ITS JEALOUSY UNYIELDING AS THE GRAVE

Fuck me, Father, for I have sinned. Practicer of transgressive aesthetic catholicism and patron of the devil, among many others.

[thecryptkeeper]

On Christ as Female and Christ as Mother

from "The Body of Christ in the Later Middle Ages: A Reply to Leo Steinberg" by Caroline Walker Bynum (1986)

[artist-tanner]

Christ Learning to Read, 1914, Henry Ossawa Tanner

[cilantroodon]

[ID: Realism painting of a mother (Mary) sitting on an alcove bench in a tan walled room filled with low angle light, holding the a long scroll in one hand and her child (Jesus of Nazareth) in the other, by the waist. He is standing next to her and has a finger on the scroll as she reads the words along to him. They are standing on a striped rug. Behind the mother is a watertight container with a lid. She wears a white underlayer and black cloak with a blue headscarf, and her child is in all white from his scarf to his sandals. The painting is in the shape of a church window, with three domes at the top and squared off at the bottom. End ID.]

[shannondiazs]

"la venida de cristo" (the cumming of christ)

paintings by fabián chairez (mexico, born 1987) also available as a postcard set

his exhibition in mexico city is currently being targeted by extremist religious groups and christian groups are trying to sue him (X) for his work so i thought i would show all of tumblr

[childfromheaven]

Our Lady of Sorrows.

Christ she saw in torment languish, Saw the Son of her affection, Dying, desolate, alone.

[diana-andraste]

Therefore my heart is glad, Julian Smith, 1930s (printed c. 1948)

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Holy Saturday and no one's even posted that poem where no one at the harrowing of hell can say anything when Jesus arrives except for Joseph

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

I guess I have to do everything myself

Limbo by Sister Mary Ada

The ancient greyness shifted

Suddenly and thinned

Like mist upon the moors

Before a wind.

An old, old prophet lifted

A shining face and said :

“He will be coming soon.

The Son of God is dead;

He died this afternoon.”

A murmurous excitement stirred all souls.

They wondered if they dreamed —

Save one old man who seemed

Not even to have heard.

And Moses standing,

Hushed them all to ask

If any had a welcome song prepared.

If not, would David take the task?

And if they cared

Could not the three young children sing

The Benedicite, the canticle of praise

They made when God kept them from perishing

In the fiery blaze?

A breath of spring surprised them,

Stilling Moses’ words.

No one could speak, remembering

The first fresh flowers,

The little singing birds.

Still others thought of fields new ploughed

Or apple trees 

All blossom – boughed.

Or some, the way a dried bed fills

With water

Laughing down green hills.  

The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam

On bright blue seas.

The one old man who had not stirred

Remembered home.

And there He was

Splendid as the morning sun and fair

As only God is fair.

And they, confused with joy,

Knelt to adore

Seeing that He wore

Five crimson stars

He never had before.

No canticle at all was sung.

None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song.

A silent man alone

Of all that throng

Found tongue —-

Not any other.

Close to His heart

When the embrace was done,

Old Joseph said,

“How is Your Mother,

How is Your Mother, Son?”

[xanaxfarts]

Assortment of holy night lights

[iscariotapologist]

from A Blessing for the Weak by Nadia Bolz-Weber

[liivn]

[xanaxfarts]

Demon Lover Art: Yoshitaka Amano

[swagg1ttarius]

divine intervention where my guardian angel just beats the shit outta me

[firstfullmoon]

Marie Howe, “Magdalene—The Seven Devils”

[girlnephew]

[movietonight]

I wouldn't be a good sacrificial lamb I'd be like a huge bitch about it

[bonesbeetle]

my thrall told me it wanted to be more independent so i imprisoned its soul in a necklace. how's that for in de pendant you little shit

[frankencain]

The Fallen Angel, Alexandre Cabanel (1847) / Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, Mary Shelley (1818) / Bernie Wrightson's Frankenstein (1983)

[rosieandthemoon]

St. Mary’s ruins in Wales