#francis; love like a chapel in a hospital

[elipheleh]

Santa Chiara

Continuing my series of learning about things referenced in the book, I'm looking at things referenced in Alex & Henry's visit to the V&A Museum. These are all tagged #a series of learning about things that are referenced in the book, if you want to block the tag.

Through the marble choir screen at the back of the room is a second, deeper chamber, this one filled with church relics. Past stained glass and statues of saints, at the very end of the room, is an entire high altar chapel removed from its church. The sign explains its original setting was the apse of the convent church of Santa Chiara in Florence in the fifteenth century, and it’s stunning, set deep into an alcove to create a real chapel, with statues of Santa Chiara and Saint Francis of Assisi. When they kiss, Alex can hear a half-remembered old proverb from catechism, mixed up between translations of the book: “Come, hijo mío, de la miel, porque es buena, and the honeycomb, sweet to thy taste.” He wonders what Santa Chiara would think of them, a lost David and Jonathan, turning slowly on the spot. -Chapter 10, Red White & Royal Blue

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The visual provided for this scene is the Chancel Chapel from the Church of Santa Chiara, in Florence. The only Italian Renaissance chapel outside of Italy, it consists of four parts - the Chapel and Frieze, the Tabernacle, and as Alex references, the Statues of Saint Francis and Saint Claire/Chiara. While the artist is unknown, it has been attributed to Giuliano de Sangallo or those associated with him, in the last decade of the 1400s. It was purchased on behalf of the V&A museum in 1860 by J.C. Robinson.

The Chapel belonged to the Poor Clares order of nuns, whose founders were the Saints featured in the piece - St Francis and St Claire/Chiara. The convent of Santa Chiara was founded on the site of a hospital, and this altar was commissioned by the brother of some of the nuns, Jacopo Bongianni in the 1490s.

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The proverb Alex remembers is from Proverbs 24:13. I've included both the English and the Spanish versions. I used the King James Version of the English bible and the Reina-Valera Antigua for the Spanish version.

Come, hijo mío, de la miel, porque es buena, Y del panal dulce á tu paladar. My son, eat thou honey, because it is good; and the honeycomb, which is sweet to thy taste.

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David and Jonathan are characters in the Book of Samuel in the bible. Many queer people look to them as an example of a queer relationship that was affirmed and blessed by God. Jonathan was the son of the first King of Israel, and David became the second King of Israel.

When they were introduced to each other, Jonathan took an immediate liking to David and "the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David and Jonathan loved him as himself". [1 Samuel 18] Following Jonathan's death, David expresses that Jonathan's love for him was "more wonderful than that of women". [2 Samuel 1] He also later adopts Jonathan's adult son, Mephibosheth, saying "I will [...] show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan." [2 Samuel 9] He does so despite the risk this poses to his position as King - Mephibosheth was a potential claimant to the throne, being the grandson of the former King.

Oscar Wilde referenced David and Jonathan in the well known reference to "the love that dare not speak its name" during his trial. We know that Henry has an affection for Wilde - Alex sees a copy of his complete works on Henry's nightstand.

Sources: V&A - Chancel chapel from Church of Santa Chiara, Florence Proverbs 24:13, Spanish and English QSpirit - David and Jonathan: Same-sex love between men in the Bible - the comments on this contain homophobia Samuel references - 1 Samuel 18, 2 Samuel 1, 2 Samuel 9

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #elio's #elio's meta #long post #a series of learning about things that are referenced in the book #two today because i dont think anyones going to be interested tomorrow lol #this is the end of the series for now #ive got more i want to add #but i need a break

[lucidtrust]

Moments of hope church

#Moments of hope church series

#Moments of hope church tv

They’re a firm hold when everything else is spinning out of control.īut the “weightiness” invoked in the Scriptures describes much more than rote prayers or even “church lady” traditions like dropping off a casserole for someone sick. They hold the weight of centuries, which is palpable in their outdated language. In times of crises, we go back to these basics. Peter’s Square by leading them in the simple prayers that are the first ones Catholics learn through oral tradition, before we can even read: The Hail Mary, the Our Father, the Glory Be. I’m touched by the line from the first reading: “Hold fast to the traditions you were taught…by an oral statement.” When Pope Francis was first elected, he moved the hearts of the crowd in St. What is it about crises that makes so many of us into “old church ladies”? I think it has to do with the “weightiness” alluded to in today’s Scriptures. I’m struck in today’s readings by the firmness and weightiness that the Scripture authors employ in their language. Yet here I was in the hospital, praying with all the “thee”s and “thou”s and thinking, however improbably, maybe I should do a novena. I prefer contemplative prayer to rote “Here I Am, Lord” to “How Great Thou Art” Mass in a school gym with felt banners to Mass in St. It is probably obvious from my reaction to these things that I am not a traditionalist Catholic. In recent days, I’ve appreciated how having a loved one in the hospital awakens what I lovingly call the “old church lady” in everyone-friends are calling on the phone (an exceptional feat for us Millennials) acquaintances are offering to drop off dinner (or, in a more modern twist, offering to order us UberEats) Jesuits are saying Masses for us one Catholic Worker I know stepped away from Maryhouse’s never-ending chores to pray in the chapel my mom even sent me a Mary medal with a prayer straight out of the 1950s: “O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.” (A quick Google search reveals it’s actually from the 1800s, but you get the point.) (I’m okay now!) And, as often happens in moments of crisis, I found myself instinctively reaching for a Rosary, or rattling off decades on my fingers to quiet my anxious thoughts. Last week, I ended up in the hospital, faced with some difficult health decisions. I know exactly why this language stands out to me. From the psalm: “He has made the world firm, not to be moved.” In the Gospel: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees… have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity.” From the first reading: “We ask you…not to be shaken” “brothers and sisters, stand firm”. “Therefore, brothers and sisters, stand firmĪnd hold fast to the traditions that you were taught,Įither by an oral statement or by a letter of ours.” (2 Thessalonians 2:15) This group gathers together to create and pray over prayer shawls, blankets, and squares that are given by HOPE to others in various moments of life.A Reflection for Tuesday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time Learn more about the book at the link above! + Micro Groupsīeing a part of a micro group is a wonderful way to grow together with a few people who are in a similar spiritual place as you! You pick a category and we tell you where to start! Learn more about micro groups. It is a great group for anyone looking to connect with others while talking about what God's grace means for our often tangled up lives. This group will read and talk about the book The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out. This group meets offsite at a home in Voorhees, NJ This group is geared towards those who want to learn more about physical, spiritual, and emotional healing or Shalom people who desire transparency in sharing, and opportunities to pray for others and to be prayed for. This group will be reading the book, To Be Made Well: An Invitation to Wholeness, Healing, and Hope by Amy Julia Becker.

#Moments of hope church series

This group will watch the second season of the series together and engage in conversation about each of us can relate to the lives of the men who said yes when Jesus invited them to follow him.

#Moments of hope church tv

The Chosen is a deeply moving TV series that brings to life the lives of the disciples as they follow Jesus.

#Moments of hope church

[olivierperrier]

things you said with my lips on your neck

Olivier is not a man of many words.

Or rather, he is, but you have to be patient enough for them. See vulnerability enough for them. And with Francis? Oh, Olivier was everything in the world to vulnerable.

A quiet man unfolds to someone else under Francis's touch, fingers coaxing unintelligible syllables as they skate bare skin and undo every defense as deftly as they had been constructed. Relentless enough attention has even led to volume unimaginable from Olivier as the bed rocks hard against the wall and he becomes everything held back.

He says so many things, rushed and slurred and clear and slow. Things like "please" , and "fuck, god..." and his favorite of all: "Francis". Tonight, they are spooled around each other in an armchair that really should be moved to private quarters - but it never matters as the velvet storefront curtains are drawn thick and soft. Olivier is at Francis's mercy as he always is, his own teasing turned back on him so easily to gain the upper hand and melt the book keeper like ice on a hot day. Today, the murmurs are "yes" and "darling" and "cheri" as fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of Francis's neck to urge him impossibly closer. They already know how this ends: devouring and attentive and merciless in adoration. Eventually feet trip up the stairs and clothes drop behind them in a deja vu of their first time. Eventually Francis's lips are pressed to Olivier's soft neck again and again between cool sheets and heaving chests in the warm aftermath of it all. White neck bared so willingly as if to offer his life, pulse jumping even after all the work it has already done that night. The simplest part to tear out and end sound forever, the show of surrender, the parley of trust. Olivier holds Francis close with all of this around them and nothing between them and says the best of all when lips breathe sensitive, again and again and again.

" i love you. i do, i do, i do. "

#moonwoken #francis; love like a chapel in a hospital

[kiss-my-freckle]

3x9 Rewatch: ...And the Woman Clothed with the Sun

This episode is fun because Francis and Will are very much alike, so Hannibal is able to show him in a way that he couldn't before. Things start to get very real very fast. A lot of episode 1x4 ties into this. Hannibal has him walking into the Norman Chapel. Will tells him the truth about his letter, but keeps secret the fact that he kept it in his drawer until he read it. Hannibal didn't want him to come, but he's happy that he did. Better to see family than the occasional pencil-licking psychiatrist. Will doesn't want to get personal with him because he knows that if he does, he'll cave where he hollowed himself. Hannibal takes him in, wanting to smell the man he's been missing for three years. "I smell dogs... and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion. It's something a child would select, isn't it? Is there a child in your life, Will? I gave you a child if you recall." He's referring to Abigail. Purposeful for him not to mention his unborn. Will continues to distance himself, not wanting to get personal. "You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?" No length of time is ever gonna bury it. This upsets Will as he tries to remain strong for as long as he can. "Whereas you are a new man." It would require he be a new man with different instincts. He's being honest. "Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can. You're family, Will." Time for Abigail flashbacks. "We have a basic affinity for our family. We can detect each other from smell alone. You recognize this?" He has her blindfolded, smelling a knife that her father made with bone. The entire point of Will smelling himself. He and Hannibal are family. 

Will visits with Alana. "I had the absurd feeling that he walked out with me." Foreshadowing Hannibal’s escape. She tells him she's still with Margot and gave birth to a Verger son. "So... what are you doing here?" She's playing it smart, making sure Hannibal can't fulfill his promise to kill her. "Hannibal's never been great with boundaries." Sounds like Jack. "He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon." Again, sounds like Jack. He pulled Molly in at the dinner table. "I'm not letting him in, Alana. Don't worry about me." Will gets off the couch and turns his back to Alana, needing to hide his body language. He's worried about himself because he fears he's gonna cave. "I'm not just worried about you. Last time, it didn't end with you." No, it ended with Abigail. 

Hannibal's second mention to Francis being a shy boy. He and Will discuss the shards of mirror being placed on the eyes and mouth. "Could you see yourself in their eyes, Will? Killing them all?" This plays into the finale. "Save yourself, kill them all?" Because he's speaking to Hannibal, he's able to imagine both of them at the crime scene. Will was already connecting with him during his replay. "Like you, Will, he needs a family to escape what's inside him." Filling his home with light to escape the dark, especially when he doesn't want to think about Hannibal anymore. The glass shard falling from Will’s face is thrilling. Because he's a lot like Francis, Hannibal uses that to help him answer his own questions. "How did you choose yours? Ready-made wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter... a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most." That's why he tried connecting with Abigail. Not his biological daughter, but she had him feeling paternal enough to buy her a gift, more purpose for her flashbacks. Will hates that Hannibal can read him this well. He stands on the opposite side of the table, still fighting to keep his distance, determination in his body language. I like the way his eyes change when Hannibal talks about Francis and his outdoor nudity. Hannibal gets him caught up in the moment. "Have you ever seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black." Will imagines his naked body covered in blood that appears black, his arm stretched out to the moon. I'd say demonic sexuality piqued Will's interest. This scene ties into the finale. Freddie catches a few photos of him as he's leaving the mental hospital.

Hannibal is hilarious. "You've come to wag your finger? How is Margot?" She's talking to Hannibal when she should be talking to Jack. She struts across the room like the queen Hannibal drew. "You're a little bit like a cat that way." One of the big cats, best not to poke him. Cut to Abigail's flashback. "You deny your love for your father because of what it might mean about you." That's why Will wanted to kill Hannibal in season three. Afraid of becoming him. What loving Hannibal mean about Will. "Your father never wished for anything but your happiness." Alana has no idea what Hannibal wants for Will, she's assuming. "Are you suggesting I don't have Will's best interests in my mind?" Hobbs killed those girls to stop himself from killing her. He was fighting his own demon. "All that's left is honesty." Separating the father from the killer. "Blood rituals involve a symbolic death, and then a rebirth.” Will and Hannibal in the finale. Symbolic death of The Dragon - both of them bleeding all over the crime scene, followed by their baptismal drop into the Atlantic.

They cut to Francis at the dinner table. He's sitting at the far end, opposite his grandmother. Her attitude comes off a lot like Alana's, an almighty queen. She looks at young Francis as if he's the devil. It makes me question what happened to his parents, his mother specifically. This entire dinner scene reminds me of Will in episode 1x4 when he mentioned his mother. He spoke of her in present tense when he said she is difficult to reach, then spoke of her in past tense when he said he never knew her. A cut between scenes. Will watching the family on an ipad, celebrating the daughter's birthday.... to Francis watching the film he took of their deaths, his dragon tail draped on the floor. He and Will have two sides. Francis is bothered by the films, but feels he can't control his other self. It's like what Hannibal asked of Will. "Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation?" For Francis, the enemy inside is The Dragon, and he’s constantly fighting it.

Cat in a shoe box. Kate is such a human name, unlike Cloud or Snowflake. It was strangled. Jimmy calls him a son of a bitch. This comes in later after Will visits Molly in the hospital. Might as well call him the child of a nightmare. "OK... Seems like you're more upset about the cat than you were about the children, but... " Like Will, caring more about the dogs. "I'm particularly fond of cats, I'm not particularly fond of children." The point. The dog was stabbed with an ice pick or an awl. Jimmy again, calls him a son of a bitch. I would consider the awl because of the clothing Francis' has in his house. A lot of his grandmother's things. Will is upset with the pet torture, but knows Francis must be watching the families if he's ridding them of their early warning prior to killing them. This takes him back to the house to see if he watched them from a short distance. Happy families, what he didn't seem to have. Will finds his seat. It reminds me of him and Gideon standing outside Alana's home in season one. More to Hannibal's promise of killing her, along with her happy little family. "I sat here, and I watched them." He catches sight of the tree marking, but doesn't take it to Hannibal until later. 

When he leaves, he runs into Freddie. "You didn't die enough.” He never liked her. Cordell with naked Hannibal, now Freddie with naked Will. "A big black box.” She called them murder husbands because they are. “You did run off to Europe together.” Again with her Takes One To Catch One. He asks if she’s referring to him or Hannibal. “I'll let my readers decide.” Her readers already know. 

They cut to Francis, he's meeting Reba for the first time. Like Hannibal when he met Will. She's waiting at the bus stop when he pulls up in his van. "I take the bus all the time; you don't need to worry about me." This ties in two more. Will, when he was talking to Alana. "I'm not letting him in, Alana. Don't worry about me." And Hannibal, when Will tells him he's heading home. "When life becomes maddeningly polite... ...think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me." She invites Francis in for a drink, like Will and Hannibal having their egg and sausage breakfast. "I understand you because you speak very well and because I listen." Making mention as Hannibal does. "Your speech is bent and pruned by disabilities, real and imagined, but your words are startling." He made mention of this to Will earlier. "Have you considered the possibility that he's disfigured? Or that he may believe he's disfigured?" He's self-conscious about it. When she reaches to touch his face, he grabs her by the wrist to stop her. Like Will being psychoanalyzed by Hannibal. "Can't pass on those terrible traits you fear the most."

Will calls Molly. They talk about the new dogs they adopted. "Criminal mind even at that age." Her comment bothers Will. "I don't have a criminal mind." This call leads to Will’s nightmare. As Hannibal said, "When life becomes maddeningly polite... ...think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me." Worry about Molly, it's the reason he’s having a nightmare. He sees her dead in their bed, shards of glass covering her eyes and mouth. Her chest lighting up like the strings did at the crime scene during his replay. Covered in blood, he screams himself awake, strips off his shirt and heads into the bathroom. He's connecting quicker than he thought he would, more shards falling from his face as he looks in the mirror. "Sometimes... at night I leave the lights on in my little house..." As the scene cuts just like it did with Francis, night turns to day, the lights turning off in the windows of the mental hospital. Darkness entering a house of light. That's why he walks across flat fields to feel safe. He's afraid of who he is and what he'll do if he's in the house, just as fearful of it as Francis is when he's trying to protect Reba.

Jack visits Hannibal. The way he walks in, he feels he’s in control. "Yes, I read your note before my office forwarded it to Will." There isn't a boundary Jack won't cross, and he likely used their past relationship as an excuse. "It would be more honest if you ate his brain right out of his skull." I love Hannibal's honesty here. As if Jack didn't get enough watching him saw into Will's head. He makes his third reference to Francis being a shy boy. "This shy boy has already seen Will. He already knows his name. Are you chumming the waters, Jack?" He knows Jack is baiting Will without his knowledge. "It takes one to catch one." Attack and admission, Jack gave Freddie intel for her article. It didn't do him any good, he gave Francis the open to choose who he reaches out to, Hannibal or Will. "I'll let my readers decide." Hannibal takes a nice bite, reminding him that it takes two, Jack and Will baiting him in season two. He’s an idiot if he honestly thinks Hannibal being inside Will's head will get the job done. It's the last place Jack should want him to be. He’s choosing to play because he thinks he can control the bait and the game. "I don't think I'll persuade you, Doctor. You'll either play, or you won't." As Will states later in the season, "You play, you pay." Chilton won't be the only one to get burned. 

Another flashback of Abigail. This one, when Will calls him. "They know." It was supposed to play out like Hobbs, Jack taking a knife to the throat instead of Abigail. Hannibal had every intention of creating a new life for them, this was his family. "We're waiting for Will." That's what he's doing in the mental hospital, he's waiting for Will. "They'll catch us if we stay." He had to surrender. It wasn’t about them catching him. It was about Will. He already made promise that he wouldn't look for him. Should Will get up the courage to run, he wouldn't be able to find Hannibal. That was the sacrifice he made, however long it took, whether Will changed his mind or he didn’t. His freedom for his family. Either he leaves and loses Will, or stays and prays Will comes for him. He gets his first phone call from Francis. As I made mention earlier, Jack made a mistake when he gave him the open to contact either one. "Wasn't surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon." Francis had no reason to contact Will. "I don't believe you would tell them who I am, even if you knew." 

[pope-francis-quotes]

6th April >> (@ZenitEnglish By Deborah Castellano Lubov) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis’ Homily during the celebration of Holy Mass in Casa Santa Marta on Monday of Holy Week, Shares Memory from Buenos Aires (Full Text of Pope Francis’ Morning Homily)

At Casa Santa Marta, Remembers the Poor & Prays There Will Be No ‘Grave Tragedy’ in Overcrowded Prisons

Pope Francis has shared a personal memory from when he was in Buenos Aires…

According to Vatican News, Pope Francis stressed this today, April 6, during his private daily Mass at his residence Casa Santa Marta on this Monday of Holy Week.

At the start of the Mass, while remembering all victims of Coronavirus, the Holy Father prayed for the incarcerated and the poor.

“Where there is overcrowding,” the Pope observed, thinking of prisoners: “there is the danger in this pandemic that it winds up being a grave tragedy.”

“Let us pray for those responsible, and for those who need to make decisions in this area,” he implored, “that they might find a correct and creative way to resolve the problem.”

The Holy Father also spoke of the poor, and how Jesus is always present with and in them. Many poor people, the Holy Father lamented, are victims of economic and financial systems. Too embarrassed to ask for help, he recognized they struggle to make it to the end of the month, even if they have a job.

The Pope then told a story from his time as the Archbishop of Buenos Aires in Argentina.

“Once, someone told me about an abandoned factory in which around 15 families had lived for the previous few months,” Francis recalled.

“I went there,” he said, remembering: “There were families with children, and each had claimed a part of the factory to live in. Looking closer, I saw that every family had good furniture, indicative of the middle class, with a television set. But they wound up there because they couldn’t pay their rent.”

“These,” Pope Francis stated, “are the new poor who are forced to leave their homes because they can’t afford them. This is the injustice of the economic or financial system that has left them like that.”

The Pope underscored how Jesus is always present in the poor, reminding: “Jesus’ first question on the Day of Judgment will be: “How did you treat the poor? Did you feed them? Did you visit those in prison, in hospital? Did you help the widow and the orphan? Because I was there.”

We will be judged, the Pontiff said, “according to our relationship with the poor.”

“If I ignore the poor today, leaving them aside and acting as if they didn’t exist,” the Pontiff said, “the Lord will ignore me on the Day of Judgment.”

“When Jesus says, ‘You always have the poor with you,’ He is saying, ‘I will always be with you in the poor. I will be present there,’” Francis said, pointing out: “And this is not acting like a communist.”

This, the Pope said, is at the center of the Gospel: “we will be judged on this.”

Before concluding, the Pope exhorted faithful to partake in Spiritual Communion in this difficult time, and ended the celebration with Eucharistic Adoration and Benediction.

Here are the Holy Father’s words, followed by the prayer for Spiritual Communion:

I prostrate myself at your feet, O my Jesus, and I offer you the repentance of my contrite heart, which abases itself in its nothingness in Your Holy Presence. I adore you in the Sacrament of Your Love; I desire to receive You in the poor abode that my heart offers You. While waiting for the happiness of a Sacramental Communion, I want to possess You in spirit. Come to me, O my Jesus, that I may come to You. May Your Love inflame my whole being, in life and in death. I believe in You, I hope in You, I love You. Amen.

The Masses in Francis’ chapel normally welcome a small group of faithful, but due to recent measures’ taken by the Vatican, are now being kept private, without their participation.

It was announced this month that the Pope would have these Masses, in this period, be available to all the world’s faithful, via streaming on Vatican Media, on weekdays, at 7 am Rome time.

The Vatican has also published the Pope’s Holy Week and Easter schedule, confirming this year’s events will not welcome the physical presence of the faithful, and the events will be made available via streaming.

This comes at a time too when the Italian bishops’ conference has canceled public Masses throughout the nation, following guidelines put out by Italian authorities.

In addition to Santa Marta, the Vatican has taken other steps to keep people safe and to stay close to the Pope, even if from a distance. They are televising the Pope giving privately, from the papal library, his weekly Angelus and General Audience addresses.

The Vatican Museums are now closed, along with the Vatican’s other similar museums. There have also been various guidelines implemented throughout the Vatican, to prevent the spread of the virus.

For anyone interested, the Pope’s Masses at Santa Marta can be watched live and can be watched afterward on Vatican YouTube. Below is a link to today’s Mass. Also, a ZENIT English translation of the Pope’s full homily is available below:

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FULL HOMILY [translated by ZENIT’s Virginia Forrester]

This passage ends with an observation: “So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus also to death, because on account of him many of the Jews were going away and believing in Jesus” (John 12:10-11). The other day we saw the passages of the temptation: the initial seduction, the illusion, then it grows — the second passage — and the third; it grows and gets infected and justifies itself. However, there is another passage: it goes on, it doesn’t stop. It wasn’t enough, because of these, to put Jesus to death, but now, also Lazarus, because he was a witness of life.

However, today I would like to pause on a word of Jesus. Six days before the Passover, — we are in fact at the threshold of the Passion –, Mary does this gesture of contemplation. Martha was serving — as in the other passage — and Mary opens the door to contemplation. And Judas thinks of the money and thinks of the poor, but “not that he cared for the poor but because he was a thief, and as he had the money box he used to take what was put into it” (John 12:6). This story of the unfaithful administrator is always timely; they always exist, also at a high level: we think of some charitable and humanitarian organizations that have so many committed people, so many, that have a very rich structure of people and in the end what the poor receive is 40%, because 60% goes to pay the stipend to so many people. It’s a way of taking money from the poor — but Jesus is the answer. And I want to pause here: ”The poor, in fact, you always have with you. There are poor, there are so many: there is the poor man that we see, but this is the least part; the great quantity of poor are those that we don’t see, the hidden poor. And we don’t see them because we enter into this culture of indifference, which is a denier and we deny: “No, no, there aren’t so many, they aren’t seen; yes, that case . . . always diminishing the reality of the poor — however, there are so many, so many.

Or even, if we don’t enter this culture of indifference, there is a habit of seeing the poor as ornaments of a city: yes, they are there, as the statues; yes, they are, they are seen; yes, that little old lady who asks for alms . . . But as if it [were] something normal. It’s part of the ornamentation of the city to have poor people. However, the great majority are the poor victims of economic policies, of financial policies. And some recent statistics summarize it thus: there is so much money in the hands of a few and so much poverty in so many — in many. And this is the poverty of many people, victims of the structural injustice of the global economy. And [there are] so many poor that are ashamed to make it seen that they can’t make it until the end of the month; so many poor of the middle class, who go hidden to Caritas and ask privately and feel ashamed. The poor are many more than the rich, many, many . . . And what Jesus says is true: “The poor in fact you have always with you.” However, do I see them? Am I aware of this reality, especially of the hidden reality, those that feel ashamed to say that they cannot make it to the end of the month?

I remember that in Buenos Aires I was told that the building of an abandoned factory, which was empty for years, was lived in by some fifteen families that had arrived in those last months. I went there. They were families with children and each one had taken a part of the abandoned factory to dwell in. And, looking around, I saw that every family had good furniture, they were middle class; they had television, but they went there because they couldn’t pay the rent. The new poor, who must leave their house because they can’t pay for it, go there. It’s that injustice of the economic and financial organization that brings them there. And there are so many, so many . . . to such a point that we will meet them in the Judgment. And the first question that Jesus will ask us is: “How did you fare with the poor? Did you give them to eat? When <one> was in prison, did you visit him? In hospital, did you see him? Did you help the widow, the orphan? Because I was there.” And we will be judged on this. We won’t be judged for <our> luxury or the trips we took or the social importance we have. We will be judged for our relation with the poor. However, if today I ignore the poor, I leave them to one side, I believe they aren’t there then the Lord will ignore me on Judgment Day. When Jesus says: “The poor you have always with you,” He means: “I will always be with you in the poor. I’ll be present there.” And this isn’t to be a Communist; this is the center of the Gospel: we will be judged on this.

Before leaving the Chapel dedicated to the Holy Spirit, the ancient Marian antiphon Ave Regina Caelorum (“Hail Queen of Heaven”) was intoned.

“Hail, Queen of Heaven, Lady of the Angels; Gate and Root of salvation, bring light into the world. Delight, Glorious Virgin, beautiful among all women: Hail, all holy One, pray for us to Christ the Lord.”

6th APRIL 2020 15:10POPE'S MORNING HOMILY

[ofimaginarybeings-archive]

@tothedevilsshow ~ I swear the others wont be THIS LONG i just have a lot of feelings

if someone were to ask her how long it’s been since the news was declared across the country that the war had ended she could tell them. down to the second. it was as though that had been the most memorable, most painful part. it shouldn’t have been. it should have been the best day for everyone nearby, the best day for those that watched with bated breath as the world tore itself apart. but how does one celebrate over so much death? how does one see past the haze of loss and see the light that had begun to shine through? she had stood on those docks waiting for him, for them to return. her hand settled on her rather grown belly by then. there had been such hope in her. they had been gone such a short time after the last time she’d seen them, last time she’d felt a light whisper of hope - but then all of that shattered.

she remembers every detail of the last time that they had been together. how warm it had been in that inn room. he’d turned the heat up because she’d been unable to get warm and he’d held her until all that cold had disappeared. they talked of the baby, he promised he’d come back and slip a ring onto her finger. he promised he’d love her until time had run out on them but he had promised that it wouldn’t run out too soon. he’d see his child, he’d look into their son’s eyes and see himself. they would be happy and whole and every sort of complete that usually didn’t happen during times like these. only it would work out for them. she was so sure that it would. she had bought things for the baby, for him, for them. even a lace white dress that she’d wear the moment he’d got back at a small chapel that they had walked by one evening. she hadn’t been able to say goodbye, he hadn’t woken her up and by the time she had he was gone. how long had she cried? how long had she spent in the pews of that very church praying and begging God to make everything alright.

dinner that night had been at that club and everyone had gathered together. everyone trying hard to be okay, to stifle their emotions. Aramis had been there and she’d told him to come back too. come back in one piece and she’d tried to suppress the tears from coming then too. the night took those with it and no one had seen but she’d seen Francis talking to him, the two of them together and her heart broke. so much had broken and she’d been the one to cause it, hadn’t she?

and now what was left? just the shards that they were trying endless to swim through. they could find the shore eventually, through her son, his son, their son. everything hurt when she looked into his clear blue eyes and heard that soft laugh that was so much like his father’s. she remembered the gnawing ache that had filled her when she had thought Aramis had died all those years ago, throwing herself into emotion only for him to come back. he’d come back, like some ghost from some long ago dream and every part of her had been struggling through her decisions. there were no decisions to be made. only now Francis wasn’t coming back. they’d looked into that casket and had buried him. she got nothing at all, not a wife, not anything legal or official. just the mother of his child who his mother seemed to not acknowledge. he wasn’t her son’s child. he was her son and when he was born, a blank space for his father Aramis had stepped in to sign his name shakily before bowing out and leaving the hospital altogether. 

everything hurt, the world turned grey and she was certain that even the wind whispered differently now. he brought such a gentleness to the world that couldn’t be matched. only when she was around her son did she feel it again, that warmth that she had felt that final night with him. her son, Francis, was turning three already. born a week before his father’s birthday and every year it brings about a dreariness over her to remember everything.

Francis was sleeping now, Aramis having picked him up once he’d passed out from too much cake and put him to bed while she went to change. nights like these she feels terrible. she loves Aramis, more than anything in the world. he’s always been the man that she had fallen for, the only person she’s ever felt that sort of abandon over. but there was a ghost now hanging over them, over her even if she knows that Francis wouldn’t have wanted this, wanted her to swim through her life without much coherence. when Aramis had told her he’d marry her, make her an honest woman per her reputation, take care of her son, give her the life she should have had - she had been so reluctant to accept. but eventually she had and she’s reached for happiness, she has. she’s felt it when she’s with him but there nights like tonight that she can’t help the memories, the pain from returning.

the door opens and she immediately grabs for her brush to comb out her hair. she gives him a soft smile in the mirror and then looks away again. “ did he fall asleep right away again? “ he’d been gone awhile. 

#tothedevilsshow #tothedevilsshow ; aramis #anne ; thread #verse ; the times tried our souls ; au ; anne

[letterfromtrenwith]

Prescription Passion - Ch. 8

Carolight Hospital AU

Ch.8 - Caroline Penvenen is a successful, capable doctor...and she also just might be an idiot.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

~

“Killewarren has been in the Penvenen family since 1621, when Rafe Penvenen was granted the estate by King James I in recognition of his military service…” Caroline let the tour guide’s voice drift off, only vaguely registering the familiar words about how the house had survived the Civil War and Rafe’s son William had sheltered royalists behind its excellent defences…Eventually the voice disappeared as the tour group reached the end of the corridor where they would go down into the old kitchens and learn about the ancient range and how many servants the house once had.

By some miracle, the Penvenen family had managed to hold onto their ancestral home, but like almost every other country estate in the nowadays, it was open to the public. Caroline had got quite used to the visitors when she was a little girl, creeping up to the section of gallery which led into the private apartments and overlooked the great hall to peep down at them trooping through, gawping at the paintings and being told not to touch the antiques by the attendants. When she was a bit more grown up, and given free reign of the house, she’d even joined in with them on occasion, playing with the other children or taking a bit of naughty joy in clattering around in the old servant’s corridor upstairs when the guide told their group it was allegedly haunted.

It seemed like another world, growing up in a house like this, something she hadn’t properly realised until she went to university, where even some of her poshest fellow students couldn’t dream of such a thing. She’d found out to her surprise that the Trenwith Hotel a few miles away had once been the estate of the Poldark family, sold off by Francis and Verity’s great-grandparents after the Great War, and that Cardew, now some sort of religious retreat, had been built by George’s ancestors. The Warleggans, having made their money in banking, hadn’t gone bust, however, and instead moved into a jaw-dropping townhouse in Truro, where George’s mother and grandmother still lived. Even George and Elizabeth’s gorgeous place wasn’t a patch on it.

The introductory speech of another tour guide startled Caroline out of her reverie. How long had she been standing there, staring at the small semi-circular window high above the main entrance? Thankfully, she was mostly concealed from those in the hall, unless someone knew she was there. Again, she heard the words about how long the house had been in the family – but for how much longer? Aside from the cost and effort of managing the place, she was the last Penvenen. Once she inherited the house – and she prayed that would not be for a long time – it had nowhere to go after that. If she had children, it would still be in the family, she supposed, just without the Penvenen name.

Of course, she’d never thought much about having children, and considering the state of her private life, it didn’t look much likely in the immediate future. Here she was, moping unproductively about her Uncle’s house on her day off in the wake of yet another romantic disaster.

Romantic disaster? That was stretching it a bit. She could hardly call a few conversations, one date and one kiss – God, a really good kiss – a ‘romance’. It was barely even a dalliance, to use a word straight out of her aunt’s collection of old Mills & Boon novels.

At a gentle nudge to her ankle, she glanced down to find Horace snuffling at her leg. He plopped his fat bottom on the carpet and looked up at her expectantly, his whole body jiggling as he tried to wag his little stump of a tail while sitting down.

“What, then, my precious? Do you want a walk, hmm?” Horace was generally a lazy creature, his preferred leisure activity being lying on the most comfortable surface he could find – aside from eating, of course. However, he seemed to like Killewarren, the gardens being rather more interesting than the plain little park around the corner from Caroline’s flat. It meant mingling with the visitors, but that was all right – dogs were allowed in the gardens so she just looked like another day tripper.

After he’d made friends with an Alsatian at the water gardens, been petted by and starred in the selfies of three young American girls, and weed on a stone bench right next to a very unimpressed old lady, Caroline took Horace on a loop around the large gravel driveway-come-car-park. They were just on their way back, Horace puffing and snorting in that way which meant he’d had quite enough exercise for today – or this month – when there was a shout from up ahead.

“Help! Somebody call an ambulance!” Pausing to scoop up Horace, who snuffed in indignation, Caroline hurried toward the voice. Just by the entrance to the estate’s old chapel, a middle aged man was half-slumped against the stone wall, a woman about his age crouched next to him. Caroline dropped to her knees beside them, setting Horace on his feet as gently as possible. She was vaguely aware of him tottering off behind her, but she didn’t worry. He wouldn’t go far.

“What happened?” The woman looked at her, bewildered and panicked. Caroline took hold of her arm, trying to ground her, make her focus. “I’m a doctor. Tell me what happened.”

“He – he just collapsed. He said his chest hurt, but I just thought that was because we’d been walking all day.”

“Does he have any medical conditions?” Caroline took the man’s pulse – it was thready and weak, but it was there. He was sweaty and pale, and breathing heavily. His eyelids flickered but he seemed barely conscious.

“A mild heart murmur, but it’s never given him any problems before.”

“I’ve called an ambulance.” One of the tour guides appeared behind Caroline, holding a mobile phone.

“Are you still on the line?” The guide nodded and Caroline held out her hand for the phone. “Hello, this is Dr Caroline Penvenen. I’ve got a male, 50s, previous history of heart murmur, pulse weak, breathing difficulties and semi-conscious. What’s his name?”

“Oh.” It took the woman a moment to realise Caroline was addressing her. “Peter.”

“Peter? Peter, can you hear me?” A wheeze which may have been a response, and his eyelids flickered again. Caroline handed the phone back to the attendant. Another had joined her and Caroline turned to him. “Is there a first aid kit at the front desk? Does it have aspirin?”

“Er, yes.”

“Bring it, please.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, thankfully promptly, Caroline had put Peter in the recovery position. She hadn’t used in the aspirin in the end, partly because he was not quite conscious enough to take it, but also because she wasn’t entirely convinced he was having a heart attack.

The paramedics agreed, and indeed once they’d got him hooked up to the monitors in the rig, his heart rate seemed to be slightly improved. Peter’s wife – Julie – held tightly to his hand as Caroline and one of the medics worked to make sure he was stable. Caroline hadn’t dealt with anything close to an emergency – bar once giving a girl at a nightclub an epi pen – since her foundation training, but she found that adrenaline, well perhaps not quite adrenaline but something like it, had taken over.

“Where we headed?” The medic called up to the driver.

“ETA 10 mins. St Neot’s A&E.” 

~

The maternity ward was blessedly cool – and quiet – when Caroline pushed open the doors. Quiet moans emanated from one of the rooms, along with a gentle male voice – whether medic or unusually chilled out expectant father Caroline couldn’t say. A nurse popped up from behind the desk, startling her.

“Sorry! Oh, hello, Dr Penvenen. Are you wanting Elizabeth – Dr. Warleggan, I mean.”

“If she’s free.” She wasn’t really sure why she’d made her way up here, but she was feeling a bit off and instinct had taken her to her best friend.

“She is. Or, at least, I think she is. Her and Verity are out in the staff corridor, last I saw them. They’re taking a break.” Passing several more rooms, the sounds of voices –cursing, cooing, the cries of newborns – floating around inside, Caroline made her way to small, discreet door marked ‘Hospital Personnel Only’. When the nurse had said Elizabeth and Verity were in the corridor, she hadn’t been kidding. The two women sat on the floor, backs against the wall, legs extended in front of them. Caroline pushed aside a recollection of the scene she’d witnessed in the A&E corridor a few days earlier.

“Caroline! What are you doing here? I thought you were off today.” Elizabeth frowned, sipping her cheap vending machine tea.

“Oh, I was.” Caroline replied airily. “But what’s up with you two?”

“Two breech births this morning.” Verity replied. “Everyone okay, but both mums stressed out as Hell.”

“And then an overly-keen dad with an iPhone tripped me up and I fell in the birthing pool.” Elizabeth pursed her lips as Verity chuckled. Even in her odd mood, Caroline couldn’t help a grin at the thought of that. Now she looked, she could see Elizabeth’s hair was wet. “I hate water births.”

“Poor baby.” Caroline patted her on the shoulder as she sat down next to her. After all the morning’s excitement, she suddenly felt very drained. Elizabeth looked like she was about to say something when her phone trilled and she slipped it out of the top pocket of her scrubs. Her face took on a familiar affectionate expression as she read the message. “Oh, love’s young dream…”

“Oh, shush. George is just asking what I want him to make for dinner tonight.”

“Handsome, rich, a doctor, good dad and he can cook.” Verity shook her head. “The rest of us might as well just give up. Elizabeth’s won.”

“Stop it. Here, watch this.” Elizabeth fiddled with the screen for a moment and Caroline and Verity both leant in to look. The video began to play, blurred for a second as it zoomed in on Elizabeth, kneeling on the floor of what looked like her living room, holding Ursula up in front of her.

“Go on, go to Daddy. Go to Daddy.” She gently lifted her hands from under the baby’s arms, but kept them close by.

“Come on, Ursula, come to me. Come here.” George appeared at the far side of the frame, crouched down a couple of feet away, arms open in invitation. Slowly, Ursula took a wobbly step forward, then another, then another, Elizabeth keeping close behind her.

“Go on, Ursula, clever girl.” A third voice from behind the camera. Morwenna.

With the encouragement of her parents and her cousin, Ursula tottered the final couple of steps, to be scooped up in George’s arms, giggling delightedly at her achievement.

“Oh, she’s so cute! And she’s walking early!” Verity cooed.

“Earlier than Valentine, although it didn’t take him long to get going. He went straight from first steps to 100m sprint.” She laughed fondly, putting her phone away. The three of them sat quietly for a while, apart from Verity ‘yeuch’-ing at the dregs of her tea, before Elizabeth seemed to remember something. “Caro, you never told us why you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s a long story…” She explained about her visit to Killewarren, and Peter and Julie.

“Wow, it’s a good job you were there. Heart attack, was it?”

“No, angina, by the look of it. He was looking a lot better when I left, but they’ve sent him to the cardiac ward for proper tests to get to the bottom of it.”

“Well. Still. Angina might not be a heart attack, but it’s no laughing matter. You really did brilliantly.”

“Bet Dwight was impressed.” Verity teased. Caroline must have made a face, because the other two immediately frowned at her.

“What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Caroline attempted to affect a casual air, even though she knew they’d see through it. It was habit, and a difficult one to break. “I just think Dwight and I aren’t destined for anything.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, him cosying up to a cute nurse two days after our first date might have something to do with it.”

“Dwight?!” Verity shook her head. “No way. There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake. I saw it with my own two eyes.” She told them about going down to A&E after hearing about the scaffolding collapse, and seeing Dwight and Rosina in a close embrace on the floor of the corridor. It had been pure instinct which sent her down there, remembering the slightly haunted look she’d seen flicker over his light eyes when he spoke about his time with MSF, and his reaction to the stab victim the day she’d bumped into him in the coffee shop. Walking into the corridor, she’d stopped short, feeling stupid and presumptive and a dozen other things; so she’d done what she always did when confronted with difficult feelings – she’d walked away.

“So.” Verity frowned. “You’ve decided to call it a day with a very eligible man you clearly like very much…because you saw a colleague give him a quick hug after an extremely stressful shift?”

“Er…” Hearing it put like that, Caroline recalled the off-hand way she’d dealt with Dwight over admitting Peter, giving him purely the cold facts before striding away without so much as a by-your-leave. She looked at her friends, at their incredulous expressions, and fought the urge to put her head in her hands.      

#poldark #caroline penvenen #dwight enys #elizabeth warleggan #verity poldark #george warleggan #dwight x caroline #carolight #prescription passion #f: dc #f: au #m: fic #second to last chapter everyone #almost there :D

[fancyladssnacks]

You and Whose Army

or;

What if the Seed family were actually good and Hope County is just really paranoid?

AU fic with slow burn Jacob Seed/Staci Pratt, and not-so-slow-burn John/male!Deputy in the background.

Keeping it on tumblr for now because AO3 creates scary ~commitment~ and I just want somewhere to share it with my FC5 buddies (especially you, @avaleahblog). I have not abandoned my Fallout fics. No content warnings for this chapter but I’ll flag ‘em up as necessary.

1

Pratt hasn’t been out to the St Francis Veteran Centre in years, not since he was a rookie and got called out to deal with a vagrancy complaint. The place had been long abandoned back then, the courtyard choked with weeds and faded trash. Inside it had stunk to high heaven. Bird and animal shit and the remains of campfires caked the floors.

Today as he walks up the gravel road to the gates, it’s like stepping back into another era when the hospital was open and thriving. The front court is visible, for one thing. No ivy or knotweed strangling the iron gate, and the paving beyond is level and clean.

The new owner is one Jacob Seed. Pratt’s never officially met him, though he’s seen him around now and again. Seed and his family—two brothers, plus an unknown number of hangers-on—rolled into Hope County a few months back after buying up a suspicious amount of property. The Sheriff’s Department started getting calls soon after. Just the odd one at first, but the longer the Seeds take root on this land, the more the locals are reacting against their presence.

Most of the attention is on Joseph Seed, the long-haired preacher who bought up half the island on Silver Lake and is setting up some kind of hippy commune there. Rumour has it he’s building a chapel, but in the meantime he holds open services a couple times a week in a big white tent on his land. Folks started going along out of curiosity at first, looking to sniff around what this weirdo and his barefoot harem were up to. Probably hoping there’d be naked dancing around maypoles or some such to tide them over in gossip until winter. But whatever Joseph has to say seems to be connecting with people, because almost as many locals love him as hate him now. Of course, that’s only made family members more concerned. There’s already accusations of brainwashing and devil-worship flying around.

While the Sheriff’s Department isn’t taking such nonsense seriously, there have been enough calls to the station by now that Earl Whitehorse finally agreed to address the issue. It’s been a slow couple of days, so Earl tasked his deputies with visiting various Seed family properties to cast an eye over things. Staci isn’t over the moon at being sent to St Francis’, but Jacob’s property is at the farthest reach of the county and he’s the only one who can pilot the chopper. He casts a glance back at where he left it—set down on the grass at the point of the little lake out front of the building—then sighs and pushes through the gates.

The courtyard seems deserted. There’s a new-looking Jeep with Montana plates parked near the gates, and a couple of mud-spattered ATVs further back, but no one attending them. Over in one corner is a stack of rusting bed frames and other trash, leftovers from the hospital’s former life. Pratt strolls past a dried-up fountain towards the front doors. The weather is warming up, and the prickle down his spine and under his arms makes him wish he’d left his jacket in the chopper.

Pratt lifts the brass knocker on the lobby door. His four sharp raps cut like gunfire through the hush of the valley. He turns from the door to wait and idly examines the plastic-wrapped pallets standing by the entrance. Masonry paint, sacks of cement, plasterboard sheets. Most likely ordered from out of county judging by the volume. Pratt raises an eyebrow at the huge spools of razor wire.

A couple of minutes pass, and he knocks again.

“Hello?” he calls out, but only his own voice echoes back off the high walls around the Centre.

He considers trying the door and hollering inside, but the locals he’s talked to who had run-ins with Jacob Seed have described him as anything but friendly, so he decides against it. He wanders along the ground floor instead, hoping to catch a glimpse within. The windows on this level are guarded by iron bars on the outside and dark blinds drawn inside. It seems a waste of time and fuel to fly out here for nothing, so he turns right when he reaches the corner to make a clockwise loop around the building. Along the western wall is a row of large boxes, each one almost as tall as he is, covered over with green tarps. Staci lifts a corner up to peek underneath. It’s not a box at all, but a metal cage. The kind you might keep a vicious animal or, say, a prisoner of war in.

“Great. Not disturbing at all,” he mutters to himself.

There’s more junk heaped up ready for a bonfire in back. Open dumpsters stuffed with dead weeds and other garbage. Still not a soul to be seen.

On the back wall of the hospital Pratt finds a window left uncovered. It’s barred like the others, but when he cups his hands around his eyes and leans in, he can make out the gloomy interior.

The room within is mostly empty, just a few boxes near the door and a folding table with paint trays and rollers. If Staci smushes his face to the bars and peers all the way to his left, he can see through an open doorway into another room, and in there…

“Oh, shit.”

The section of wall he can see is lined with racks, and on those racks are guns. Lots of guns. Identical assault rifles occupy one full rack, while the one beside it is harder to make out but he thinks he sees shotguns and a large hunting bow. In a glass-fronted cabinet under the racks he can make out the dark shapes of pistols against a red backing cloth.

He shifts from foot to foot, wondering whether he should take out his phone and try to get pictures. But he’s not supposed to be here, at least not sneaking round the back of the property like a burglar, and he’s wary of taking away any evidence he might regret later.

Suddenly, all he wants is to get back to Fall’s End. He heads back the way he came and crosses the courtyard at a brisk pace. He glances back only once he’s halfway along the path. The hospital’s yellow walls are catching the late afternoon sun, and Staci can’t help but marvel at what a beautiful spot this is, nestled in its own lush, wooded valley with the vast wall of Monument Mountain curving around it like protective arms, and the lake reflecting the clouds. It’s a damn shame it’s been bought up by a family of crazies.

He jogs up the grassy rise to the helicopter and around to the side. As he rounds the tail end he stops short, boots skidding on the damp grass.

Jacob Seed is sitting in the cockpit.

One foot on the landing skid and the other in the opening, his ass parked on the pilot’s seat as though he belongs there. A sleek black rifle leans against the body of the chopper within easy reach. He’s holding a rosy red apple in one hand, turning it slowly as he strips the peel into a long spiral with a pocket knife. In a holster at his thigh is a much larger hunting knife, black and menacing against the faded blue of his jeans.

“Evening, Deputy,” he says at last, not looking up from his apple.

Staci shuts his mouth and swallows painfully, throat suddenly parched. He tries to calm himself, squeezing his already sweating hands into fists at his sides. It’s fine. Just because Seed chanced upon the helicopter doesn’t mean he knows anything else. Staci glances at the expensive scope on the rifle, and gets the uneasy feeling that perhaps he’s seen everything.  

“Mr Seed,” Staci replies. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth; makes him feel like a kid addressing a teacher. But he doesn’t know the man well enough to call him Jacob. Maybe he should have just called him Seed; he’ll remember that for next time. At least he didn’t call him Sir.

He takes a few steps closer to the chopper, but Jacob doesn’t move.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind what, exactly?” Seed sounds bored as he finishes peeling the apple and lets the ribbon of red skin drop to the grass. He looks up at Staci then, and his eyes are a clear, vivid blue.

Pratt has never seen him up close before, and it’s hard not to stare at his scars. The ones on his face are most distracting simply due to their placement. His right cheek is marred worse than the left, pocked and mottled by what Staci assumes is a burn. The meanest scars are on his arms, angry red splotches against faded pink-brown, as though already marked skin has been injured again recently. As though his first trial by fire hadn’t taught him enough of a lesson. The thought makes Staci even more anxious.

He forces his eyes back to meet Seed’s. “This chopper is property of the Hope County Sheriff Department,” he tells him.

Jacob’s eyebrows raise in feigned surprise. “That so,” he replies. He gestures with the pocket knife at the land around them. “Well, since all of this is my property, I think that means you and your chopper aren’t supposed to be on it without an invitation.” He fixes Staci with that bright blue glare. “And I don’t recall inviting you, Deputy.”

Staci clears his throat. He’s being challenged, but he’ll be damned if he makes himself look weak by apologising.

“We’ve had a couple of reports of strange activity on your family’s properties,” he says, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Everything he does feels awkward and transparent. It’s maddening, and more than a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t want to draw more attention by moving his hands again. He presses on. “I just came out to have a word, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You’ve found me now.”

Clearly the opposite is true.

Staci nods anyway. “Mind me asking what sort of operation you’re running out here?”

Seed completely ignores the question and takes a bite of apple instead, forcing Pratt to wait for his reply while he chews. He squints against the treeline thoughtfully and swallows.

“What exactly constitutes ‘strange activity’, Deputy?”

“A lot of trucks bringing stuff in from out of county. Construction noise around the clock. Blocking off footpaths.” He shrugs. “All sorts of little things, but add it all up and it’s out of the ordinary for a quiet community like this.”

“Wasn’t aware out of the ordinary was the same as illegal.”

Pratt exhales impatiently. “It’s not. But it’s putting folks on edge. Maybe if they had an idea what was going on, it would set their minds at ease.”

Seed shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “Doesn’t matter where you go,” he sighs. “People can’t mind their own damn business.”

“Come on now, Mr Seed,” Staci says. “If everything’s above board, what’s there to hide? What are you doing out here?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Jacob says. “You got a nice long look around. What’d you find out?”

Shit. Of course he saw him. Pratt pauses, considering whether or not to admit what he saw.

“You have a lot of guns,” he replies. “Sidearms and assault rifles mostly, from what I could tell. Not your everyday hunting fare.”

“Oh, I have hunting rifles too, Deputy.”

Staci can tell Seed is loving every second of his discomfort. He isn’t even trying to make himself look innocent. All that tells Staci is that he’s arrogant. Seed’s brother may be a fancy lawyer, but that doesn’t make him or anyone in his weirdo family untouchable.

“You care to tell me why you need that kind of firepower?”

Seed takes another big bite of his apple. “Security,” he says around his mouthful.  

Pratt shifts his weight to the other foot. “Security for what?”

“For my family’s property,” he replies. “My brother Joseph is very trusting, very patient. I’m not. I told him there were gonna be people in this county who wouldn’t want to see him succeed. You just proved me right.”

“Succeed at what?” Staci blurts out.

Seed is out of the cockpit and on his feet in one swift motion. For a big man, he sure moves fast. Pratt has to steel himself to stay put rather than backing up a couple of steps the way he wants to. The way Seed is expecting him to. Of course, he has to be taller than Staci, only by a couple inches, but he makes sure to flaunt it as he moves closer.

“Are we done here, Deputy…” He peers down at the name stitched above Staci’s breast pocket. “…Pratt?” The hard consonants grit out from between his teeth, cold and clear as ice chips.

They lock eyes for a few seconds. Seed knows exactly how intimidating he is with his bulk and his scars and those intense eyes, bright blue like a gas flame. Staci doesn’t have any of his presence, but he stares back anyway, keen to show the other man that he’s no cowering fool.

Eventually he nods his head once, holding the eye contact.

“We’re done.”

Seed steps back to retrieve his rifle. “I trust that I won’t find you trespassing on my property again.”

“As long as you don’t cause any trouble, I’ll have no reason to come back.” His attempt at a warning tone is laughable and they both know it, but all Seed does as he meets Staci’s eye again is tilt one corner of his mouth up ever so slightly.

“I’ll be sure to remember it.” Without taking his eyes off Staci, he says, “Here, Judge.”

Staci frowns in confusion, mouth opening to say What? when a blur of grey and white fur flashes past him.

“Jesus Christ,” he stammers instead.

The biggest fucking dog he’s ever seen bounds over to Jacob Seed’s side and sits, sniffing his hand before turning big yellow eyes on Staci. A long pink tongue like a slice of bacon lolls from its mouth. How long was that thing watching them? There are wolves in these mountains, and the monster sitting next to Jacob Seed is either one of them or a close goddamn relative. Heart hammering, Pratt makes a mental note to look up what the law has to say about keeping wolves as pets.

Seed leans his rifle across his shoulders and saunters off with the giant hound at his side. Staci is furious. He climbs into the helicopter, slamming the cockpit door too hard behind him, and quickly checks over the control panel in case Seed decided to fuck with anything. Everything seems fine. He’s relieved, but also disappointed he doesn’t have anything to pin on him. Jacob Seed is bad fucking news, and Pratt swears to himself there and then that he’s going to be the one to prove it.

He fumbles his headset on and fires up the chopper, scowling at the controls until he’s put air between him and the ground. As he tilts the craft in the direction of home, he glances down and notices Jacob still standing at the tree line watching him. Seed raises his right hand to his head in a mocking salute, and while he’s too far away to be sure, Staci just knows the bastard is grinning.

#jacob seed #staci pratt #jacob seed/staci pratt #fancy fanfic #far cry 5 #alternate universe #slow burn #enemies to lovers #john seed/male deputy #john seed/deputy #you and whose army

[cappiestuff]

Saint Óscar Romero and the Martyrs of El Salvador

Before he became Archbishop, Oscar Romero was a shy, traditional priest, averse to politics. Just one month after Romero’s inauguration, one of those priests, Rutilio Grande, a Jesuit who headed a rural parish, and who was one of Romero’s closest friends, was killed by state agents. Beginning in March, 1978, Romero sat in front of a microphone almost every night and recorded a diary, offering his reflections on the political turmoil and violence that were engulfing El Salvador. This diary, along with the transcripts of his homilies, his pastoral letters, and his correspondence with the Catholic Church hierarchy in Rome, constitute the main body of work studied by the Congregation for the Cause of the Saints, which is in charge of the process of canonization. Romero spent the day of 24 March 1980, the last day of his life, in a monthly gathering of priest friends. That evening, Romero was fatally shot while celebrating Mass at a small chapel located in a hospital called "La Divina Providencia", one day after a sermon in which he had called on Salvadoran soldiers, as Christians, to obey God's higher order and to stop carrying out the government's repression and violations of basic human rights. Less than a year after his death, three religious sisters—Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, and Dorothy Kazel—along with laywoman and missionary Jean Donovan were raped and murdered in December. At the end of the decade in 1989, six Jesuit priests, their housekeeper, and her daughter suffered a similar fate on the San Salvador campus of the University of Central America. By the war’s end in 1992, some 75,000 Salvadorans shared their fate. Shortly after Pope Francis’ election was the announcement of the canonization cause of Archbishop Óscar Romero of El Salvador. In his sermon on March 24, 1980, just minutes before his death, Romero concluded with these words on the parable of the grain of wheat. “Those who surrender to the service of the poor through love of Christ, will live like the grain of wheat that dies. It only apparently dies. If it were not to die, it would remain a solitary grain. The harvest comes because of the grain that dies. … We know that every effort to improve society, above all when society is so full of injustice and sin, is an effort that God blesses; that God wants; that God demands of us." Archbishop Oscar Romero 1917 -1980.

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 24 March – Blessed Óscar Arnulfo Romero y Galdámez (1917–1980) Martyr (soon to be Canonised) Bishop, Martyr, Apostle of the Poor and suppressed, Social Justice campaigner, Preacher, radio broadcaster – born on 15 August 1917 in Ciudad Barrios, San Miguel, El Salvador – martyred by being shot by a government-affiliated death squad on the morning of 24 March 1980 in the chapel of La Divina Providencia Hospital in San Salvador, El Salvador while celebrating Mass.   Bl Oscar was Beatified on 23 May 2015 by Pope Francis.   Recognition celebrated at Plaza Divino Salvador del Mundo, San Salvador, El Salvador, Cardinal Angelo Amato, prefect of the Congregation for Causes of the Saints, chief celebrant.   On 6 March 2018, Pope Francis promulgated a decree of a miracle obtained through the intercession of Blessed Oscar, making way for his Canonisation later this year.   Patronages – Christian communicators, El Salvador, The Americas, Archdiocese of San Salvador, Persecuted Christians, Caritas International (co-patron).

Early life Oscar Romero was born into a large family on 15 August 1917 in El Salvador. Although they had more money than many of their neighbours, Oscar’s family had neither electricity nor running water in their small home and the children slept on the floor.   Oscar’s parents could not afford to send him to school after the age of twelve, so he went to work as an apprentice carpenter.   He quickly showed great skills but Oscar was already determined to become a priest.   He entered the seminary at the age of fourteen and was ordained a priest when he was 25 in 1942.

Recognising the power of radio to reach the people, he convinced five radio stations to broadcast his Sunday sermons to peasant farmers who believed they were unwelcome in the churches.

In 1970, he became Auxiliary Bishop in San Salvador.   In 1974 he became Bishop of Santiago de Maria.    At this time, Oscar Romero was described as a conservative, not wanting to break from tradition.   He supported the hierarchy who encouraged conformity.   He was uncomfortable with social action that challenged political leaders. Growing awareness during his two years as Bishop of Santiago de Maria, Romero was horrified to find that children were dying because their parents could not pay for simple medicines.   He began using the resources of the diocese and his own personal resources to help the poor but he knew that simple charity was not enough.   He wrote in his diary that people who are poor should not just receive handouts from the Church or the government but participate in changing their lives for the future.

In 1977, Romero became Archbishop of San Salvador, the capital city.   The situation in El Salvador was becoming worse and he couldn’t remain silent any longer.   The military were killing the Salvadorian people – especially those demanding justice such as teachers, nuns and priests – including Romero’s good friend, Fr Rutilio Grande.   Thousands of people began to go missing.   Romero demanded that the President of El Salvador thoroughly investigate the killings but he failed to do so.

Voice of the voiceless In his actions and words, Oscar demanded a peace that could only be found by ensuring people had access to basic needs and their rights upheld.   He raised awareness globally about the people in his country who had been killed or “disappeared”.   When he visited the Vatican in 1979, Oscar Romero presented the Pope with seven detailed reports of murder, torture, and kidnapping throughout El Salvador.   In 1979, the number of people being killed rose to more than 3000 per month.   Oscar Romero had nothing left to offer his people except faith and hope.   He continued to use the radio broadcast of his Sunday sermons to tell people what was happening throughout the country, to talk about the role of the Church and to offer his listeners hope that they would not suffer and die in vain.

Martyrdom On March 23, 1980, after reporting the previous week’s deaths and disappearances, Oscar Romero began to speak directly to soldiers and policemen:  “I beg you, I implore you, I order you... in the name of God, stop the repression!”   The following evening, while saying Mass in the chapel of Divine Providence Hospital, Archbishop Oscar Romero was shot by a paid assassin. Only moments before his death, Romero spoke these prophetic words: “Those who surrender to the service of the poor through love of Christ will live like the grain of wheat that dies… The harvest comes because of the grain that dies.”   Like many great leaders who have fought for truth, Oscar Romero was killed and became a martyr but his voice could not be silenced.   He is a symbol of hope in a country that has suffered poverty, injustice and violence.

To date, no one has ever been prosecuted for the assassination, or confessed to it.   The gunman has not been identified.

Funeral Romero was buried in the Metropolitan Cathedral of San Salvador (Catedral Metropolitana de San Salvador).   The Funeral Mass on 30 March 1980 in San Salvador was attended by more than 250,000 mourners from all over the world.   Viewing this attendance as a protest, Jesuit priest John Dear has said, "Romero's funeral was the largest demonstration in Salvadoran history, some say in the history of Latin America."

At the funeral, Cardinal Ernesto Corripio y Ahumada, speaking as the personal delegate of St Pope John Paul II, eulogised Romero as a "beloved, peacemaking man of God," and stated that "his blood will give fruit to brotherhood, love and peace."

Massacre at Romero's funeral During the ceremony, smoke bombs exploded on the streets near the cathedral and subsequently there were rifle shots that came from surrounding buildings, including the National Palace.   Many people were killed by gunfire and in the stampede of people running away from the explosions and gunfire;  official sources reported 31 overall casualties, while journalists recorded that between 30 and 50 died.   Some witnesses claimed it was government security forces that threw bombs into the crowd and army sharpshooters, dressed as civilians, that fired into the chaos from the balcony or roof of the National Palace.   However, there are contradictory accounts as to the course of the events and "probably, one will never know the truth about the interrupted funeral."

As the gunfire continued, Romero's body was buried in a crypt beneath the sanctuary. Even after the burial, people continued to line up to pay homage to their martyred prelate.

Spiritual life Bl Oscar Romero noted in his diary on 4 February 1943:  "In recent days the Lord has inspired in me a great desire for holiness.   I have been thinking of how far a soul can ascend if it lets itself be possessed entirely by God."   Commenting on this passage, James R Brockman, S.J., Romero's biographer and author of Romero:  A Life, said that "All the evidence available indicates that he continued on his quest for holiness until the end of his life.   But he also matured in that quest." According to Brockman, Romero's spiritual journey had some of these characteristics:

love for the Church of Rome, shown by his episcopal motto, "to be of one mind with the Church," a phrase he took from St Ignatius' Spiritual Exercises;

a tendency to make a very deep examination of conscience;

an emphasis on sincere piety;

mortification and penance through his duties;

providing protection for his chastity;

spiritual direction;

"being one with the Church incarnated in this people which stands in need of liberation"; eagerness for contemplative prayer and finding God in others;

fidelity to the will of God;

self-offering to Jesus Christ.

Romero was a strong advocate of the spiritual charism of Opus Dei.   He received weekly spiritual direction from a priest of the Opus Dei movement.   In 1975 he wrote in support of the cause of Canonisation of Opus Dei's founder, St Josemaria Escrivá (1902-1975), "Personally, I owe deep gratitude to the priests involved with the Work, to whom I have entrusted with much satisfaction the spiritual direction of my own life and that of other priests."

(via AnaStpaul – Breathing Catholic)

#bloscarromero #march24bloscarromero #catholic #catholicism

[pamphletstoinspire]

Padre Pio And Strength From The Eucharist

With Image:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/padre-pio-strength-from-eucharist-harold-baines/?published=t

“Let us humble ourselves a little, my good father, and confess that if God were not our armor and shield we would be thoroughly riddled with every type of sin. And it is for this reason that we must always cling to God with perseverance in our practices. -  Padre Pio (Caption for linked image)

***

On December 18th, 1997 His Holiness, Pope John Paul II declared Padre Pio Venerable. This means that he is worthy to be honored publicly as a virtuous and holy person. Because of this, paintings, statues, and stained-glass windows of Padre Pio can be displayed in our churches.

There was a time when many enemies of Padre Pio tried to defame his image by ruining his good name and reputation, due to false accusations. He endured all the sufferings that the Good Lord permitted, in a spirit of peace and tranquility. He once said, “Be at peace in everything that you do.”

Many people have wondered where Padre Pio got all the strength to endure the excruciating physical pain of the stigmata, his ill health, weakened body, and emotional pain of false accusations regarding his purity and mismanaging money.

It has been said, that in life, there are three wounds of pain inflicted on man. The wounds are physical, emotional, and spiritual.

The first one is physical pain. It can easily be detected because it is seen and very much felt. The physical pain of a disease, illness, or malady is a “first degree” wound of suffering on the body. It is very painful, depending upon its depth and the nature of the physical ailment. Usually, various medications can be taken to lessen the pain and assuage the suffering. Padre Pio’s pain of the open wounds in his hands, feet, and side was so severe that no medication was able to stop the bleeding and pain.

Once, a news journalist came to see Padre Pio. He was very inquisitive and curious about the stigmata. He asked Padre Pio, who had a dry sense of humor, about it, and Padre Pio responded, “Well, the Lord didn’t give them to me to be decorations!”

Padre Pio often prayed for the stigmata to go away, but he began to understand that the stigmata was God’s Will for him. Because of it, Padre Pio experienced the emotional strain of embarrassing situations. He was subjected to constant physical and psychological examinations. There were all sorts of examinations and investigations to try to discredit the Divine Origin of the stigmata.

Once a student from the north of Italy came to see Padre Pio. He said, “Padre, my professor said that the reason that you have the wounds of Christ crucified, is because you meditate on the Passion of Christ so much that the wounds appeared on your body.” Padre Pio said, “Tell your brilliant professor to go out to the barnyard and meditate on a bull, and then see if he grows horns!”

Need For An Exorcism?

There were some ecclesiastical authorities who thought that the stigmata was diabolical. As a matter of fact, Pope Benedict XV, (1914-1922) had authorized a medieval exorcism in which a chain was placed around the altar when Padre Pio was celebrating Mass. If the chain would have broken, this would have been a sign that this stigmata was demonic. When the report of Padre Pio was presented to His Holiness, Pope Benedict XV responded, “They have chained the Saint, and let the beast run free.”

The Vatican, as well as the Capuchin Superior, sent medical doctors, psychiatrists, and scientists to investigate the nature of the stigmata. This went on for ten years. Doctor Amico Bignami, an atheist, was sent by the Vatican to give a scientific explanation of the stigmata, but he could not do so.

Even before Padre Pio received the stigmata in 1918, he never enjoyed good health. He had bronchitis, and often complained of stomach problems, and many times, he could not eat or retain food. He never ate supper. He would join the friars in Franciscan hospitality for meals, but a baby would not have been able to survive on the little food that he ate; yet, he maintained a weight of 160 lbs.

When Padre Pio was a young priest, many people thought that he had tuberculosis, but this was not the case. He endured temperatures of 125 degrees Fahrenheit, that once broke the thermometer.

This can only reasonable be explained that he was given a special grace to endure the severe physical suffering. He received strength to endure pain, as well as high temperatures that would have caused most people to die. He said that he received all his strength from the Holy Eucharist.

Emotional Pain

The emotional pain was even more severe than the physical. The embarrassment of placing him under an investigation because of the stigmata, and because people were coming to San Giovanni Rotondo from all over Italy and many other countries, calling Padre Pio, “Il Santo” The Saint.

Vatican authorities silenced him from 1931-1933. His faculties were taken away from him. This meant that he could not publicly celebrate Mass or administer the Sacraments. He was a prisoner in his own cell. He celebrated Mass alone, with a friar present to serve his Masses, in a small room near his cell.

It was during these years of persecution, that his Masses lasted two to three hours long, because he went into ecstasy. He wept very often at Mass. He was filled with so much joy of Christ’s presence, and he felt so privileged and unworthy to be a priest, thus enabling to offer the Holy Sacrifice. The Mass was his sole consolation during these years of persecution. He lived for the Mass. He once said, “This is my only comfort...that of being associated with Jesus in the Divine Sacrifice, and in the redemption of souls.”

Read Nearly Every Book

It has been reported that Padre Pio practically read every book in the Franciscan library during the years of persecution from 1931-1933. As happens to most of us in life, there are just as many people who will call you a saint, as there are who will call you a demon. Padre Pio had his enemies, and most of them were members of the clergy, from the bishop of the Diocese of Manfradonia down to the common friar.

Frequented Blessed Sacrament

He stayed close to Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. He was often found several times during the day praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament. The Holy Eucharist gave him all the strength he needed to endure the emotional strain and drain of constant harassment, torment, and temptation.

Like Christ, he was slandered even by priests and some confreres who surrounded him like guardian angels to protect him from the crowds. But their hearts were not pure, and their lives were not conformed to that of the Divine Teacher. Filled with false piety, like the Pharisees, they saw black in every expression, word, and phrase of Padre Pio, and they threw mud on his purity.

The spiritual attacks were the most severe, because it struck at his very soul. The devil, knew how powerful Padre Pio was as a priest, so he did everything in his power to persuade Padre Pio to leave the priesthood.

Padre Pio was severely tormented by the devil, who would appear to him as the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Blessed Mother, St. Francis of Assisi, and the Father Superior. Padre Pio was smart, and tested the spirit. He would say, “If you are really Jesus, the Blessed Mother, St. Francis, or Padre Superior, repeat after me, “Viva Gesu!” and, the evil spirit would leave. The diabolical infestation was done with the purpose to ridicule, confuse, and constantly torment Padre Pio, so that he would give up his priesthood and the saving of souls for Christ.

Padre Pio spent fourteen hours a day in the confession box, bringing many souls back to the grace of Christ, and changing their lives to live as a committed Christian, ridding themselves of sin to live a life of grace. There were hundreds of people lined in the church to confess to Padre Pio. In fact, there were so many people who wanted to go to confession to Padre Pio, that in the 1950’s, the friars had to issue numbered tickets to confess to Padre Pio. Some people waited for days.

There was jealousy and suspicion, because Padre Pio was famed among the faithful as a good and holy priest and an extraordinary confessor. Some of his own friars in the monastery bugged his confessional to see how he dealt with penitents, and why he was so popular among the faithful as a confessor. It was not until 1963, that Pope Paul VI ordered that the tapes be destroyed.

He also suffered because he was silenced and ostracized from people, who both needed him and loved him. Prayer and solitude led him closer to the Lord. He would go to the monastery chapel in the early hours of the morning, praying before the Blessed Sacrament. Sometimes a light would illuminate around the tabernacle. Padre Pio saw Our Blessed Lord many times.

Padre Pellegrino Funicelli, who was once the guardian of Padre Pio, would awaken to spy on Padre Pio, so that Padre Pio would not hear him.

He reports: “Unfortunately, I did not have the good fortune of surprising and enjoying my confrere transfigured by a mysterious ecstasy. And this, despite all my great efforts. The ecstasies were totally his and not mine. In compensation, however, through the crack (thin as a razor blade) in the window, I saw him surrounded by a light which was for me, providential, and which I held to be emanating from his soul, abounding with the grace of God. I enjoyed this to the point that I would have liked to shout to him: “Welcome, and thank you for the beautiful things you are showing me.”

...And now, he shows us, as well, these wonderful mysteries of God.

#padre pio

[olivierperrier]

( @prophecyfated​ }

It’s been two months.

Two months since Olivier last saw Francis in person. 59 days, to be exact. No call. No texts. No coffee. No tea. No sleep and no love. It wasn’t uncommon, month ago for him to frequent the gay clubs that littered city outskirts, racking up tabs and cab fares. Then he had someone else to fill his time. And then he didn’t. Well, Francis still filled his time - just not the same way. It was almost awful how he’d bought a television just to watch the news in case there was news of him. The whole story had mostly died down to celebrity watch channels now, random updates that were fewer and fewer. It was good; out of the public eye. It was bad; no one was looking out for him.

And Olivier was left alone again.

So here he is again, the loneliness driving him insane and driving him out of his ruined Eden and back to his old haunts and habits. It took longer than he expected it to, and he’s unsure in and of itself if that is good or bad. It’s not every night, but more often than he’ll admit that he’s roaming first from cheap bars to be drunk and next to clubs to have company. As long as he keeps his mouth shut, just like before, he does alright. His hands are just warm enough to hover at Francis’s number like they have been for 59 days before he tosses his phone aside to clatter onto the bar instead. He cuts through the moving crowd easily to blend into place. The music is loud, beautifully loud and the beat pulses through him and eradicates all feeling for now. Twisting, moving, hands from men he doesn’t know sliding down his sides and pulling him close for song or two until they can’t keep up. A drink is bought for him and taken mindlessly as his phone lays on the bar, lit up with an answered call delivering to Francis the sounds of clinking drinks, laughter, dancing. A bartender picks up the phone to put behind the counter for now, few words exchanged - no I don’t know where he is, I’m sure he’ll be back for his phone, sorry darling did he step out to Chapter 10 without you? There’s a riot on the dance floor here honey, it’s getting hot so either hurry here or stay home.

The beat pulses on. A surrogate heart to mend the broken.

#prophecyfated #francis; {love like a chapel in a hospital-one foot in the bedroom and one foot out the door} #olivier is proably dressed HOT in a way francis hasnt seen before #have at dear

[faithfulnews]

Privileged & Vulnerable

Privileged & Vulnerable

By Robert P. Imbelli

April 10, 2020

The first sign appeared on the door of the priests’ retirement residence where I live. It was March 10 and the sign read: “No Visitors Until Further Notice.” Of the approximately thirty residents, perhaps only six or seven get out with any frequency, helping in parishes and attending an occasional concert. But all follow the news closely and were aware of the increasing threat from the insidious virus that had made its way from China to Europe and was now reaching New York. So the posted sign, though unwelcome, did not come as a complete surprise.

A second sign was the decision to reduce the “density” at the evening meal. We changed from one sitting to two so that, instead of four men at a table, there would be only two—one across from the other. Though this meant extra work for the staff, they accommodated themselves to the new arrangement with generosity and kindness.

A third sign appeared on March 21, and this more foreboding. Our usual custom is to celebrate Mass together in the late morning, with those attending seated along the chapel’s walls, some in wheelchairs, others with walkers. Only the main celebrant would stand at the altar. It became apparent that we were physically much too close and that, even without an actual exchange of peace, our proximity could be a risk. And so the sign posted on the chapel door declared: “Mass Suspended.” Of course, some continue to celebrate Mass in their rooms, but others have joined the dolorous Eucharistic fast suffered by the immense majority of God’s people.

I have lived here since the residence opened about three and a half years ago. In that time close to twenty men have died of causes ranging from Alzheimer’s to cancer. Most have been older than myself, but a few younger. As I would sit in the chapel, the words of the “Benedictus” about those “who dwell in the shadow of death” took on new significance. They seemed not morbid but actual and pertinent. In a culture in which death denial is so prevalent, any reminder of death’s inevitability can be salutary. It can help one appreciate the present moment, its grace and possibilities. It can focus attention on what is truly important.

Then on Saturday, March 28, a yet more ominous sign appeared. An ambulance drove up to the entrance of our residence and two EMS workers in protective gear emerged and wheeled a gurney into the building. After a brief time they came out, bearing one of our retired priests. The following day a sad notice on the bulletin board reported his death. It was only the following Tuesday that the news came that he had tested positive for the virus.

Four men, who by then showed symptoms that caused concern, were taken either to the hospital or to a nursing facility. A new protocol was instituted for the remaining residents. All meals would be delivered to the rooms and left on a chair outside the door. Masks were to be worn during any necessary interaction. We were in effect quarantined within our rooms.

Since then two men who had been transferred from the residence have died. To my knowledge neither was tested, though one surmises that the virus was a contributing factor. Our experience here only reinforces the general impression that the number of deaths attributable to the virus far surpasses the officially announced total.

  Although I’m a diocesan priest, both my temperament and daily routine have always been somewhat monastic.

I am acutely aware that here in the residence we are both privileged and vulnerable. Privileged because of so many committed workers who provide for our needs—health-care providers, kitchen staff, maintenance people, food-delivery people, postal workers. Yet I am also aware of the vulnerability of elderly men, who often have other health problems. And though those who come to work here are checked for symptoms and take ordinary precautions, like simple masks, there is the real possibility that some of them are asymptotic bearers of the invisible enemy.

I am also aware of the many in New York and elsewhere whose challenges far surpass our own. Those on the frontlines whose dedicated exploits we see morning and evening on the news. Families confined in homes both small and large, with restless children and teenagers. The homeless…one can barely imagine the plight of the homeless.

And so a new realization impresses itself: our unity in the Body of Christ. Not as some stirring theological notion, but as an ever-present reality. Never has prayer been more somatic, more alert to our oneness in the Body of Christ. Strange to say: in a time of diminished sacramentality, an enhanced corporeality may be growing. We may be beginning to fathom the mysterious truth of Paul’s words: “I am completing in my own flesh what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ for the sake of his Body, the Church” (Colossians 1:24).

A good part of this enhanced corporeality is a closer attunement to the rhythms of bodily existence. I have always appreciated the Divine Office and its relation to the rhythms of nature. Lauds at sunrise, Vespers at sunset. But when I’m awake in the middle of the night, the Office of Readings joins me to relatives and friends in different time zones: Australia, Italy, the United States from east to west. Whatever time of day or night it is where they are, all pulse to the rhythms of divine grace and praise. “From the rising of the sun to its setting a sacrifice of praise is offered to the Lord.”

Although I’m a diocesan priest, both my temperament and daily routine have always been somewhat monastic. Regular patterns of prayer (the Benedictine Opus Dei), study, teaching, writing. These continue but with an even more deliberate pattern. Rhythm again. Prayer has pride of place, but reading (the monastic lectio) takes up a good part of the morning. When inspiration strikes, I may undertake a short article. Since I’m an early riser (and an Italian) I usually take an afternoon nap, which sets the stage for further study in the afternoon.

I’ve also picked up a new habit: before bed I watch a musical performance on DVD. I have always loved to listen to classical music and have a wide selection of CDs. But lately I have found that watching musicians play the music concentrates my attention. It allows me to experience the music more deeply, to resonate with the gestures and expressions of the musicians. Their joy communicates itself to the viewer. We are not alone. A friend recently alerted me to the fact that on Amazon Prime TV, if one searches “Abbado,” one has access to all the Beethoven symphonies conducted by the great maestro with the Berlin Philharmonic. One can follow the arc of Beethoven’s genius, culminating in his Ninth Symphony. And then begin again, discovering new riches with each listening.

I have spoken of “privilege.” One of the surpassing privileges of our residence is the land that surrounds it, crowned by an overview of the Hudson River and the Palisades. Just to be able to walk outdoors safely in this time of quarantine is a privilege. To be able to do so amid such beauty is sheer grace. Spontaneously, St. Francis’s Laudato si’ wells up.

Images assume ever greater importance in this time of confinement. Imageless prayer may be fine for disembodied angels, but for us mortals images are life-giving and sustaining. Atop the dome of the chapel that my window faces is a bronze statue of Christ, beckoning with outstretched arms. Every time I glance up from my desk I see Jesus inviting: “Come to me all who are burdened.” Wondrously, the statue is illuminated at night. So day and night Jesus stirs and soothes my heart.

But it need not be an imposing statue. A simple crucifix, a favorite icon of Our Lady, a small print of a patron saint can equally well remind and impress upon each of us: “None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and the living” (Romans 14:7–9). Easy enough to quote. Our challenge, more than ever, is to make these words our own.

Go to the article

[mastcomm]

David Olney, 71, Singer-Songwriter, Dies After Stricken Onstage

David Olney, an uncommonly thoughtful singer-songwriter whose music has been recorded by the likes of Linda Ronstadt and Steve Earle, died on Saturday after apparently having a heart attack while performing onstage in Seaside, Fla. He was 71.

His manager, Mary Sack, said Mr. Olney was pronounced dead at a hospital nearby. He had undergone surgery for a heart attack a decade ago.

Mr. Olney was stricken while performing at the annual 30A Songwriters Festival, held at venues in and around Seaside, on the Florida Panhandle’s Gulf Coast.

“David was playing a song when he paused, said ‘I’m sorry’ and put his chin to his chest,” Scott Miller, a singer-songwriter who was performing with him, said on Facebook. “He never dropped his guitar or fell off his stool. It was as easy and gentle as he was. We got him down and tried our best to revive him until the EMT’s arrived.”

Mr. Olney never had a hit single or won a Grammy Award, but in folk-rock and Americana circles, he is revered for his poetic sensibility and gruff-voiced storytelling, especially by his fellow songwriters, including his musical hero, Townes Van Zandt.

“Anytime anyone asks me who my favorite music writers are, I say Mozart, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Bob Dylan and Dave Olney,” Mr. Van Zandt wrote in the liner notes to Mr. Olney’s 1991 album, “Roses.” “Dave Olney is one of the best songwriters I’ve ever heard — and that’s true. I mean that from the heart.”

Emmylou Harris has recorded several of Mr. Olney’s songs, including “Deeper Well,” which appeared on her Grammy-winning 1995 album, “Wrecking Ball.” Other songs of his recorded by others include “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning” (Mr. Earle), “Women Cross the River” (Ms. Ronstadt) and “Queen Anne’s Lace” (Del McCoury).

“David Olney tells marvelous stories, with characters who cling to the hope of enduring love, all the while crossing the deep divide into that long, dark night of the soul,” Ms. Harris said in a statement on Mr. Olney’s website.

Image

The cover of Mr. Olney’s album “Through a Glass Darkly,” released in 1999. He released more than 20 solo albums after his rock band dissolved in 1985.

Mr. Olney at times approached his richly imagined character studies from unusual if not implausible perspectives. His wryly titled “Hymn of Brays” was written from the point of view of the donkey that carried Jesus into Jerusalem. The ballad “Titanic” is told from the standpoint of the iceberg that sank the ship. Another song was about the Hall of Fame Yankee shortstop Phil Rizzuto.

“I have always read a lot,” Mr. Olney explained in a 2014 interview for a roots music website. “Besides being a cheap source of entertainment, literature gives constant lessons in how to tell a story.”

David Charles Olney was born on March 23, 1948, in Providence, R.I. His father, Peter Butler Olney, worked as a manager in a cotton plant; his mother, Francis (Swift) Olney, taught elementary school.

The second of three children raised in Lincoln, R.I., Mr. Olney had what he described as an “idyllic” childhood. At 15 he saw Ray Charles in concert and a year or so later, in 1964, was in the audience at the Newport Folk Festival in Rhode Island when Bob Dylan made his first appearance there. David was 12 when he received his first guitar.

After high school he briefly pursued a degree in English at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, where he spent more time playing folk music in bars than studying.

Mr. Olney moved to Nashville in the early 1970s and fell in with similarly literary-minded singer-songwriters like Mr. Van Zandt, Mr. Earle and Guy Clark. Later he formed Dave Olney & the X-Rays, a new wave-inspired rock band that released a pair of albums in the early ’80s. The group also opened shows for Elvis Costello and appeared on the PBS series “Austin City Limits.”

The X-Rays disbanded in 1985, after which Mr. Olney proceeded to release more than 20 albums, tour extensively and distinguish himself as a widely admired, if not quite famous, singer-songwriter.

He is survived by his wife of 30 years, Regine (Popp) Olney; a son, Redding; a daughter, Lillian Olney; a brother, Peter; and a sister, Debby Atwell.

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[kiss-my-freckle]

3x8 Rewatch: The Great Red Dragon

Introduce Francis Dolarhyde. Exercising, then hitting a tattoo parlor. He had his grandmother's dentures replicated for himself, gets a tattoo of The Dragon that covers his entire back. He kneels before a photo he has displayed of William Blake’s The Great Red Dragon. "If I'm ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there." Hannibal wasn't kidding. He's relying on his memory palace with everyone that visits him. Will seems to be the only one he imagines in the Norman Chapel. He listens to a child singing while they cover his arrest and confinement. Jack selling Freddie the story of Hannibal being captured. An excerpt from Chilton's book, Hannibal the Cannibal, something Jack made mention to. He copyrighted the title after he got shot in the face. Purposeful story direction. "There is no name for what this man is. He man not even be a man." Relevant later, when he and Will do The Dragon's profile for Freddie. Chilton basically saying Hannibal is an animal. 

A three year time jump. Wine and truffles. Alana informs Hannibal that's how she found him in Florence. I would consider this gloating. They talk about his insanity allowing him to escape the death penalty, but he only escaped the death penalty because she and Chilton lied about him being insane. They wanted him to feed their professional curiosity. She talks to Hannibal as if he should be thanking her for getting him off death row. He flat-out tells her he's not insane. He's drawing her exactly how she makes me feel in this scene. The almighty queen, sitting on her Verger throne. Hannibal's confinement and her newfound wealth turned her character to shit. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." One could easily compare Hannibal's confinement to Will's in season two. I laugh when he talks about faking an escape. It's a triple play. Gideon's, Will’s, Hannibal’s. A touch of foreshadowing with Hannibal's promise to kill Alana. I'll gif that later.

Francis is standing before his broken mirror, trying to deepen his voice. He hears The Dragon calling for him. Cut to him naked, covered in blood in the moonlight. Blood and chocolate. Sanguinaccio dolce for Chilton's visit with Hannibal. "But I promised myself I would never use colons in my titles. Colons lose their novelty when overused." I laugh at this line. It makes me think of the hyphen. Especially during his scene with The Dragon. "We all know it, but nobody ever says that G-dash-D won't do a G-dash-D-damned thing to answer anybody's prayers." Hannibal tells him he'll have to write another book. He’s constantly referring to Francis as a shy boy. Like Will's character at the start of the series. Hannibal already knows enough about The Dragon to know about The Dragon. He thinks he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.

Chilton and Alana in what appears to be her office now. "It is our cabal, yours and mine." The two who spoke of Will as a billiard ball, working together to get Hannibal in their hospital. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." Alana admits that they both lied, then tells Chilton he wrote a book of lies. "Everything he writes is always about a problem he does not have." This is a nice line that ties into the pilot. "You and I are just alike, problem-free." Chilton is just as cocky as Alana. The stag behind his head is fantastic. "Detected a trace of competitive vanity in our man. I would be cautious. The Young Turk may inspire the Old Lithuanian to keep himself interesting." Chilton is the one comparing the two, I'd say he's the one who wants to keep Hannibal interesting. Hannibal doesn't care.

They scene hop between The Dragon and Hannibal. "Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking." He writes a letter to Will, warning him that Jack will be coming to take him for the case. "It's dark on the other side and madness is waiting." But his family is waiting. Hannibal’s letter reveals who he's really in competition with - Jack. He was right about the Tooth Fairy, he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.  

More than halfway through the episode when we actually see Will. Necessary. Setting the stage, to show what he's stepping into before he steps into it. Like I said in my previous rewatch post, Will had plans to disconnect from everything and everyone who would remind him of Hannibal. That includes Jack and Alana. He didn't even know she had a child. More dogs, and I don't see Winston. Jack pulls up. His entire scene with Will shows just how much of an asshole he is. "You don't want to talk inside? Oh, you don't want to let me inside." This ties into his first conversation with Alana. That's why he ends up sitting at their dinner table. "He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon." Will doesn't want any part in it. "Why should the cold stop what common sense couldn't?" Again, him and Alana are dumb as hell for allowing Will to even take part. Three years won't change anything. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He tells Jack not to take out family pictures. Jack does it anyway. "Hold that."  

"With a little bit of luck, we might have a little more than three weeks before he does it again." Luck scattered through this half because of the tree markings. Molly and Walter are seen walking in, so he has Jack put the photo back in his pocket. The look on his face is enough. Jack's gonna get Will to take part in this case whether he wants to or not. "Yeah, I'm lucky here. I know that." Another hit on the luck theme. Jack takes advantage of the moment, pulling out the photo for Molly once Will and Walter take the dogs out. The way he puts his arms on the table, about to manipulate the situation to his liking. He's always been about his agenda. "So, whatever he says he wants to do, you'll take him anyway, won't you?" This line ties into episode 1x5. Will never had a choice. When Jack wants him, he takes him. That's why I never understood MIriam referring to him as The Guru. He can't compare to Will because he only cares about catching them, he doesn't care about understanding them. Going against Will's wishes, shows the family photos to Molly. "I promise I'll try to make it as easy on him as I can." He made the same promise to Alana when he said he wouldn't let Will get too close. "I know what I'm asking and I wished to God I didn't have to." He has to because he sucks at profiling.

"If you stay and there's more killing, maybe it would sour this place for you." Jack said the same thing of his classroom in episode 1x5. While Molly is sleeping, he steps out of bed and reaches for Hannibal's letter. Kept it in his drawer, but didn't read it. HIs way of holding onto Hannibal, but not letting his words pull him in. He looks back at Molly to make sure she's still sleeping. I don't think she truly knows just how intimately he and Hannibal know each other. I believe this is the only letter Hannibal wrote to him, so I think Will knew that he wrote about the Tooth Fairy case. Hannibal would've allowed him this distance because the last time they spoke, Will told him he didn't want to think about him anymore. He hasn't been crossing those boundaries Will set out of respect, something Jack doesn’t have. He's crossing them now because he knows how relentless Jack is. 

WIll visits the crime scene for his typical replay. He's been out of it for a while, so when he sees the room, it overwhelms him. His body language is powerful. The end of this replay is a nice foreshadow. The way he stands in front of the strings like his own pair of wings. How they light up as he's reaching out to touch the wife in his replay. The way he says, "This is my design." It all feels different. He’s connecting with The Dragon as it ties into episode 1x4. I love the way he storms up the steps. He’s connecting, but doesn't understand it yet. They print the wife's eye and do a mold of the cheese based on Will's replay. "Jimmy, you're the light of my life." Darkness and light scattered in this storyline. "He polished it after he placed it so he could see his face in there." SIght and sound, like windows to the soul. The Dragon in Francis, The Lion in Will. Capable of righteous violence. His empathy, capable of cruelty. "He may have a history of biting in lesser assaults. May be a fighting pattern as much as sexual behavior." Jack asks Will what he's fighting. Will is already connecting. 

Will tries to call Molly, then lays down in bed. Crime scene photos swirl around him. He connects to the family dog, wants to adopt it. "I have to see Hannibal." He needs Hannibal's help to recover his mindset because he snuffed out that dark part of himself. “You have to cut that part out.” Cutting out Hannibal, Jack and Alana, teaching and his work with the FBI. What happens when he cuts out his heart, fills the empty it leaves with a new family, then goes back to visit his heart and everything that reminds him. Will is cut between. His  transformation starts now. He will shed the rest of his humanity and become the Lion. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter."

[pope-francis-quotes]

29th March >> (@VaticanNews By Sr. Bernadette Mary Reis, FSP) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis’ Homily during the celebration of Holy Mass on the Fifth Sunday of Lent (Year A): 'I am thinking of the people who are weeping'.

Pope Francis expresses the desire during Mass on Sunday morning at the Casa Santa Marta that this Fifth Sunday of Lent be a Sunday of tears. (playback included)

By Sr. Bernadette Mary Reis, FSP

“I am thinking of the many people who are weeping”, Pope Francis said, introducing the liturgy for the Fifth Sunday of Lent at the Casa Santa Marta chapel. People who are isolated, in quarantine, the elderly; people who are alone, in the hospital, parents who do not foresee receiving their salary and do not know how they will feed their children, he continued.

“Many people are weeping. We too, from our hearts, accompany them. It wouldn’t do us any harm to weep a bit as our Lord wept for all of His people”.

During his homily, the Pope continued with the theme of weeping, reflecting on the raising of Lazarus (Jn 11:1-45).

Jesus had friends

Jesus loved everyone, the Pope affirmed. But He did have friends. This included a special relationship with Lazarus, Martha and Mary. “He would stay at their house a lot”, the Pope said.

"Jesus felt pain because of the sickness and death of His friend…. He arrives at the tomb and is profoundly moved and troubled. And Jesus breaks out in tears. Jesus, God, and man, weeps. There is another time in the Gospel that says that Jesus wept: when He wept over Jerusalem. With what tenderness Jesus weeps! He weeps from the heart. He weeps with love. He weeps with His own who weep…. Jesus always weeps out of love, always."

Moved with compassion

How many times the Gospel repeats that Jesus “was moved with compassion”, the Pope recalled.

“Jesus could not look at the people and not feel compassion. His eyes are connected to His heart. Jesus sees with His eyes, but He sees with His heart and is capable of weeping.”

Are we capable of weeping?

With everything that is happening, with all the people who are crying because of the pandemic, the Pope invites us to ask ourselves if we are capable of weeping.

“Am I capable of weeping, as Jesus would certainly have done and does now? Is my heart like Jesus’s? And if it is too hard, [even if] I can speak and do good in order to help, if my heart isn’t entering in and I’m not capable of weeping, ask the Lord for this grace: Lord, that I might weep with You, weep with your people who are suffering right now”.

The Sunday of tears

The Pope then concluded his homily reminding everyone that many people are weeping today. “We ask the grace to weep” with “Jesus who was not ashamed to weep”.

“May today be for everyone like a Sunday of tears”.

Spiritual communion

After the Pope received communion, he invited all those watching or listening to the liturgy to make a spiritual communion. He used the prayer composed by St. Alphonsus di Liguori:

My Jesus, I believe that You are present

in the Most Blessed Sacrament.

I love You above all things,

and I desire to receive You into my soul.

Since I cannot now receive you sacramentally,

come at least spiritually into my heart.

I embrace You as if you were already there,

and I unite myself wholly to You.

Never permit me to be separated from You.

Then followed a brief period of adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, after which the Pope gave Benediction with the Blessed Sacrament. The liturgy ended with the intonation of the ancient Marian antiphon Regina Caelorum (Hail, O Queen of Heaven).

Topics

POPE FRANCIS

HOMILY

SANTA MARTA

MASS

CORONAVIRUS

29th March 2020, 08:51