#presbyterate

[geraldofallon]

Fallen London Travel Guide:

Grandinia

The kingdom is called Grandinia. And it lives. Rotting, entombed, Grandinia lives on.

[intrinsicallydisordered]

I’ve reached the age now where people stop asking if I’m going to become a priest and now ask if I’m going to become a deacon

[geraldofallon]

Fallen London Travel Guide:

Nidah

No man shall live a thousand years.

[geraldofallon]

Fallen London Travel Guide:

Caution

Caution, the City of Beasts, the City of a Hundred Tongues. Its spires rise through the forest canopy; a hundred, one for every tongue – scarlet, dusky green, royal blue.

[intrinsicallydisordered]

Just came from Evening Prayer/Vespers with the local Dominican Friary, and the urge to contact vocation directors to re-discern the priesthood is dominating my mind again. Not that I’ve gone a single day since middle school without thinking about the priesthood, though.

Incense, candles, organ, and a homily of a scathing critique of the Church’s response to the most recent abuse revelations reminded me of how fundamental the Catholic Imagination holds me and keeps me. We are a people of transformation, of a radical call to be fully human in such a deep world of obstinance and despair.

Also one of the brothers was cute and I’m pretty sure gay.

“Through your Son, the herald of reconciliation, the victor of the cross,

- free us from empty fear and hopelessness.

May all those who pursue justice,

- work together without deceit to build a world of true peace.

Be with the oppressed, free the captives, console the sorrowing, feed the hungry, strengthen the weak,

- in all people reveal the victory of your cross.”

— from the 23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Intercessions of Evening Prayer II, week III of the psalter.

[intrinsicallydisordered]

I am convinced the most pressing issue for the Church at this point in time is the ordination of women. Every day we refuse to ordain them we tell women around the world they are inferior and incapable of being the Image of God. Every day we refuse to ordain women we tell men they are superior beings and women are our servants. Every day we refuse to ordain women we actively participate in the 'structures of sin' that is systemic misogyny and toxic patriarchy. Every day we refuse to ordain women we tell the Holy Spirit to shush.

We don't ordain women because there aren't enough men. We don't ordain women because of a *vocations crisis*. We need to ordain women because they are God's Image made real, through baptism they become the anointed, one with Christ.

To refuse a woman is to refuse Christ. To reject women is to reject the Holy Spirit. To deny women is to deny God.

[dioceseofwesternanglicans]

Called to the Presbyterate?

Pray and Discern on the Presbyter Day of Discovery 2018

The Day of Discovery for the Presbyterate is a time for those who may be interested to learn about the ministry of a presbyter in our Diocese and to explore if the Lord is calling them to ordination. It will include praying the Daily Offices together, Bible study, talks by Canon David Montzingo and two other presbyters, a discussion with Bishop Keith Andrews about his vision for presbyters, and time for personal reflection and direction. Lunch will be provided.

Anyone who attends should leave with a basic understanding of the Presbyterate and the process of ordination to it in the Diocese of Western Anglicans. There is no cost for the Day of Discovery for the Presbyterate. Register for the event by contacting Michele Wright at the diocesan office [email protected]

[dame-of-neath]

the Fighting Rings

London's illegal fighting rings are a closely guarded secret. Death is unlikely. Pain is certain. 

Take part in an Illegal Fighting Ring

Feducci, an exiled prince of the Tomb-Colonies, runs a makeshift arena called the Ring of Meat down in one of the warehouses by the wharves.

Fight dirty

There are no rules in Feducci's tournaments. Time to see if your opponent remembered that.

It turns out that a mostly-frozen slab of meat ripped from a dangling hook makes an effective improvised weapon.

You step over your opponent (or what can now be described as "the keening meat-pile"), to receive the adulation of the crowd, many of whom are still trying to forget what they just saw you do. Later, when you're counting your winnings, you think back on one of the stories you heard after the fight. Those who prove themselves in the Ring of Meat may be recruited to the next of Feducci's tournaments: the Ring of Roses.

The Ring of Roses: Take part in an Illegal Fighting Ring

Under Heartscross cemetery is a crypt for the dead of an old plague. On certain nights, petals of grave-flowers are scattered in a circle to mark a fighting-ring...

Step into the ring; trick your opponent

You test the balance of your blade. Your opponent grins, and you note his overconfidence…

He fell for it.

The gap in your defences is so subtle that only a seasoned killer would have even a chance of spotting it. Fortunately, your opponent is just such a man. His blade flashes forward in the instant before he realises his mistake, and your knife slides easily across his face. His cry is as much surprise as pain, but a cry is a cry, and in Feducci's second ring the first person to make a sound loses. As you pocket your winnings, you notice a woman among the spectators paying you a great deal of attention. She vanishes into the crowd quickly, but before she does you notice a black ribbon is tied around her arm. Intriguing...

Take Part in an Illegal Fighting Ring

The last of Feducci's fighting-rings is just a red circle daubed around the dome of St Fiacre's Cathedral, high above the city.

Step into the ring and fight patiently

The cavern breezes of the Neath are stronger up here. The stone is slick with dripwater. You can't afford mistakes.

Down he goes.

Cautiously, you and your opponent circle the cross atop the dome. When he makes a move, you counter. When he presses forward, you step aside. When his heel strays into a rivulet of rainwater, you strike like a serpent. Your blow upsets his balance, his foot slips, and he plunges down the slope of the dome to be swallowed by the darkness of the streets below. The spectators on the rooftops below chant your name. Suddenly, a figure joins you upon the cathedral: a bandaged gentleman in a wind-tugged overcoat. Feducci. "Your precision is exceptional; your acuity, enviable. I have something that may interest you. Expect a letter. But for now, enjoy your success."

The Mark of a True Duellist

They say no one emerges from the Three Rings unscathed; that you can tell a duellist by their scars. Where is yours?

Scar? What scar?

As if you'd let anything mar one of nature's better creations. Imagine what they'd say at the Singing Mandrake!

On a busy street

The day is fine! The darkness is velvety, the street smells of hot pie, and the local urchin-gang seem cleaner than usual. A Canny Costermonger winks at you. A dog allows you to scratch its ears. As you do so, a pair of Constables push past. They are travelling from Wolfstack Docks, carrying a moaning figure on a stretcher. He is shrouded in something grey and gauzy - webs? As they pass you, you see that his eyes are missing. "- consecrated in the Silken Chapel!" he mumbles. How intriguing.