#ancestral sin

[immerlein]

From Bulgakov’s “The Burning Bush: on the Orthodox veneration of the Mother of God”.

A very useful description of the fall of humanity from an Orthodox perspective ❤️

[coeurlkin]

Rumination.

The memories came to him like dreams, albeit ones where he was conscious of it all. Memories that were not his own, spurred on by the stone which had been passed down unto him, ones where he was forced to endure as a mere passenger and nothing more, much as he would wish otherwise. What point was there in trying to change the past, much less a past that he himself had no part in? Even the feeling of the water that he’d chosen the kneel in prior to his meditation was lost to him now, everything save for the moments he was witnessing. It was in these searches, these great vision quests that he would find answers, but more often than not they would be incomplete recollections of days gone by. The words muffled and barely audible. Key details obfuscated by a blurriness which lingered around the edges of his vision even into his waking moments.

Wyra'to often wondered if the things he saw were true memories or if they were amalgamations of a sort, cobbled together in a gestalt of common factors. As each stone was passed down either by was of willing succession or bloody claim, so too were the stores of apparent knowledge held within. Teachings, scripture, lectures and exercises where all he could do was lay witness. There were times where his body would feel different after what would appear to be a particularly taxing session, or at least he believed it did. This was one of those times.

Harmony. The walls were familiar, but everything appeared to be far, far cleaner back then. The paving slabs making up the central platform had yet to take on their mossy texture and many of the smashes and cracks were absent. The water was fresher, and there was a definite vibrancy in the air which he could only hope the temple would one day come close to. The memory carried further, a pair of figures stood talking to whomever he was using as his avatar at the time. Their speech was difficult to make heads or tails of, but the intent seemed clear enough. This was a test of some description. A trial. At the centre of the circle stood a well worn statue, or what at least appeared to be a statue. Four massive arms, each of which was adorned with a wide, curved blade. These limbs linked back to a stony torso, the visage carved into the statue being one of a creature of eld. This was Arbuda. Wyra'to was familiar with its legend but had yet to witness it in motion with his own eyes, the tales of it’s difficulty having been passed down to him during his tutelage. Through borrowed vision, he would bear witness to this trial, an intangible link of body, mind and spirit. One of the figures on the sidelines barked a series of commands. Ancient words. Words of power. Words which would breathe life into the Arbuda and cause each arm to slowly rumble out of place, weapons readied. Now it would begin.

Wyra'to’s host bounded forwards in a way that always felt unnatural to him. Hyur. It was the lack of a tail and the shift in balance which had broken his concentration and thrown him from his visions many a time before, and it was not a mistake he was looking to make again. The Hyur came in under one of the blades and tried a slip to the right, the Arbuda responded in kind with a twist and a flourish of it’s ornately carved weapons. Dust kicked up around the pair as they danced, the Arbuda deadly and swift like the Dervishes of legend, the Hyur agile and attentive. He could feel as his host felt, the muscles in his legs straining from having to leap between blades and flit between strikes, the thin veil between his vision and reality almost tearing apart. Again, the pair would dance, and Wyra'to would hone his focus on feeling as the Hyur felt. He was highly mobile, as was expected of one of his order, his fists hammering home in a series of rapid blows one after the other on the Arbuda’s flank. A hit, then darting away, another hit, another twist to avoid the weapons dangling perilously close to the Hyur’s body. The blurriness which had threatened to break his concentration had returned,  a dull ache starting to spread from the back of his head and then onward. The Hyur would leap and jump, but the edges of the weapons were difficult to make out, the intricately carved features of the Arbuda now blurry and less defined. Something felt off. Wyra'to had experienced this a handful of times before, granted, but this episode seemed different. His muscles ached and his breathing was heavy.

He willed himself back into wakefulness. A hand clutched at the stone he wore around his neck and held tightly, ensuring to keep it held for a few moments so that he could catch his breath. Sweat pooled between muscles, his skin left with a warm sheen as the ache slowly started to subside, allowing him to rise up and from the now cold water and reach for his towel which he promptly used to daub himself dry. The visions were becoming more pointed, as if responding to an unconscious desire within him. Guiding him. Wyra'to knew all too well the dangers of diving too deeply, the risks involved with delving into the memories of those who came before. Caution. The notion would have been one he dismissed years before as a thinly veiled cowardice, but now he had far too much to lose. The woollen towel wrapped around his hips as he stepped over the smooth, wooden edge of the tub and free of the water and into the warmth of his home again. There would be time to mull on this later. 

[freshmoviequotes]

The Third Murder (2017)

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

“Original Sin” and a big chunk of the bible can be summarised as the very first office fridge dispute, triggered when the new guileless employees ate the Xtian god’s lunch, which it never got over, fuelling its thirst for vengeance, and blaming all new and future employees of the company, even though they weren’t even in the job market at the time, culminating in it killing firstly almost everyone at the company, and later, itself, before retreating to its office and refusing to have anything whatsoever to do with anyone at the company, aside from randomly killing people and burning their bodies in the basement.

Yes, eating someone’s lunch from the office fridge is a shitty thing to do. But becoming a genocidal, dictatorial maniac is not a proportionate response.

[miriamgrace25]

Orthodox Theology: Ancestral Sin

I stumbled upon this wonderful post by Abbott Tryphon, who I adore (if you couldn’t already tell by the number of things that I post about him or by him).     I thought that it was an excellent short explanation of the difference in the Orthodox view of sin & salvation then other Western Christian theologies.

“The fact that we Orthodox do not accept the doctrine of original sin as espoused in the West, does in no way suggest that we do not need to be born again (born anew). We believe, as did the Early Church Fathers, that we inherit only the results of Adams sin, not his guilt. This is known as ancestral sin because the sin of our first parents, Adam and Eve, resulted in our inheritance of death, sickness and an inclination toward evil. Christ’s death on the cross has its power, not in an atonement sacrifice, but in the conquering of the power of death. Death is trampled down by death. It is by Christ’s resurrection that a way was made for us to be transformed by contact with the Living God, thus becoming his children by adoption.

Although we do not refer to ourselves as “saved”, as do Evangelical Christians, we nevertheless believe that we are in need of salvation. (We believe salvation is a process.) Our understanding of sin in an ancestral way, which is distinct from the concept of original sin and the hereditary guilt that required, consequently, a substitutionary atonement-type of sacrifice, separates us doctrinally from Western Christianity. The Day of Atonement, after it’s initial description in Exodus and Leviticus, is never mentioned again by name in the entirety of Scripture. The concept of atonement simply has no significant, ongoing place in salvation history.

Had there not been a fall, the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, the Logos (Word) would still have incarnated into the flesh and taken on our nature. For it is by this condescension by our Creator God to take on the nature of that which He created that we are given the opportunity of being deified (Saint Paul said we shall become as gods).

Our journey into the heart culminates in theosis, whereby we are joined in everlasting communion with the very God Who created us. Saint Athanasius of Alexandria said, “The Son of God became man, that we might become god.” In II Peter 1:4, we read that we have become “…partakers of divine nature.” Saint Athanasius further says that theosis is “becoming by grace what God is by nature.

With love in Christ, Abbot Tryphon”

[coeurlkin]

Past Sins

The visions had started to grow more and more varied, but there was a common theme linking each of them. The Schism was a holy place and it stood to reason that many of his predecessors would have stood and practiced here... but this particular vision was different. Wyra'to felt himself frowning even through the trance. While his corporeal body was safe and sound in his prayer room, the spirit wandered.

Gyr Abania was an entirely different beast once the sun had set. Spinners crawled and skittered their way across the arid wastes, seeking out whatever meagre prey they could to sustain themselves. The natural spires that offered refuge from the sun now cast great, terrible shadows for beasts to conceal themselves in. Even the air tasted different, but most notable was the chill. A biting cold which crept up with every gust of wind, blowing dust and debris along with it and searing the skin of any who'd chosen not to dress appropriately. The host this time was one of them. Young. A tall, broad Highlander garbed in a set of striking yellow attire, the brass trim glinting in the moonlight as he stood before the entrance to the temple. In his hands he grasped a small, wooden box adorned with ornate carvings bearing the sigil of the Brotherhood. Within he could feel a dull thrumming, one which resonated within his chest. The wind howled again, screeching it's way through the ancient halls and billowing out into the open air. It was less of an entrance and more an open maw. Wyra'to could feel the fear swelling within his vessel - within himself. This was a place that he'd been numerous times in the waking world, why was now so different? Again the voices called from behind him just like before, and once more his vessel started off into the void, each and every step filled with unease.

Dread crept along through the shadows, causing the holy place to feel less like a temple and more like a tomb. To some this would make no difference, but the palpable apprehension was enough to take Wyra'to's host's breath away. Slow, steady paces carried him past lit braziers until he finally reached the greater part of the ruins. A great chasm to either side of a narrow, winding path and pillars carved out of the rock on the far end of the cavern. He peered down into the darkness and for a moment could feel it calling back to him. Wyra'to knew this feeling, to gaze into the abyss, to look unflinchingly into the darkness. Lesser men had been driven mad by it. While he himself could stand it, a dull ache began to build in the back of his head. The host. The Highlander was uncomfortable, and his point of view shifted from the depths to the narrow path once more. Footfall echoed throughout the chamber. The creaking of leather, the clinking of metal meeting stone. Moonlight carved it's way through the cracks in the ceiling and threw unnatural shadows all around. Lurking. Something felt like it was lurking. A menacing presence which chilled the blood and constantly lingered. The fear was rising further within his host. His heart kept pace with that of his surrogate as the vision grew blurry again. For a split second he could only feel an emptiness. Then terror.

The shape which had manifested before him writhed and undulated with sickening, unsightly masses of tendrils and a perverse approximation of flesh. Two spindly, skeletal hands hung limp beneath it's bloated mass as a low droning sound emanated from the mouthless monstrosity. The sound echoed within the hall, reverberating and growing it it's intensity until it resonated within his skull, building to a dolorous crescendo. His host stood firm. The creature gestured towards the Hyur and wove it's heretical craft, the droning suddenly growing it intensity. A barrage of noise struck the Hyur, a wall of mournful wails sucking the courage from Wyra'to's host. He felt the exact moment in which the faith slipped. His body burned as the Hyur's did, abject terror wracking his limbs, his tendons spurring into action as the host turned and sprinted along the winding pathway. The box in his hands slipped free, striking the stonework and scattering it's contents across the floor - one, two? No, more of them. Soul crystals much like his own. The creature continued it's pursuit, it's form trembling as it ripped and tore it's body into copies of itself. Bhoot. They wanted nothing save the sensation of flesh within their spiteful grasp, but these... These drifted onward as the Hyur ran, lingering around the crystals before picking each stone up with the same care an appraiser would a priceless gem. Wyra'to screamed internally, willing his Host to return, to strike down these monstrosities before they could work their foul craft on the precious cargo. The Hyur's body broke free of the ruins, his limbs ablaze but still working to desperately carry him away. His horror was overwhelming, even Wyra'to's wrath paled in comparison to the sheer intensity of what the host felt. He honed his focus, desperately trying to will the Hyur back into the temple, to have him stand and fight rather than simply surrender such valuable artefacts. But this was a vision of the past. The past could not be changed so easily.

Wyra'to returned to the world with a gasp as the vision came to an aprupt end, the glow of his soul crystal dimming until becoming inert once more. His body was slick with a cold sweat, the candles in the prayer room having long since burnt themselves out. He relaxed his jaw, the muscles taut with the mixture of anger and disbelief. But he knew now. He knew where the presence lingered. He knew what had to be done.

[toxicmetalzine]

Ancestral Sin

Ancestral Sin: Dutch grinding thrash/hardcore group drops video for “Next of Sin” Check out the video right here: https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/ancestral-sin-dutch-grinding-thrash-hardcore-group-drops-video-for-next-of-sin…

[adventism-atheism-orthodoxy-me]

Over the years, I've received a few messages like this: I am trying to verify if Luther wrote this quote; " I am more afraid of my own hea

As I've said before - I sat on my distaste for Penal Substitution Theology for years - decades - before I started asking tentative questions from my pastors.

I am more afraid of my own heart than of the pope and all his cardinals. I have within me the great pope, Self. — Martin Luther

This was the reason why.

Proto influences could include C. S. Lewis.

If anything, the book is Lewis’ creative answer to MacDonald’s universalism – in which he has a way of poetically demonstrating the possibility of salvation for all – but not without their cooperation. It is the River of Fire set in a pleasant land that any Englishman should enjoy. 🙂 -- Fr. Stephan Freeman, Falling between the Cracks, Comments

But it wasn't until I read, the River of Fire, or The Ancestral Sin, that I became convinced that I wasn't entirely delusional.

I can believe in a God that isn't just a sow's ear called a silk purse. A megalomaniacal, very human, warlord. Christian tradition can allow for it.

Now there's debate. Not the least of which is Vladimir Moss.

Nevertheless, it's problems are no more significant then the problems with Penal Substitution, maybe less so.

Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have mercy upon me, A Sinner.