My name is Mary, my saint name is Eulalia, and Im currently 23 and hoping to grow in my faith.
This is a strange thing for me to come to terms with honestly. Ever since I was thirteen, Iāve had a very tumultuous relationship with the church. Iām autistic and queer. Most, if not all, of the Catholics in the state I grew up in are staunchly conservative. Unfortunately, my parents also used the church as a tool to emotionally abuse me from a very young age.
Due to these multiplying factors, my faith became a source of pain around my teen years and I ended up turning my back on it. I later went to college, grew a little, then spent a summer at a Lutheran Bible camp (only as a photographer). I was er.. not super welcomed by the people there (long story. It was very cliquey and I was brand new to the whole camp thing). But! I realized there was something there out in the woods that I couldnāt explain. It was ancient, slow moving, and sentient. I could feel it in the hills, in the breeze, and in the stars at night during campfire. It stuck with me. I was only there for three months but that forest, (one of the few in this state), latched onto my psyche. I think I felt God, or something similar, asking me to reconnect with Them. Itās been years since then and I am still much more spiritually open than Iāve been in forever.
So here I am again, curious. Tail tucked between my legs, back again as a young adult. I donāt know how to explain it, but I feel called to come back and learn Godās love for us all from a different perspective. Folk Catholicism really rings a bell with me since itās a for-the -people-by-the-people belief. I also feel very drawn to Mary and the saints, a love that Iāve had ever since I was a child.
I love this community and feel very blessed to be able to join it.
Hope my rambling made sense! Thanks for reading. May God Bless you and Keep you :3 ā¤ļø
Okay maybe this is a hot take, but as a Folk Catholic, there absolutely needs to be more accountability for Christianity in general for all of the terrible things that have been done in its name, especially the Catholic Church.
I need you guys to read this carefully, I am not saying that all modern Christians are bad, or that they should be personally held responsible for the Crusades.
What I am saying is Liberal/Leftist/Progressive Christians and Conservative/Traditional Christians have one thing in common and that is their Christianity. As leftist Christians, we need to seriously think about why Christianity has been co-opted by terrible people throughout history, and what we can do to stop it.
One of the things we can do to stop our religion being run by bigots is by learning about the history of colonization, forced conversion, the crusades, the persecution of Jewish and Muslim people, Christian Nationalism, and many more topics that show the bad side of our faith.
We must not only learn about these things, but face them head on. We cannot continue to sweep it under the rug. Because if we do, then it gives more power to Conservative Christians, since there is no one fighting against them.
(Im thinking of starting a substack so I can get all my thoughts and ideas out in a more organized manner, but I just needed to get this out of my system.)
As a Catholic I will never tell someone that I will pray for them unless I know that they would be happy to hear it. Doesnāt mean I wonāt pray for someone if I believe they could benefit from it, but some people react negatively to those words. I used to despise when people would say that to me especially when I was talking about something horrible I was going through at the time because I felt like God had turned away from me due to what it was that was happening to me. When people would say that to me it felt like I was being mocked. Just be mindful of the things you say and who you say them to, both for your sake and theirs.
Lust is not premarital sex, masturbation, or sexual thoughts. The sin of lust is rape, sexual assault, pedophelia.
Wrath is not being angry at someone when they harm you, or wanting truly evil people to be laid low. The sin of wrath is murder, racism, xenophobia.
Gluttony is not enjoying eating, even when you are full, or feasting with friends in celebration even to excess. The sin of gluttony is taking when others have nothing, eating while others starve, consuming while others waste away.
Sin is not enjoying in the pleasures and good things that God made for us to experience, but rather twisting those goods to be evil.
If you see a problem you're experiencing down below, pray to the associated saint for intercession to aid you. ā„
Insomnia ā St. Peter Damian
Headaches ā St. Teresa of Avila
Illness ā St. Raphael the Archangel
Chronic illness ā St. Lidwina
Burnout ā St. Thomas Aquinas
Animal wellness ā St. Francis of Assisi
Studying / academia ā St. Joseph of Cupertino
Housing insecurity ā St. Benedict Joseph Labre
Anxiety / depression ā St. Dymphna
Desperation / hopelessness ā St. Jude Thaddaeus
Loneliness ā St. Rita of Cascia
Gender identity ā St. Joan of Arc
Fear / insecurity ā St. Michael the Archangel
Dysfunctional families ā St. Eugene de Mazenod
Abuse ā St. Monica
Grief ā St. Elizabeth Ann Seton
Financial trouble ā St. Matthew
Lost items ā St. Anthony of Padua
Travel / motorists ā St. Christopher
Spiritual oppression ā St. Benedict
perhaps this is controversial, but i think one of the most important things a convert to catholicism can learn is that we don't take ourselves too seriously. we have a dark sense of humor. nuns love playing basketball. most priests my parents grew up around had a flask or a box of cigs hidden in their cassock. one of my professors called everything in the bible either a critter or a dude. our pope chants "WHITE SOCKS WHITE SOCKS WHITE SOCKS" from the popemobile.
yes, be reverent. take your studies seriously. respect the traditions. but also, don't be afraid to laugh.
āHeās the only man I can really trust. Heās like a spirit that follows me around ā¦he helps me out in my hours of need and listens to all my problems and never laughs at me. He takes me very seriously,ā
- Marsha P. Johnson (left) on Jesus Christ
"AND GOD CREATED HE AND SHE BUT HE ALSO CREATED ME!" Sylvia Rivera (right), banner emblazoned with a Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R.) logo, Christopher Street Liberation Day, New York City, June 26, 1983. Photo by Steve Zabel, c/ o @lgbtcenternyc on IG
i heard a sermon on 2 samuel 11-12 and bathsheba's story and i was immediately struck with inspiration to write about her
trigger warnings: rape, murder, death of an infant
It was an ordinary evening during a time that wasn't so ordinary. The people were at war ā so was Bathsheba's husband, Uriah. She missed him dearly, thinking of him every day and wishing for his safe return. As a woman, there was little she could do but pray, and pray she did, so that her husband might come back from the front lines victorious and most of all: alive.
The sun was setting over the horizon. Bathsheba was bathing, preparing to settle down and go to bed after her evening prayers. She was thorough, washing her body as though she could get rid of the anticipatory grief that clung to her, as though she could wash away the feeling of knots in her stomach. Something wasn't right. Something was about to happen.
After bathing, she put on her clothes, preparing for bed. She would rise early tomorrow morning to get to work on the chores of the household. But before she could've gotten under the covers, there was a knock at the door. Insistent knocking.
Bathsheba once again had the terrible feeling that something she wasn't privy to was going on. Maybe they had brought word of Uriah having fallen in battle. She got re-dressed to look appropriate for whomever was at the door while the knocking got more urgent and she had to shout 'I'm coming!' to assure whomever was on the other side that she wasn't just ignoring them, nor was she away from home at this time of the evening.
When she opened the door, her heart sank. Palace guards were on her doorstep, several armed men, and Bathsheba just knew they would say the dreaded words: Uriah had fallen in battle, and you are now a widow.
But they didn't say that. Instead, they motioned for her to follow them. "The king sent for you," they said curtly, and Bathsheba followed them, trembling, because what else was she supposed to do? The king had sent for her. Had she done something wrong? Had Uriah done something wrong? Was their family in trouble? Was the king angry?
Bathsheba couldn't even appreciate the extravagance of the palace as they walked inside, two guards in front and two in the back, her sandwiched neatly in the middle; were they afraid she'd run off? She was led to the throne room of King David, and the guards were sent outside. She fell on her knees in fear and reverence.
"Why have you sent for your handmaid, my lord?" she asked, voice trembling. She didn't dare look up when she heard the sound of the king rising from his throne and approaching her.
"Stand," he said simply, and Bathsheba did, on shaking legs.
"What use am I to my lord the king?" she asked again, still not looking at him. He hooked a finger under her chin and titled her head up, and when she looked at him, she knew at once what this was about. But she was a married woman ā the king knew that. He must've known. So why? Why was he looking at her with hunger in his eyes?
"Spend the night with me," he said, and there was no way to protest. What was a simple woman like her to say to the king? No?
"Whatever my lord the king desires," she said, and she knew there was no way King David didn't know she didn't want this. She loved Uriah. She had always been faithful. She had planned on waiting for him for however long the battle lasted, or stay a widow for the rest of her days if God didn't grant her husband safe return. And yet, here she was, about to commit adultery.
"I will treat you well," the king said, and Bathsheba wanted to scream. Who would've come to her aid?
She was led through winding corridors and past more guards to the king's bedchambers, and she could feel the guards' stares. Some of them stared at her directly, some stared at the wall or the ceiling just so they wouldn't have to look at her. All knew what role she was there to fulfil. She kept her gaze on the floor so that her shame wouldn't be apparent, following the king as he led her through the palace with her hand in his.
She didn't want this.
"My bed is comfortable, and the guards were sent away beforehand," the king said. "Whatever you fancy in this room is yours."
"I wouldn't dare ask my lord for anything."
"Then just look at me."
Bathsheba did. She felt him strip her naked with his eyes, and she knew it was a matter of minutes before he would do so with his hands. Why was this happening? She had been good. She had kept the law, and Uriah was a faithful servant of King David. Surely, there was a reason God was allowing this.
"Bathsheba," he said, and even her name sounded wrong in his mouth, so different to the way Uriah spoke it with love and tenderness. This was neither. This was lust. "Join me in bed."
So she did.
During the act, her thoughts wandered. He kept trying to keep her attention, to cement her in the moment, a moment she wanted desperately to escape. In the end, he gave up and just used her body like she was a prostitute. She thought of home, and her husband, and the war. She wasn't present. She was looking at herself from the outside, detached from her feelings on the matter, thinking to herself 'this is what the king wants ā so be faithful now'.
She wasn't immediately let go after King David had sated his desires. They lay in bed together, and he spoke of grandiose plans for the kingdom, and Bathsheba found she could tune it out just well enough. She nodded and even smiled, which seemed to please him. When she was finally allowed to get dressed and get out, she did so with such a hurry that she could barely get her sandals on.
The king had led her into the belly of the palace, but there was no one to lead her out. She stumbled and asked a guard and swayed like a drunkard and wanted to retch. As soon as she made it out she doubled over and threw up, and when a guard was about to reprimand her, another stopped him and whispered 'this is Bathsheba, the one for whom the king sent'. She was left alone to go back home. She didn't sleep that night.
Why had God permitted such evil to happen? She didn't know. Every move she made, every thought she had, they were all centred around the fact that she was now an adulterer, worthy of being stoned in the main square. She had betrayed her husband because she didn't stand up to the king, the king who was supposed to be good and want good for her and all his other subjects. She was worthy of death now, an unspoken but well-known secret around palace grounds, and she would've been put to death if she disobeyed.
Would it have been better to die as a faithful wife?
What was she going to tell Uriah?
Days passed. Word got out. The palace guards must've spoken amongst each other and their families, gossiping wives must've spread the rumours, and soon, everyone knew that Bathsheba had been to the palace on King David's orders. She could feel eyes on her wherever she went, and she knew her marriage had been ended by the king that night.
A month passed. Her period didn't come. She was throwing up more and more, and she was awfully sure it wasn't just the nerves anymore. And so she did the only thing she could think of; she sent word to the king. It was after all their open secret, who else would assist her with navigating this predicament other than the one who had trapped her in it?
The message was simple and to the point: I am pregnant. The rest was unspoken. You did this. This is your fault. I am ruined. Forever soiled. Fix it.
Bathsheba heard of the king calling Uriah home, and she immediately understood the plan. Uriah would come home to her and they would sleep together, then he would surely think the child was hisā¦ except he didn't come home to her. She didn't know why. It wasn't hers to know. She just heard whispers of him staying by the palace entrance, a place she avoided at any cost, and so the two of them didn't even meet.
Guards arrived at her door, and when she opened and saw them, she thought she would surely faint. It couldn't be that the king sent for her again, could it? But the guards seemed to only have brought gifts.
"Where is your husband, woman?" one of them asked.
"He didn't come home, sir."
The guards talked amongst themselves, then left the gifts at her doorstep and returned to the palace.
Bathsheba didn't meet her husband during the two days he was rumoured to have stayed in Jerusalem. In the end, she would curse herself for the fear that kept her from going to the palace entrance and throwing herself at his feet to beg for forgiveness and assure him of her love.
The baby in her womb grew.
She got word that her husband had died in battle.
She stood in the doorway, the guards who had given her the news long gone. She stared at the empty air before her, where a guard had assured her of his sympathy just minutes ago, and she didn't know whether to scream, cry, or do both. Uriah was dead. Her husband was dead. She had wanted a family, and now there was an adulterous baby in her womb and the love of her life had been struck down.
She slowly closed the door. She collapsed onto the floor into one mourning heap, and when the tears came, she made no attempt to stop them.
"Why!" she cried out, to the king, the Uriah, to God Himself. "Why would you let this happen?"
The sun was setting. She was still on the floor, weeping. She pounded the ground with her fist until it ached, and yet it wasn't enough to take away the ache in her heart.
Uriah was dead. She would likely never receive his body for a proper funeral. She didn't want the king's gifts. She didn't want the king's favour. All she wanted was her husband back. And she knew, she knew on an instinctual level, she knew that King David had something to do with his death after his plan to call him home failed.
The next days were spent in a blur. Bathsheba put on her mourning garments and went about her days, somehow sustaining both herself and the baby. And at the end of the mourning period, she knew she had to go to the king. There was nothing else to do.
During the wedding ceremony, she was in that same faraway place as on the night she'd betrayed her late husband. In nine months, she bore him a son, and she vowed to raise him in love, cherished, despite the circumstances of his conception.
A man of the Lord came to the palace, his name was Nathan. He was a prophet, and Bathsheba was in the room when he spoke the verdict: her son, the one she vowed to love, would die.
Bathsheba watched the baby become ill. She watched as her king, now also her husband, pleaded with God for the child's life. He dressed in sackcloth and fasted, and she did the same, crying out to the Lord God to spare the innocent life He gave to her. It wasn't her will, or even the king's that he should be born. It was God who had blessed her with that son. And now He would take it away to punish David? What about her?
On the seventh day, the child died.
Bathsheba felt it first in her heart before she heard it from the servants. David, who had wept and fasted for seven days, was now up and eating. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear when he came to console her. She wanted no consolation. She wanted her husband, Uriah. And she wanted her baby.
When David made love to her, she prayed to God to not let her conceive. No baby could replace the one she'd lost so cruelly. Surely, God wouldn't be so cruel as to make her pregnant yet again. Who knew what would happen to that child?
But she conceived. She had half a mind to dress in her mourning garments and put ashes on her head, already grieving a child that surely wouldn't reach the age of a toddler. How could a baby born from such a wicked man be pleasing in the eyes of the Lord? Surely, it'd be struck down as well.
When she gave birth, she and David named the boy Solomon. And when Bathsheba looked into those deep brown eyes as he lay on her chest, and when she listened to Nathan say the Lord was pleased with himā¦ Just for a moment, her grief subsided.
OK SO me and @virtualfawn made a discord server together and it's called sapphic haven!
It's goal is to be a place where sapphic people (whether your lesbian, bisexual, pan or just queer) can make friends and community!
We're going to to weekly sapphic media recs little events and other fun stuff!
It's SUPER small right now so whoever joins will be like one of the first 10 members but with your help we can grow!!!
You can also join if you just enjoy sapphic media!
We don't descriminate!
(Also the server is 14+)
Check out the šš¶š š š½š¾šø š½š¶ššš ā” community on Discord - hang out with 10 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
Another point that reminds me of my privilege in this world is when I think about the fact that we sell the cure for tuberculosis to people to give to their dogs for a UTI. Millions of people literally die every year because they can't access this medication and I'm giving it to people to shove down their dogs' throats to make them stop peeing in the house. It's one of the more expensive antibiotics and people always whine about the price but then it's not their daughter they have to watch slowly suffocate as bacteria turns her lungs into swiss cheese. It's not their father that coughs and coughs and coughs until he's spitting up blood.
The deadliest infectious disease in human history is cured by the same packet of chewable tabs individually packed in foil. It comes in beef flavor so your dog won't resist taking its meds as much. It's like a hundred bucks for 30 tablets on pretty much any pet pharmacy.
It makes me think about medicine scarcity and how it's all fake in order to get enough capital that you can have individuals with higher net worth than entire countries. And in the mean time, hundreds of millions of people are dead because they don't drive the bottom line.
using violence to liberate people from sweatshops, unsafe mines, and grinding poverty isn't the same as using violence to impose those things on people. the idea that violence is morally repugnant regardless of context is a belief that every oppressor throughout history would love for the oppressed to hold
hey. you have to love your trans brothers of color okay. and your trans sisters of color. and your nonbinary siblings of color. you have to okay. its simply non-optional
''i respect but donāt support the lgbtq+ community'' makes zero sense. you cannot ''respect'' people while denying their right to exist openly, safely, and equally. if your respect disappears the second queer people want basic human rights, then that was never respect to begin with.
For She So Loved The World @sits-with-sinners - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
