them in a book! However, here they were much expanded upon and connected to each other. The concept of consciousness and metaphysics belonging to a dimension ABOVE the domain of the Natural Universe was at last the explanation I needed for what Almighty Science couldn't explain and why. I felt like I was reading something written by a future version of myself who had years more knowledge, reflection, and experience. The fact it was written by another person was astounding evidence to me of absolute truths of consciousness.

I didn't return to that text for some time, as my mind had been a bit shaken by it and there was a lot that had been difficult to grasp, if not outright alien. Over the next few years, I returned to it a few more times, each new reading making more sense than the last, and revealing truths that I could see and experience for myself. In the meantime, daunted by the extreme amount of personal responsibility that the text charged, I kept exploring other spiritual options. In a way, a juvenile part of myself really didn't want Setianism to be correct. However, as I continued to rule out others, Setianism and Atheism were the only two that remained, and Atheism would again be a route to self-destruction. I was no longer ignorant enough to believe in fairytales, but my will wasn't yet strong enough to accept the challenge and commitment of Becoming. Also, I had an extreme sensitivity to rejection for most of my life. Should I apply to TOS at that time and be rejected, it would crush me.

I realized that I could not and should not attempt to join TOS at that time, even though it was the only viable way forward. I had much personal work to do on myself, on my own. Applying while I was still in that current state would be coming from a place of desperation and helplessness, which would surely be obvious and not help me to be considered. I resolved that I would not apply until I had Come Into Being as a proper initiate, by undertaking the work of transforming myself and my life on my own. I realized that I'd only be able to allow myself to apply to the Temple of Set once I no longer felt a need for any outside force to "rescue" me, as this feeling was merely a RHP holdout.

Two years went by, and I have succeeded. Finally, now, I am all I need. For a little while, I decided that I actually didn't need to apply, and I could carry on just fine on my own. However, I am beginning to realize that some guidance on this quite perilous journey could be helpful. I no longer need "saving" but I could benefit from some instruction. That, I feel, is what the Temple of Set can provide to me. Should my application be rejected (which I honestly don't foresee) it would not devastate me as it would my former self, but it would give me a great deal of pause and reassessment.

I look forward to finishing reading ReVision, and I'll also be picking up more of Aquino's books. There are several books on the TOS website reading list that I must look into as well, as I'm finally ready for the responsibility of this knowledge.

The time is nearly right, but there is no rush.

#the satanic bible #the satanice bible revision #temple of set #setian #satan #set #lhp #xeper #subjective universe #left hand path #consciousness #personal transformation

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a-jew-leaf · 6 years

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My Spiritual Journey

This is VERY long but something I had been meaning to hash out for a while.

Last weekend I attended the retreat Let My People sing and was privileged to study with Taya Shere, co-founder of the Kohenet Institute, among other amazing folks. I think the timing in my own life as well as taking in the teachings Taya had to offer inspired me to spend the weekend looking inward and focusing on myself and my own spirituality rather than branching out in search of new friendships and social connections. I left the weekend with an incredible sense of peace that stuck with me through the next five days. As I tried to shrug off the impending deadlines of work (and that I need to accomplish in order to have a truly restful, spiritual, and peaceful Days of Awe) in order to settle in to shabbat, I lost that background zen that had been helping me keep it together through the last week. Today, as I was thinking about trying to find some peace and rest before heading to work tomorrow, I found myself reflecting back on what about Taya and the particularities of what she brought from her own Kohenet practice to services and teaching spoke to me so profoundly and also how to reclaim the peace she inspired.

Something that I have been meaning to do for a while (read: years) is truly reflect on my own spiritual journey. I have, at times, considered myself a spiritual person but that has been an exceedingly small minority of my history. Before stumbling my way into Judaism, I had spent many years referring to myself a staunch and life-long atheist. That is not quite true, either, but I do not think I had the understanding or language to describe it either.

I grew up thinking I was Christian because those around me were Christian. My family celebrated Christmas and Easter. One time, we went to a church service for Mother's Day because my mom wanted to; I found the whole thing very alien and strange. Once, I spend spring break attending Vacation Bible School at a friend's church because I liked my friend and she said it was fun; all I remember was making a purple glittery cross that I proudly displayed in my room lest my friends think that my non-churchgoing family was not Christian enough. I liked that I got two full days of weekend and sleeping in. I did not have to put on annoying fancy clothes, especially since I am sure it would have been a weekly fight against wearing a dress. I formulated what being Christian and believing in God and Jesus must mean based on bits and pieces gleaned from Christmas specials. I did not believe Jesus was a real person because he seemed just like another character in a non-existent fantasy land. I did not realize Bethlehem was a real city that still existed today!

In eighth grade, I started attending a Presbyterian church with my neighbor. I had always been insecure about the fact that my family did not attend church, although I do not have any memories of anyone even saying anything to me about it. I joined the youth chorus, which I loved. I got to sing tenor which was *gasp* a boy's part. I got to spend more time with my new best friend and neighbor. We were both bored through sermons but got to make silent faces and jokes at each other. When I did listen to the sermons, however, and when I went to Sunday school, I slowly began realizing that the story I had put together from Christmas specials was not the whole story. The Jesus of love and forgiveness who inspired poor drummer boys to play for him was not the same in church. When my neighbor and I got in a full blow-out fight over something I cannot now recall, we stopped speaking. I stayed in the chorus through the concert out of obligation, and then never went back.

Also, in eighth grade, I met another best friend. She began to dabble in Wicca and I, recently alienated from Christianity, followed. I borrowed books from the library, read up on it, and found it to be somewhat meaningful. What I found most meaningful about it was that I was free to make it my own. I liked that the God and Goddess were both manifestations of a greater unspeakable force. I also liked that it did not invalidate other pagan gods of old. I learned that many wiccans chose to pray to and follow gods from a variety of pantheons; they too were just manifestations of certain aspects of that same unspeakable force. I knew there was a force or forces in the world that were beyond explanation, but I was unsure of whether or not they were truly divine. That was ok, it was allowed too. It seemed plausible that one could learn to focus energies and cause magick to happen, but I was not really interested in that part. I grew up with a sincere appreciation for nature, and I began to seek quiet moments in the bits of forest that existed in the suburbs and under the moon whenever possible. The full moon shined perfectly in my bedroom window onto the foot of my bed. I found peace and meaning in opening the blinds, putting my pillow at the other end of my bed, and sleeping bathed in the moonlight. I spent evenings in my room with the light off, lighting candles and incense, and listening to music. I loved the band Godsmack because the lead singer was Wiccan.

I knew at the time that it would not stick. I was not really interested in joining a coven and I did not think that if magick was real it was something people, let alone teenagers, should be messing with. There was a lot I did not understand about it or myself. Looking back now, I think I figured something out. I think a lot of teenage girls are drawn to wicca because it is empowering. The focus on the divine feminine is refreshing. I did not know that I was trans then, but I knew I hated being a girl and hated the idea of celebrating my own supposed womanhood. What I did like, however, was the existence of the divine masculine. Even though Christianity is so patriarchal, I do not think that there really is a divine masculine. It is more like men=good, women=bad. Here was something telling me, however, that the feminine and the masculine were parts of the same whole. There was also a lot about everything embodying both. Even if I was full of feminine that I hated, there was some masculine inside me too. I also like that if the feminine/masculine divide did not appeal, I could find comfort in other gods that embodied traits that I admired. My patron god was Thor and I lived for summer thunderstorms to restore me. I was also terrified of getting struck by lightning, which was either ironic or a healthy fear of the divine.

It did not stick. I got in a huge fight with that friend when I fell into a love triangle with her and her boyfriend, monogamy required that he choose, and he chose me. I wore my pentacles for a while, but I found myself connecting less with nature, the moon, and my candles. I settled more heavily into being a goth and relishing in anything heretical. Anne Rice, her vampires and witches, and their heresy became my new religion. This was quickly followed by adding Jacqueline Carey's Terre D'Ange, her gods and goddesses, and the divinity of sex and kink proposed in her novels. If all gods were made up anyway, I might as go with those from recent books. They were more real to me than any God set forth in the Bible. I envied book characters who knew their gods were real because they got to interact with them and they made real, if not misguided, alterations in their lives.

As my goth phase wore away, I think I began to claim more toward the atheist label. I still remained particularly drawn to anything heretical to Christianity. I loved arguing against the merits of Christianity and what I thought were the downfalls of all organized religion. I pushed against my friends who were Christian hoping I could convince them to drop their nonsense. My boyfriend at the time was incredible grounded though also an atheist. We debated ethics and whatnot and it helped form a lot of my life philosophy even today.

My time at college was one of the darkest times of my life. While I get the impression that going away to college is an exciting time of freedom and exploration for many, I feel that I lost myself completely. Teenage hormones and drama aside, my sophomore-senior years of high school were times where I spent a lot of timing writing, introspecting, and finding myself. I intended to come out as trans at college and go by my gender-neutral middle name. I was determined to be my true self. I chickened out immediately. I fell into a questionable relationship that quickly became controlling and bordering on abusive. Everything that I loved about myself and my hobbies became suspect. Heavy metal music was too "stressful." Video games were a "waste of time." Cartoons were "mindless garbage." Even worse, the food allergies that I was suddenly developing were suspect as well. Despite having had a physical reaction to something indeterminate, when I started reacting to a wide variety of foods, she declared that it was in my head. My anxiety spiraled out of control and I was ashamed. I became completely dependent on her for fear of anyone else finding out the demons that were plaguing me. Especially since I was so crazy I thought I was allergic to so much food! (Spoiler alert: I was actually allergic to that food.)

There was no spirituality during this time. I hardened down on my atheist stance. My ex also referred to herself as an atheist but really wanted to go to church. I refused. I was not going to miss out on precious weekend sleep to go worship a god we did not believe in for a religion that hated our queerness. Even though they were gay churches in town, I was uninterested. In addition to my resistance to church, my anxiety was so bad, and I had lost my sense of self so completely, that any time spent alone in my head was torture. I did not seek out quiet spots in the forest or under the moonlight. My thoughts would catch up to me. I might realize how horribly my life had ended up.

Skipping a lot of the relationship details, towards the end of that terrible stint in my life, I found certain aspects unbearable and came out as a trans man. I had chickened out upon going to college, but I could not keep denying myself and enter the professional world expecting to be successful. I began dating another trans man who was heavily involved in the MCC church, the specifically gay denomination of Christianity. He aspired to go to divinity school and become an MCC pastor. I was completely infatuated and amazed to be in a relationship with someone who loved and admired me and did not treat me and the things I loved as if they were unworthy. I still thought my food allergies were in my head, but he did not guilt me into eating things that made me uncomfortable. For him, I attended church. I did not believe in anything they were saying, but I found the power in a good orator and there were lessons to be learned that were true whether or not Jesus was God or God was real. I began to envision my future life as pastor's husband, the atheist church choir director. Our relationship burned hot and brief, so it never came to that.

I left Virginia and my relationships there to move to Massachusetts. My spirituality remained dormant although as a geology major I re-discovered my love of the outdoors. In particular, I have always enjoyed finding spots that really brought home the idea that the world is so much bigger than me. Geology is also good for that, setting our tiny lives in the context of 4.6 billion years. I dabbled briefly in attending UU services when they were down the street, finding some meaning in community and the singing, but never particularly inspired by the whole thing.

I will leave my journey into Judaism for a separate essay, but I would like to tie in how I believe now into what I have laid out here. I have always found a feeling of smallness, which may or may not be connecting with something larger than myself, and even perhaps divine, in two places: music and nature. A lot of what spoke to my eighth grade self about wicca is the same thing that speaks to me about Judaism, plus it includes extra music. As I struggled through my young adult life to reclaim the sense of self I lost in my late teens, I have found myself reconnecting to many things that were meaningful to me in high school. One of the things I have found most meaningful in Judaism is a syncing up with the seasons. I am now building my connection to the natural world in a way my young wiccan self trapped in the endless suburbs never could have dreamed. Now comfortable in my own masculinity (and complimentary femininity), it was interesting to revisit that world over the weekend. I see now the peace and mindfulness that appealed to me as a young teen that was always a part of the deal if I had stuck with it. I see now that peace and mindfulness is important to my own development of Jewish practice. I am looking forward to moving forward from this new place of understanding and reconnection with my past.

#personal #jumblr #spirituality #judaism #jewish #wicca #journey #queer #trans #jewish convert

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amc589-blog · 4 years

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But God

There is so much going on in the world at this moment, in this entire year. The world has been through a pandemic; America has witnessed injustice, division like no other time in history, and natural disasters have not excluded themselves from the excitement. For me, time has flown by since last December. Life was, and still is, going great; however, that is not to say there haven't been low points. I ended 2019 with wonderful news from work, which only continued to progress through 2020. Once the pandemic swept through the country, and the world, upward movement at work started to slow down while business continued to increase like I have never witnessed before in the company. Work has only been part of the stress that has been endured this year, although majority of my anxiety stems directly from that environment. Socializing and living day to day has drastically been altered. Everyone was stuck at home, unless they were referred to as “essential” workers. That is, until basically all jobs could claim to be essential. People were wearings masks, whether they were forced to by government or individual businesses, or they chose to on their own good merit. New terms were put into play to make mask-wearing political, those being pro-mask or anti-mask. You could assume someone’s political party affiliation according to whether they were wearing a mask or not. Pretty much everyone in the world went through a period of time where they weren't sure if they should be around other people, so crowds died and folks began to stay at home. A new social cue to be learned is whether it was okay to hug someone or keep social distance. If you approach with either stance, you can so easily offend the other person because of the assumptions associated with your actions. If you go in for the hug, you run the risk of the other person assuming you're not considering their safety by coming at them with potential disease. Vice versa, someone may find you distance to be off-putting, as to assume they are infected and wish to pass it on to you. Therefore, making it practically impossible to know how to handle any interaction with people, even if you have known them for ages. It became easier to avoid human interaction at all, rather than take the chance of offending someone, or being unintentionally offended yourself. Staying at home brought along quite a bit of free time. So much so, that I took on a second job, related to my career very closely, but as an independent contractor. I found it refreshing to be making more money on the side while I didn't have to have much face-to-face interaction with other people. Needless to say, I have been working a lot during this pandemic, but I am ready for it to be over, as I am sure the rest of the world could agree. My biggest struggle was not spending time with other people, outside of work. I realized how much I was prioritizing work over my relationships outside of work. All of this goes to say, I have grown over the last year. I have had oodles of time to myself, whether by choice or by force. Time by myself has brought me to extra time with God, of course. For that, I am so thankful. I have been given the time to self-reflect and become more of the person I am called to be. I have been able to work 70 hours a week between two jobs. I volunteer once a month at a Christian pregnancy ministry. I do not neglect to prioritize time at my group bible study or skip going to church on Sundays, when I am not scheduled to work. I have taken the opportunity to vacation with my roommate and friend in one of my favorite places. I have visited family and spent meaningful time together. I stayed balanced and organized and managed not to go stir-crazy. Praise God! He is the only one keeping me sane and steadfast through it all.

That brings me to the purpose of this rant of a blog. While everyone was panicking, I was anxious, but knew the entire time that God was in control. Yes, I was anxious because I wasn’t sure how to act around others, but the answer was to be at peace. I was ultimately at peace internally because I knew that God was my end. Whether this pandemic ended my life, or not, God was always the one controlling the outcome. Even Christians have become so distracted with all the events of this year. Trust me. I know there has been a lot going on amongst the country, not to mention the planet, which does not negate the fact of personal life-events and stress. I have had close family and friends experience loss, others have lost their jobs, and so many have no idea what to do out of safety and concern for their own health or the health of those closest to them. It is so devastating to witness so much panic, especially amongst Christians. If anyone should be okay, it should be those who know the end is in eternity with God. There should not be an ounce of worry. We are all afraid of suffering, but I would much rather suffer physically from health concerns rather than being persecuted and martyred. That would be much easier, although being martyred is always considered the highest honor.

All I am saying is that, as Christians, we cannot lose sight of God in this crazy world. We must remember that He is the one who created it all and is in control of every situation. I had a coworker ask me about the justifications of abortion when it comes to a case of rape. I explained that there are none. My God is bigger than any scenario you throw at me. Whether it be something as tragic as deciding to keep a baby from an instance of rape, or forgiving someone who has murdered your entire family, God is bigger than all of it and He is able to use absolutely every single situation for His glory. Do not doubt His ability. I may not have voted for the president who is currently in office, but I am going to pray for him, along with his staff because God has appointed him for a reason. God does not have to show us the entire puzzle before handing us the pieces. He is not required to tell us why for every move He makes. He is just to do so. We must be at peace with that. I have witnessed the amazing results of letting go of what I cannot control and allowing God to do His work. Getting angry or being anxious about situations that we cannot change is pointless. To be righteously angry is to bring about change, but to be overly concerned with unforeseeable situations is but a waste. Stop reaching for things you are not supposed to grasp and leave them in the hands of God, the Creator of everything. The beginning, the end and the current time are all known by God. He is there in all of it. Trust and let it be.

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chiefsinnermongoose · 4 years

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Scum Studies part 1

Hey everybody. I’m doing a small group study on Monday nights, and I’m going to post my study notes here. This is part 1, and is going through John 1:1-5

Lesson Overview Details

John 1:1-5

1:In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

2He was with God in the beginning.

3All things came to be through him, and without him nothing made had being.

4In him was life, and the life was the light of mankind.

5The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not suppressed it.

Christ eternal,-a distinct person, -very God. -The creator of all things, The source of all light and life.

So, firstly….. Hello! I will confess that I’m more than a little bit nervous attempting something like going through the gospels as the last time I set a bible study up….. Well, let’s just say that I was a number of years younger than I am now. So, this may be a little bit rough. Fair warning. The main tool that I used while putting this together was a commentary by J.C. Ryle that was simply titled “Expository thoughts on John: Volume 1.” I would highly encourage anyone who can track this down to pick it up, it’s an exceptional commentary.

John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Ryle says of this passage that begins in verse 1 “The five verses now before us contain a statement of matchless sublimity concerning the divine nature of our Lord, Jesus Christ. He, it is, beyond all question, whom St. John means, when he speaks of ‘The Word.’ No doubt there are heights and depths in that statement which are far beyond man’s understanding. And yet, there are plain lessons in it, which every Christian would do well to treasure up in his mind.”

The first lesson, he concludes, is that in this simple statement, John tells us first and foremost that Christ, being the word incarnate, is eternal. While this is an essential tenet of Christian belief, let’s explore this a bit. What is implied here, is that Jesus did not begin to exist when the world was made, or better yet, when the Gospel was introduced. This verse implies that Jesus has always been and will always be. As much as we would all like to put in that there was a point where he must have begun to exist, much as we are apt to attempt with God, our finite minds struggle to wrap around the infinite and eternal being that God and Jesus present. I say this with a point that I heard a missionary named Tomas make a long while ago. We, as people dream that the things that we put in place, that we build and struggle to construct, are permanent fixtures. The reality, however, is that anything that we as humans build, even if it should last for millenia, is only semi-permanent. That we, cannot build anything that will truly last forever, save that which Christ builds through us. Again, this is the struggle of ourselves against the eternal that is God/ Christ. I struggle with this on a pretty consistent basis, because I am a mortal, comparing myself and attempting to live my life within the context of the immortal and unending context of the trinity. It baffles me, it really does. I am such a small statement in the vast passage of time that I doubt history will remember me for much of anything. And I’m alright with that, I don’t necessarily want to be remembered for much of anything outside of being able to spread the word of Christ. But, I digress. The most profound thing that we see from this verse isn’t just that the word was with God , but that the word was God, and that the word existed separate from God. He had glory with the Father ‘before the world was’ (John 17:5 And now, Father, glorify me in your presence with the glory I had with you before the world began) Before matter existed, before mass, before time, and the mechanics of the universe, The Word and God existed. Colossians says that He was ‘before all things.’

Secondly, we learn that Jesus Christ is a person distinct from God the Father, and yet one with him. This can be determined by the wording that John uses here to imply meaning. The particular word that John uses is ‘logos’ which holds several meanings. Normally, it refers to a spoken word, with emphasis on the meaning conveyed. Logos, therefore, is used as an expression of personality in communication. In the sense that Logos is used in this context, this does not imply that Jesus Christ was another being that was inferior to God and vested with powers to redeem sinners. Quite the opposite, he was God, begotten of the father before time began. The costliness, therefore, in His sacrifice is even more prevalent.

The third point that can be taken from these verses is that Jesus is very much God. John tells us that ‘The word was God.’

Ryle notes: “He is not merely a created angel, or a being inferior to God the Father, and invested by him with power to redeem sinners. He is nothing less than perfect God, equal to the Father as touching his Godhead, God of the substance of the Father, begotten before the worlds.” I feel as though this was touched on with the previous two points, but it is also quite distinct from them. This implies not only that Christ was with God, but is God incarnate. And I suppose that in the brief time that John was able to devote to the events that took place while he was walking and learning from Jesus, making this distinction held a particular place of import. As well it should with us all, because the redemption of humanity wasn’t just a cause and effect stance, but planned quite carefully from time immemorial.

The fourth point can be taken directly from John 1:3. Let’s take another look and get closer as to what’s being said as well as what is being implied here.

3All things came to be through him, and without him nothing made had being.

The message reads as follows:

Everything was created through him; nothing—not one thing!— came into being without him.

I do ever so love the clarity that is sometimes provided by The Message translation.

Put simply, the fourth point is that Jesus Christ is the Creator of all Things. Not just some things, not just the things that we like and enjoy, ALL things. Those nasty bugs that surround the lights during the summer time, the various spiders that instill into people that they need to burn the house down, all of it was made by the hand of Christ. Science has given us a wonderful view into how those created things work in the world around us, and to know that there is a design in the finer machinations of things, even if we often don’t fully understand, is comforting in that it isn’t all just meant for chaos and decay. Ryle says on this point: “So far from being a creature of God, as some heretics have falsely asserted, he is the being who made the worlds and all that they contain.” Psalm 148:5 says “Let them praise the name of Adonai; for he commanded, and they were created.”

The last of the smaller points that is presented in these verses is contained in verses 4 and 5.

What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by.

The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn’t put it out.

Or, from the CJB translation above,

4In him was life, and the life was the light of mankind.

5The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not suppressed it.

Jesus is the source of all spiritual life and light.

John tells us this plainly here in verse 4. Meaning that in Christ, the light pushes the darkness back, and that life is abundant. I’m reminded of a song from one of my favorite music acts “As it radiates, may I witness open eyed, let me remain where there is light.” I’m sure that we all have our dark places, inner and outer, that threaten our walks, our times with our families and friends, our relationship with the body of Christ, and our relationship with God. I certainly do, but that’s a conversation for another time before I get terribly off point.

The most sweeping statement that can be made connecting the first verse to the last that we’re studying here is that the light has always shown in the darkness, illuminating it.

I know, “Matt, any idiot can see that a light shines in the darkness, it’s what they always do. You’re a stagehand and you don’t know this? I thought you did lighting”

But what we don’t see is that the light that Radiates from Christ also illuminates our sinful nature. Paul said “Therefore, what are we to say? That the Torah(Instruction) is sinful? Heaven forbid! Rather, the function of the Torah(Instruction) was that without it, I would not have known what sin is. For example, I would not have become conscious of what greed is if the Torah had not said, “Thou shalt not covet.” Rom 7:7

Ryle asks the question: “Would we know, for one thing, the exceeding sinfulness of sin? Let us often read these first five verses of John’s Gospel. Let us mark what kind of being the Redeemer of mankind must needs be in order to provide eternal redemption for sinners. If no one less than the Eternal God, the Creator and Preserver of all things, could take away the sin of the world, sin must be a far more abominable thing in the sight of God than most men suppose. The right measure of sin’s sinfulness is the dignity of him who came into the world to save sinners. If Christ is so great, then sin must indeed be sinful!”

The strength in our foundation of hope, in the knowledge that Christ died to save us from our sinful nature, is astounding in this context.

Thoughts? Questions? Input?

I am a highly musical person, and I’ve been in search of a song that would adequately suit reflection on what we just studied. Currently, “How deep the Father’s love for us,” particularly the version by King’s Kaleidescope is what seems to be surrounding this lesson.

Since writing this out 2 weeks ago, I’ve had another song running through my head while going over this study. Especially in the context of the other studies and sermons that have been going on. Song that’s been running through my head on repeat is “Your kingdom come” by Strahan

#gospel #biblestudy #versebyverse expository smallgroup

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ultrachoppedpenguinbouquet · 6 years

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Alcohol in the Bible

Alcohol in the Bible In general, we can say that the Bible neither condemns drinking per se nor promotes it. Drinking alcoholic beverages is one of those grey areas that is a matter of one’s personal conscience. But there is more in scripture than just this individualistic approach.Isn’t it Really Grape Juice?Some take the words for wine to mean ‘grape juice.’ If this were so, then why would there be prohibitions against drunkenness? One cannot get drunk on grape juice. Further, Jesus’ first miracle was changing the water into wine at the wedding of Cana in Galilee. He made between 120 and 180 gallons of wine! Even if this had been grape juice, it would soon turn to wine because the fermentation process would immediately begin. But it most certainly was not grape juice: the head waiter in John 2:10 said, “Every man sets out the good wine first, then after the guests have drunk freely, the poor wine. But you have kept the good wine until now.” The verb translated ‘drunk freely’ is almost always used of getting drunk (and is so translated in the NRSV here). In the least, the people at this wedding feast, if not drunk, would certainly be drinking alcohol fairly freely (if not, this verb means something here that is nowhere else attested4). And this makes perfect sense in the context: The reason why a man brings out the poorer wine later is because the good wine has numbed the senses a bit. Grape juice would hardly mask anything. Note also Acts 2:13—”they are full of sweet wine”—an inaccurate comment made about the apostles when they began speaking in tongues, as though this explained their unusual behavior. The point is: If they were full of grape juice would this comment even have made any sense at all? That would be like saying, “Well, they’re all acting strange and silly because they have had too much orange juice this morning!”There are other references to alcoholic beverages in the Bible: Several times in the first books of the Bible, wine, and strong drink are prohibited to those who take a Nazarite vow (cf. Num 6, Judges 13). Even grape juice and fresh and dried grapes (i.e., raisins, as the NIV renders the word) are prohibited to the Nazarite (Numbers 6:3)!5 But that restriction is only for those who make this vow. If someone today wants to claim that believers do not have the right to drink alcohol on the analogy of a Nazarite vow (as some today are fond of doing), they also should say that believers ought not to eat Raisin Bran!Negative Statements about Wine Indicate that it is not Grape JuiceFurther, the Bible at times speaks very harshly about becoming enslaved to drink or allowing it to control a person, especially to the point of drunkenness. Proverbs 20:1—“Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, And whoever is intoxicated by it is not wise” (NASB). Cf. also Prov 21:17 (where heavy drinking and gluttony are equally condemned); 1 Sam 1:14; Isa 5:11, 22; 28:1 (drunkenness is condemned); 28:7; 29:9; 56:12; Jer 23:9; 51:7; Joel 3:3. In the New Testament notice: Eph 5:18 (“do not get drunk with wine”); 1 Tim 3:3, 8; Titus 1:7 ([elders and deacons ought not be] “addicted to wine or strong drink”); Titus 2:3 (older women, who would serve as role models to the younger ones, must not be addicted to wine). As well, numerous passages use wine or drunkenness in an analogy about God’s wrath, immorality, etc. (cf. Rev. 14:8, 10; 16:19; 17:2; 18:3).The significance of these negative statements is just this: If this were only grape juice, why would excess in drinking it be condemned? If this were only grape juice, why are certain mental effects attributed to it (cf., e.g., Psalm 60:3)? One can’t have it both ways. You can’t say that wine is always grape juice, for then the negative statements in scripture make no sense; those who say that it is only grape juice tend to focus just on the neutral and positive passages, conveniently allowing them to condemn the drinking of real wine at all times. But even this position is not logical: If the Bible only speaks of grape juice, then it makes no comment about alcoholic wine. And if so, then it does not directly prohibit it. And if we are going to prohibit something that the Bible does not address, why stop at wine? Why don’t we include the ballet, opera, football games, country-western music (actually, I might be in favor of banning this one!), saltwater fishing, zippers on clothes, etc. Once legalism infests the soul it doesn’t know where to quit.In sum, is wine the same as grape juice? No, for if it were, the Bible would hardly condemn the abuse of such. Those who argue that the two are identical simply cannot handle the passages that speak about excess.Neutral and Positive References to Alcoholic Beverages in the Bible At the same time, there are several neutral, almost casual references to alcoholic beverages. Genesis 14:18 refers to Melchizedek, a type of Christ, as offering wine to Abram; Nehemiah 2:1 refers to the king drinking wine (Nehemiah was required to taste it first to make sure it was not poisoned); Esther 5:6; 7:1-2 speaks of wine that Esther (the godly Jewess) drank with the king; Job 1:13 refers to righteous Job’s family drinking wine; Daniel 10:3 speaks of drinking wine as a blessing after a time of fasting. Some of Jesus’ parables are about wine, wineskins, vineyards (cf. Matt 9:17; 21:33; even John 15 speaks of God the Father as the vinedresser!). Paul tells Timothy to drink some wine for his stomach’s sake and not just water (1 Tim 5:23). The same Greek and Hebrew terms that were used to speak of the abuses of wine are used in these passages. One cannot argue, therefore, that alcoholic beverages are in themselves proscribed, while grape juice is permitted. The lexical data cannot be so twisted.There are, as well, positive statements about alcoholic beverages: Deut 14:26 implies that it is a good thing to drink wine and strong drink to the Lord: “And you may spend the money for whatever your heart desires, for oxen, or sheep, or wine, or strong drink, or whatever your heart desires; and there you shall eat in the presence of the LORD your God and rejoice, you and your household” (NASB). Psalm 4:7 compares joy in the Lord to the abundance of wine; Psalm 104:14-15 credits God as the creator of wine that “makes a man’s heart glad” (cf. also Hos 2:8); honoring the Lord with one’s wealth is rewarded with the blessings of abundant stores of wine (Prov 3:10); love is compared to wine repeatedly in the Song of Songs, as though good wine were similarly sweet (1:2, 4; 4:10; 7:9). The Lord prepares a banquet with “well-aged wines... and fine, well-aged wines” for his people (Isa 25:6) [obviously this cannot be grape juice, for aging does nothing but ferment it!].The lack of wine is viewed as a judgment from God (Jer 48:33; Lam 2:12; Hos 2:9; Joel 1:10; Hag 2:16); and, conversely, its provision is viewed as a blessing from the Lord (cf. Gen 27:28; Deut 7:13; 11:14; Joel 2:19, 24; 3:18; Amos 9:13-14). Cf. also Isa 55:1; Jer 31:12; Zech 9:17.Indeed, there was even the Passover tradition that went beyond the biblical teaching: by the time of the first century, every adult was obliged to have four glasses of wine during the Passover celebration. Jesus and his disciples did this in the Last Supper.6 The fact that the wine of the Passover was a symbol the Lord used for his blood and for the new covenant implicitly shows that our Lord’s view of wine was quite different from that of many modern Christians.What is truly remarkable here are the many positive statements made about wine and alcoholic beverages in the Bible.7 Wine is so often connected with the blessings of God that we are hard-pressed to figure out why so many modern Christians view drink as the worst of all evils. Why, if one didn’t know better, he might think that God actually wanted us to enjoy life! Unfortunately, the only Bible most of our pagan friends will read is the one written on our lives and spoken from our lips. The Bible they know is a book of ‘Thou shalt nots,’ and the God they know is a cosmic killjoy.I think the best balance on this issue can be see in Luke 7:33-34: John the Baptist abstained from drinking wine; Jesus did not abstain [indeed, people called him a drunkard! Although certainly not true, it would be difficult for this charge to have been made had Jesus only drunk grape juice]. Both respected one another and both recognized that their individual lifestyles were not universal principles. One man may choose not to drink; another may choose to drink. We ought not condemn another servant of the Lord for his choice.As well, Romans 14 is a key passage for gleaning principles about how we ought to conduct ourselves in relation to one another on this issue: weaker brothers ought not to judge those whose freedom in Christ allows them to enjoy alcoholic beverages; stronger brothers ought not to disdain weaker brothers for their stance. Whether we drink or not, let us do all things to the glory of God.

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johhhhhhnintheusa · 6 years

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Ignorance

A recurring theme of the trip so far has been my ignorance.

To an extent, that's by design. I didn't do much research before coming here, deciding instead to rock up and see what I can see.

However, I don't think that my ignorance has been so pervasive as it has been in Las Vegas.

Actually, did I mention it's hot here? I feel I may have mentioned it's hot here. Well just for good measure, it's damn hot here. Hottest place I've ever been.

It's gotten to the point now where I'm genuinely waiting for the sun to set before going anywhere.

Even the pigeons I saw outside looked frazzled, glued to the tarmac, not even able to muster the energy to peck at bread-coloured specks on the ground in the hopes of nourishment.

I'm not a complete idiot, I did manage to draw a potential parallel between proximity to a desert and heat. But the whole benefit of deserts is that they're supposed to be punishingly hot during the day and cold at night.

I ask you, where is the cold? Because I'm not feeling it. I think my desert is broken.

I digress. The main evidence of my ignorance is something I said in a previous post.

In my post about New York, I spoke about Times Square and foolishly referred to it as an assault on the senses.

That unfortunately leaves me little wiggle room to describe Las Vegas, which is in another league altogether.

So maybe it's...um...an unending space war on the senses?

It starts fairly innocuously. I flew into Vegas at night time, something I didn't plan but realised as we were coming into land that everything below us was bathed in artificial light. Vegas stands out like a beacon, beckoning unsuspecting fools to the detriment of their wallets.

And then I landed and almost immediately encountered something I wasn't expecting:

Slot machines. Everywhere.

Again, I'm not an idiot (although I probably shouldn't have to defend that stance this much), I know what Vegas is known for.

But in the airport? Seriously? You can't wait until you get to an actual casino?

Fun side note, the day after I landed, there were multiple power outages at the airport. If you'd seen how many slot machines there were, you'd wonder why it doesn't happen more often.

Anyway, I wade through the sea of impatient gamblers, pick up my luggage and get to the hotel.

I'm staying in a hotel casino. It seemed like it would be outside of my price range but the cost seemed low when I booked it. I assumed they just thought they would make back their money if I gambled.

Well turns out they did think that. But it didn't stop them from charging a daily resort fee and security deposit anyway which ballooned the cost significantly.

Suffice it to say, I endeavoured to spend the next few days not spending much money.

And so, aside from getting food, or doing laundry, or sweating profusely in the heat for no reason, I basically stayed in the room for a few days.

After that, I thought it was probably time to let myself loose at the casino. I wandered aimlessly around the glittering array of slot machines until I found one I decided caught my eye. It had pandas on it.

There were no instructions. No help. Just a slot to put money in, and a dizzying selection of blinking buttons. It was impossible to discern how I won, when I won, but either way it happened rarely and my dollars brought ultimately no success.

I tried a few other machines, including video poker and blackjack. At this point I noticed that the actual blackjack table was open and empty. I'd been putting off attending because they were full, and I didn't want my despicable beginner-ness to impact the other players. Like I've said, sometimes I'm needlessly courteous.

I hand the dealer $50 and he gives me a pile of $5 chips.

I know how to play the game, but I've never played at a table before so I ask him to explain all of the weird symbols etc on the table and then we start.

Win a few hands, lose a few. A couple more players join the table, one of them smoking like a chimney. Indoors. Because that's allowed here. It's surreal seeing ashtrays everywhere like it's the 90s again.

I end up lasting longer than both players, but only just and I start bleeding chips. Slightly addicted to the fun I'm having I buy another $25 in chips but to no avail. I end up with nothing.

Every fibre of my being wants me to go back to the table once I leave it. But I head back to the room and wait for nightfall.

Obviously Vegas is famous for gambling, and the epitome of this can be found on the main Vegas strip. At night, the whole place lights up like an incredibly ostentatious Christmas tree.

Most places have a theme. One is based on New York, has a city skyline, statue of liberty and winding streets inside.

One is based on Paris. It has a giant Eiffel Tower, which comes through the ceiling inside. The ceiling itself is painted to look like sky.

It's crazy. Each one is like being in a totally different place.

From what I understand, after the second world war, Americans had no desire to travel to other countries. They wanted to stay home. So they built these casinos to have somewhere to wind down that was different from everywhere else. Bring Paris, Rome, Venice to them.

I can't say they're a particularly accurate representation, but they are definitely sights to see. It's clear where the house money goes. There are huge synchronised fountain displays, grand statues and (somehow) even more goddamn slot machines.

Slight detour. Before I left for America, I asked people if they wanted me to get them anything. One asked me to put a $5 bet on a roulette wheel, so I decided to do it right, at the Bellagio. The problem with that, I realised was that the tables there have a $25 minimum bet. So suddenly I was putting $25 on a single number. Spoiler alert, it didn't win. Which is good, because an $800+ win would've tested my honour with regards to how honest I'd be about said win.

You might think that means I could be lying now. To which I'd say how dare you, while trying to hide my bulging wallet.

I'm kidding, I didn't win.

Or did I?

No.

Your complete lack of faith aside, this left me with $20 in chips and needing $5 more to do anything with them. I went to get more money and decided to wander over to the blackjack tables. I sat down and discovered that the minimum bet here was $15, but since I'd need to get back up, I put the whole pile on the first game.

There are two elderly Japanese guys at the table already who look like they're having fun.

The dealer gives me two face cards, making 20. For those who don't know blackjack, that's good. I win the hand and my money is doubled.

I play another hand with $25. This time I get a face card and a ten, so 20 again.

At this point in the proceedings, I'm beginning to get looks from the two gentlemen, who aren't faring as well since I joined the table.

We deal again, and I place the same bet. This time I get blackjack. The gentlemen lose.

The looks are becoming emphatic hand gestures and unfriendly sounding Japanese phrases. The dealer comments on my luck. I proclaim that I'm never leaving the table ever.

I play more hands, beginning to mess with the bets a little. I stop thinking consciously about where I am, money wise and then I look down.

And I realise I have just over $200 in front of me.

I am the luckiest man on this planet. I am luck itself, personified.

But then the voice of reason makes itself known to me. And I realise that I have a chance to do something most people don't.

I get to beat the house.

So I play my last hand, and I leave, wiping out all the losses I'd experienced up to that point.

I walk on air towards the exit, stopping only momentarily to adjust myself to stop someone on the way out from trying to pick my pocket.

I'm conscious of the money in my pocket, fearful of everyone around me and get an uber back to the hotel.

I am victorious! I have beaten Vegas! This calls for a victory drink.

So I go to the bar and order a drink. A man sits next to me and we strike up a conversation.

It starts innocuously enough as we do the usual, discuss where I'm from, what I'm doing. But things start to get...odd.

First I see the handheld bible he's carrying.

I buy him a drink. He says he's not happy with who he is.

I notice the smell of...something. It's not weed, it's not alcohol, but it's something.

I ignore these things and we talk some more. He comments on how lucky Prince Harry is to get his dick sucked, and that he'd like that too.

Ok, well...ok fine I understand that I suppose.

Then he talks about family, and trust.

Ok, steadier ground, good.

Then he describes in disturbing detail the five major crime syndicates in New York and I realise the kind of family he's talking about.

Then he talks about six dragons that are actually seven, because one is sometimes zero. Then he gets very angry and the barman tried to calm him down. This seems to work.

For a bit.

Then he talks about karma, and karma times three, which is dharma. Then he explains that he has power, that he can't trust himself to use because he could end the universe.

Then he says he loves himself and wouldn't change a thing.

Then I notice the track marks on his arm and wonder what exactly I've gotten myself into.

It's just after midnight at this point, and I have to be up at 5am to get ready for the grand canyon tour.

This is a problem.

Because I need to tell this man that I need to go because I need to get up early. And I'm aware that this sounds like an excuse. Even though it isn't.

And the best case scenario, the BEST case scenario, is that this man is an angry New York mobster high on an unidentified drug.

I take solace in the fact that there is security everywhere in here, and try not to think about the idea of him trying to find and kill me after I leave.

I wait for the barman to be in eyesight and tell him I need to go.

He takes a napkin and writes 'grand canyon tour' on it and starts thinking up anagrams for it. The he tells me how he loves the Three Musketeers and he can't believe he met a British guy, where they're from.

I tell him that I'm pretty sure they're French.

That was a mistake.

Luckily he ignores me, turns over the napkin and starts drawing a Musketeers lair for us.

I say an internal goodbye to life and repeat that I need to go. I get up and he grabs my wrist, and with the saddest look says 'please don't go'.

I apologise and leave the table, weaving my path to avoid bullets or throwing knives.

But morning arrived, and I yet draw breath.

Now to Mexico! And freedom!

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years

Text

The Nintendo King and the Midlife Crisis

It was December in San Diego, the palm trees strung with tinsel in Ocean Beach. Pat Contri shuffled barefoot on the floor of his game room, pitch-black hair sodden from the shower and writhing above his eyes. He was in front of a wall of practically 1,000 competitions for the Nintendo Entertainment System, the greatest console ever secreted; the wall, flooring to ceiling, was amazing to gaze, Contri as tiny as Ahab in front of his whale. He spoke from the stickers of gray-headed plastic cartridges he’d spent two decades collecting: Spy Hunter , with its Peter Gunn theme, which he got for Christmas in 1987; Jaws , which he picked up at a flea market with his mother in Rahway, New Jersey, a year or two eventually; Zelda II , video games he had his parents order from the Sears catalog in 1988, a game he cried over because it made perpetually to arrive. The wall was both a sanctuary to his life’s pastime and the backdrop for his use. For a decade, Contri has played a reputation called Pat the NES Punk for nearly 250,000 spectators on YouTube. Supporters realise him at the airport, at the gym, at the swap meets, and he has become not only the panel of experts on Nintendo but a public look for anyone who grown up with the NES, anyone who’s worn a Donkey Kong T-shirt or who still has the Super Mario Bros . theme song throbbing in their heart. The Punk is goofier than the real-life Contri–a bit more manic, an exaggeration of his id. Games are the Punk’s life, and remembers of the NES sing him to sleep and then wake him in sweat. Almost all of his videos, which run around 10 instants, focus on the Punk’s experience with a single NES game. Each is a compounding autobiography instruction and evaluation, handed with a narrative articulation that causes Contri( as scribe, superintendent, and wizard) show off his sense of humour, his knowledge of Nintendo, and rarely even the extents of his introspection–about being boxed into an endless infancy by videogames, about the inherent sadness of trying to fill a flaw in their own lives with them. See more from the Life Issue. April 2018. Subscribe to WIRED. Nik Mirus One of Contri’s better videos, a 12 -minute piece from 2013 devoted to the rare and expensive NES game The Flintstones: The Surprise at Dinosaur Peak ! em >, starts with the Punk rustling awake from a excitement fantasy, strangling out “I need help.” And, looking at his plays: “What am I doing? They’re just videogames. I’m supporting like hundreds of thousands of bucks’ usefulnes right in my hands. That could be going to something handy, something memorable. Like a vacation! I could go anywhere I miss. Scotland. Italy. Tahiti … ” And there he pauses. “I wonder if there’s NES games in Tahiti.” It was a bit, predominantly, but as Nintendo celebrates the 33 rd birthday of its historic console–and as Contri approaches 38 — it was also a sign of the conflict within him. Like a lot of people who were born in the years just before and after the launch of the NES, he is no longer young and not nearly old-time, neither brand-new nor vintage, and it seems like he has started to feel a little bit lost in the in-between. “I don’t know if I want to be 65 years old speak about retro videogames, ” he told me. “I don’t wanted to go to be the only thing I talk about perpetually. I think sometimes,’ Is this where my flair begins and extremities? ’ ” He says he doesn’t dally NES videogames anymore–except when he’s in character–and that it’s different now: It’s work. He admits this in abdication, like it’s blasphemy, the man for whom Nintendo became a career. “There’s something a little self-deprecating about the Punk character, and about my reference too, ” enunciates James Rolfe, a 37 -year-old godfather of YouTube gamers who dallies a persona reputation the Angry Video Game Nerd and is a collaborator of Contri’s. “All these YouTube characters have some kind of component of sadness to them. Meditating back to childhood, were we consuming our times with competitions? Were we really entertaining ourselves? Were we really happy? ” Contri’s home library consists of nearly 1,000 NES games. SHAYAN ASGHARNIA Contri is a 3 7-year-old man who has been playing videogames his entire life. His cousin’s Atari 2600, when he was 4. His family’s PC-IBM XT. Then he was 7 when his mothers bought him an NES console, and preadolescent Pat started expend hours in his family’s rec room in front of a small Magnavox monitor. Later, in high school, he frisked Super Nintendo and then PC sports, and rediscovered the NES while he was in college. After he graduated, in 2002, he eventually settled into a chore in market research, acting 50 -plus hours a week in Princeton, New Jersey, and living in nearby North Brunswick. He detested it. One day in 2006, he came across the Angry Video Game Nerd’s grouchy game recollects, and the perception of a courage boozing beer and railing about video games Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest rang out to him. “I ascertained the AVGN doing well, but I discovered a lot of bad videos out there too, ” Contri says. “I’d watch them and think,’ Not simply does this person not know how to play the game, he didn’t include any history of it.’ At the least, I envisaged I could do better.” Contri became his first video, six and a half minutes of him as the Punk playing a couple of NES baseball games before acre on the best, Baseball Stars . He picked the moniker because he thought it had a ring to it, had an stance , and, well, ladies he’d dated told him he behaved like a punk. It also captivated the overwhelming compassion he got where reference is played video games; the NES compiled him glad, and the specific characteristics was a strange, joyful increase of who Contri really was. He procreated his second video a few months subsequently, about The Three Stooges , and then another one after that. He started running out videos, each loaded with enough feeling, temperament, and insider knowledge to set it apart from everything else online. In 2012, a few years after leaving New Jersey for San Diego, he discontinued his market research chore and started obligating videos full time. Related Stories Angela Watercutter I’m a Nintendo Switch N0 0b Who Just Got a Hands-On with Labo Julie Muncy Celeste Is Precisely How the Nintendo Switch Continues to Win Jim McLauchlin Oral History: How Marvel’s Creative Head Helped Bring Nintendo to America Today Contri gets flown across the country up to a dozen terms a year to accompanied videogame assemblies, where he often arrives sleep-deprived and accentuated, carving a smile in front of his followers. He schleps suitcases full of NES Punk wristbands and DVDs across dinner hallways and sits at a booth wearing a T-shirt and sandals, a guy with that everlasting five-o’clock darknes and the foppish hair, selling his product and indicating his word a hundred times on NES consoles and controllers and activity cartridges. He gives six figures a year, his receipt coming from stock and volume royalties; from YouTube ads and the sponsors of his two podcasts, Not So Common , which he hosts by himself, and the Completely Unnecessary Podcast , a testify he cohosts with a sidekick worded Ian Ferguson; from the Patreon allies whose monthly donations facilitate pay for his content. As of earlier this year, the NES Punk videos were the least advantageous and most time-consuming of all Contri’s projects. One of its recent videos, about a game called Stadium Events , made him more than 50 hours to create–much of that time spent researching the inscrutable scarcity of the game–and it allured exactly over 70,000 opinions at long last counting, earning him a little less than $400. A low-spirited income, by any measure, and he’s started to think more and more about withdrawing the character and maybe doing something else with his time. “For the last year and a half, I’ve never really known what he does for entertaining, ” pronounces Ferguson, who convened Contri in 2008. “I can’t think of one specific pastime aside from workout that he does that’s perfectly undone from slog. His drudgery was formerly his hobby, and now he’s married to that work.” Contri insists that he does, in fact, have other interests: “I like movies. I affection the zoo. I like watching boasts on Tv. I detest the Patriots, but who doesn’t? ” He’s never been married, has no teenagers, and lives alone, unless you count the Punk. “The Punk is just a reference, ” he mentions. “Sometimes people think it’s actually me. But at some phase this will end.” In the game room where he films the videos, Contri persisted over the wall of NES cartridge sports he no longer toys for merriment. “I don’t know if they give me a find anymore, ” he remarked. “And I don’t know if I’m still looking for that find. Most of us are well-adjusted adults now.” Maybe he intended the proposed establishment of adults who’d affection the NES as kids, or the obsessed beings like him who’d mustered the whole North American library( he stops three activities in a bank vault ), or the really maniac people who would want an old, mint-condition NES holographic cereal carton, which he proudly showed me. Pat Contri holding a jumbo-sized yield Donkey Kong plush from 1982 at his house outside of San Diego . div> SHAYAN ASGHARNIA Contri doesn’t know what to do–walk the Punk into the sunset, or kill the character off. Nintendo is as popular as ever, which isn’t fixing the decision any easier. The Switch–a Nintendo console designed for middle-aged people as much as it is for anyone–has sold more than 14 million units since it was exhausted last year. Stores spent a year selling out of the NES and SNES Classic. And in the summer of 2016, Contri liberated a 437 -page, $60 hardback coffee-table-sized bible called Ultimate Nintendo: Guide to the NES Library, 1985-1995 , which took him nearly three years to finish 1 . It includes its further consideration of every mainstream NES game released in the US along with information and factoids and NES curio history. He wrote 450 of the 800 -plus recalls, then compiled everything there is before publicizing it himself. It suffocated him but turned into a amaze hit–with two etch flees totaling 10,000 copies–thanks in part to his meticulous research and the upsurge in those who are interested in retro NES games. It was a big reason why he was able to buy his house in San Diego, where Nintendo is on the walls and in the bedroom, on the floor and on the shelves, in the beady plastic hearts of the stuffed swine and on his personalized wristbands and the five-o’clock darknes that his YouTube character can never seem to get rid of. Nintendo forged him and allowed him the strange bonu of internet prestige , not to mention a ton of crazy nonsense he has collected for no other rationale than that it probably fixed him feel like a kid. He has already projected a sequel to the book, a template for the Super Nintendo library that he hopes to publish next year. “I am happy, I think–I’ll surely be joyous, formerly I finish the next record, ” he alleges. Contri’s hair is get a bit gray-headed, and he mentions that maybe the Punk might endure to have totally white hair–that maybe he could still be talking about plays 30 years from now, like aged adults talking about toy set lists in the regions of pattern ballrooms. He has enough recreations to make it all last-place eternally. The Punk, an age-old guy, hunched over, still collecting, still frisking the ancient sports, still living in a house full of Nintendo. Read More Real Wedding, Virtual Space* The Pursuit of Youth* The Digital Vision Problem* The True Screen Addicts* Rebooting Reproduction* Silicon Valley &# x27; s Brotox Boom* The Next Steve Jobs* Solving Health Issues at All Stages Justin Heckert (@ JustinHeckert ) is a writer living in Charleston, South Carolina. This is his first peculiarity for WIRED . em> 1 Correction appended, 3/27/ 18, 8: 28 PM EDT: Contri publicized his record, Ultimate Nintendo: Guide to the NES Library, 1985-1995 , in 2016 , not 2017. Such articles appears in the April issue. Subscribe now . em> Related Video Gaming The History of Nintendo: By the Numbers With the announcement of the Nintendo Switch and the stop of the Wii U, let’s take a look at some of the numbers behind the mythical video game company. Read more: https :// www.wired.com/ story/ nes-punk-nintendo-gamer / http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/15/the-nintendo-king-and-the-midlife-crisis/

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