talking to plants and saints, ancestors and God

31, non-binary, polish, catholic, animist. they/them.

[traumacatholic]

"Pope Francis said during an interview one time that he fell asleep during prayer. The interviewer asked him whether that was allowed, and he said that fathers always love it when their children fall asleep in their arms. That always stuck with me. Rest in peace." [x]

[physicsgoblin]

to all artists painting the same thing over and over and to all writers writing the same story over and over

[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?”

[wolfythewitch]

He has risen yayy

[maybenotcowboycore]

Before they took Eve out of him, Adam was something both. He was Adam but he was also Eve. “Male and female He created them.” He was both then. Even if it was only one rib of Adam that was Eve, how could Adam have ignored such a part of himself? How could all of womanhood have been stored in one man’s rib and he not notice? He had no concept that she would one day be somebody else. That womanhood was his. His originally. His at the formation of man. A grain of womanhood, inside his chest. A man seeded with a feminine side so powerful it would grow the vast diversity of women. There’s no way he didn’t notice. There’s no way he didn’t see that seed, that rib, as part of who he was. After all, he was made in God’s image then.

When God said “Let us make man in our image,” He made Adam in all his bothness. Adam’s rib was like God’s rib. Adam’s womanhood was like God’s womanhood. Adam’s rib was taken out of him. Did he miss it? Did he feel an emptiness there? Or was seeing it grown into a unique creature of glory all its own so divinely delightful he had no time to mourn his little rib. Did the first man ever miss his bothness? God never took out His own rib. That womanness is still in there. God’s bothness is intact. Where is God’s rib now?

[loumargi]

Ivan Leonidovich Lubennikov (Bielorussian, b.1951) Guardian angel, 2001 Oil on canvas

[rambling-maddly]

I often think about how Jesus knew he was going to die. We often say how you never know what will be your last morning, your last night of sleep, your last moment of peace. Except Jesus did know, He knew it intimately. He knew His last time eating with those He loved, His last time to hug His mother, His last prayer. How precious were these moments for Him? The last time He had physically been with His creation had been in Eden. Now, wrapped in flesh, He had to give it up again all for the hope that He could again be with us, this time forever. The love of God physically hurts me sometimes. I feel how He misses me, and I dearly miss Him.

[reina-morada]

El Señor de los Milagros // El Cristo Negro de Daule

Another beautiful commission by @anajuise of my Black Christ, this time depicted with the imagery revealed to me in personal devotions. 

[queerprayers]

I'm looking ahead to Lent right now, but I'm also thinking about the current season, and how for the longest time I didn't even consider this a season. The season "after Epiphany"—it doesn't even get its own name in my calendar. It seemed a mismatched muddle of feast days and readings, and Jesus ages 30 years in a month. It was nice to have a breather between Christmas and Lent, but that was all.

And yes, this is a green season, "ordinary time." A pastor I follow (can't remember who at the moment) pointed out that most of our years are spent in ordinary time, and most of us pray that this is true for our lives too—we ask for a rhythm of growing but not a grand narrative of historical events and life/death situations. "May you live in uninteresting times," goes the blessing. Perhaps it's because my life has been so full of life and death, but I have a hard time with the in-between growing. I get bored without dramatics.

Nevertheless, this year I'm processing the gift that this little green season is—and it's not boring, not at all! It starts with Epiphany—and what a great name for Three Kings' Day! A eureka moment, a breaking in, a sudden realization! Then Jesus is thirty and we have the Baptism. We read the wedding at Cana at some point; there's the conversion of St. Paul. Then the Presentation—Jesus is again a baby, so some whiplash there.

I know Catholics and many others have Transfiguration in August, but Lutherans have Transfiguration the last Sunday of this season, before Ash Wednesday. This makes sense timeline-wise, but only recently am I putting together a cohesive season for myself.

If Epiphany is a eureka moment, a breaking in, its season is one of miracles. Not the grand ones of Christmas or Easter, to be sure, but Jesus creeps in on us these few weeks. Breaking in but like a thief in the night. He's a child being worshiped by strangers, a boy playing in a childhood mostly skipped over, a man being baptized by his cousin from an apocalyptic desert cult while a bird-God breaks through the clouds, a guy at his friend's wedding negotiating with his mother and pleasing the guests but John calls it a manifestation of glory. And then for my church, the greatest manifestation since his birth, the breaking through of God into his person on a mountain with his best friends. His ancestors appearing in communion with him.

We have breaking in and through, manifestation, miracles, a strange timeline for a strange man. Foreigners, cousins, mother, best friends. So much unwritten and lost to time. And this is a season.

So I'm looking ahead to Lent, but I'm also honoring that we've made a season out of bits and pieces of glory—and bits and pieces are more than we could ever ask for. Before we enter the desert, we alternately bask in and are shocked by the glory around us. "Eureka" is an exclamation meaning "I found it"—in the story, Archimedes is so shocked by what he has found (the volume of irregular objects by seeing himself take up space in his bath) that he runs naked through the streets. In my opinion, this is a completely appropriate response to finding more of the world.

I said I get bored without dramatics, but what's more dramatic than God existing, manifesting, loving? The season "after Epiphany," post-realization. Growing in between life and death. Your whole life after this moment. I'm not saying flash your neighbors, but God is a whole world, breaking in, and you've found it. What are you gonna do about it?

[theweight]

you are forgiven you are forgiven you are forgiven (you are forgiven) you are forgiven (you are forgiven) you are forgiven (you are forgiven) you are forgiven (you are forgiven) you are forgiven (you are forgiven) forgiven forgiven forgiven forgiven forgiven forgiven forgiven FORGIVEN FORGIVEN FORGIVEN FORGIVEN FORGIVEN FORGIVEN FORGIVEN YOU ARE FORGIVEN!!! YOU ARE FORGIVEN!!! etc.

[catholicsapphic]

There’s something so holy and intimate about the way St. John refers to himself (not sure if exclusively or just pretty often) as “the apostle whom Jesus loved” in his gospel. Not only is his sense of self centered on Jesus in a loving act of surrender to God, but also it manages to tie God as his as well. It’s saying, yes, I’m nothing without God. It’s also saying God wouldn’t want to be anything without me, either. Where do you find this kind of trust. Where do you get this kind of Love

[sacredheart-stigmata]

been thinking about the memorial of the holy innocents. one source i found says that with the size of bethlehem at the time, only around 300 children would have died. the greek liturgy claimed that herod killed 14,000 boys, while syrian churches say 64,000, and many medieval authors put the number at 144,000. children, toddlers, babies. and then i think that bethlehem is occupied. i think of gaza and palestine, the homeland of our lord. i think that the same place where children were struck down by people in power all those years ago faces the same blood and cruelty now. christ, born today, would be born under rubble, and the holy innocents, born today, would be killed by IDF bombs and bullets. god have mercy on us all

[edwordsmyth]

George Gavriel, Gaza, 2023.

[gaynglican]

I think of Jesus Christ as a short man, small and gentle and loving. Could American Christians ever grit their teeth and bear it? A Jesus Christ who is small, not strong and masculine and towering? Would their hearts be hurt by a Christ who is short? Could American Christians stand a Christ who was crucified?

[gaynglican]

For that matter, could American Christians stand a Christ who's not hot? Who doesn't turn heads and sell perfume? Would American Christians accept a Christ who couldn't make it in Hollywood? A Christ with wrinkles from the stress, whose brown eyes crinkle when he smiles?

[songpasserine]

Oscar Romero, December 3rd 1978

[thecatholiclingering]

GUYS

My teacher recommended me a bible website, and it's the coolest thing ever

Basically, it's called Catena, and the gist is that for every verse of the bible you can click on it and see commentary from TONS of scholars across the centuries

the funniest part is that it's formatted like a comment section so it looks like all these massive scholars all got together and commented on the bible

which they did (communion of saints my beloved)

BUT ANYWAYS yeah I just felt that this should be shared with you all :)

[lionofchaeronea]

Title: Night Angel Holding a Waning Moon Artist: William Morris (English, 1834-1896) Date: between 1857 and 1869 Genre: religious art Period: Victorian Movement: Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood; Arts and Crafts Movement Medium: watercolor, ink, graphite, and collage on mold-made paper Dimensions: 34 cm (13.4 in) high x 8.6 cm (3.4 in) wide Location: Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX