#yes he contains multitudes and i love nuance more but also. it is okay to be tbh creature. godbless

[magnetoapologist]

really really enjoy when ppl typify nicky like this

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

(Tone/intention indicator: non-aggressive!! Pensive and open/hopeful for discussion and/or advice. Not at all trying to be a grouch.)

I do get the joke and I get that there's plenty of evidence that he does like to take it up the ass which is rad for him if he does, you know, but it feels crappy to me, the way a lot of the fandom (NOT you—I haven't seen anything like this from you) and actually also Misha treats Dean and sometimes/by proxy Jensen with the whole calling him/them a bottom, especially when Jensen isn't part of the conversation and doesn't even know that there's anything to respond to. It just gets said about him in public, and then onus is on him to find it and respond. It's a gotcha situation though, I don't think there's even anything he could say in his own defense (if he wanted to, that is. idk, for all I know, maybe Jensen is into it too, but that's sort of my problem.. I don't how he feels about being called a girl, a bottom, an omega etc) that people wouldn't claim that, by saying he isn't a bottom, sub or femme, he actually is proving he's a "subby little girlboy," or so I saw it said. I wish we as a community could talk about the nuance and inherent homophobia and transphobia in leering about it that way, in stereotyping 'bottom/subby behavior' and categorizing that behavior as feminine etc. I'm a trans dude, a dom and a top and a lot of the things I see people saying about Dean being a bottom or, worse, about Jensen being a bottom, are just so.. emasculating to me, because a lot of that stuff is stuff I do, too. Dean is a fictional character so his feelings can't get hurt, but Jensen is a real person, you know? And there's like a million people on the internet saying they can tell he's a subby, femme bottom despite whether he's ever said anything to the contrary or not. It's.. jarring, too, since I'm also a real person and they're often pointing to traits and behaviors that I share as evidence. It makes me so dysphoric to see so many people calling him girly and needy and in heat or what have you and citing how he (over)performs masculinity. I over-perform masculinity, too, but I do it because I enjoy the presentation, not because I'm over-compensating and Actually A Girl. I'm actually pretty comfortable in my relationship with gender at this point. Sometimes I also wear dresses. I'm still a dude. It sucks that it seems like the overwhelming opinion is that loudly performing masculinity can only ever mean overcompensation, and never gender euphoria. It seems like a lot more people are more interested in forcing Dean to perform femininity—like people want to humble and humiliate him for his past/present comphet and his idea of his own masculinity—not in allowing him to participate in traditionally non-masculine things according to what he likes, or to perform gender in ways that make him feel authentic and happy. It's like, instead of him aggressively overcompensating his Manly Man-ness, everyone wants to make him aggressively, stereotypically effeminate and one dimensional in the opposite direction. What are your thoughts on it, if you don't mind sharing? Do you think there's a way to have this conversation in the fandom? Or am I missing the point?

hi! okay first of all I love your tone indicators, we should all be doing this online tbh because it absolutely sets the voice for the rest of your ask and I appreciate it so very much.

preliminarily - I am not an expert on this topic in any way, so please take my response with an entire value-size canister of salt.

I think your feelings and thoughts are absolutely valid, and I don't disagree. I personally try to steer clear of most of the real person is this and that thing unless they uh. you know. tweet it out loud at the internet (for what it's worth, I do think - any joking I may have vaguely done aside - that Misha's past two top related tweets specifically were fairly pointed at himself (yes, I know one was about Dean and Cas fanfic, but he said "I" enjoy being on top, not Cas enjoys topping Dean). I am certain he is aware of the innuendo though, and how fandom will take it so your commentary on his being a participant is certainly correct as well. Also, I firmly believe that Misha does treat humans, especially those he is close w, with the utmost respect and any joking he has done re Jensen has been in a place of Jensen being okay with it (like I don't think he would ever say anything he knows would make Jensen feel uncomfortable whether he is within earshot or across the country when it's said).

*takes off Misha apologist hat*

As for the rest, I think your points are extremely well made and it's definitely a conversation that can (and should!) be had in fandom. I do agree that this topic can and has been misconstrued (sometimes for shitposting's sake sometimes not) as it applies to irl people and situations. I personally think that Jensen is a very multidimensional and layered human (which serves him greatly as an actor, I mean he contains literal multitudes) and to classify him as either pendulum end - as you mentioned, is doing his human self a disservice. I think it's also important for all of us to remember that gender is a construct and can be so fluid, so putting any of it in a socially constructed box just defies the entire point of the conversation.

I don't know if this is making any sense (your points are a lot more well spoken and coherent than mine), but I do think what you said is so important and needs to be out there. Also, I hope you know you are so freaking valid and nothing that's said on this site or others about traits/behavioors of Jensen's that mirror your own is a firm definition for those traits/behaviors, especially if people are putting them in a category you don't necessarily agree/feel comfortable with or identify as the right 'definition' if you will. Your words - "to perform gender in ways that make him feel authentic and happy" really resonated with me, and I think they hold true for both Jensen and you. To radically be our authentic selves is the goal, and I'm so glad that based on what you said you're feeling about your own relationship with gender it seems like you are in that place!!!

Sorry this is so long of a response and probably. muddy. I hope I got the gist of what you were asking, but also thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me, you expressed them really clearly and it's given me a lot to think about :) if I got anything wrong, or misunderstood a point you were making please feel free to pop by and clarify or correct me.

I hope you have an excellent day <3

[imaginarycircus]

Today is my birthday and all well wishes are giddily accepted. I’m going to level with you. I’ve felt disappointed in myself lately more and more. For the last few years I’ve been increasingly selfconscious and kind of embarrassed about my age, my appearance, and my lack of success for a given value of success. Like I’m an old washing machine that needs to be taken out back and disassembled for parts or used as a fire pit. The worst part is that I knew I was selling myself a bill of goods and I couldn’t stop.

This is venting. I’d love it if you have time and energy to listen, but please don’t give me advice. If you want to share your experiences or feelings that is cool. I’d love to hear about you. I’m sorry this is like a 3 TED talk series, but you do not have to read it and I don’t expect anyone to do so.

If a friend told me they felt like this I’d theoretically grab their face in both hands and look into their eyes and say, “You precious, wonderful, jar of dumbass jam.”

“You have a messy life and stuff that gets in the way and maybe you’re not always doing your best, but you try to and you’re nice to animals and you sure do cry about them a lot. This writing deal is hard. You started 17 years ago, which was a bit late, and you’ve worked really hard. Despite every rejection, you have not stopped. Do you realize how much better you’ve become than you were? Sure. You’ve had some bad luck. Everyone has, but yours is yours. It sucks, but don’t let it define you. Oh. You already let it define you. Past-you is gone and now-you can stop doing that.

You got the MFA. You wrote a novel and your agent couldn’t sell it, but you did it. And you got an agent, which is pretty good. You did well in that Penguin contest. You didn’t win, but top 50 out of 5,000 isn’t too bad. You created two scripted series and wrote the first season of one of them 2-3 times and planned the other in exquisite detail. It’s in development hell and I know you’re tired and you’ve kind of given up hope, but the people negotiating stuff believe in your work (also @kyrieanne‘s work.) You’ve written a lot. You’re writing a novel right now and your agent is on board. Plus you’re still riding around on this planet. There were times you wanted to get off the ride, but you didn’t.

No one else but you swims in the alchemical product of your past, your traumas, your joys, your education, your hard work, your chronic health issues, and your many mistakes. Own it and fucking walk up the chest of anyone who says you’re not good enough. Yeah. You got walk up your own chest now, buddy. Take some advil. I love you. Take out the trash. And remember you had three separate cancer scares this year. Two surgeries. Two biopsies, one of them a total nightmare, and you were bleeding so much because of that uterine polyp you had no iron for carrying oxygen to your bits and bobs or your brainbox. Take a breath. Take a shower. Drink water. Go out this evening and eat a warm buttered lobster roll and drink some good wine and realize how fucking lucky you are to be able to do that. I love you, you beautiful, dumbass jar of jam.”

But my inner convo has been like, “Dude. Honey. Me. Plz stop. Comparisons are odious. Yes, we like John Donne. No, we do not usually think about ourselves in the third person, but for this exercise it makes sense that even when I am talking to myself I may be talking to another part of myself I’m so at odds with they seem like a different person. We contain multitudes! We also have the adhd and what were we talking about? Oh, yes. We think we’re old and a failure. We’ve bought into it so hard that it keeps us up at night and stalks us during the day. If it walks like a failure duck and talks like a failure duck...

Okay. The WE thing has to stop. Switching to 2nd person, extremely goddamn familiar.

You’re 48 (49 today) and everyone around you is seems so accomplished and has racked up cool resume worthy successes, which you learn about on that bastion or truth and moral rectitude--the twitter. They ARE things. While you? Are nothing in particular. Mostly a lot of “does not live up to potential.” And what the fuck have you done? 3k NY Times crossword puzzles? You haven’t published anything and maybe that’s because you’re not a very good writer. You’ve written a lot of shit in the last two decades, but where has it gotten you? Maybe you’re a dilettante with no substance. You can’t prove you aren’t.

People 20 years younger have accomplished so much more. Now you’re old and annoying and occasionally confused by the youths and their slang. You’re still never sure of the nuance of bougie because it seems to be used in so many different ways. You got cagey about telling anyone your age bc the number sounds alarming. You know you’re buying into a bullshit patriarchal system that devalues people further if they’re no longer baby factories.

And there was that bullshit when some partially baked people told adults to get out of fandom and you kind of said fuck that noise gently with a chainsaw, but you also felt bad. Like an old cranky dude in a ratty old bathrobe who pours  beer on his generic cheerios (tragically called rings’o’oats) and shovels them into his mouth thinking about how he could have BEEN someone, but was struck down by tragedy, or an ego so fragile a light breeze destroyed it. Who refuses to teach a young whipper snapper the ancient art of smacking an object from one place to another bc he’s golluming over his manpain. An off-brand Obi Wan who must be harassed to rejoin the human race and who starts to live again after helping some prodigy succeed. Except you? You’re in the ratty bathrobe phase, probably for eternity, and no one is coming to ask you to do anything, because you never did anything. You’re getting wrinkles and you feel invisible a lot of the time in a way that makes you want to set things on fire bc you’re a middle aged lady, who is not particularly pretty, accomplished, or a mom so wtf are you? And you know that’s a world of absolute bullshit, but you’re soaking it like it’s the world’s biggest tub of Palmolive and you don’t remember getting into it. You know what would make you feel better and give you an ersatz sense of accomplishment?”

And then I do another crossword puzzle. I went back into therapy with someone who specializes in adhd. It’s helping. I haven’t been around here much bc... welp. You’re reading this. I didn’t want to be No Face in Spirited Away vomiting all this trash on you, especially because I know it’s the most womp womp, irritating, middle aged white lady thinks her life is hard and must tell you about it at great length. But then I remember my shitty feelings are valid and I do not ever expect anyone to read this so I can put here if it helps me.

I will be fine. These are human shaped problems. But if you’ve read this nonsense and thought about it, giggled at it, or wondered if you should call someone like I’m a cat stuck in a tree who did not know fully comprehend the consequences of her actions? Thank you. I appreciate you. As always I hope a dog looks at you and wants to be your friend, or a cat walks on your hair because it loves you. (It should go without saying, but feel free to substitute any animal or item into my well wishes as per your requirements.) If you need an excuse to eat cake today--I have decreed that you must do this in my honor. But only if you feel like it and you can eat cake. Also the cake can be made of anything. The cake could be avocados or mathematical. Use your imagination.

To wit; I am 49 fucking years old today. I’m owning it. I’m owning every wrinkle and sun spot. (I started using a serum to deal with sun damage and it seems to work. People told me to wear sunscreen, but I did not.) I’m owning my own failures (and sun damage). I’m learning to own my successes too, especially the ones that don’t make sense to other people without a power point presentation, a Q&A, and a ritual burning of certain artifacts.

Here’s what I’ve done with my life. I’ve lived it.

[pinkipie100]

Lance and the 25 Days Chapter IV: Shopping

It’s Ficcember Day 4! I had every intention of going into this chapter to make it shorter, as I have a lot of other work to do, but here I am at 3288. I’d say I’ll make an effort to be concise tomorrow, but knowing me, it’ll probably end up at a totally unnecessary 4000 words. To be fair, thought, there were three separate stories happening in these past two chapters, so that could have increased the length significantly. Hope you enjoy anyway!

Team Voltron has split up to shop for one another’s holiday presents, and each one witnesses or contributes to a different kind of holiday generosity.

Words: 3327

Category: Gen

Contains: Varkon: Mall Cop Part II, brOTP Pallura, brOTP Lance/Coran, brOTP Shunk [Shiro/Hunk], [slight] Gunderangst, dreidel mention, Jewish Pidge, Hanukkah history, Shiro and Hunk being blesséd and pure, Allura being the best Space Mom/big sister ever, Coran being Lance’s awesome Space Uncle

Takes place immediately following Chapter III’s events in the Space Mall.

Pidge had just bought the perfect gift for Shiro. She looked around apprehensively, then stuffed the item into her shopping bag. Now, all she had to do was buy something for Keith. It was not wonder he was the last person Pidge was buying presents for- the boy hardly wanted anything. Pidge thought back to the one and only time she’d entered Keith’s room, secretly, of course, and she found absolutely nothing in it. It was the polar opposite of Pidge’s room, all cluttered with Space Caterpillars and trash paladins. How on Earth was she going to buy a gift for someone who didn’t want anything?

The young paladin scoffed at her hypocrisy. Here she was, complaining about Keith being too unmaterialistic, while all she really wanted for Chanukkah was something she knew none of the paladins could get her.

A chipper ‘Pidge!’ was peeped from behind her, and the named paladin jumped. She swung around to see Allura, who was waving at the shorter individual whilst holding a bag behind her back.

Pidge unclenched her body, saying to the princess, “Allura, I hope you’re not planning to shop with me. I don’t want my present spoiled!”

The Altean woman nodded her head that she was, in fact, going to accompany the green paladin, ensuring that Pidge’s gift had already been brought and safely and securely tucked away. Allura proclaimed that she’d only Keith left to find something for, and she had come to Pidge for advice.

Pidge chuckled, then explained that she, too, was at a loss for what to purchase for Keith. They were running out of time, however, so they determined that they would shop together.

When the two paladins walked along the tiled mall floor, Allura couldn’t stand the awkward silence suffocating the two of them. Eventually, the taller paladin spoke, “So, how was the rest of your shopping?” Pidge answered that it had all gone fine, but forewarned Allura that she was not going to spoil the latter’s gift. Allura looked away and mumbled through clenched teeth that she had no intentions of coaxing Pidge into such an act. “Did you get Lance something?” Pidge grinned smugly, searching her bag momentarily before discreetly showing Allura her gift for the lanky red paladin. Allura took a peek at it and nodded approvingly, then hunting for her own gift for Lance, letting Pidge give it a once-over.

“Oh, he’ll love that,” Pidge sniggered.

“Yes, I thought so,” Allura preened. “He’s lucky to have me; I know all the good products in that area. So, Pidge… I must ask. How is Jewish Christmas different from normal Christmas?”

Pidge laughed out loud for a split second before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Hahahaha- Chanukkah is not Jewish Christmas, Allura,” the little teen delineated. When Allura expressed confusion, Pidge put in, “Chanukkah is a completely separate holiday from Christmas; they just both happen to fall in the same Earth month. I don’t know if you know this, but humans have this weird thing called ‘religion,’ and Christmas is celebrated by people of the Christian religion, generally speaking.”

“So… Jewish is the religion that celebrates Chanukkah?” Allura corrected herself.

“Well, the religion is Judaism, and the people who practice it are Jewish, or Jews,” Pidge elaborated. “Chanukkah is the Jewish festival of lights, commemorating the time when the Jews of Israel drove the Greeks from their land and kept the Holy Temple of Jerusalem’s menorah lit with only one pot of oil for a miraculous eight days.” Allura communicated her wonderment at the thought, though she understood few of the words Pidge was saying. While pushing her glasses up her nose with a glint, Pidge stated, “Scientifically impossible, but yes, quite astounding. So, Jews today celebrate this event by lighting a candle on-” Allura finished ‘The menorah!’ for the shorter storyteller, but Pidge continued, “Well, the menorah is actually a seven-prong candelabrum, and it’s a symbol for the Jewish homeland of Israel. The chanukkiah, which is what’s used during Chanukkah, has nine prongs for holding the candles, but yeah, most people I know still call it a menorah.”

Allura nodded in understanding with each description, absorbing the information like an eager elementary schooler. Pidge almost felt warmed up inside at Allura’s willingness to learn, and for a moment, she’d forgotten about what would be missing from her Chanukkah this year. She did remember, though, and her head dropped nearly unnoticeably. Allura drew her attention again, though, pointing to a store hosting a multitude of knives and related items, and the two shrugs and dashed toward it.

Lance was getting irritated again. Not only was the absolute perfect present for Shiro just out of his budget ranged, but Coran would not stop following him. He couldn’t buy Coran’s gift if he already saw what it was! Try as the red paladin might, but the gorgeous man himself could not be shaken. After the Altean man swooped behind another counter, raising his eyes slowly above it, then sneaking behind a display case and peeping out at Lance through the glass, the paladin could tolerate no more.

As Coran cautiously flipped over the case, Lance called out, “I know you’re spying on me, Coran.” The older Altean man toppled over and smashed his face onto the display case glass, quickly standing back up with false composure.

“Ah, Lance, fancy seeing you here,” Coran coughed nonchalantly. When Lance inquired shortly why he was watching him, the answer was, “Well, you see, I thought I might learn by observation. You may have given one bang-up job in a preliminary gift-giving tutorial, but I think there’s still more nuance to be learned just from… seeing an expert in action.” Coran dramatically made binoculars with his fingers and fixed his eyes on Lance. Lance gave Coran a skeptical look, but simply went back to staring down Shiro’s potential gift, sighing wistfully. “See something you like?” Coran inquired, directing his binoculars to where the paladin was gazing.

The teenager told his companion that it was supposed to be Shiro’s gift, but he just didn’t have the budget for it. Evidently, these particular items were insanely expensive toys for the children of the highest class Galra generals. Lance knew it as something vastly different than the Galra, however.

Coran, sporting a peculiar look on his face, asked, “Do you really think Shiro would want one of those?” to which Lance confirmed that he knew that Shiro wanted, or leastways needed, for cleaning up the kitchen after the paladins had a snack party in it. Coran pondered for a moment, then beckoned the alien running the Terra shop to come over so that they could purchase the item. Lance protested that Coran didn’t need to buy it for him, but the Altean silenced him with, “Early Christmas present- I’m doing you a favor. I’ve already gotten my holiday presents for everyone else, anyhow. Now you just sit back and let me compensate for your lack of GAC,” and the gorgeous man winked.

Lance and Coran left the shop in a cheery mood, and Lance was satisfied now that he only had one present left to get. The only issue was, the gift’s recipient was uncomfortably close. Lance had to get rid of Coran somehow, but he didn’t know what to do. He already knew what to get Coran, having seen it at a previous shop window. There had to be some way to get the mustachioed man off his tail for at least a couple of dobashes…

All of a sudden, Lance noticed a shop behind Coran that appeared to be a fabric store, and a puffy, white-furred alien was exiting out of it. “Coran! I need another favor of you,” Lance announced hurriedly. Coran appeared ready to comply, and Lance beckoned him over so that he could whisper in his ear, muttering something along the lines of purchasing some red cloth and stopping the fuzzy alien for a brief ‘chat.’ “I’m counting on you- Remember, it’s Christmas tradition, okay?” the boy finished, and Coran nodded with determination, assuring Lance that he wouldn’t let him down.

Coran then took off after the puff ball shopper, and Lance snuck his way back to the quirky store he had found. He also patted himself on the back for killing two birds with one stone, like the clever sharpshooter he was.

Hunk and Shiro were on their way back to the meeting spot, finishing their gift shopping relatively early. They had run into each other when they had bought some tinkering parts for Pidge’s presents in the same store. They had some time to kill, so they were strolling through a food court, decidedly not the one with Vrepit Sal’s in it. While they walked, Shiro regaled his tale of woe concerning his false peppermint bark, knowing full well Hunk would sympathize with the tragedy. Hunk also pitched his Olkarion feast idea to Shiro, whom enthusiastically offered to help cook for said event. Hunk gently turned him down, aware of his lackluster cooking skills.

The two companions found that their path was blocked by a particularly long line. Hunk and Shiro tracked the beginning of the line with their vision, and it appeared to be a queue for an unilu crépe a la mode stand. Young aliens were crying in the queue, and there was a father at the front of the line trying to negotiate with the stand owner.

“I’m sorry, sir, but our ice cream maker is severely malfunctioning; we can barely even keep it from leaking, not to mention the power has been cut to our griddles,” the owner apologized.

“But we’re here for my daughter’s birthday! We come here every year to support a good cause on her special day, but we can’t celebrate without the crépes!” the father worried, holding his daughter to his chest whilst his older son clung to his leg.

“What’s going on here?” Hunk questioned when he was within the stand owner’s earshot.

She turned to him and explained that the stand was meant to be offering their yearly Crépes for All Donors today, with all the day’s profits being contributed to the Hybrid Relief Foundation, but all their equipment was malfunctioning. The father added that lots of families brought their children to the event to purchase discounted crépes. The owner suspected that the Galra were probably trying to sabotage their fundraiser, since it supported relief given to displaced and impoverished alien hybrid families.

“You think the Galra are trying to uproot your fundraiser?” Shiro asked, and the father confirmed that this happened every year to at least a few shops, but never suspected that they would hit the most popular.

Shiro and Hunk looked at one another, then nodded. “Shiro, you go find the perpetrator. I’ll handle the kitchens. People, listen up! You and your kids will get crépes a la mode galore! No one’s stomach leaves this food court empty!” The aliens in line all stood at attention before Hunk’s proud words. “You know, where I’m from, this time of year it the best time of year to give back to the community, and I’m gonna do just that. I won’t leave here today until every piece of equipment in these kitchens is fixed and in top-of-the-line condition! I’ll help man the kitchens to make the foods from scratch, and my good friend Shiro here, not the best cook,” Shiro appeared surprised to hear that, “will stop the jerk who keeps wrecking the kitchen gear!”

There was an excited uproar from the crowd, and Hunk jumped the concession counter to work his magic on the ice cream maker. While he was doing that, he gave instructions to the stand’s assistant cook to go find a bag, salt, and gather the ingredients for the vanilla ice cream.

Meanwhile, Shiro patrolled the backsides off the many restaurant fronts for the one who was sabotaging all of the kitchens. He found no evidence at first, but soon he had come across a hover segway that matched a description he’d heard before. He took a turn and lifted up a gate to a shop that was closed, discovering a box full of tools for taking machinery apart, as well as one filled with spare parts. A certain Galra was stuffing himself under a vending machine within the shop. This Galra unstuck himself from the machine, giving a satisfied sound when he pulled a spring out of it, then switching to an upset one when he noticed a disappointed Shiro.

“Uh… I’m a maintenance worker!” the stubby Galra peeped.

“Right… and I’m security,” Shiro responded sarcastically.

Shiro left the saboteur stuffed into a custodial closet with his beloved segway whilst the Galra shouted phrases like, “Varkon will be back! You’ll be sorry; I’m Emperor Zarkon’s trusted Number Two!” The black paladin just ignored this and returned to Hunk at the crépe stand.

Hunk wasted no time in employing Shiro, ordering him the instant he saw him to use his hand to bake the crépes. Shiro was a little hesitant in doing this, but Hunk ordered him to do it quickly, and the pilot submitted to the mechanic in fear. Hunk ordered the assistant to shake the ice cream bag harder, HARDER, there are lots of orders coming in! Add more sugar to that, but just a sprinkle of vanilla. Shiro, your hand has been on that one too long, take it off! Whew, that was close… There we go, the ice cream maker’s fixed, now get on it!

Hunk worked his way through the long lines, directing the others working the stand like a finely tuned orchestra and fixing the griddle at the same time. Once it was fixed and the lines had died down long enough, Hunk moved on to helping the next food stand in crisis, followed by an attentive Shiro. He’d even inspired the father at the front of the line to join in on the volunteer cooking, and more were soon to follow. In a shockingly short but hectic, at least in Shiro’s view, period of time, the whole food court was back on track and getting their orders out and donations in. The yellow and black paladins stood back to take the thriving food court all in.

Shiro sighed off the stress, telling his friend, “Good job helping those people out, Hunk. It’s especially good knowing that these people can now send all of their proceeds to a Space Charity of crossbreeds. I didn’t even know there were charities under the Galra Empire.”

“Hey, I should be thanking you,” Hunk assured him. “For a… novice cook, you handled the pressure of the kitchen pretty well. I’m guessing that these Space Charities can’t get a lot done since stuff like this sabotage is probably pretty commonplace under the Galra Empire. We did some good here today, Shiro.” The teen gripped Shiro’s shoulder reassuringly. The crépe stand owner and the father who had volunteered had come over to meet with Hunk, offering up one of the ice cream makers he’d fixed as a reward. The two paladins met eyes, then Hunk kindly suggested that she keep it, as he was glad to aid in the troubles of a struggling kitchen.

The stand owner was about to insist further, until they were interrupted by a familiarly troublesome hover segway. “I told you I’d be back- and if it isn’t one of the infamous Space Pirates! Of course you’d hire this shady mercenary! COME HERE, YOU!”

“Run, it’s Varkon!” Hunk ordered Shiro, grabbing him to run away. “You can’t stop culinary righteousness, mall cop!”

The unilu stand owner watched in confusion as the trio tumbled off. She turned around when she heard panting coming up behind her, noting that it was Sal from the other food court. “I’ll never forget that kid. He’s a true artist of cuisine.”

Sal gasped for air for a moment more, then straightened up and commented, “He jilted you, too, huh?”

“Thanks,” Pidge said while paying for Keith’s gift and putting it in her shopping bag. She then exited the knife store to meet Allura, whom was already outside. When she found her, the princess ran over to Pidge so that she could drag her over to the small booth she was looking at.

“Pidge, look at this sand!” she encouraged. “It’s soft and moldable when dry, but when you add water, it becomes harder and solid. Then, if you dip it in hydrogen peroxide, it falls apart so that you can remold it!” Pidge was immediately fascinated by the odd substance, picking it up and playing around with it. It felt similar to kinetic sand back on Earth, which Matt played with a lot. She molded it into a mini bayard, then tested it in the water. “See?” Allura prompted as Pidge took it out of the water. To her intrigue, the little ornament acted like wet clay when it came out of the water, only to quickly dry and harden in less than fifteen seconds. The green paladin lifted her glasses and squinted at the material, then put her glasses back down while she dropped it in the hydrogen peroxide. The object slowly decayed, reverting back to sand within a minute.

“That’s amazing!” Pidge interjected. “I’ve gotta know the chemistry behind this… What element is it made of?” Pidge turned to ask the princess further questions, but she saw that Allura had already purchased two boxes. When the small paladin expressed shock at her friend’s actions, Allura posited that she believed that they could make Pidge a dreidel out of the sand.

Young Pidge froze stock still. Her pupils were dilated, and her lips were slightly parted. Allura hesitantly shrunk back, looking hurt, as if she had done something wrong. Pidge felt her eyes beginning to well up. When Allura hurriedly declared that she could return the sandboxes if she wanted, Pidge quickly yelled, “NO! No!” Allura seemed even more fearful that she’d done wrong now. “Sorry, Allura…” Pidge said softly, rubbing her eyes on her sleeve. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to make a dreidel out of this stuff. Not to mention study it! I’m sorry I froze up, it’s just…” Allura leaned down to listen closer to the young teenager, “…I just barely mention how much I love playing dreidel in passing, and you’re already thinking of ways to make me one.” Allura smiled fondly at her young friend. “Thank you.”

The princess nodded, then took her young friend’s hand, and they wandered back toward the direction of the rendezvous point.

Pidge and Princess Allura waited patiently by the bench Lance had originally stood on when the team arrived, arms hooked. Pidge checked her bag, then looked up when she noticed Lance and Coran nearing them, with the former muttering something to the Altean about ‘not telling anyone.’

“Coran! Did you… have fun with Lance?” Allura questioned her advisor.

“Yes! Very much!” he answered, causing Allura to roll her eyes. “I see you met up with Pidge? How was your shopping? Did you get everything you needed?”

Pidge affirmed that they had, and even came back with sand to make a dreidel from, at which Lance scowled slightly. When Pidge confrontationally asked him if there was a problem, Lance vigorously shook his head, stating that he’d only wished it was him who’d found something for said purpose first.

“Well, anyway, now we just have to wait for Hunk and Shiro…” Allura was interrupted be a crescendoing call down the plaza, and when Team Voltron turn to see, a very distressed Shiro and a very proud Hunk boasting his ‘Robin Hood’ like qualities to a villainous mall cop. The older paladin warned the rest of the team to run, and they did so, all whilst Varkon and Hunk exchanged melodramatic banter fit for an anime rivalry, and Lance shouted a ‘Not again, Hunk!’

[fatherfunston]

All Saints’ Sunday; Sermon, November 4, 2018

This sermon was preached by Archdeacon Charles Pearce

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church

601 Poyntz Avenue, Manhattan, KS

All Saints’ Day Readings

Main Focus Text: John 11.32-44

All of our readings for today point to a contrast between the NOW and the THEN. This world and a new world. Our broken world of pain and death and the new world of eternal life of peace and joy in God and with God.

Our collect for the day asks “that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you…”

Our reading from Isaiah declares:

And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.

The psalmist sings out:

“Who can ascend the hill of the Lord? and who can stand in his holy place?

…They shall receive a blessing from the Lord and a just reward from the God of their salvation.”

And, John of Patmos, John the Revelator, John the Divine reveals to us what was revealed to him:

“See the home of God is among mortals. 

He will dwell with them as their God;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

Because we are celebrating combined All Saints day and All Souls day and commemorating those we love but see no more, each of these readings—except for the psalm—are some of those appointed in the Burial Office in The Book of Common Prayer. 

To my ear, each of these readings contains a yearning. A yearning for hope. A yearning for peace. A yearning for justice. A yearning for life. A new life. Abundant life. Throughout eternity.

In our Gospel lesson from John, the Apostle, I hear yearning in Mary’s voice when she approaches Jesus, kneels at his feet and says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Yearning, and perhaps, a bit of blame for his absence.

Today, we hear a slightly longer reading than that appointed in the Burial Office, but even this longer reading leaves out the first part of the story. The part that’s left out is the part where Jesus hears of his friend’s illness, but doesn’t go to him until two days after the message arrives to him. By the time Jesus returns to Bethany, where Lazarus and his sisters lived, Lazarus has been dead for four days. And, according to John, Jesus knew that Lazarus was dead before he headed back to Bethany. But, Jesus also knew that he would, literally, bring life to Lazarus.

Our reading today also leaves out the part of the story where Martha, upon hearing of Jesus’ arrival, runs to him. I think it’s important to our understanding of this story to hear the dialogue between Jesus and Martha:

“Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Your brother will rise again.’ Martha said to him, ‘I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.’ Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I believe you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.’”

Now, I don’t know how to read Greek, so I have to rely on the interpreters and commentators to provide nuances that help me understand more fully what’s going on in these passages. One of the interpretations I read said that the Greek word that Jesus uses when talking to Martha that is translated as “believe” has that meaning, but also carries an additional meaning of trust, along with belief. If we substitute the word “trust” for “believe” in this passage, see how much stronger it becomes:

Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who trust in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and trusts in me will never die. Do you trust this?’ She said to him, ‘Yes, Lord, I trust you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.’”

I imagine a rope bridge before me across a deep chasm. I believe there’s a rope bridge there in front of me, but do I trust it? I believe it because I see it. But, do I trust it enough to get me safely across to the other side? If someone tells me that another person crossed over safely just before I arrived, do I trust it? However, if I see someone else safely cross ahead of me, then, maybe I’ll believe and trust that the bridge will carry me safely, as well.

In a sense, Lazarus is that person who crossed the bridge safely. There were those who saw it—they saw Lazarus emerge from the tomb, still wrapped in his burial cloths, and because they saw it, they could believe and trust that Jesus is the Son of God. Yet, there were other witnesses there that day, who saw, and perhaps believed what they saw, but still didn’t trust. In fact, they not only didn’t trust—this act just furthered their resolve to get rid of Jesus—the sooner the better. And, according to John, there were those who didn’t see, only heard of it, yet came to believe and trust.

In most of the other miracles in the gospels, the miracle is performed by Jesus because that person had faith in him. And, it was their faith that compelled Jesus to respond to them with the compassion that only God can deliver. For instance, last Sunday we heard the story of Bartimeus, the blind beggar, it is his faith that allows him to see again.

In this story of Lazarus, however, no one expresses faith that Jesus can raise him from the dead. Indeed, Martha still seems to express doubt when Jesus tells the people to take away the stone blocking the opening of the tomb. Both Martha and Mary state that had Jesus been there, their brother would not have died. But, was that a statement of fact or faith? Are they stating that they believe Jesus can heal, but, by implication doubt that he can raise the dead? Martha tells Jesus that she does believe that he is the Messiah, the Son of God, but is that also a statement of belief or faith? Or, trust?

Another difference between this miracle and others is that Jesus involves other people, the community, as it were. First, they are told to take away the stone, which they did. Then, Jesus commands Lazarus to come out. And, out he comes. It isn’t clear, at all, how Lazarus came out of that tomb with his hands and feet bound and his face covered, but, I imagine that it was somewhat like a birth with Lazarus somehow slipping out of the tomb head first. And, then Jesus tells them “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Jesus instructs the crowd to participate in and even complete this miracle. Jesus has the power to feed, heal, restore, and, yes, bring to life, and to redeem, and yet he involves us and expects us to complete them. Indeed, the first miracle that Jesus performed of turning water into wine, also involved others. The servants filled the water jars with water at Jesus’ instruction, drew some out and it was wine. In feeding the 5,000, Jesus involves a boy with barely enough food to feed himself and feeds the multitude. In each of these, the people Jesus involved are skeptical and dubious of their abilities to do what to them seems impossible, but with Jesus the impossible happens.

What miraculous things does God intend to do in our communities in us, with us, and through us? We are, after all, the Body of Christ. 

Maybe these things are big, really big, such as ending hunger in our world, or providing shelter for the homeless; so that no one will hunger for food and everyone will have a roof under which to shelter and be safe. Neither of these, by the way, is impossible—big, yes, but impossible, no. Or, maybe miracles that aren’t so big such as visiting the sick and the shut-in. Helping out in the Encore Shop. Being available to someone who’s simply alone and lonely. Helping create a soft space in the Common Room so children will have a bright and cheerful place where they can first learn of God who makes the impossible, possible. Getting up early on a Tuesday morning to come help prepare a meal and offer fellowship to those who are hungry for both. 

Maybe, the miracle is finding in yourself the call to serve at the altar, read from the lectern, help people find seats in the pews and their way through the service. Perhaps the miracle is discerning a call to new ministry—ordained or not. Maybe the miracle is adding a little more to the collection plate to help the victims of disaster.

Okay, maybe you’ll buy that ending hunger here in Manhattan would be or would take a miracle. But, these other things aren’t miracles, are they? They’re just the ordinary things that Christians do day-to-day for each other, aren’t they? Isn’t that just doing good? And, isn’t doing good what we’re supposed to do?

Each time we participate in and help complete God’s miracles, we’re doing God’s will. And, God’s will for us is to do God’s work. It really doesn’t matter the size of the miracle.

Each time we participate in and help complete God’s miracles, we’re bringing this broken world closer to the world God desires for us and that we yearn for. In our prayers we yearn for God’s kingdom to come, God’s will be done, on earth as in heaven. And in our prayers we ask for our daily bread to nurture, sustain, and strengthen us to walk in ways that will bring us to the place and time we yearn for.

I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I know that I often feel weak and powerless in the face of the, seemingly, overwhelming needs everywhere I look. I feel inadequate. Alone. I’m guilty of a feeling of not-enough-ness. I say that I believe in the God of abundance, but do I trust that God will provide the strength and resources I need to do God’s will? To reconcile this broken world with God? But, I have to remember, I’m not being called to do any of this by myself. That’s why we’re called together as a church. As the saying goes, “there’s strength in numbers.” We’re a church in order to do great things in the name of God. 

However, how often have we, here at St. Paul’s, operated out of fear of not-enough-ness? That fear derives from trusting or not trusting ourselves, rather than trusting that God is with us and has and will provide for everything we need to do God’s will. We second guess God. We put ourselves in place of God, rather than trusting in God.

That, I think, is the central message of the story of the raising of Lazarus. Trust. God has given us this world in trust to be its stewards. That’s the work God has given us to do: to love God and serve God with gladness and singleness of heart. God’s will for us is to have life “on earth as it is in heaven.” We must trust that the Maker of heaven and earth, creator of all that is, seen and unseen, will guide us, sustain us, and strengthen us to bring about the Kingdom of Heaven. Now and forever.