#And dear god almighty if EVERYWHERE just did those few things. Hell even just set up quiet zones

[lionblaze03-2]

Because it also just doesn’t matter. Like yeah it’s probably genetics but. What does it matter, because people deserve to have kids if they want them even if they are autistic and also autism isn’t like a fucking death sentence it’s just another way for our brain to work. If you have enough care to deserve to be a parent then you’ll learn to adjust for your autistic kids needs and that has NOTHING to do with genetics.

We don’t need to know what “causes” autism. That mindset always leads to eugenics. And I’m serious.

[anotherhawk]

Death for Immortals Ch2 - Good Omens Fanfic

Previously titled ‘5 times Crowley died carelessly and 1 time Aziraphale made him care’

Chapter summary: 140 years after the flood the last of the children Crowley saved dies peacefully in her bed, surrounded by family. He doesn’t take it well.

Read it on AO3 or under the cut.

2863 BCE

The last of the kids died at the age of 140, surrounded by her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. He waited outside the house until the wailing started, an olive branch clutched tightly in his hand as he shredded the leaves into pieces too small for any human to see. That was it then. No more reason to hang around here.

Her name had been Anurash and her mother had thrust her into his arms as the waters rose, begging him to save her, to give her a chance at life. He'd held her in his arms, miracled milk to feed her with, kept her hidden deep in the bowels of the ark with the other frightened kids for far more than forty days and forty nights of cramped, foul-smelling darkness, until the rain stopped and the waters finally receded. A hundred and forty years. That wasn't too bad, was it? That was a lot longer than a lot of humans got. Mind you, Adam had lived to be nine hundred and thirty, so maybe it wasn't as good as all that. Maybe that was the difference between a human made by the Almighty and a human made by other humans?

He glanced skywards. “What, is it a patent situation? Knock-offs aren't allowed to be as good as the original? Keep going like this and in another thousand years they won't even make it to fifty. Where's the sense in that? If you want them to be better you've got to give them time to grow, don't you?”

A couple of passers-by stared at him. He scowled back and they flinched and quickly hurried away, whispering to each other.

Right. Eyes. Evil demon eyes that they were supposed to shun. It had been a long time since he'd been anything other than a stranger in this town, even though he had largely been responsible for building it. Well, there hadn't been much other option, had there? The oldest of the eighty-seven kids he'd managed to save had been fourteen, and most of them had been a good bit younger than that. What the heaven did they know about building houses, planting crops or digging wells? Only what their parents had got to teach them before Her Upstairs got tetchy and decided hey! Time for no more humans without my seal of approval.

He'd seen the rainbow. It was beautiful. But even now, well over a century later, the kids still found bones sometimes when they played, and those bones had had names, once upon a time, and were they really so despicable that they deserved to be washed away and forgotten?

Anyway, he'd built this town for the kids, and for the first dozen or so years he'd lived among them, making sure that they knew what they needed to take care of themselves. Even after that he hadn't been willing to stray too far. He'd stayed to watch the kids he raised grow up and raise kids of their own, all in absolute defiance of the Almighty, of course. Little humans who shouldn't be alive, running around, growing, with all their questions...it was self-evidently evil, except...except it wasn't evident enough to Beelzebub. As far as they were concerned he should be tormenting, or at the very least tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to his kids, at least not in any way that Hell was going to approve of. And even after they'd grown up he hadn't wanted to wander too far afield, just in case the kids might need him, and in this part of the world there was only the two groups of ark survivors left, and Aziraphale was keeping a close eye on Noah's lot. If he'd thought he could get away with it he might have claimed credit for Noah turning to drink, but honestly he had nothing to do with it. 1

So Hell wasn't happy with him. Just yesterday a goat had looked up at him with glowing red eyes and told him he needed to improve his job performance of face the consequences. No specific consequences had been mentioned, but no doubt someone somewhere had something in mind already.2

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see Aziraphale. “Crawly? I thought that was you.” Further sounds of grief came from inside, catching the angel's attention. “Oh, dear. One of yours?”

“Yes,” he answered, without thinking about it.

“I see.” Aziraphale gave him a look of deep disapproval. “Well, it sounds as though there's a lot of people mourning her. I hope whatever little scheme you wound her up in was worth it.”

“What? No, she wasn't...I. Hngh.” He flinched. Her death hadn't been his. Neither had her life, really, she'd lived that for herself. “What are you doing here, angel?”

“Official business. I'm here to offer a few blessings.”

Cold iron seized his spine. “Oh, really, thesse people are worth Her blesssings now?”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “Everyone deserves Her blessings, Crawly.”

There was a small herb garden growing in pots on the doorstep. He grabbed the closest plant, violently uprooted it and threw it as hard as he could at Aziraphale, smacking him right in the chest and leaving a trail of dirt down his white robes.

“Well, really,” the angel sputtered, miracling the mark away with a wave of his hand. “I hardly think there was any need for that.”

Part of him wanted to apologise. Part of him wanted to throw another plant, maybe even include the pot this time. Most of him just wanted to crawl into a deep hole in the ground somewhere and stay there for the next millenia or so. “Don't know why you're so surprised. Demon, remember? Your mortal enemy and all that.”

“Immortal, I think you'll find,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “And I'm fairly certain that 'mortal enemies' aren't supposed to throw plants at each other.” He did the finger quotes. Crawly resolved to recommend that a special place in hell be set aside for people who do the finger quotes.

“No,” he agreed nastily. “They're probably supposed to lob flaming swords at each other.3 You go first. Oh, wait.”

The door behind him slammed open. “Gentlemen, please. This is a house of mourning. For the love of God, please take your petty quarrel somewhere else. Have you no decency?”

Aziraphale was stammering out apologies. He sighed and stood up. “Not lately,” he told Rubat, Anurash's granddaughter, and he turned and walked away.

The angel didn't follow him. He told himself he wasn't disappointed.

Right. Well, then. He wiped a hand down his face, harsh enough that it hurt and looked round at the familiar faces walking by. Most of them didn't give him a second glance. A couple of them caught his eye and shrunk away. Anurash had always loved his eyes...she'd used to call them suns. He remembered chubby baby hands clapping together joyfully when he made her that doll, remembered her first steps, always rushing, always in a hurry, always wanting to see everything, remembered all the questions – why does the moon change, why can't I see my eyes, why the flood, why, why, why – and he remembered Luka, the streak of dirt seemingly always across his face no matter how often he wiped that sticky face, and he remembered Teth, and he remembered Saul, and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered.

There was nothing holding him here now. Nothing holding him back. Everyone expected him to be evil – and he was evil, he was a demon. Might as well live down to it.

*

Three hours later and six fights had broken out, three marriages had ended, the blacksmith had been persuaded that there was more room for showing off making weapons rather than farm tools, the hunters had been persuaded that the farmers didn't respect them enough, someone had stolen the entire store of apples and set them fermenting, the pigs had been set loose in the granary and the inn was on fire. 4

It was chaos. There were shouts, smoke, recriminations flying everywhere and children crying in the street.

There were children crying in the street...

A hand closed around his upper arm and Aziraphale pulled him round. “What on earth are you doing?”

“My job.” He didn't look at the angel. The child on the street was clutching a doll in her chubby hand, her parents nowhere in sight. There was a streak of mud across her face.

“You don't...what's wrong with you?”

He shrugged the angel's hand off and gave a sharp-toothed smile. “Popular opinion says everything.”

“There he is!” A screech from down the street. Running footsteps, a whole mob's worth.

“The evil one walks among us!”

“Get him!”

“I see him! I see the demon!”

They were coming from all sides now. He took a couple of steps back. “Lovely seeing you, Aziraphale, but I really have to be going.”

He ran. The mob chased him, parting around Aziraphale like they didn't so much as see him, and the angel just stood there like a rock in the river, and Crawly ran. Hands grabbed out at him as he passed, punching, hurting, and stones hammered into him. Black blood ran down his face, dripping into his eyes. If he reached the river he could just turn into a serpent and escape that way.

He didn't make it. They cut him off, knocking him to the ground, kicking, punching, stamping, and he shifted, slipping into a snake, trying to slither away, and the last thing he saw was the blacksmith raising a sword above his head and bringing it down.

*

Aziraphale carefully buried the little broken body on a hill overlooking the river and tried to ignore the feeling of being utterly alone in the world. He'd seen the demon die and he hadn't done anything. There hadn't been anything to be done, it wasn't for him to interfere, and if he had interfered it would have been to smite the demon out of existence once and for all. Obviously. No, he had nothing to feel guilty about, it was just that he didn't like seeing the humans moved to such violence, that was all.

He scattered the last shovel of soil on the small grave and stood awkwardly for a moment. “I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I don't know what happened today, but I think, maybe, there was something else I could have done. I'll do better next time.”

There were two people he could have been speaking to. He didn't think either of them were listening.

1He did feel it was a reasonable enough reaction to the trauma of witnessing divine genocide, however. He'd even turned to it himself a time or two. The one time he'd actually managed to get to sleep since the Flood he'd had to face the memories of all those desperate hands clinging to the side of the ark until one by one they slid away.

2The goat had chewed on his sandals afterwards. He wasn't sure if that had been the hellish influence or the goatish one.

3Crowley had never actually been issued a sword, flaming or otherwise.

4You might think that this is rather a lot for one demon to achieve in three hours. But even if he had mostly passed unnoticed for the last century Crowley had been living alongside these people. He knew where the buttons were and how best to press them. And, like any act of self-harm, once started it was incredibly difficult to stop.

[johnhardinsawyer]

Living What We Truly Are

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

3 / 12 / 17

 John 3:1-17

Romans 4:13-17

 “Living What We Truly Are”

I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I would like to believe that most people live their lives trying to do the right thing – to make the right choice, the right decision, go in the right direction, live the right way.  We don’t always do the right thing.  We are sinful and fall short and oftentimes make decisions that are for our own self-interests instead of what is truly right.  But I would like to believe that in our heart of hearts, at the very least, we all have our moments of trying to do the right thing.

Nicodemus was just trying to do the right thing.  He was a Pharisee – an expert in what was right – he knew the ancient laws of Moses and tried to follow all of them.  He also knew that he and his people were walking a fine line between being faithful to the God of Moses – the God of the Jews – and somehow coexisting with the legions of occupying Roman soldiers who walked the streets and brought their non-Jewish influence with them.  Nicodemus was not just a Pharisee, he was a Pharisee in Jerusalem – a sophisticated man in a sophisticated place – the capital city, the city that housed the Temple that had just been recently rebuilt.  Nicodemus was “a leader of the Jews” (John 3:1) – someone who had influence and sway with the people.  

He was also a very practical man.  You see, there was this teacher from the country who had recently arrived in the big city and his arrival had caused quite a stir.  Not only had this fellow – Jesus, we’ll call him – gone into the Temple and driven all of the animals out and dumped all of the coins of the money-changers out, but he had made a big scene of it all – saying things that you just shouldn’t say.  At one point, it sounded like Jesus had actually called for the destruction of the Temple, itself.  “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” Jesus had said. (2:19)

So, Nicodemus – who was just trying to do the right thing so that everyone could get along and nobody would get hurt – found out where Jesus was staying and went to visit him at night.  Like any good politician, Nicodemus had not gotten to his place of prominence among the people without learning a few things about how to handle difficult folks. Open with a compliment, kill them with kindness, make them feel good and then [boom!] bring up the real reason for your visit.

So, when he finally sat down with Jesus, Nicodemus knew exactly what to say.  “Rabbi,” he said, with an earnest smile on his face – knowing that if he called Jesus the Hebrew word for “Teacher,” it would start things off on the right foot – “Rabbi, we [my powerful Jewish friends and I] know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” (3:2)  

You know those times when someone says something nice, but you know that they are going to follow it up by saying, “however,” or “but,” – like “I love you, but get your feet off the couch”? Well, this was something like that. “Jesus, you are a great person who obviously has a lot going for him, but we kind of wish you would pack your bags and go home to Galilee.  You’re stirring up trouble that we don’t need right now.”

This is where Nicodemus had been going with his thoughts, but Jesus didn’t let him get too far.  Nicodemus thought that flattery would get him everywhere with Jesus, but Jesus knew what was in Nicodemus’ heart and soul. [1]  He knows what is in our hearts and souls, too.

“Very truly I tell you,” Jesus said – in the space where the “but” was about to go – “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” (3:3)  “No one can experience, witness, recognize, or understand[2] the kingdom – the Empire, the Realm – of God without being born from above – of water and Spirit.[3]  You won’t find yourself in God’s presence unless you go through some kind of spiritual rebirth.”

Nicodemus and Jesus went back and forth on what this meant. “Can someone go back into their mother’s womb and be born again?”  “No, Nicodemus, this is something that the Holy Spirit does to people who have already been born.  God is at work in the world doing something holy and heavenly.”[4]  And this is where Jesus tried to break it down as simply and as plainly as he could:

God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,

so that everyone who believes in him

may not perish but may have eternal life.

Indeed God did not send the Son into the world

to condemn the world,

but in order that the world

might be saved through him.  (3:16-17)

Here it is.  The greatest hit of the New Testament, “. . . a staple of highway road signs, and bumper stickers, and football games.”[5]  “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”  If you have ever memorized any verses from scripture, chances are, you memorized this one.

John 3:16 boils down the good news into a compact, made-for-memorizing message, but when some people read it, they tend to focus only on certain parts of this message.  A lot of people say that this verse is all about “belief,” in that if you believe in Jesus, then you will not perish but have eternal life.  If you do this one thing – believe – then God will take care of you.  But remember, Jesus is talking about a spiritual rebirth here – something that God’s Holy Spirit does to us.  When it comes to “belief,” it is the Spirit who causes that belief to occur. In other words, our faith in God does not come from us, it comes from God – so, if anyone believes in Jesus, it is the Holy Spirit who helps them believe.

Let’s take just a moment to look at that word – “believe.”

There are many folks who would say that the word “believe” is somehow linked to empirical evidence and hard facts.  For example, even though we have “sprung forward” into Daylight Saving Time and this is something that we do “in the spring,” spring is not yet here because it is still bone-chillingly chilly outside.  It is cold.  This can be measured with a thermometer and felt with our bodies.  It is a fact that we all can believe.

If we were to take the word “believe,” though, and look at its roots, the word has less to do with hard facts and more to do with love.  In the early church, the Latin word used for “believe” was credo, which is where we get our word for “creed.”  That word credo means “I set my heart upon” or “I give my loyalty to.” In medieval English, the word “believe” was linked to the German word “Liebe” which means “love – to prize, treasure, or hold dear.”  In early English, to “believe” was to “belove” something or someone as an act of trust or loyalty.[6] 

This kind of changes things for you and me as believers.  When we say “I believe in God the Father Almighty,” are we saying “I am of the opinion that what I am about to say about God is factual” or are we saying “I love and trust God the Father Almighty in all of God’s wonder and mystery”? 

In her book, Christianity After Religion,  Diana Butler Bass applies this to John 3:16:   

If we think that “believe” means doctrinal truth, then the verse means “everyone who agrees that Jesus is the Son of God won’t perish” . . .  According to its more ancient rendering, however, the verse would be better read, “everyone who trusts in Jesus,” or “everyone who directs his or her heart toward Jesus” will not perish.  You may or may not want to trust in or incline your love toward Jesus, but it is an entirely different, and more spiritually compelling, invitation than an offer of debate about Jesus.[7]  [. . . or to debate the facts that you believe to be true about Jesus.]

Instead of debating the facts that we believe to be true about Jesus, to believe in Jesus is to set our heart upon him.  This is important to note, because in John 3:16,before Jesus talks about any kind of belief, he talks about love – specifically, God’s love for the world.  When John Calvin wrote about this passage, he said,

. . . [F]aith in Christ brings life to all, and Christ brought life because the Heavenly Father loves the human race, and wishes that they should not perish.[8]

In other words, God loves the world – the human race – and invites everyone to have faith in Christ.  And this faith – this believing, this be-loving – is life, itself.  

If we look at the world and all of the crazy and wrong and downright evil things that occur every day, it would seem that there is not a lot to love.  There are plenty of people who say, “to hell with the world and all of the evil in it.” But God did not send Jesus to condemn the world (3:17).  God seeks to be in right relationship with the world, because God loves us at the heart of who we are. 

We are God’s beloved people.  God’s heart has been directed toward us.  And God’s heart – God’s living, breathing heart for the world – is Jesus Christ.  God has said “yes” to the heart of who we are – as fallen and as fallible as we are – and invites us to say “yes” to the heart of who God is.

There are many – especially in this day and age – who say “no” to the heart of who God is.  Some think that God has already said “no” to them, but haven’t come to know and trust that God is in the “yes” business.  Others have experienced a hard “no” from those who consider themselves Christians – from the church, even though it is not really our place in the eternal scheme of things to say “no.”  Only God can do that.  There are so many who still want to do the right thing, though, and believe that this is enough.  They might not believe in Jesus, but they do, as the Jewish thinker Martin Buber once wrote, “believe with Jesus” in the way of love.[9]  May our so-called believing in Jesus not run contrary to the way of love.

From before the beginning, God so loved the world because “God is love.” (1 John 4:16)  And we – you and I and all people – are made by love, from love, for love.  Those of us who believe this – who set our heart on this and upon the love that saves and gives us life – are called “to live what we truly are – love.”[10]  This is our calling.  This is our task.  This is our joy.  This is our life.  This is what we are to do in the world, trusting that the Spirit is at work through us.  If we live what we truly are, we might just be the love of God – the hands and feet and heart of Jesus – to people who need this love the most.

You might be wondering about old Nicodemus and what, if anything, might have been changed in his heart and soul as he talked with Jesus. No one can encounter the true love of God without being changed in some way.

Well, later in the Gospel of John, Nicodemus was one of the only people among the leaders of the Jews who called for Jesus to have a fair hearing.  (John 7:50-51)  And when Jesus was not given a fair hearing – when the “temple” of Jesus’ body was destroyed – Nicodemus helped Joseph of Arimathea take Jesus’ body and prepare it for burial with one hundred pounds of spices.  (19:39-42) Standing up for justice, giving generously, and going out of one’s way to show care for others – these are acts of love.  In the end, Nicodemus did the right thing.  He lived what he truly was.

Beloved of God.  May we do the same.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

------- 

[1] Paraphrased, JHS – from John 2:23-25.

[2] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Philadelphia:  University of Philadelphia Press, 1960) 578.

[3] Paraphrased, JHS – from John 3:3, 5.

[4] Paraphrased, JHS – from John 3:4-13.

[5] Anna Carter Florence, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, ed., Feasting on the Word – Year A, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010) 69 (Homiletical Perspective).

[6] Diana Butler Bass, Christianity After Religion (New York:  HarperOne, 2012) 117. 

[7] Bass, 118.

[8] John Calvin, Calvin’s Commentaries – Vol. XVII (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2009) 123.

[9] John Philip Newell, The Rebirthing of God (Woodstock: Christian Journeys/Skylight Paths Publishing, 2014) 116.

[10] Newell, 119.