#Faith Huh

[ntgospel]

Pastora compartilha poderoso testemunho de obediência

Confira a novidade em https://ntgospel.com/testemunhos/pastora-compartilha-poderoso-testemunho-de-obediencia

Pastora compartilha poderoso testemunho de obediência

A pastora Faith Huh da New York Beloved Church relatou uma experiência que lhe ensinou a essência da obediência. Enquanto estava no ensino médio, ela se viu em um posto de gasolina quando Deus a direcionou, dizendo: “Vá até aquela pessoa ali e diga a ela que Jesus a ama”. Inicialmente confiante, ela achou que seria uma tarefa fácil. No entanto, ficou surpresa quando Deus a apontou para uma mulher de meia-idade usando um hijab, um lenço de cabeça comumente usado por algumas mulheres muçulmanas.

De repente, sua empolgação desapareceu. “Deixa para lá, Senhor, eu não acho que consigo fazer isso. Porque Senhor, mesmo que eu vá até lá e faça o que você me pediu, não é como se essa única frase fosse mudar de repente a mente dela”, ela disse a Deus. Ela presumiu que a mulher provavelmente era uma muçulmana devota, levando-a a acreditar que Deus a havia encarregado de algo insignificante. Apesar de suas dúvidas, ela se aproximou nervosamente da mulher, temendo a rejeição.

Experiência Inesquecível

No entanto, ela persistiu e cumprimentou a mulher com um hesitante “Oi!” antes de dizer humildemente: “Posso te contar uma coisa? Jesus te ama.” Os olhos da mulher se iluminaram, impulsionando a confiança da pastora Faith. Ela então perguntou: “Você é cristã por acaso?” A mulher respondeu: “Sim.” Ela continuou: “Você acabou de alegrar o meu dia porque eu estava tendo uma semana muito difícil e tinha pedido a Deus um sinal. E você é o meu sinal.”

Segundo a God TV, essa bela experiência a ajudou a entender a essência da obediência. Naqueles momentos, o conflito interno que ela experimentou foi intenso devido à rejeição antecipada. Ela observou que pedidos incomuns também ocorreram na Bíblia. Às vezes, esses comandos podem ter parecido absurdos, mas pessoas como os profetas escolheram obedecer a Deus. Ela enfatizou que a obediência constitui o primeiro passo para cumprir o plano de Deus.

[potato-lord-but-not]

all I do is draw blindfaith art heeeellllppppp

[captainofthetidesbreath]

"there can't be a Bolo cameo in Downfall because it's set a hundred years into the Calamity, she seemed human so she's certainly dead by now" icb you doubt the power of the great Bolo Maximus 🙄

[dollya-robinprotector]

So here's the thing: This post

Everyone's honest reaction to that information:

Look I know it's not exactly the "BEST" but they're the first on the list so let's just bear with me for the comedic effect, 'ight? *bow*

[swallowedabug]

We Are Lady Parts 1.03 (2021)

[zzoupz]

oh okay

[qiu-yan]

sensitive topic incoming

not a haterpost i promise.

sect leader yao is not a reliable source

further explanation/hypothesizing:

it happened exactly as sect leader yao said: self-explanatory. the version of events preferred by jiggy antis

he mercy-killed rusong: maybe rusong was already showing signs of a life-altering disorder as a result of the incest. or maybe jiggy just felt that, if the incest information ever came out, rusong would be doomed to a life of suffering in a heavily prejudiced society. jiggy himself had spent his entire life suffering and getting kicked around due to his own proximity to society's pariahs/taboos, so perhaps he felt that he could not subject his son to the same miserable existence. thus, jiggy gave rusong a more peaceful end, before (in jiggy's mind) society could force rusong to suffer.

he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this is really only a "kill" under a utilitarian moral framework. by this explanation, maybe jiggy found out in advance that someone was planning to kill rusong; however, for any of the other reasons listed here, jiggy decided to do nothing and allow the assassination to happen. thus jiggy would consider himself guilty of allowing rusong's death to happen through inaction.

he did it to justify eliminating an opponent of the watchtowers: maybe the advancement of the watchtower project, which jiggy knew would make society a safer place, had hit a deadlock because of a particularly stubborn opponent. so jiggy killed rusong and framed the opponent in order to engineer a situation in which his annihilation of the opponent would be entirely socially sanctioned.

and here is where the utilitarian arguments come in. perhaps jiggy knew that the watchtower project would improve the lives of millions of people and would make society as a whole safer. and he saw that one political opponent as the final major barrier. and jiggy could think of no other way to get rid of this guy. so jiggy weighed the lives of those millions of people against his one son, and concluded those millions of strangers were weightier; his son became his iphigenia.

of course, this is still a rather unhinged plan to just come up with on your own, so perhaps a better explanation of events is this reasoning paired with the "he allowed rusong to die through inaction" series of events.

rusong was killed by political opponents and jiggy blamed himself: now we reach the "he didn't do it" section of the potential explanations. jiggy has a habit of claiming kills he didn't strictly perform himself; so long as the chain of cause and effect can somehow be traced to somewhere near him eventually, jiggy will claim credit for someone's death. this is how jiggy takes credit for the death of jin zixuan: even though [novel canon] no one forced wei wuxian to lose control of wen ning and no one forced wen ning to attack jin zixuan, jiggy still acts as if he can call himself jin zixuan's killer, simply because he sent jin zixuan to wei wuxian's location.

jiggy, in pursuing the watchtower project, aroused a lot of public anger. jiggy made himself, and by extension his wife and his child, the political enemies of many, and thus political targets as well. thus, if an enemy targets the life of jin rusong because they are jiggy's enemy, jiggy is entirely justified in feeling as if rusong's death is his fault. after all, if he hadn't pursued the watchtower project, then maybe rusong would still be alive.

jiggy said "he had to die" as a Cope: losing your son sucks. perhaps jiggy, in the despair following his son's death, tried to cope with the new reality by telling himself that rusong would have had to die anyways, because he was an incest baby. if rusong was always slated to die, then the fact that rusong is now dead can now be survived. thus, "rusong had to die" becomes an emotional coping mechanism for jiggy.

no, jiggy himself is uncertain if he allowed rusong to die through inaction: this one is a a bit fanciful but bear with me here. on one hand, jiggy loves his wife and son. on the other hand, jiggy is horrified by his marriage with his wife and by the existence of his son, because his wife is also his sister and his son is the product of incest. jiggy lives with not only this horror but also the constant fear of exposure, because if this information ever got out, the lives of himself, his wife, and his son would all be over.

rusong's growth thus becomes a source of dread, not hope: every day lived brings the possibility of rusong developing some disorder or condition that eventually proves the incest. is it not possible that jiggy, living every day under such fear, might come to believe that things would be better if rusong stopped growing older? if rusong died--then gone too would be the evidence of the incest, would it not?

now along comes the political opponent who assassinates rusong. jiggy does not see it coming and jiggy is thus unable to stop it. but afterwards, upon beholding the corpse of his son, what does jiggy feel? rage? despair? no--relief! he feels relief! though he also grieves, the constant fear shrouding his entire life has, for once, lifted!

but if jiggy is relieved by the death of his son, what does this imply? can jiggy truly say, with full confidence, that he did not see the assassination coming? can he really say, with heaven and earth as his witnesses, that his failure to stop the assassination was not to some degree a choice? is there truly no small part of him that did in fact see the assassination coming--yet, knowing it would be so relieving for him, simply chose to do nothing?

but if jiggy did not see the assassination coming at all--if rusong's death truly cannot be pinned on jiggy at all--then what does that say about jiggy's power? about jiggy's safety? jiggy being innocent of killing through inaction means that jinlintai really is somewhere assassins can penetrate into. then jiggy's son really was killed by a force jiggy had no way of stopping. then, in this situation, jiggy really was powerless.

you can remove the ambiguity and argue the case either way: jiggy knew about the assassination and let it happen, jiggy legitimately knew nothing and could not have stopped the assassination. but the ambiguity makes this scenario more interesting to me. jiggy lives for the rest of his days uncertain if he chose to allow his son to die through inaction, or if he really was just weak enough to fail to protect his son. maybe jiggy's memories of the incident even manage to start distorting after a while, implying either one or the other depending on jiggy's own mental situation.

thus, when jiggy says "rusong had to die," he's uncertain if he's justifying his actions or delusionally coping with a reality he had no hand in making. when jiggy says "i killed my son," he's uncertain if he's even telling the truth or not.

ah well. this is basically original fiction at this point. it's just a potential scenario.

anyways, these are just a few scenarios based on various meta and fanfics of this subject ive read over the past few months. you can probably come up with all sorts of explanations. whatever you come up with, though, should be better than just blindly taking sect leader yao at his word.

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “SPIRALLING CYCLE — I MEET YOU HERE, AGAIN.”

#. — synopsis. sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

#. — content warning! angst with some eventual comfort at the end, mentions of physical abuse here and there, substance abuse with alcohol, shit household overall, negative self-perception, a groggy whitney and a glimpse of his life through his own lens.

#. — word count? 2.5k

#. — extra extra! ashes snippets : “too embarrassing to vent about my problems, so why don’t I make blondie here, experience it instead? except all ends well with him and not with me.”

Dappled sunlight faintly seeping through the silken blinds, smoothly draped over the glassy windows to tenderly kiss at Whitney’s drooping eyelids, tiredly shut away from numerous attempts at resting. Sleep, his initial intention, the original plan impulsively made ahead or so he had promised, but y’know, sleep can be a bitch sometimes and damn it all if he’ll ever truly receive it for real, this time.

‘Course, today or specially last night, it hadn’t discreetly knocked at his awaiting door nor contentedly graced him with a visit of its own, therefore, here he is. Stupidly awake at the crack ass of dawn and consciously aware of the ticking clock signalling the approaching hour, dizzying, red lines mundanely staring back at him to readily showcase the eventual obligation he’s stubbornly set upon himself. Fuck. If he doesn’t soon get out of this shitty hellhole life has bitterly stuck him with, then the occasional pebbles clumsily thrown against his rattling bed window will be sure to stir the other bitch up.

Said bitch probably awkwardly sprawled along the used couch, rusty springs threatening to pop free underneath the stitched mattress due to the sheer pressure of their sleazy form resting atop of it. Beer bottle drunkenly discarded forth from their loose grasp, hanging limply below to paint a grimy picture he’s been greeted with time and time again. Just stinkin’ up the fuckin’ place at this point, but who’s he to make the shots on that? Bitter son of the house and he’s acutely familiar with what that position entails. Say the slightest word and he’ll be good to go explore the shadowed streets, end up at that shoddy brothel worst case scenario.

Takin’ all the damn space though, as it had been repetitively affirmed before, he should be fuckin’ near grateful he even possesses a space of his own — no matter how cramped it may well be. No matter how suffocating the bleak walls gradually narrowing in on his curled frame may be sickeningly tight around his dry throat.

Speaking of, he’s getting thirsty here and so are the impatiently growing, muffled shouts of his gang aimlessly straying along the bricked wall of his apartment, boringly kicking at chipped rocks to pass the excruciatingly long stretch of time he’s taking to get the fuck up. Fine. Dirtied blonde, messy haired boy here, s’got the message sent his way. Stifled groan easily slipping its way past his chapped lips, instinctively yearning for the nearest source of a fresh, preferably cold drink to quench his endless thirst annoyingly itching at the back of his throat. Old, dinky fridge’s gotta be somewhere here, fuck— the kitchen. Obviously, dipshit.

Becoming as dumb as the fuckers you hang out with which are the only dumbasses to mindlessly follow him along wherever he so pleases, huffing and puffing like a group of stray mutts pitifully pawing at its owners feet for some much needed attention. Well, they’re not receiving it anytime soon, far too preoccupied with searching for some fuckin’ water— shit, even beer will do, even if it sets him on the same level as that drunken piece of shit to be greedily swallowing down alcohol early in the morning.

Groggy footsteps steadily dragging him towards the stretched hallway, memory settling in thickly as per usual, his feet automatically straying away from the creaking floorboard he’s known to soundlessly creak beneath the slightest weight. Don’t wanna wake the fucker up— doesn’t have the patience nor probably the maturity to properly deal with ‘em face on, specially when the oddly warming sun has recently risen.

No, he’s not a goddamn coward, just too good of a bastard to waste his precious time he mostly spends on fooling around doin’ nothing. Anything will do as long as it isn’t spent in this stifling flat where recollection beckons him in turn and crappy guilt forcibly gnaws at the bruised flesh of his slouched back. Coward? No, he says — but, his subconsciousness subtly whispers out otherwise. Liar.

Marble set in stone, routine playing out as faithfully expected by the absentminded tugging of his sweats, idly scratching at his balls beneath the cotton material all the while reaching for whatever catches his eye in the flickering light. Stupid bulb that never got fixed is really gon’ have him punch the fuckin’ ceiling one day, knowing better than to do so, instead tentatively taking a swig of a cooling bottle of.. something. Definitely strong with how it pleasantly burns within the pit of his churning stomach, momentarily soothes the doubts away in his chattering mind. If only the intoxicatingly warm effects of alcohol were eternal— Scratch that. The blonde knows life would be shit regardless, but at least you get to be drunk while doin’ it.

Hell, if it kills him, all the more better actually. A sullying stain dreadfully misplaced upon this shit world now rightfully wiped away, like he had never existed to begin with, fuck. Everyone wins if the troubling delinquent causing problems ‘round town cleanly kicks the bucket off, randomly dies in some stinky ditch somewhere in the darker alleyways as God would’ve had fuckin’ intended anyway. If there is one, for that matter. Because at the end of the day, he’s just some boy with a troubled mind and split knuckles bloodied up from previous fights — don’t know which exactly, he’s lost count by now. And, this make-believe deity the deluded temple has carefully fabricated isn’t going to spare his ass one bit for the awful sins committed by him, or so the stuck-up nuns keep repeatedly preaching to him whenever they catch sight of dirty filth.

Walking further down the elongated hall— it’s funny, place isn’t even that damn big in comparison to the ones out on Danube Street, yet practically feels like it’s eating him out from the inside with every careful step taken. Get the fuck out, get the fuck out of here before he groggily wakes up, not that they’d possibly care for his absence or presence when it doesn’t mean two shits to ‘em if he fails school, but does he give a shit if Whitney so much as bothers ‘em in any shape or form. Intentionally or accidentally, he claims, all results in the same exact scenario. A purplish bruise painfully etched across his wobbly limbs, bound to leave a residing mark. Bloodied, fucked up nose trickling out scarlet stains for his tongue to messily swipe against later, taste the metallic residue in his mouth as reminder for his actions. Serves him right.

Having gotten the harsh lesson driven into him, body naturally adapting to seek an escape of any kind, finally pausing at the sight of the wooden door with the jiggling chain left unloosed. Fuck, didn’t even lock the damn door? Saves him the gruelling effort of having to deliberately sneak amongst the heap of dirtied laundry riddled onto the ground, notably remembering the fact he can’t go prancing around outside half-naked. When you forget one fuckin’ detail—

Sure, this is the town where you get repeatedly raped on a regular basis to the point where no local resident even bats an eye to the supposedly, morally wrong act — which they never actually take a stance against, fuck if he cares — however, last thing Whitney wants is to instantly draw attention to himself already as it is. Yeah, the urging temptation is there, shivering jolt passing throughout his spine at the mere thought, but he’s not in that particular mood. No, not right now. Blatantly ignoring the sickening sight of his bulge visibly straining against his sweats, hot, leaking tip staining the greying fabric a darker shade. Morning wood, he supposes. Or just cuz’ he’s the type of guy to get high off of received attention when intentionally done.

Great coping mechanism for that affection you’ve never received early as a child, huh? Fuckin’ shut up— Goddamnit.

No point in sleazing ‘round here any further, not with the increasingly apparent risk at hand and the selflessly given opportunity to make his escape for the day. As always, his hasty departure goes unnoticed for the entirety of the upcoming hours, weeks would be a plausible period of time too with how unimportant his mere presence is at the shit hole one would reluctantly call ‘home’. Shit, if it works in his favour, all the more better for him. Gets to roam as he so pleases all night and who’s gon’ stop him for it? Yeah, that’s right. Normalcy instilled within his mind that this is how it should be. A parent worried sick over his own rebellious child fooling along somewhere amongst the bustling streets filled with bums? Sure, like that’ll happen.

While you’re out here daydreaming over stupid shit, why don’t y’a throw some clothes on? Idiot.

What else to wear than a plain, white shirt, which he somehow isn’t directly in any possession of at the moment. Merely leaving him with the sole option to steal a flitting glance towards the limited closet shut at his side. Thing isn’t going to squeak too loud if he delicately opens it, right? Better fuckin’ not. It’s in the blonde’s inborn nature to be instinctively rough, though discretion is a useful skill he’s conveniently learned when stuck in sticky situations like these, specifically. Cautious palms placed against the hatch, soundlessly sliding the door open to give way to the few attires hidden in the confined space.

Ah, there it fuckin’ is. His scruffy leather jacket hung upon the metallic hook, sewed patches prominent around the torn edges of his sleeve from the wear and tear accumulated over the passing time. Shit quality, but it’s ultimately his alone to wear. And, fuck it if he’ll wear it with pride no matter how used it appears to the naked eye.

Swiftly slipping on the cheap garment before momentarily regarding the broken zipper loosely hanging at the hem of the leathered cloth. Thing just had to wordlessly give up on him at the crappiest of times with the seasons progressively shifting to a cooler weather, chilling breeze bound to have his bare frame subtly shivering underneath the thick material. Likewise, he’ll manage somehow. Doesn’t he always?

Maybe if it was any other day, he would’ve taken a second more to consciously scrutinize his sharp features dimly reflected in the dirtied mirror, visibly scowl back at the glassy surface displaying the very thing he hates to death— Not today, however. No, plan already dully simmering within the tight confines of his mind, action he willingly chose to take.

So scandalous in every sense of the word that stupid ol’ church boy Sydney here would’ve profusely reprimanded him of such wrongdoings, frantically swat away at the revolting notion he was fully ready to carry out. Hah, makes him unconsciously smirk to envision his shocked expression paired by the quivering squirms of his fist tightening around that annoying, red pen. ‘S it so ‘disgraceful’ to a goody-two shoes with an easygoing life like him?

Guess it’s time to openly show him what piles of shit like Whitney someday, end up at. Barely sparing one forgetful glimpse to the cluttered dump he has to regrettably live in, a flimsy goodbye that’s less of a ‘good-bye’ than a good riddance sort of gesture. He’s not one to be sentimental, regardless. That crap is for fuckin’ snotty losers like the tearful orphans he regularly corners in the shady alleyways near the orphanage, choked up pleads falling on deaf ears when his knuckles disgustingly crack against the beaten flesh. A means of distraction for what he’s gotta lamentably endure on the daily. If he’s gotta suffer then, might as well bring a goddamn couple of nosey brats down with him too. Shit excuse and he knows it, doesn’t stop him from doing it either way.

Rushing past the creaking door, forcibly slamming it shut solely to spite the surrounding neighbours sleepily soaking in the approaching dawn, jolt their dumbasses awake as he laughs it off with a resounding snicker and of course, not to forget— his boldened signature move of a straight ‘fuck you’ shot in the windows direction. Whoever may fuckin’ see it by chance, may they remember that snide grin and those golden locks of hair messily tumbling forth to obscure his gleaming eyes. Cocky boy causing trouble, the first name to be softly whispered when an incident occurs on the local streets, Whitney. Yeah, they better fuckin’ hammer that name into their hardened skulls. Yell it out to the goddamn world.

“Whitney! Hey! Over here!”

Fucking hell— He totally forgot those morons were still loyally waiting for his eventual arrival out here in this icy weather, freezing their asses off till’ he got out of the house or flat, whatever they call it. Fists snugly shoved in his pocket jeans, freshly lit cigarette already comfortably tucked between his lips to then appreciatively take a slow inhale of the fag before casually exhaling out a puff of smoke to meld with the cooling air.

“Fuckin’ idiots. You’re still here? Scram, I’m not in the mood.” Barely hiding the faintest traces of a smirk creeping on his lips at the sight of his gang appearing like a bunch of stray dogs without him in the middle, where he rightfully belongs. Fine, he’s in somewhat of a good mood right now. Why not play nice? “Whatever, you guys can come if you want. I don’t give two fucks either way, just don’t fuckin’ start with that dumb shit again from last time or I’ll dump your asses in the nearest river and watch you fuckers freeze to death.” Classic tactic of ‘I actually want you to come and if you don’t, I’ll kill y’a.’

Holding back the snicker that’d ease past him once they gleefully raise their heads to meet his serious gaze, implying that he isn’t joking— he means it. Really does.

“See, what’d I tell y’a? He’d be happy to see us—” One naively chirps up while the other simply smacks their head in retaliation, puffing and crossing their arms in turn. “Fuck off! If it weren’t for your genius idea to stand outside in the freezing cold, my hands wouldn’t be fucking turning blue by now, y’a cunt!”

“Oh, shut up! If you hadn’t complained the whole goddamn way then maybe—“

Usual banter ensuing as per usual, told those fuckers not to do it and they still do. Hah, what the hell did he expect in the end? Wistfully sighing out to his warning being plainly ignored, hands coming up to run along the golden strands of hair in an easing habit to soothe the headache he’s getting from merely listening to ‘em. Head drooping lowly in a half-assed attempt at covering his widening smile threatening to fuck the whole act up. Bunch of freaks, aren’t they? His gang, though.

Which he’ll never concede to, no. Can’t have ‘em know he’s secretly grateful for their constant presence and insistent tugging for him.

“Cmon, you morons. Pub’s still open till midnight and I’ve got a fuck ton of money to spend from that slut. Drinks are on me this time, you better be grateful I’m sparing y’a a penny.”

No, he can’t possibly admit the simple fact that they make the difficult things in his shitty life, slightly more bearable.

[lunasglow]

Aegon’s fans are held together by fanon and delusion. I hope you all recover.

[fendergender]

how have i never noticed before that the license plates say riverdale instead of a state??? COMPUTER ENHANCE

[nekobami]

[ONE DAY WE'LL GET THERE - DAY 4☠️ PRIEST RICHARD!]

Press P to restore your sassyness!!

Character belongs to: @buggiebeetlesposts !! �� (I am with requests open, also!!! Y can send a cannon character or an OC for me to try to make an animation!~)

[tatzelwyrm]

Thinking about Wolfwood praying to god and Vash being the one who answers.

[automatic-midnight]

Ritsuko Akagi in Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0

[wolf-tail]

Steven Universe has received so much bad faith criticism from media illiterate clowns who called it's queer Jewish creator a Nazi sympathizer for *checks notes* acknowledging that Hey, Killing People Is Wrong Perhaps and Punishment Is Not Equivalent To Justice, Maybe in a CHILDREN'S SHOW that I get automatically suspicious of people who vocally dislike it. Like, you don't have to like it, everyone has their reasons, but I worry sometimes what those reasons are

[dollya-robinprotector]

DOL MERCH PREORDER CLOSED

I'll update them and the polaroids, and stickers set in the near future

[thesherrinfordfacility]

the thing that is actually making me giddy with the possible angst is that i really think that we are about to see the most monumental shift in not only how we saw these characters but also how they previously saw each other.

the fact that we literally now have confirmation that a) they knew each other before the fall, b) aziraphale has had heart eyes since before time began, and c) crowley... possibly not so much, completely changes the context on not just the eden scene but also all the historic scenes that followed.

aziraphale knew crowley as an angel, and knew even then when crowley was meant to be 'perfect' that crowley was maybe a bit different, always asking questions and toeing the line. maybe out of a bit of bastardy himself, or out of begrudging awe of his ability but also his audacity, or just plain attraction, aziraphale immediate takes to him. but this has meant that aziraphale has placed crowley, perhaps unconsciously, upon a pedestal. and the pedestal that aziraphale puts crowley on from that moment may have wobbled throughout their history together, but it's stayed relatively intact.

this worries me, that aziraphale may not have quite let go of the fact that crowley just isn't that person any more, maybe never was to begin with, and continues in some measure to idolise him. my interpretation of this is that yes, crowley can be a bit of a dick (because, well, obviously) and aziraphale knows this, has done since the beginning, but aziraphale continues to hold crowley to an overall moral ideal that is so firmly ensconced in aziraphale's first perception of him as an angel that crowley will never be able to live up to it. not because he isn't a nice person, or because he can't live up to it, but maybe... he just simply doesn't want to.

but the issue is that throughout the ages (including the job minisode which ive had corrected for me, so Crowley Anger is now simply simmering), crowley's actions have only reinforced to aziraphale that despite being technically a demon, he has a huge heart and is not a horrible person. bit of a bastard, but not cruel. all of this just feeds and feeds into this image of crowley that aziraphale has built of him, and when crowley has his flashes of, in fact, not being honourable or kind, this threatens to upset the pedestal altogether.

these wobbly moments - when he thinks crowley is going to kill the children, when crowley snaps at him in rome, when crowley first proposes the arrangement, the prospect that he came up with the french revolt, the holy water request, the bandstand, "how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?"... moments where just for a second, in a small or huge measure, aziraphale's faith in crowley... flickers.

and of course aziraphale has been here before, right? he's had his faith, his devotion, his loyalty tested to the absolute limit of angelic endurance. so when his faith in heaven (never lost it in god) was obliterated, well - it had to cling to something. something that wouldnt mean that aziraphale has to lose the concept of faith altogether. so we're back to the old standby of idolatry, that aziraphale's heavenly faith is replaced by his faith in crowley, this angel that despite never originally giving aziraphale the time of day, aziraphale cannot see - for all of crowley's faults and bastardy and the frustration he poses - crowley as anything less than something to be worshipped.

this is exactly why i think that one of the main points of s2 is going to be a rift between them both. obviously i haven't talked about crowley's perspective of this and maybe i will in another post, but i do think that crowley is going to do something, a bad thing for the right reasons, but aziraphale isn't going to see it like that. that crowley will do something awful to protect aziraphale, but all aziraphale will be able to see is the betrayal or the cruelty or the despair, he can't see wood for the trees, and just lose that last vestige of faith he had altogether.

i feel like once all the disillusion and disenchantment has been swept away, and they're both laid bare at each other's feet... that they may not quite like what they find. from aziraphale's perspective, that whatever crowley does in s2 might be crossing aziraphale's line in the sand, and now aziraphale is starting to see crowley as someone that is truly grey, fluctuating between doing things that are Good, and things that are Good for Crowley.

and it's not as if aziraphale was blind to this before, but instead now... he kind of finally sees who crowley is? who he has been all along? the film has lifted from his eyes. realises that love and worship are not the same thing. what he loves, who he loves, doesn't equate to worshipping it/them, idolising them. there's a very big difference that echoes down to the very core tenet of who aziraphale is and his experiences with having and losing faith, but love having remained.

so stripped of the pedestal, crowley is now just simply... crowley. a person, not an angel, not a demon. and there is the distinct possibility that aziraphale might be completely blindsided by what he finds.