#triduum

[crimetimesteadicam]

triduum is all finished! thanks a lot for reading and for all your AMAZING comments!!!

this picture wasn't necessary but i needed to draw it specifically for this tumblr post. every other image in this chapter has too much.... fluid.

anyway, read the final chapter here! (18+ only)

(or start from the beginning here)

[francesderwent]

on Holy Thursday, Jesus shows us the meaning of the events of Good Friday.

first of all, Jesus’s death on the Cross is a kenotic humbling of Himself, an act of self-emptying in service. we see this in John’s gospel story of the washing of the feet. the King of Kings chooses to take on the role of the lowest servant, and calls for our own self-emptying in imitation of Him. there is no room for pride, both in the one serving and in the one being served.

secondly, Jesus’s death on the Cross is a priestly act of sacrifice. “This is my body, which will be given up for you, this is the new covenant in my blood” establishes a new priesthood and a new memorial offering which incorporates His people into the family of God. 

moreover, Jesus’s death on the Cross is an act of generous self-gift. He is not only priest, but also Himself the sacrifice, giving His own body and blood as the sacrificial lamb, as food for us to eat and be nourished by. and His body is not just given, but given for us, given to be received, for our healing and wholeness. as completely as a person can give himself, that is how wholly and fully Jesus gives Himself on the Cross.

and finally, Jesus’s death on the Cross is an act of obedience in love. the heart-wrenchingly intimate dialogue between Christ and the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane reveals that even for God the Son, following the will of the Father was not an easy thing, as simple as believing in yourself and following your heart. Jesus, whom we are asked to imitate, had to submit His will in obedience to the Father—but this obedience is not subjugation, because it is born of of the love which calls God “Abba”. if we are asked to take up our cross and die to ourselves like Christ—and we are—this is not impossible or unfair, because we are also invited into the relationship which makes that kind of obedience possible. 

[prolifeproliberty]

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

[lupin-le-troisieme]

Hold me, dance with me

(outfit from Triduum by oxfordRoulette on ao3)

read Triduum by @crimetimesteadicam read Triduum you wanna read it so bad so so bad it's so good the writing is fantastic the illustrations are fantastic I mean LOOK at their OUTFITS

the pose is defo inspired by the themes of Lupin leaning on Jigen for safety and trusting him to protect him that are rife and juicy in this fic

[oldshrewsburyian]

All right, thoughtful friends of Tumblr, I have a question particularly for those of you who are religiously observant, and particularly for those who follow what are minority religions in the US. The question is about how to effectively use my Christian privilege, and the backstory is this. This semester, my teaching schedule conflicted with Maundy Thursday (start of the Easter Triduum, commemoration of the institution of the Eucharist, officially a Big Deal; also the start of three days of non-normal sleeping, fasting, and church-going.) So I asked my supervisors about policies for rescheduling an evening seminar. "Work it out yourself," I was told.

I was mad about this. I like to think that maybe someone following a minority religion would have received more support, if only for reasons of optics or fear of a lawsuit, but... I don't know. I rescheduled the seminar ("What do you do on Maundy Thursday?" asked a student.) Partly out of spite (!), I put on automatic replies to last from Thursday evening through Sunday, explaining that my email response time will be delayed. Because if a hand-wavy "oh, you can work it out" is the response of the higher-ups, my wild guess is that asking for reasonable religious accommodations is not an institutional norm. I still have a niggling feeling that, while I don't want to make a stink on my own account, this might be a situation that I could/should use to benefit others.

[ah-bright-wings]

Sound - A Triduum Story

Malchus can feel the heavy gazes of the others. He ignores them. His own eyes are pinned to the door they guard, listening to the drip of water condensing and dropping onto the floor. There is no rain, but the air is damp, as if the heavens are drawing out the wet stores of the earth in preparation for a storm. 

Customarily, the chill would make him wish for his bed. He’d grumble with his fellows about the weather, about the work, peppering complaints with a few stout curses. But there is no discussion tonight. Malchus sits hunched forward, forearms braced on his thighs, and he waits.

What are they waiting for?

Cold fingers touch the lobe of his left ear. He turns to see Jesse, who’d touched him, withdrawing, fingers curling into his palm. The apology is gruff. “Just wanted to see.”

That’s a lie, thinks Malchus, turning back to the door. They’ve already seen tonight. What’s left is to believe.

Malchus doesn’t ask permission before he rises, taking the flask which hangs on a wall hook, and the keys there beside it. The eyes of the others follow. He unlocks the door and slips in, shutting it behind, and then pauses, palm flat on the wood. He takes a breath. 

Drip.

Drip.

The Nazarene’s hands are chained so that he must stand. His head bows, forehead resting against the bruised back of his right hand. He lifts himself when Malchus enters. His lips, which had been moving silently, still.

Malchus holds out the flask. Then, as an embarrassing afterthought—the man is in chains—he uncorks it. 

“It’s just water,” he assures when the man doesn’t move to drink. He tips the flask close enough to meet the cracked lips. The Nazarene swallows twice and then pulls back, chains jingling. His face is wet. Tears, Malchus thinks, until he hears the drip of water dropping onto the man’s head. It slides down his temple and dirty cheek, carving a clean track through the crust. Malchus re-corks the flask.

It’s not quite fear that he feels. He had felt fear on his knees in Gethsemane, blood down his neck and a howl on his tongue. The world was silent, then, and shrieking, dizzy with pain and the terror of new loss. When strong hands cupped his face, he clung to them. He grabbed hold of words he could not hear but lips he could see moving, breath he could feel on his face, brown eyes he could see.

And then, he could hear. 

It was as if he’d never before heard sound, not true sound, but only echos, half-formed, half-heard, until that very moment when he heard truly. Each noise was crisp and new. Around him were the night birds stirring in the trees, the puffed breath of the disciples, the crackle of licking flame, the creak of leather belts. He heard them all, and he hasn’t stopped hearing since. Creation is vibrating, uncountable voices overlapping in the same tremulous song. Even the breeze seems to have a voice, and the water running on stone. Even his own heartbeat. They cry out when the rest of the world is silent.

“What did you do to me?” Malchus asks, voice barely above a whisper, for everything is new and he cannot make sense of it. 

The Nazarene’s smile isn’t mocking. It’s as quiet as his voice, and it crinkles the corner of his good eye. “I know how long you’ve waited to hear.”

They’ve never met, of course. Of course not. This man doesn’t know him. How could he? Malchus has taken great pains to hide his gradual loss of sound. Each year, the muffle covers his ears a little more, stealing his senses, deadening the world to him. If he misses a call, he plays it off. If he cannot hear his wife calling, he feigns captivation by his task. He does it well, he thinks, well enough. Perhaps his wife suspects. But only he knows, only he and his God. And this backwater Nazarene with an accent pulled from Galilee’s fishing waters—because Malchus can hear the accent now—cannot know Malchus. How could he? No, he does not.

But he knows. 

Malchus is sure, standing before this man who made him more than whole, that he is known. Known, and known truly. And here stands Malchus, his jailer. His enemy.

“How could you know?” he asks, eyes searching the Nazarene’s. The water drips, drips. A rat scritches at a bit of stone. “I can’t do anything for your case. They’re bringing you to Pilate.” His grip tightens on the flask—his only offering—and the stale water it holds. The words pour out of him. “I’m a guard. They told us to go, so we went. I had no stake in it, see? See, we were told to go. I was told to go. I never intended—”

“Malchus,” the man says softly, almost fondly, as if he is interrupting a brother and not one walking him to his death. “Will you pray with me?”

The request startles Malchus out of his own thoughts. He pauses, wary of some trick. Without meaning to, his hand rises to touch the warm outer shell of his ear, tracing the connecting point between the cartilage and his skull. There’s not even a seam to show where it had been severed.

Mouth dry, Malchus finally nods, and the Nazarene closes his good eye. The water slides again down his temples. His words fill the damp space, and Malchus recognizes them at once, joining the recitation:

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,

and naked shall I return.

The Lord gave—”

The man breathes in, and Malchus breathes with him.

“—and the Lord has taken away;”

Their breath stirs the stale air of the room. All has finally gone quiet. The Nazarene opens his eye and tips his head to look up, past the stone roof, past the courtyard and the trembling earth, to the heavens, spread out over them like a tent. The water no longer falls. The rat is silent. 

“Blessed be the name of the Lord,” he says.

[many-sparrows]

When Jesus prayed for the cup to pass before him, I imagine Palm Sunday was echoing in his ears. The cries of "Hosanna-- deliver us!" And the faces of the sick he healed in the temple before driving out the money lenders must surely have been on his mind, with the devotion and bewilderment of his friends as he knelt to wash their feet. He Loved them til the end. He Loved them to the end. LOVE brought him out of the garden and to the cross.

[newsiesgolgotha]

The Passion of our Lord Jack Kelly

Gospel: Kelly 14:29-15:39

Racetrack said to him, “Even though all become scabs, I will not.” Jack said to him, “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” But he said vehemently, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all of them said the same.

They went to a place called Central Park; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Racetrack and Davey and Les, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He came and found them sleeping; and he said to Racetrack, “Anthony, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again he went away and prayed. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy; and they did not know what to say to him. He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Manhattan is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. See, my betrayer is at hand.”

Immediately, while he was still speaking, Jesdus, one of the twelve, arrived; and with him there was a crowd with clubs, from the bulls and the scabs. Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him and lead him away under guard.” So when he came, he went up to him at once and said, “Jeck!” and kissed him. Then they laid hands on him and arrested him. 

A certain young man was following him, wearing nothing but a newspaper. They caught hold of him, but he left the newspaper and ran off naked.

They took Jack to Snyder; and all the bulls and the scabs were assembled. Racetrack had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the Spider; and he was sitting with the scabs, warming himself at the fire. Now the bulls were looking for testimony against Jack to put him to death; but they found none. For many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Then Snyder stood up before them and asked Jack, “Have you no answer? What is it that they testify against you?” But he was silent and did not answer. Again Snyder asked him, “Are you the Cowboy, the Son of Manhattan?” Jesdus said, “I am; and 

‘you will see the Son of Manhattan seated at the right hand of The World,’ and ‘coming with the tumbleweeds of Santa Fe.’”

Then Snyder tore his clothes and said, “Why do we still need witnesses? You have heard his blasphemy! What is your decision?” All of them condemned him as deserving death. Some began to spit on him, to blindfold him, and to strike him, saying to him, “Prophesy!” The scabs also took him over and beat him.

While Racetrack was below in the courtyard, one of the employees of Snyder came by. When she saw Racetrack warming himself, she stared at him and said, “You also were with Jack, the man from Lower Manhattan.”But he denied it, saying, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” And he went out into the forecourt. Then the bell rang. And the employee on seeing him, began again to say to the bystanders, “This man is one of them.” But again he denied it. Then after a little while the bystanders again said to Racetrack, “Certainly you are one of them; for you are a Newsie.” But he began to curse, and he swore an oath, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” At that moment the bell rang for the second time. Then Racetrack remembered that Jack had said to him, “Before the bell rings twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.

As soon as it was morning, Snyder held a consultation with the bulls and the scabs. They bound Jack, led him away, and handed him over to Governor Roosevelt. Roosevelt asked him, “Are you the King of New York?” He answered him, “You say so.” Then Snyder accused him of many things. Roosevelt asked him again, “Have you no answer? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jack made no further reply, so that Roosevelt was amazed.

Now at the rally he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked. Now a man called Weisel was in prison with the rest of the strike-breakers. So the crowd came and began to ask Roosevelt to do for them according to his custom. Then he answered them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of New York?” For he realized that it was out of jealousy that Snyder had handed him over. But Snyder stirred up the crowd to have him release Weisel for them instead. Roosevelt spoke to them again, “Then what do you wish me to do with the man you call the King of New York?” They shouted back, “Crucify him!” Roosevelt asked them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him!” So Roosevelt, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Weisel for them; and after flogging Jack, he handed him over to be crucified.

Then the soldiers led him into the Newsie Square; and they called together the whole town. And they clothed him in a purple cap; and after twisting some papes into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, “Hail, King of New York!” They struck his head with a pape, spat upon him, and knelt down in homage to him. After mocking him, they stripped him of the purple cap and put his own cap on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from Brooklyn, to carry his cross; it was Spot of Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. Then they brought Jack to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him seltzer mixed with water; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of New York.” And with him they crucified two Delancey bruddas, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would strike against The World and form a union, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” In the same way Snyder, along with the scabs, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Cowboy, the King of New York, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe.” Those Delanceys who were crucified with him also taunted him.

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o’clock Jack cried out with a loud voice, “*אין” which means, “I ain’t got nothin’ if I ain’t got Santa Fe!” When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, “Listen, he is calling for Crutchie.” And someone ran, filled a sponge with dirty seltzer water, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Crutchie will come to take him down.” Then Jack gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the freshly printed newspapers were torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when Pulitzer, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was Manhattan’s Son!”

*How to translate the following into Hebrew:

“I’m sorry sir, but that item seems to be out of stock right now. If you like I can place it on back order and notify you upon its arrival, or perhaps I could direct you to another establishment which may have it.”

In Hebrew all this translates simply: אין.

[johnhawkens]

Psst @crimetimesteadicam Not quite done yet, but here's a WIP of the angry noodle Eldritch bitch after Lupin threw her up~ Jigen's got some balls to tell her who really owns that chaos monkey's soul~

[jameslmartellojr]

Blessed Solemnity of the Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ! Alleluia!

[crimetimesteadicam]

happy new year everybody! chapter 12 of triduum is up! it's the second to last chapter so now's a great time to catch up!

read it here!

(start from the beginning here!)

[historian-in-pearls]

I love having a Catholic therapist. I walked into my appointment and she said "It's so nice to see you! Happy Triduum!" She's also putting me in touch with a priest who specializes in working with those with OCD & I'm going to talk to him about Anointing of the Sick, and she pointed me to a shrine close by that does healing Masses.

I also got my taxes done today so very productive all around

[prolifeproliberty]

”When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children.“

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭27‬:‭24‬-‭25‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Growing up I always understood this passage as simply the mob being whipped up and not knowing what they were asking for.

Now I understand a different layer of it.

It is Jesus blood that covers our sin and makes us clean. The mob didn’t understand that, and they were not asking in faith, but out of rage.

In faith, we can say the same words they did but with a different intention.

Jesus, let your Blood be on us and on our children.

[annaslapek]

Ecce lignum Crucis, in quo salus mundi pependit. Venite adoremus.

instagram.com/anna.slapek/

[saint-augustines-pears]

Also hey don’t forget about All Souls’ Day we gotta remember the church suffering also y’all

[tinyshe]