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frogmanfae · 2 years ago

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Anthony Lockwood x GN! Reader- You Too? (FLUFF with a little bit of angst)

Summary: Anthony can't sleep at night. You can't sleep at night. Most of the time you avoid running into each other, but one fateful night of tears in the basement leads to an awkward bedroom experience.

A/n: this one is quite a bit longer than my other ones, about 4,000 words. I think it came out pretty well. Please don't make this dirty, I beg of you. It really is just awkwardness that happens to occur in a bed it isn't anything spicy.

Reader pov

There are nights where I can't bear to be in my room. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I need a break from such mundane consistency. I just need to see something other than those walls.

On these nights, I usually make myself some tea and go to the basement. I'd much rather sit in the library, but Lockwood is in there most nights. Nobody ever comes down to the basement. I'm alone with only my thoughts and my tea.

I don't quite understand why my room has this effect on me sometimes. When my parents died, my room was my safe haven. My refuge. My sanctuary. So now that I'm in a new environment, it makes little sense to me that it can feel more like solitary confinement. It makes even less sense that I'm soothed by the concrete and dust of the basement.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's probably three in the morning as I sit on the floor leaned against the wall, sipping my tea. I'm a listener, like Lucy (though not nearly as powerful) so a moment of silence is rare, but extremely calming. To use my power and hear nothing is bliss.

I've only about half way finished my tea when someone comes down the stairs, clearly laser focused on something. We're in the middle of a big case, so that's probably it. I had expected it to be George doing some late research or maybe Lucy to see if she can listen to any of the sources down here and get a lead.

To my surprise, it's the other one.

I watch silently as Lockwood pulls out several files and spreads them out on a table. He seems extra stiff, like something is really bothering him. He grumbles something in frustration before collecting the files and putting them back in the cabinet.

He walks over to my wall and sits down a couple feet away. From what I can tell, he hasn't noticed me.

I'm right here, isn't your talent supposed to be sight?

I simply continue sipping on my tea, remaining quiet and looking forward to not disturb him, though he really is an idiot if he doesn't know I'm here.

I thought for a moment that he actually did see me, but he needed space and realized I needed the same so he just didn't acknowledge it. I was certain on this until I heard him crying.

I look over at him. He's still wearing dress pants and his button up and tie. He's still got on his dress shoes. However, his hair was a mess and his hands were currently tangled in the back locks, only making it worse. His face was buried in his knees. I swear I heard a tear drop on to the floor. He was quietly sobbing, clearly trying to not alert anyone but still in pain. Emotional pain, anyhow.

I debate what I should do for a moment. I don't want to startle him, and honestly he seems like he needs this. I decide to just keep drinking my tea and not look at him. I'll let him get it all out before I make my presence known.

It lasts longer than I thought. Perhaps ten minutes? I'm not the best with comprehending passage of time but that seems right enough. Regardless of the details, it was a long time to sit here holding my breath and listening to his suffering.

Finally, he sniffs and wipes his eyes. I'm still looking straight ahead holding my cup, only seeing him out of my peripheral vision. He runs his hands back and forth over his hair a few times. I close my eyes.

"JESUS FUCKI-"

I snap my head towards Lockwood. He's now on his back with his legs closest to me, propped up on one arm and looking at me as if I'm a ghost. I can properly see his face now. His dark circles seem more prominent than usual and his eyes are red and puffy. His nose is red. His cheeks are discolored. He looks abnormally pale. His lashes have been thickened and darkened by his tears. It was truly a sight.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?"

"I was here before you."

"AND YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING? YOU SAW ALL OF THAT?"

"Shhh you'll wake up the others, we both know how lightly George sleeps while we're in the midst of a case. Anyhow, you seemed like you needed it. I didn't want to interrupt. It's not like I watched you."

"But... You saw it all. You heard everything!"

"Lockwood, I hope you realize I think no less of you."

"What?"

"I- oh gosh you can't be comfortable like that. Sit up, why don't you?" He hesitantly pushes himself up and leans against the wall again. "I'm worried about you."

"Theres no need to be-"

"Bullshit. You can't keep concealing your emotions like this. It's okay to be overwhelmed or stressed or overall upset for any reason. You always act like everything is wonderful but it's not. I don't know if it ever has been."

He looks down. "(Y/n)... It's not that easy-"

"I never said anything about it being easy. Of course it's hard. I can't even imagine how you feel owning an agency so young, having all that pressure on your shoulders. It's terrifying to be vulnerable."

"Is that why you're in the basement in the early hours of the morning, drinking herbal tea?"

I hum. "I just couldn't sleep, and I like herbal tea."

"Now who's bullshitting?" The corners of his mouth tug up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You much prefer green. Herbal simply calms you down. You only ever drink herbal tea when you're upset."

"How..."

"I notice things, (y/n). Lots of things. Don't think I don't hear the kettle during the midnight hours at least three times a week. The peculiar thing is I never hear anyone go back up the stairs and whenever I go into the kitchen, it's empty."

I look down. How'd he make this about me so quickly?

"Tell me, (y/n), do you spend your nights in the basement often?"

"... No. Only when I can't sleep."

"So... Often." He nods. "Why don't you stay in the library? It's much more inviting."

"I don't want to bother you. That's where you are most nights."

"You could never bother me."

"Stop, you were the one crying a few moments ago, this isn't about me."

He sighs. "It was worth a shot."

"Now, what's bothering you?"

"Uh... Nothing, really."

"Lockwood."

"It's just the case, that's all."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

He let's out a noise of exasperation. "Fine, you really want to know? It's my parents."

"Your parents?" I ask softly as I scoot closer to him.

He nods. "They died when I was six years old. You really have no idea what it's like to have such a great life until suddenly you don't and it all gets ripped away from you without warning and nobody will take you in so you have to fend for yourself before your age even reaches double digits."

"Actually... I think I can relate more than you realize."

"How can you possibly relate?" He almost sounds angry. I don't blame him, I never told him my story. I kept it to myself even after living with other people all this time. I moved here with a purpose, to start new. Therefore, my past never happened according to anyone else. I was another person then. I've left all of that behind, taking only the nightmares and memories with me.

"My parents were murdered when I was eight." I look straight ahead. "Nobody really wants to adopt a kid who's just began to really get strong in their talent for hearing brutal murders and death. It freaks adults out. So I was on my own until I found you guys."

His expression softens. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry, I... Wait, you were fourteen when you applied. That's six years."

"It was hard but I managed. The whole ghost hunting agent thing isn't so bad. Once you've been forced to watch your parents get nothing short of quartered right in front of your sensitive, innocent eyes, you can watch anyone else get ghost touched no big deal."

"I'm sorry, quartered?" His eyes are wide.

"Yeah, are you familiar with the French Revolution?"

"I'm familiar enough to hope you were talking about a different type of quartering."

I shook my head. "It was intense. I still think of it every time I close my eyes."

"I can't even imagine..."

"I didn't tell you this for you to feel sorry for me. I only wanted you to know I'll understand. You aren't as alone as you believe."

He nods slowly. "I see... Thank you... For sharing, I mean."

"Of course. So now that you know I can at least sort of understand what you're feeling, what's going on with you?"

He sighs. "I don't know... Sometimes I just..."

"Miss them?"

"... Yeah." He nods. "Yeah I miss them a lot. I miss them all the time but sometimes when I think about it it's not so bad, it's let me do what I've done, accomplish all of this. Other times..."

"It's mentally suffocating."

"Mentally suffocating... Yeah that's a good word for it. Like it's put a sheet over your brain to prevent it from getting oxygen, but you can still physically breathe with your lungs for the most part."

I nod. "Yeah, it's frightening. George has a book on it he was telling me about some time."

"George knows you feel like this sometimes?"

"No, but we often discuss our readings, trade books, recommend authors or titles... Things of the sort. I haven't told anyone about my past. Except you of course."

"Well aren't I special," he flashes one of his signature Lockwood smiles.

I roll my eyes. "Don't let it get to your head, your ego is already so inflated I fear it might burst."

"Oh haha you love my charisma."

"Is that what we're calling it?" I smile at him.

He laughs. Not his public press laugh, but a true, genuine laugh. One that I've never heard from him before. It makes me feel a little bit warmer with emotion.

"You know, most nights I stay awake in the library simply because I can't stand the solitude of my room."

"What?"

"I know, it's silly-"

"No, not at all! I come down here for the same reason!"

"You do?" He raises his eyebrows, sounding surprised. "I thought you just worried over cases or, well now I thought you thought about your past but-"

"No, it's like..." I think for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "Like the silence is too loud and the space is too big for just me, even though my bed hardly fits properly."

"Exactly! Like I don't have anything to focus on except for the sensory deprivation and my anxieties."

"Yes! Oh my goodness I can't believe you get it!"

"I thought I was the only one!" He laughs again, different this time. It sounds almost relieved. "Say... Maybe we could help each other out."

I raise an eyebrow. "Help each other out? How so?"

"Well, feel free to decline if you want and we'll never speak of this proposal again, but perhaps we could try spending the night in the same room."

"But..." I get that warm feeling again, more intense this time. "Each room only has one bed..."

"Yes well..." Despite the horrid lighting of the basement, I could faintly see a light pink tint spanning across his nose and blotching on other, seemingly random, spots on his face. "Like I said I understand if you decline and if that is your choice we can pretend I never said anything... However... I feel it may be beneficial to the both of us to have a... companion in the lonely, deafeningly silent hours of the night. If it works, splendid we can finally get some proper sleep. If it doesn't, we each return to our respective seperate rooms and carry on as if nothing ever happened."

"..." I nod slowly. "Okay."

"Ah- really?" He turns to face me more. "In all honesty I thought you would detest the idea."

"Do you still want-"

"Yes! I mean," he clears his throat, "uh... Yeah, the offer still stands."

"Perfect."

"Well then." He stands up and offers me his hand. "Shall we?"

"Oh you mean like right now! Alright then." I take his hand and he pulls me up. He chuckles and leads me to his room.

"I uh... I'll go take this cup back to the kitchen and let you get changed and what not."

"Oh- right." He pushes back some of his hair. "I'll only be a minute or two."

"Okay, I'll be waiting for whenever you're ready."

He smiles at me as he steps back into his room and closes the door. I swiftly make my way to the kitchen and set my cup in the sink, resolving to wash it in the morning, and return in under a minute.

I wait outside for only about thirty seconds longer before Lockwood opens the door again.

"Sorry I took so long."

"Long? Lockwood that was- wait."

"What? Is something the matter?" He takes his hand off of the door handle and peeks his head out around the corner.

"No, just... You're wearing a shirt."

"Oh, well..." He stepped aside, inviting me in, and closed the door behind me "Yes in fact I am. What about it?"

"Lockwood you've never worn a shirt to bed in all the time I've been here. It's like an unspoken principle in the house; you don't wear shirts to bed and George doesn't wear trousers."

"I didn't realize it was such a disruption of order-"

"Well- that's not what I'm saying." I sigh. I've always struggled with putting things into the right words. "Obviously it's fine if you wear a shirt to bed, I just... I'm just wondering why all of a sudden?"

"Well... I don't know. I suppose I thought you may be a bit uncomfortable sharing a bed with me when I've no shirt on." He looked down, those pink splotches returning to his face. "After all, this is only an arrangement of convenience and practicality. It's not like were... uh... going out... or anything..."

"Ah, right..." I can feel myself getting flustered. "Well... I don't mind, really. The whole point is to feel more comfortable going to sleep so if you feel more comfortable with no shirt on, honestly it doesn't make any difference to me."

"... Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, really." I smile reassuringly. "Whatever makes you fall asleep best."

He hesitates. "Well, if you're absolutely positive-"

"Lockwood, I promise you."

He hums lowly. "Alright then. But if you change your mind just tell me and I'll put it back on straight away, I swear-"

"Lockwood!"

"Alright, okay! If you're sure-"

"I'm sure."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, a smile gracing his face. It isn't one of his signature smiles, it's real, quite boyish actually. He seems so young. Sometimes I forget how young we really are, but then again, all youth since The Problem has forgotten how young they really are.

I try my best to appear to be disinterested and looking away as he removes his shirt and folds it, neatly placing it in the bottom right drawer of his dresser. Of course, I watch the whole thing unfold. I'm only trying to appear as if I'm not.

"Alright, well..." He awkwardly rubs his arm. I've never seen him seem so nervous before. "I suppose now is when we uh... get into bed, then..."

"Yes it does seem like that happens now..." I slowly nod.

"Well uhm... After you." He gestures toward the bed.

"Oh no, please, it's your bed, you go ahead first." I wave my hands.

"No no I insist. You're my... guest? Is that the appropriate term for this? What do we call this?" He lets out a breathy chuckle. "Sorry, I'm a bit..."

"Nervous?"

"To say the least."

We both laugh a little bit. There really was no need for it to be so nerve wrecking. We had already agreed that if it doesn't go well we pretend nothing happened. Nobody needs to know.

"Here, why don't we just both get in at the same time?" I offer.

"Yes! Yes, that sounds like a good idea." He goes to the side of the bed opposite of me.

It's still extremely tense as the both of us climb in under the covers. There's plenty of space in between us. I'm nearly hanging off the edge, no doubt Lockwood is as well.

Fuck it.

I move onto the bed more so I'm a comfortable ways on. "Lockwood?"

"Yes?"

"Can I be frank for a moment?"

"Well I think I'd prefer you to stay (y/n) but I suppose whatever makes you happy-"

"Oh shut up." He laughs one of those real laughs again. I nearly melt.

"What would you like to talk about?"

I take a deep breath, admittedly, his joke (however stupid) managed to cut some of the tension. "This isn't going to work unless we get over ourselves and actually share the bed. Like real sharing."

He pauses. "You're right. The question is, how far are we going?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Well..." He huffs. "If we're being frank-"

"I prefer Anthony, but I suppose-"

"Oh shut up, it really isn't funny." Despite his words, he was smiling again. "I see your point now."

"Well, what is it you were going to say, Frank?"

"Please don't." He laughs, making me smile more.

"I'm listening."

He inhales deeply. "Well, how far are we going as in... Are we simply laying next to one another and trying to go to sleep or... to be blunt, are we spooning?"

I nearly chocked on my own saliva. Blunt was certainly one way to say it.

"Well... Whatever makes you comfortable. Honestly I think it would work best if we... Uh... Did the latter, but I don't want to make you-"

"I was actually hoping you'd say that-"

He sighs, sounding almost... Relieved?"

"Really?"

"Yes, I-" he rolls over, bringing us from being over a foot apart to our noses now almost touching. "Goodness you are much closer than I thought-"

"Sorry, I-" I start to move back, but he puts his hand on my waist, gently stopping me.

"No no I uh... Well if we're going to uh... You know, uhm, we're going to have to be close anyway so..."

"Right, yeah..."

He softly pulls me closer using his hand that still rests on my waist. I move towards him until my hands are pressed to his chest and our legs are touching under the covers. His face is splotchy red again, the most intense I've ever seen it, though I can't imagine how flustered I must appear.

"Uhm... May I?" He starts to wrap his leg around mine.

"Ah..." I nod, unable to trust my voice.

And so now we lay here, about two seconds away from being puddles of awkwardness and mild embarrassment. He's warm. Very warm. It's kind of nice being this close to him.

I've always found him attractive since the moment I saw him. He is, objectively, a good looking guy.

Then I got to know him a little bit. He and I would often bicker and pester one another, some times seemingly more serious than others, but for the most part it was all in jest. Making jabs at each other is just what we do.

I think I fell for him more and more over my time here, but tonight I saw a new side of him. A side that really pushed me over the edge of having a bit of a crush on him to trying to stop myself from kissing him at any given moment.

"(Y/n)? Are you alright?" He brings a hand up to my forehead. "You're awful warm and you look... Distressed."

"Anthony?"

His gaze softened. I don't think anyone has called him that in... well who knows how long? Too long. "Yes? Is something the matter?"

"No I just..." I make eye contact with him, effectively rendering myself speechless.

He inches closer. "Are you sure? This is quite the... intimate position... I wouldn't want to make you..."

By this time, our noses are back to almost touching, but even closer than before. He tilts his head just enough to avoid colliding them.

"Make me what? Uncomfortable?" I glance down at his lips, quickly looking back to his eyes to avoid suspicion. "Anthony, you could never-"

He kisses me.

Holy shit.

Anthony Lockwood is kissing me.

I'm in Anthony Lockwood's bed.

I'm kissing Anthony Lockwood!

"I'm sorry-" he pulls back. "Oh no... I shouldn't have done that... Shit... Oh shit I'm so sorry-"

I kiss him again. "Shut up, will you? I just had a life altering moment here and I'm trying to enjoy it."

"You- you liked it?"

"Of course I did. Anthony, I've liked you since... Well I suppose there wasn't a single moment I could pick out but-"

"I love it when you call me that."

I smile. "Call you what? Anthony? Well that is your name."

"It hasn't been used in years. Not by itself, anyhow. It sounds nice coming from your lips."

"I like your lips." It takes a moment to register what I just said. "Wait, I didn't mean-"

"You like kissing me~" He teases me, putting on his Lockwood Smile.

"Oh shut up!" I put my head on his chest to hide my face. "Of course I do..."

"Well... You know what I would like more than just kissing you?" He carefully lifts my head up with two fingers under my chin.

"Hm?"

He hesitates for a moment. "I'd like to be your boyfriend."

"What? Really?"

"If you'll have me, that is-"

"Of course I'll have you, you prick!" I lightly punch his chest. "Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you that?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say I do."

"Well there wasn't a specific time but I think I started to think about it more and more around the time we were working the Brentic case."

"The B- (y/n) that was at least a year and a half ago."

"I'm well aware."

"... Huh."

"What?"

"I think I've known since the Dalkins case."

"Lockwood, that was long before the Brentic case-"

"It seems my charm worked then."

"Oh shut up! Go to sleep!"

He laughs a bit. "So... Are we...?"

"... I think we are..."

"Wonderful! Splendid! Perfect! Grand! Fanta-"

I laugh. "Anthony shut up!"

He goes quiet, but the smile remains on his face. "Do we tell the others?"

"... Nah. It's funnier if we just let them figure it out. But we don't necessarily have to hide it either."

He nods. "It'll take all my self control to not shout it from the rooftops."

"Oh hush." I roll my eyes, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. "Get some sleep, lover boy. You clearly need it."

He kisses me once more, shorter this time, before closing his eyes and pulling me closer to his chest. He falls asleep surprisingly quickly, his breaths going even and his mouth falling slightly agape in no time at all.

I watch him for a moment. Once again, he really shows his age for only a second. I push some of his hair away from his face and place a kiss on his forehead, causing him to stir just a bit.

Before I know it, my eyelids feel heavy. It becomes increasingly harder to keep them open, to stay awake. Soon enough, I'm drifting into sleep with pleasant dreams to greet me and Lockwood by my side.

How lucky am I?

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gayferrari · 2 months ago

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omega lando & omega charles bitching and sniping at each other and syncing up… just being in the same room as the two of them is enough sends george into a stress heat. alex is suffering more than jesus

I'm glad you see the vision that in any omegaverse AU where Lando and Charles are both omegas, so is George. obviously. he's the only one who cares about omega rights around here 😞

#omegaverse #elle asks

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 8 months ago

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An (incredibly long) "I want"-style song dedicated to the most unruly of trios: John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison.

The setting is the late 50's – it's deliberately a bit of a mish-mash :-)

Lyrics below the cut!

John: Green

Paul: Blue

George: Purple

P&G: Pink

J&P: Red

JP&G: Neutral

Liverpool gave up on me the first day of preschool

Teachers called me unruly cause I don't suffer fools

And my aunt who says she can't believe I’d throw it all away

Quarrybank, that school for cranks suspended me the other day

All those lads who quit this band to learn a proper trade

Think that I don't understand the facts of getting paid

But you both see,

It's them not me, it's us and this here prophecy

Do you see us five years on – well

Maybe three, that's sort of long

As they're writhing for our songs

And “Your group's on now, John "

Earning some preposterous wage

Free of this less-town-more-cage

As we enter center-stage

In our gold disk age

And the birds will have to queue

For a single peck at you

Then, emboldened by the view

Watch them molt on cue

And all we need is not to quit,

They'll call us Great Britain's

Newest stars, brand new guitars, guaranteed not to split

Picture us: the favourite band

With a record deal in hand

Going deaf from screaming fans

As per my new masterplan

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the topper)

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

I hear music in my head

Wherever I go

It's like it's bursting out my soul

It's something I cannot control

Meanwhile I can't drop this tune

Every night When I get home

I watch dad roll his eyes

"Heard of this thing called a comb? "

I sigh as he implies

That mum would be

So unhappy and so disappointed in me

However inopportune

There's a decade dawning soon

Shooting for the moon

And John may seem unreasonable

But his dream is feasible

Sometimes yes, guess he's a gull

I'll appease him though

And then I see how for we're come

Joined, we're greater than our sum

See, the rhythm's in the strum

Of the guitars and then some

Playing my part in your vision, I'll

Grab a pen, so much to discover

Let's produce another

Lennon-McCartney original

See the day John and me met

And Yes George, I didn't forget!

We become a matching set

Writing tete-a-tete

Where we going, Johnny? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the toppermost)

And where do I fit in?

And when do I come in?

Is there a spot for me at the

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

I'm the youngest, there's no day when they let me forget

But the part Paul will not say: I'm their safest bet

See the fact is they don’t practice systematically like me

I know my chord charts, strings, fretboard, parts of my soul, sorted by key.

Still the world is their playground

And I am watching from the fence

I can't yet jump with confidence

But mum taught me about patience

I still feel Julia's arms around me every time I play

What would my mum say? (She tells me)

Anything I set my mind to (She taught me everything)

The heights I'll climb to (She wanted everything)

My time soon

Anything to prove I'm worth it (Wouldn’t approve)

Move the earth, they'll learn…

I had to learn to be the only one believing in me

And ever since she's gone, I can hardly stand it (Mum says I can stand it)

No one understanding (Don’t quite understand it)

The thing she saw in me

And dad, he just wants me to be practical

She’d call me her rebel without applause and tell me

Just keep making noise, always play in your own key

I will wait patiently

He may believe in me but not my choice

They will have no choice but to love me

Where we going fellas? Where we going?

To the toppermost of the poppermost!

Insert band name here.

Liverpool has no idea what’s coming

Liverpool will never be the same

They’ll put up posters of us

Like on this truck

John, that’s a bus!

Put your glasses on, Jesus!

And dad will be non-plussed when

Walking down the street he’ll see John (John), Paul, George (George) of the…

Johnny and the Moondogs… What! Definitely not. The Shoes!

The Quarrymen… Nononononono, JaPaGe3!

Liverpool has no idea what’s coming

Liverpool will never be the same

When they all see us one as three the blasphemous song trinity.

Everybody’s bitching

Where’s that old ambition

That got you essay prizes and into the institute?

I’m not a delinquent

I’ve just been rethinking

No one realizes I’m still just as resolute

Just keep making noise

Always play in your own key

They will have no choice

But to love me

Anything I set my mind to

The heights I’ll climb to

My time soon

Anything to prove I’m worth it

Move the earth

They’ll learn from me.

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

Where we going, Johnny?

Where we going, fellas? Where we going?

(To the topper-most of popper-most of popper, to the topper)

And where do I fit in and when do I come in?

Toppermost of the poppermost.

#the beatles #beatles #you would not believe how much time went into this lmao #or maybe you would #GOOODNESSS #main-tagging this. I've Earned It!#also sry if the colours are fucked up it's tumblr's fault not mine I corrected this twice already #my voice #fiona.docx #fic #friends.jpg

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destielgaysex · 6 days ago

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last night on spn friday, dean made a reference to a song by WHAM and my best friend said "yay! george michael mention!" i felt safe with my best friend to ask who that is. in which i discovered pop culture knowledge i definitely should have known.. castiel suffered more than jesus christ.

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suenitos · 9 months ago

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Dream may suffer more than Jesus, but Georges smile will always bring him back to life

WHATEVER.

#SHUT THE FUCK UOPFPUPPP[#anon.txt #ask.txt

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menlove · 5 months ago

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my george girl mutuals are everything to me you guys are suffering more than jesus

#i think my life would be more calm if i were a george girl #i do completely understand every time a george blog does not follow me back im like #if i were a george blog i would not either. to be honest.#but i still will rb every good george post i see on this website bc he's everything #he's everything they're just mclennon etc

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wesleyhill · 1 year ago

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Torn Heavens

A homily on Isaiah 64:1 preached on the First Sunday of Advent 2023 at the Episcopal Church of St. Michael and St. George, St. Louis, Missouri

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.”

May I speak to you in the Name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

One of the ways people talk about religion and spirituality goes something like this: I feel something is missing from my life. I want more inner peace and fulfillment. I should explore some spiritual practices to try to get in touch with the Divine.

In our more desperate and honest moments, though, we know this isn’t quite right. Because our hunger seems larger than this. Yes, we want peace and a sense of fulfillment, but we want more than that. We want an intervention. We want not so much to be climbing the ladder to heaven as to have God reach down and rescue us when we’ve fallen off the ladder, when we’ve reached the end of our rope. We want not just our individual interior lives to be healed. We want our broken relationships restored. We want our financial insecurity to be resolved. We want illness and disease not to be able always to have the upper hand. We want the whole world to be different.

Right after the end of World War II, a French Catholic theologian and priest named Henri de Lubac published a book that has become a classic, titled Catholicism. He opens the book with a quotation that emphasizes the individualistic nature of so much of our spirituality: “The joy of Jesus can be personal. It can belong to a single [person] and [she or he] is saved… In his [or her] blessedness he passes through the battlefields with a rose in his hand.” The individual believer is serenely detached and untouched by the tumult, content with her own personal joy and beauty. But the quotation goes on. When disaster strikes, when suffering pulls the rug out from under our feet, then we realize our solidarity with all the other wounded lying on the battlefield: “My joy will not be lasting unless it is the joy of all. I will not pass through the battlefields with a rose in my hand.”

This is the sentiment that we heard a few moments ago in our reading from the Hebrew prophet Isaiah. Crying out to God, the prophet says, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.” It’s a striking image: the prophet looking up to the sky, screaming at God to show Himself — to pull back the curtain and come off His throne and come down into our human misery. It’s a far cry from an individualistic spirituality of interior, psychological ascent into realms of tranquility. It’s a plea for God to show up in the mire and muck of social, material human existence. It’s a call for God to act in history, in community, in cities and families and hospitals and businesses.

The verb the prophet uses — “O that you would tear open the heavens” — is, in the Greek translation, the word schizō. It means to rend or split apart. We get the word schism, a tear in social bonds, from it, and also the word schizophrenia. The prophet is begging God to split apart the sky and come out from hiding and intervene in the world.

And does God answer the prophet’s prayer? Does God answer our prayer?

In the first of the Gospels to be written, the Gospel of Mark, the evangelist uses that word schizō in two significant places in his story. The first is when Jesus is baptized in the Jordan river by John: “And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him.” John had been splashing water on Judeans who were sorry for their injustice and immorality: “the whole Judean region and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to [John] and were baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins.”

According to the witness of the New Testament, Jesus had no sins to confess. He lived at every moment with perfect love for God and His fellow human beings. And yet He went into the river along with all the penitents. Why? Because He knew that the healing we need could only come about through His sharing with us entirely in all our guilt and grief. What He was unwilling to put on His shoulders could not be healed in us. And so, even though He Himself was entirely innocent, He went down into the waters of baptism with us and for us.

And the Gospel of Mark says that that was the moment when Isaiah’s prayer was heard and answered. God tore open the heavens and came down. God ripped apart the curtain that He was hiding behind and showed up in our history, taking our failures and evils on Himself and taking them away.

The other place in the Gospel of Mark where that word schizō is used comes at the end of the narrative, when Jesus is hanging on the cross: “Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.” There was a heavy, ornate curtain that separated the Most Holy Place, the Holy of Holies, from the rest of the temple and the world. It concealed and guarded the Presence of God, and only once a year, on the Day of Atonement, would the high priest enter in behind the curtain to offer sacrifice. Otherwise the curtain guarded the people from the devouring fire of God’s holiness. But now, at the moment of Jesus’ death, the curtain in the temple is torn apart — and it is not torn from the bottom up, from human beings’ attempt to access God’s presence. Instead it is torn from top to bottom, as Jesus’ death unleashes God’s presence into the world, not for conflagration but for salvation and new access and the ultimate restoration of all creation.

Many readers of these stories over the centuries have pointed out that once you violently rip something apart, it can’t be sewn back together very easily. Once the heavens are torn open, once the temple curtain has been rent from top to bottom, they can’t be closed up again.

And yet I, and I suspect you, often feel that they the tatters have been knit back together so that we can’t discern the presence of God and His salvation anymore. The world, and our lives, don’t look very saved right now. And that is why, during Advent, we look ahead to another great tearing apart of the heavens. St. Paul tells us by a word of the Lord that at the end, “the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise.” There will be yet one more splitting apart of the skies, another ripping of the curtain. And the dead will be raised, and all things will be made new.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

Amen.

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