#Cruci

[anonymoosen]

Hey money can you join me in a war *bats lashes*

ANYTHING FOR U POOKIE 👈🥺👉 *gets a shmillion booping bombs and fartson weapons* 😻😻😻

[virusgeist-art]

[anonymoosen]

WOOOOOO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE OF MY PRECIOUS MUTUALSSSS YIPPIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

YOUVE ALWAYS BEEN SUCH A SWEET FRIEND WHO POSTS SUPER COOL DETAILED REALISTIC ART WHICH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE AND I JUST LOVE UR EXISTENCE IN GENERAL BECAUSE OF UR KINDNESS AND SUPER COOL CHAOS AND INTENSE BOOPING SKILLSSSS 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

ALSO CONGRATS ON THE WIFE :33 😻😻😻😻‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Well would you look at that! I may have died, yet I have lived another year. And found a wife too! Aren't I lucky

Anyways, happy birthday to yours truly! I might do something later but like. We'll see. For now, look at this silly little cruci redesign. Which is. It's just her hair. I changed her hair because I changed my hair impulsively. We'll see if it sticks uwu

[quiltofstars]

The Jewel Box Cluster, NGC 4755 // Gerould Kern

[twinsfawn]

VIA CRUCIS — ROBERTO FERRI (DETAIL)

[cuties-in-codices]

pattern poems

in a copy of the "liber de laudibus sanctae crucis" by hrabanus maurus, central or southern france, early 11th century

source: Bern, Burgerbibliothek, Cod. 9

[eclipseshotel]

[and-her-saints]

sanctifying my soul through mortification and suffering (dealing with tumblr catholics)

[apenitentialprayer]

In Christ, YHWH Himself Becomes the Accursed One, by Christopher Powers.

According to the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, nothing good happens to Jesus once he is put on the cross. All the signs are against him. He has been mocked, and the mockers have asked for a sign that he is the Son of God. Well, the sign has been given. Here is the sign that Jesus is the Son of God: darkness. God has pulled back.

Reader, do not miss the point. Everything turns against Jesus: the cosmos, the political world, his compatriots, his fellow religionists, his chosen companions, nature itself. There is no mercy. There is no grace. There is not even a fragrant breeze.

And have you ever thought about this? There is no silence.

One might hope to come to one's death in peace, to have a calmness and quiet about you within which you could compose yourself to face your end. Jesus had no peace. Not only did he have the pain from the nails and the agony of suffocation; he had the horror of screams. A crucifixion scene is a scene of screaming. Raymond Brown says that crucifixions were "particularly gruesome" because of "the screams of rage and pain, the wild curses and the outbreaks of nameless despair of the unhappy victims." There was screaming around Jesus for hours from the others, only a fragment of which is recorded in the Gospels (their taunting of Jesus). And finally, in the end, Jesus himself screamed.

Yes, Jesus screamed out in the midst of his pain, not in rage, not in a curse, but in a loud cry. The Word of God incarnate does not merely speak; it is a screamed-out question, and it is his death cry. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? What does it mean?

It means, I think, the obvious thing: that Jesus died in the worst way possible, that he died in unimaginable pain, and that his physical pain was accompanied by the mental and emotional pain of being abandoned by God. He entered into our human condition; he came down from heaven and was begotten by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary and was made man. And then he went down further. He entered into the saddest and lowest human conditions; he entered into griefs and degradations and betrayals and tortures. He entered into them, he went down, and then he went down further. Jesus plumbed the absolute and literal depths of what it is to be human. He wept, sometimes with us and sometimes over us. He visited our tombs. And —it sounds trite but it's literally true— he shared our pain.

This, to be honest, is good news for us. There are no depths to which we may have to descend that Jesus has not already descended. However bad your life gets, Jesus will be with you. He can be with you, because he has gone down even further.

[... A]ll of us know that we have untested limits. For Jesus there were no untested limits. And with trembling in our bones we can voice the sacred truth, that it is . . . good . . . that Jesus was so completely tested. For when Jesus screamed, it was, as I said, not in anger, not in rage, but in: a prayer. Although screamed out, the words My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? are a prayer.

Jesus feels nothing but abandonment from God, and yet nonetheless he prays to God. He no longer feels any intimacy with God — less than twenty-four hours earlier he was praying to his "Father" that he be spared of all this; now he cannot pray to his Father, but he can still pray like any human being can pray, to "God," to indeed "my God." He screams, yes, he cries out, yes, but it is a question that he cries, and a question rests upon a relationship, on the reality of one to whom a question is addressed. Jesus goes all the way down to the very bottom of human existence, and even at the bottom, even in the midst of all the pain in the universe, even in the absence of any sign at all that he has a divine Father, even there at the bottom a human being can still pray to God, can still ask, if nothing else, why this God, to whom he is speaking, why this God has forsaken him.

We find God by going down this road, down the road that goes down. Leonard Cohen, in his song "Suzanne" (which Susan used to sing to me), saw deeply, if not perfectly, when he said Jesus realized "only drowning men could see him." Jesus saw this from the cross (I think this is what Cohen means by "his lonely wooden tower"), where, Cohen says, he was "forsaken, almost human."

No, that last modifier is wrong: forsaken, fully human is the point. Yet it may be true that only drowning people can see Jesus. We who have suffered the depths can catch sight of him, I think, because Jesus was fully human all the way down: in the darkness, beyond the darkness, forsaken, fully human, he sank (as Cohen almost says) beneath God's wisdom like a stone.

Rev. Canon Victor Austin (Losing Susan: Brain Disease, The Priest's Wife, and the God Who Gives and Takes Away, pages 135-136, 137-138). Italics original.

There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.

Betsie ten Boom, as recorded by her sister.

[annaslapek]

Sanktuarium Krzyża Świętego

Via Crucis

[anonymoosen]

HIII MOOSEY I LOVE YOU THAT'S IT THAT'S ALL I WANTED TO SAY BYE GOODBYE I'M OUT OF THE SHADOW BTW :3333

RAAAHHFJDJDJKDKDJS LESGOOOOOO LETS FRIGGIN GOOooOoOoOoOo RAAHHFJDIDOSDOSODO YESYEYSYES UR OUTTA THE SHADOW VOID YAYAUWJEOWKRKSOFKEKFKEKTKELTOEJTJEITEKTJEKTKEKR AND I LOAF U TOO U BOOTIFUL PRECIOUS FISH!1!11!1 🫶🫶🫶🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀💜💜💜‼️‼️‼️

[disegnidipizzo]

I'm here live from Derse and its PURBLE. btw did you know: you can get this ^^^ personal behemoth of mine in the hottest item to drop ever aka @joyfulldreams 's Homestuck 2024 Calendar.

Go order it. You love calendars. You will need to know what day it is. Eventually.

(alternate unused unfunny caption: uhm.... DERSE to meet you?)

[porcelainfreak-zacrucian]

Eepy

That's it that's the post

[quiltofstars]

The Jewel Box, C94 // Szoomer

The Jewel Box Cluster (NGC 4755) is one of the youngest open clusters known, aged to only 16 million years old! Just like old school friends that drift apart after graduation, the stars in an open cluster only remain together for a limited time. They gradually disperse into space, pulled away by the gravitational tugs of other passing clusters and clouds of gas.

[galatiul-e-un-oras-de-basm]

trebuie să scriu asta aici pentru că blogul ăsta e un jurnal

Nu știu de voi ce faceți de Paști (da, a trecut de mult dar eu abia acum constat că nu am scris despre ce urmează sa zic), că în mare parte din lucrurile cele mai stranii au loc exact in luna Aprilie. În fine, începem așa:

(a) dezamăgirea vieții mele, am mers cu familia la mamaie acasă să petrecem Paștele împreună. Dau să intru în bucătărie și mă izbește un miros divin de pastramă de capră. Bucuroasă dar și proastă în același timp o întreb pe mătușa (care stă cu mamaie) dacă au cumpărat o capră special pentru pastramă și răspunsul a fost nu. Mi-am lipit moaca de geamul cuptorului și am întrebat ferm și răspicat dacă e capra din ogradă. Mătușa a zâmbit larg până la urechi.

(b) pt că mamaie e pe economii, mi-a cerut să mă duc la cimitir ca să pictez numele străbunicilor. Am cumpărat o găleată de vopsea alba, mi-am luat câteva pensule și m-am dus direct la cimitir. Acum, imaginați-vă că e un sat destul de gol, liniștit. Bătea un soare afară de ma topeam pe drum, bătea și vântul, până una alta am ajuns la peticul de pământ. Nu știu dacă ați mai avut ocazia să pictati numele, data nașterii/decesul a rudelor voastre, dar va zic eu aci că vă trezește și vă încearcă un sentiment destul de ciudat. Străbunii sunt îngropați unul lângă altul, nimic fensi, ci doar cruci de fier simple vopsite în negru și la mijloc aveau pe ambele părți (spre interior și exterior) plăcuțe din același material. Baza crucilor era din ciment. Până aici a fost bine, am intrat și am călcat direct pe mormintele lor (cine știe câte înjurături vechi mi-am luat) dar măcar știu că nu a fost cu intenție rea. Am băgat acolo găleata și dă-i tată și scrie numele citeț (să vezi ce crize existențiale aveam că vopseaua aceea se întindea ca cascavalul), aminteste-ti când s-au născut și când au murit și etc. Lăsând faptul că scriam acolo, bă, nu fusese zare de om până când simțurile mele animalice au decis că "ce ar fi să-mi întorc capul?", bă, apăruse o babă așa sha-boom (uite așa era să mor exact între străbuni), s-a materializat ființa aceea și mă întreabă: "a cui ești tu?" Am schimbat două-trei vorbe și mă trezesc că am terminat de scris pe ambele părți. Toate bune și frumoase, am facut o mătanie și m-am cărat de acolo.

[conformi]

Nathaniel Currier, Jesus bearing his cross, 1848 VS Sebald Beham, Hercules carrying the columns of Gades | The Labours of Hercules, 1545