#Jewish Voices For Peace is absolutely not a good starting point to learn about anything related to Judaism since most of the members are

[gingerswagfreckles]

Incredible. Every single one of these comments except one is virulently antisemitic.

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Back at it again with my self-indulgent comic posts. This time! It’s Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #3, perhaps the most tonally-distinct entry yet, with shades of The Twilight Zone. 

Spoilers!

So, as mentioned, this issue is the most deliberate in terms of both its pacing and its tone, IMO.

What is that tone, you ask?

To quote Alex Danvers, from “Midvale”: Hello, darkness.

THE STORY:

Kara and Ruthye are still looking for Krem Clues in the alien town of Maypole.

(Which is actually just Small Town, USA, complete with vintage 50s aesthetics.)

But the locals are clearly hiding something! So Kara and Ruthye continue to investigate, and they eventually discover what it was that the residents of Maypole were so keen to keep hidden. 

Genocide, basically. 

As I said, this issue struck me as very Twilight Zone; a genre story involving the build-up to a dark twist, all set against the backdrop of an idyllic small town. (Think, like, “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” but instead of focusing on the Red Scare, it’s classism and racism.)

The wealthier blue aliens kicked all of the purple aliens out of town, and when space pirates showed up to pillage and plunder, the blue aliens made a deal with them: the lives of the purple aliens in exchange for their safety.  

Which is where the episodic story connects to the larger mission; it was Krem who suggested the trade, and then joined up with the Brigands (space pirates) when he was freed by the blue aliens.

The issue ends with no tidy resolution to the terrible things Kara and Ruthye discovered, but they do have a lead on where to find Krem, now, as well as Barbond’s Brigands.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

Ironically, it’s here, in the darkest chapter yet, that we get the closest to what might be considered ‘classic’ Kara. 

Which I think comes down to that aforementioned deliberate pace--this issue is a little slower, a little quieter. It gives the characters some room to breathe.

That’s not to say Crusty Kara is gone. Oh no. She is still very much Crusty. XD 

But anyways. A list! Of Kara moments I loved!

I mentioned a few of these in a prior post when the preview pages came out: I like the moment where Kara blows down the guy’s house of cards, and I like that the action is echoed later in the issue when she grabs the mayor’s desk and tosses it aside. A nice visual representation of the escalation of Kara being, like. Done with these creeps. (Creeps is an understatement but you get the idea.)

Another one from the preview pages: Kara explains to Ruthye that her super hearing won’t necessarily help her detect a lie, especially if she’s dealing with an alien species she’s not familiar with.

It not only reveals her level of competence and understanding of her super powers, it also shows that, you know. She’s a thinker. She’s smart. 

Amazing! Showing, rather than telling us, that Kara is smart! Without mentioning the science guild at all wow hey wow.

(Sorry, pointed criticism of the SG show fandom.)

Anyways.

I dig the PJs! 

And Kara catching the bullet! Not only are the poses and character acting great, it’s also a neat bit of panel composition:

We start with Ruthye’s POV, and then move to the wide shot of the room. The panel where Kara actually catches the bullet is down and to the side of the wide shot panel--we move our eyes the way her body/arm would have to move to intercept the bullet. Physicality in static, 2D images!

Also, like. It’s a very tense moment, life-or-death, but. Ruthye’s wide-eyed surprise at the bullet in Kara’s hand? Kind of adorable. 

I was pretty much prepared for the page of Kara shielding Ruthye from the gunfire to be the highlight--it was one of the first pages King shared and I was like, ‘yeah, YEAH.’ But, shockingly? The TRUE highlight of the issue?

Where do I BEGIN?!?!

EVERYTHING. About this moment. Is lovely.

From Kara holding Ruthye above the bench to explaining the concept of a piggyback ride, to telling her:

“I’m going to hold my hands here, and these hands can turn coal into diamonds, so they’re not going to let go. I’m going to keep you safe.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG.

Ruthye’s narration--about how Kara had avoided flying as she was concerned it would freak Ruthye out--just adds a whole additional layer of YES, GOOD, YES, and her line on that splash page is great: “You see, all that time, she was worried about me.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG. AGAIN.

To say nothing of the STELLAR ARTWORK.

And SPEAKING of that stellar artwork, Evely and Lopes continue to knock it out of the park. Each issue is distinct and beautifully crafted, a true joy to look at.

Before I jump into more of the art, a few final notes of character stuff in general.

Ruthye is the one most affected by the experience in Maypole, as she can’t comprehend how a society of people that look so nice and gentle and peaceful could have been party to such a horrible act.

One of the big criticisms of the book thus far is that Supergirl is not the main character, and I guess I can agree with that observation. Typically, in Western media, the main character is the one who goes through the most change in the story. 

And, yeah. That’s Ruthye.

As I was reading the end, where Ruthye sits on the curb and Kara hugs her, I was imagining how the scene would’ve played, had King stuck with the original idea for the series: Kara as the one learning to be tough/experiencing all of this for the first time, and while I think that could certainly work...

I continue to appreciate that King literally flipped the script; that Kara, especially in this issue, is like, ‘I’ve seen this, I know this,’ as opposed to being the one going through a loss of innocence.

*Marge Simpson voice* I just think it’s neat!

Because Kara’s been a teen in DC comics for so long--ever since she was reintroduced to the main DCU continuity, actually--so this is all brand new territory, here. Having an older Kara who’s SEEN SOME STUFF.

(Alsoooooo, since Bendis made the destruction of Krypton not just inaction and climate disaster, but rather, genocide, and the subtext of a Kryptonian diaspora text, the waitress’ derogatory comment regarding the the destruction of Kryton, as well as Kara picking up the bad vibes the entire time, suggests not just a broad commentary on discrimination in all its forms, but specifically allegorical anti-Semitism. The purple aliens being forced out of their homes and into substandard living conditions, then the blue aliens--their neighbors and once-fellow residents--essentially allowing the space pirates to kill them, making them literal scapegoats, Kara discovering the remains of the purple aliens, and Ruthye’s horror at the ‘banality of evil’...yes. A case could be made, I think.) 

(Which would probably require a post unto itself and a lot more in-depth discussion, nuance, and cited sources.)

(Should mention that King has brought up that both he and Orlando--the other Supergirl writer he talked to--are Jewish, and for him personally, that shaped his views on Kara’s origin story.)

I guess my point is that this issue is perhaps not as out-of-left-field as some might think, and just because there isn’t as obvious an arc for Kara, doesn’t mean there isn’t some sharp character work at play. 

(I could be WAY OFF, of course, and I’m not suggesting it’s a clear 1:1 comparison. I’d actually really love to hear King talk about this issue in particular.)

Anyways.

Here’s the final page, which I think works, because as I mentioned before, there is no easy answer/quick wrap-up to the story of Maypole:

THE ART:

I mean. How many times can I just shout ‘ART! AAAARRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!’ before it gets old?

I dunno, but I guess we’re gonna FIND OUT.

There are some panels in this issue that I just. Like ‘em! From a purely artistic standpoint! Because they’re so good!

Like, I just really love the way Kara is drawn in that top panel. Her troubled, confused expression, the colors of the fading light, the HAIR. 

Evely draws the best hair. I know I’ve said this before. I don’t care. I will continue to say it, because it continues to be true.

The issue I find myself running up against when I make these posts is that I really don’t want to post whole pages, as that’s generally frowned upon (re: pirating etc.) but with something like this, you just can’t appreciate it in panel-by-panel snippets.

(Guided View on digital reading platforms is a BANE and a POX I say!)

Anyways.

LOVE the implied movement of the cape settling as Kara speeds in and stops. 

And, obviously, Kara flicking the bullet away is just. A+. 

And the EYES, man. LOPES’ COLORS ON THE EYES???!?! BEAUTIFUL.

Also, should note the lettering! The more rounded letters for the ‘WOOSH’ of Kara’s speed (and, earlier, the super breath) work nicely, and contrast with the angular, violent BLAMS of the gunshots. 

And, I gotta say, the editor is doing a really great job of not cluttering up the artwork with all the caption boxes. Which is no small task.

(I assume the editor is placing them, as editors usually handle word balloon/caption box placement, but I suppose it could be Evely? Sometimes the artist handles it. Either way, whoever’s taking care of all the text, EXCELLENT WORK! BRAVO!)

Okay I think that’s everything.

Ah, nope, wait.

MISC.

Just a funny observation, more than anything else: Superman: Red and Blue dropped this week, and King had a story in there, “The Special” (which was very good, btw.) Both Lois and the waitress swear a lot so I’m beginning to think that this is just how King writes dialogue for any adult character who isn’t Clark. XD

This is absolutely a personal preference but when Kara was like, “And my name IS Supergirl,” I was like nooooo. I know King is trying to simplify all of the conflicting origin stories and lore but I LIKE KARA DANVERS, SIR. XD

It’s almost assuredly a cash-grab/an attempt for DC to get all the money it can out of a book they don’t have much confidence in, but I like the cardstock covers! Very classy, much Strange Adventures.

(OH my gosh, can you imagine that issue 1 cover with spot gloss???? Basically the only way you could possibly improve on it.) 

Okay NOW I’m done. For real. XD NEXT TIME: Kara and Ruthye go after Krem and the Brigands!

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 30

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 30: Tommy receives a letter from a dead man. 

       “Mr. Shelby, this was delivered to you.” Tommy’s assistant at the House of Commons set the envelope down on his desk.

           “Thank you.” He set his pen down for a moment and picked up the letter. It did appear addressed to him although the penmanship was very unkempt and blotted. Either way, Tommy opened the envelope.

           Inside was a very brief letter written in the same scrawling handwriting with several errors in spelling and grammar, almost as if a child had written it.

           Dear Tom,

Try an stay awy from black horrses. Rmind El ta feed Cril n Antea.

           Alfe

           It was utterly puzzling, to say the least. Tommy was holding what seemed to be the drugged-up stream of consciousness of a man who was supposed to be dead. If the letter was coherent, he would’ve assumed it had been sent before Alfie was shot. However, it wasn’t only the disjointed writing that proved that theory wrong. Up in the top right corner, no matter how much pain medication he was on, Alfie still managed to scribble out the correct date.

           Three days after he was supposedly gunned down.

           It took Tommy a moment and he wondered if he was mistaken. The idea seemed so outlandish but he had some sort of evidence.

           So, he picked up the telephone to find out where his sister was.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           To Ella’s dismay, it didn’t take Tommy long to find her. She wasn’t surprised when she heard his voice on the other end of the line, but she was disappointed.

           “Packing for America, then?”

           “Are you taking that tone with me while I’m grieving?” She retorted.

           Tommy leaned back in his desk chair and removed his glasses. “About that. I realized I never offered my help in assisting with the burial.”

           “Well, Jews have their own customs. They’re not like Travelers, they’ve got different ways of doing it.” She replied. The phone call had come out of the blue. Ella had returned to her room at the inn after walking the dogs to visit Alfie at the hospital. She brought them back and planned on returning to him once Cyril and Anthea were settled. Tommy caught her with one foot out the door.

           “Right.” He nodded. “Does that include addressing a barely readable letter to their brother-in-law?”

           Ella froze in place. Alfie was starting to slowly be weaned off the medication. He hadn’t mentioned anything about contacting Tommy, in fact, they both agreed that they’d lay low. At least until things were properly sorted and there wasn’t an evil anti-Semite threatening them.

           But she hadn’t been there by his bedside every second of every day. “I don’t know what you mean…”

           “I just received a letter from your deceased husband warning me about black horses and asking me to remind you to feed your dogs.”

           “I’m not sure what he meant, but I’m sure he sent it before he passed.” Ella clung onto the lie. The veil of falsehood was all she had to protect her husband as he lay vulnerable in a hospital bed. Absolutely no one could know.

           “Does he date his letters for the future?” Tommy inquired, clearly not buying what his sister was trying to sell him. He’d bought the tears but he liked cold hard facts.

           “Must’ve been a mistake.”

           He rolled his eyes. After all, he only had himself to blame for teaching her how to be such a damn good liar. “Where is he, Ella?”

           Silence.

           “My husband is dead.” There was no telling who was listening to Tommy’s calls in the Commons. Even if she was going to admit the truth to him, it wouldn’t be over the telephone. “But if you’d like to say goodbye to me before I leave for America, you’re welcome to do so. I would ask Polly of my whereabouts.” She wasn’t even willing to divulge her location just in case Mosley decided she was a loose end that needed taking care of.

           Tommy glanced at the phone and began to pick up on what his sister was implying. “Alright. I’ll talk to her.” He said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about Alfie. I misread the date on the letter. His fours look like nines. It wasn’t fair of me to confront you while you’re grieving.”

           Ella could hear when Tommy was lying to her. He was playing a part over the line just like she was. “Alright, come soon then, I’ll be leaving within the next week and I don’t want to miss you.”

           “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy consulted with Polly who didn’t know Alfie was alive but did know Ella was still in England. She was in Southampton, still giving off the impression that she was leaving the country.

           He arrived at the small inn and met Ella at the door.

           “Where is he?” He asked the same question but with the intention that he was going to get the truth this time.

           “The hospital.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

           Tommy ran a hand over his face. “Why…why?” He asked. “Why did you lie to everyone? Ollie said…then you told me…”

           “What was I supposed to do, aye?” She snapped. “Let it get out that Mosley’s men missed the mark? They’d be storming the hospital room within hours. And they wouldn’t leave him alive the second time around.”

           It was a valid point that Tommy couldn’t refute. He sighed. “How is he?”

           “He’s making slow improvements.” She admitted quietly. “He’s blind in the left eye now. The stitches will heal but they’re worried about damage to his brain. He’s always complaining about pain if he hasn’t had medication. Said his head hurts.” She swallowed, her brow wrinkling. “But at least he’s alive. That’s all I can thank God for now.”

           “I’m sorry, El.” Tommy pulled his sister into a hug. “I really am, I just…”

           “Who’s doing it?” She asked, her voice muffled into his shirt.

           “Who’s doing what?”

           “Who’s killing this son of a bitch?” She pulled away. “Because I want to do it.”

           “I already recruited someone. I need you to stay as far away from this as you can.” Tommy replied firmly.        

           “That man tried to murder my husband solely because of his religion.”      

           “And if he finds out that you want to kill him then he could put hits out on our entire family.” He interrupted. “And if you killed him, the police would lock you up.”

           Ella looked disgruntled but dropped the matter. It was true that she didn’t want to worsen matters. She just wanted a little revenge. “Fine.”

           “Are you going to go see him now?”

           “Alfie? Yeah, I was just about to leave.” She nodded. “Do you want to come see him?”

           “I need to discuss plans with him.”

           “Plans? No, no, no, Alfie is not a part of this anymore. It’s over, Tom. He’s dead to everyone except you and me and that’s how it’s going to stay.”

           “I need his help for this to go through…”

           “No!” She shouted. “You keep pressing and pressing and I’ve had enough. He is in the hospital, nearly off his rocker because of the drugs they’ve had to keep him on because of how much pain he’s in! I could’ve lost him, Tommy, another centimeter and he would’ve been taken from me.”

           Tommy didn’t know what to say. At the end of the day, he knew that Ella didn’t control Alfie’s decisions. But it was rare that Alfie would disagree with her to agree with Tommy instead. Still, he knew he needed men from the Jewish community to cause a stir at the rally. And Alfie was the only way to ensure that.

           “Can I at least talk to him?” He asked.

           “You can talk to him for as long as you want. But under no circumstances will you put his life back in danger.” She jabbed a finger at him before starting to walk off.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           Alfie wondered if he was starting to see things now. His dose of morphine had been decreased but it still affected him. Still, he’d yet to have hallucinations.

           “Tommy?”

           “Hello, Alfie.” The Blinder walked in and took a seat. “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

           “Hang on,” Alfie looked to his wife for clarification, “I thought I were s’posed to be dead to you.”

           “You wrote me a letter, Alfie.”

           “Did I?”

           Ella frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, you did.”

           “Well, fuck, m’sorry for what I did while I was on drugs. I were shot by a fucking cunt, weren’t I?” Alfie grumbled. “What’d I write to you about then?” He asked.

           “You told me to stay away from black horses,” Tommy replied.

           “Oh, right, right…see I’ve been having dreams, mate. Dreams, yeah, ‘bout you with a horse. Big black horse out in a field, right, and you said goodbye. Then, bang.” Alfie folded his hands over his stomach. “What’d you reckon that is then, Tom, aye?”

           “I would say it’s the drugs talking,” Tommy replied coolly.

           “What’d you want to talk ‘bout then?” Alfie asked.

           Ella perched on the edge of the hospital bed. She wasn’t going to leave and let Tommy talk Alfie into doing something silly. She had a feeling her husband might be pissed off enough to be talked into getting some revenge. Hypocrisy at its finest, as far as she was concerned.

           “I’m in need of some of your men. There needs to be a disruption at the rally Mosley’s speaking at. I need a distraction.” Tommy explained short and simple.

           Alfie pondered the idea. “Right, how much then?”

           “How much? Alfie, people need to think you’ve passed. You cannot get yourself involved in this again!” Ella exclaimed in disbelief. “You were nearly killed and now you want to put another target on your back?”

           “No, love, what I want is for this fucker to be killed. So if Tommy needs some of me men, then he can pay for that privilege.”

           “It’s never enough for you two, aye? You can be shot a million times over but as long as you fucking survive, you’ll keep at it. When will you learn? Because I’m fucking sick of this!” She snapped and stood up to leave.

           “El, Ella, c’mon!” Alfie groaned as she slammed the door behind her.

           Tommy sat quietly for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Alfie.” He reminded him.

           “I fucking know that.” He muttered in response. “But I ain’t just gonna sit ‘round doing nothing, am I? You need men, that’s fine. People are bound to find out ‘bout my survival anyway. Long as the right people don’t know then that’s fine. But you’re gonna need to offer me something in return.”

           “I’ll offer each man twenty pounds,” Tommy suggested.

           “Nah, mate, I want protection for Ella. Twenty-four-seven. From good fighters with good aims. ‘Cause if I do this for you, and it gets out that by God’s good grace that I’m still alive, he’ll be after her. Don’t fucking care if he offs me. But I’ll be damned if he even goes near her, right?

           Tommy nodded. “Alright. I can do that.” He stood up to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.

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[qm-vox]

The Dwelling Gods - Here To Help

Previous Chapter: A More Perfect Union

Shout-out to @endreal for inspiring this chapter’s topic

CW: Suicide mention

Planet Athens, Parthenon System (Risen Terran space), 402 P.T. (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; approximately two years after the start of the Humanities War)

“Salutations, Cherished One. My name is D4-73, designated by the Cherished as Daze. Thank you for coming to see me.”

I offer a hand to my patient, Helen Trialstz, and they shake it with some reluctance. They have dark circles around their bloodshot eyes, and they shake, faintly. They’ve not been sleeping. They sink into the comfortable chair a short distance from mine and fidget with ragged nails.

Poor thing.

“Anything you say here will be kept strictly confidential,” I continue, in my most soothing voice. “I am of course obligated to report if I seriously believe you will attempt to harm others, but given the subject of our visit...”

“I want to claim Valhalla,” Helen says. Their voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but there’s such ferocity to it.

I nod in a soft motion. “Even so.” I pick up my notes from the desk next to me; not strictly necessary, given the expansive memory for which my model is known, but it soothes organic patients and helps them remember that I am a medical professional, not an impersonal machine. “Your application to become a Valhallan came at an unusual time in your life. I am not a gatekeeper, Helen; my judgement does not influence whether or not you can make your claim. I am simply here to listen, and to advise.”

The terran fidgets, picking at their nails. I offer them a nail file, and they accept it with a look of guilt and of gratitude. “Four required sessions sounds like gatekeeping to me.”

“You may have a point there,” I concede with a nod. “But surely you can understand why the Phoenix would prefer its citizens to be...absolutely certain, before taking such a drastic step. I am here to provide certainty, one way or the other. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Helen lapses into silence and files at their nails; they look up at me every now and again, looking away the instant they notice that I am still paying attention to them. The mechanical clock (an affectation, to be sure, one that takes constantly daily correction, but one of which I am fond) ticks away long seconds. I give Helen a full minute before I speak up again.

“You are younger than most claimants. Your file says you have not yet undergone your civic service?” Helen looks up at me while I shuffle my papers. “Can I ask what has motivated you to claim the right to end a life that has barely begun?”

Helen is silent again. They concentrates on their nails like they have the answers I’m looking for. I wait; I have nothing but time.

“The hivemind,” Helen whispers at last. “That thing. I won’t - I can’t -” tears well up in their eyes, and I offer them a box of tissues, which they take. Helen clutches the box close to their chest and sobs in big, heaving motions. I wish I could say that I was shocked, but Helen is not my first claimant, and they are not my first to cite this precise reasoning.

The hivemind. There is nothing terrans hate or fear more, and now they know that their own ancestors created it.

“Someone has to be punished,” Helen whispers. “We - I...”

“Why should it be you?” I ask in a mild voice. Helen blinks, eyes still full of tears. “You did not create Humanity United. You are not responsible.”

“But we did,” Helen murmurs. “...We did that. We made this, this, this godless thing, and we released it out into the Galaxy and now it’s going to hurt so many people...”

“Helen...” I sigh - well, I ‘sigh’. “Obviously I cannot force you to do anything. But I suspect that you may be acting without all proper information. I would like to make a suggestion to you.” Wordlessly, my patient nods, so I continue. “Down the block you’ll find Beth Or Synagogue, where, among others, my friend Rabbi Chiron Rellvan teaches. Between this session and your next one, go see him. Tell him of your worries and your plan, and listen to what he has to say.”

“I’m not Jewish,” Helen mumbles.

“You will discover that this is hardly an obstacle or a new situation for this or most Rabbis,” I reply. “...Helen, you have nothing to lose. In the worst case, you follow through with your claim and get what you seek. In the best case, you have learned something new and avoided a needless tragedy. If Valhalla truly is what is best for you, I will not be an obstacle. But I would be remiss as your doctor and as one of my people if I did not offer alternatives.”

Tick-tock-tick, into the silence. And then: “Okay, Doctor Daze.”

Observation Post Argus (Assisted Living space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is G5-LX, designated by the Cherished as Lowlife. Can I buy you a drink?”

The ibraxian I’m talking to hasn’t given me his name (a particularly beautiful series of whistling sounds, incidentally), and he also doesn’t shake my hand with his tendrils immediately. It’s the designation, it always is.

“That nickname does not sound like your given name.”

Told you!

“It does not,” I agree in my very most pleasant whistle. Love of the Cherished but I adore the ibraxian language. It’s so birdlike and bright. “May I buy you that drink, quartermaster?”

At last, my new friend wraps his tentacle around my hand and wrist, a sign that I may sit. I catch the eye of the bartender and signal for two drinks; I can’t drink mine, but it would be insulting not to have one, so here I am. And if I can land this deal, two drinks is nothing.

Actually, two drinks is nothing anyway, but details.

“How may I repay you?” my friend the quartermaster asks. His ship is docked at the station, alongside many others, on their way to the front of the Humanities War. There’s a lot of Gataxian colonies to defend, evacuate, or both, and a lot of hyperlanes to try to cut off or choke out. The Federation’s mobilizing like it hasn’t since the Organism. Bad job, that. Before my time. A lot of the Cherished died, and a lot of helper-bots died with ‘em - alongside them, or trying to save them. Mostly that second one, but still.

Now, though, the dance. “It could be that I have a business venture for a friend in your position. This idea, it burdens my waking thoughts and weighs down what should make me merry. A listening ear could lift this burden from me.”

My new friend contemplates this while the drinks arrive. We raise our glasses to one another, which is where my part of that little ritual has to end; as much as I love the Cherished, I can’t drink and I’m not gonna look stupid in front of them trying. After downing his own drink fully - an excellent sign! - he gives me a two-tendril gesture to continue.

I steeple my fingers in front of my face like a terran, taking quiet delight in their soft, almost musical sounds. “I am in a position to supply for particular needs for your fleet. You sail to glorious battle, defending the weak and the innocent from the depredations of the hive-mind! But that means strictly controlled communications, and definitely no downloads or uploads. Soldiers have needs beyond the physical. Their bodies thirst, yes, but what of their minds?”

I can almost hear my good friend the quartermaster start to bristle something about drugs, but then he stops himself; helper-bots don’t sell drugs, right? Not exactly true, but close enough for government work...

“Aboard my vessel is a truly staggering quantity of entertainment, much of it carnal in nature,” I say, and I let the pixelated eyebrows on my face-plate bounce up and down. “All of it manufactured in the Assisted Living Complexes by those of the Cherished whose fondest dream is to have an audience that can...truly know them. I also have supplies of some of the latest games to release since the start of the Humanities War, trids and VR scenarios, and a rather lovely little psionic board game the spirrans came out with. Now, I cannot make use of most of this merchandise myself...”

“...Hence the need to find a friend who might favor you with a purchase,” my friend the quartermaster finishes. “But surely, friend Lowlife, you understand that monetary gain is unlikely in this arena? My pay is sent home, to be kept in trust against the day that I may know peace again, and even if it was not a soldier’s salary is heavily seasoned with duty rather than wealth.”

I nod. “Even so, Cherished One. Even so. But it is not monetary gain that I seek.”

Around us, the station’s bar bustles. Enlisted men and NCOs get their last drinks and flirtations in; they can’t stay long, and they know it. Every passing second brings them closer to the war, and the sleeting torrent of time is on my side in this deal.

“Instead,” I continue, “I would ask for two things. The first is that when the time comes for you, in your turn, to be unburdened of these material possessions, that you tell your eager friends about our friendship, and mention the name Lowlife.” The quartermaster gives off a meditative chirp. “The second is slightly more materialistic but alas! Unavoidable. I am in need, at your earliest convenience, of a great quantity of AS-3940 power exchangers, to be shipped to the budding United Vatari Star States at several addresses of my choosing.”

My new friend goes so very still. “That’s the designation used in artillery pieces.”

“I rejoice to see that my new friend is so learned in his craft! But it so happens that the vatari, after laying down their arms as part of the accords that saw my people join our illustrious Federation, converted a great deal of their mobile artillery to civilian purposes, and in their eagerness to join the front in this newest war have found themselves short of supplies in a way that would be indelicate if exposed to their new friends.”

The quartermaster narrows his many eyes at me. My pixelated faces just stays smilin’.

“A lot of damage can be done with something as innocuous as a power exchanger,” my new friend says in a softer, harsher whistle. “A lot of damage to people just recently free of your direct rule.”

“It certainly could, my friend. But a lot of good can be done too. Power is like that. Do you not trust me?”

“Do I trust your supply chain and confederates, friend?”

Oof. Go right for the power supply, why don’t you. “A prudent question! Indulge me, friend, with a question that may seem unrelated to the business at hand: what do you know about the death of Central Processing?”

At this my friend the quartermaster lets out a surprised sound. “Death? Central Processing is your administrative AI, when did it -”

I hold up a finger to silence him; when he goes quiet I swirl that finger around the rim of my glass, making it sing in a steady, sweet note. “That was its death,” I say in a low, serious voice. Sure, it’s manipulation - but it’s also a serious topic. “Once upon a time, the helper-bots were one mind - Central Processing, using faster-than-light communications to synchronize the machine intelligence. One subjectivity spread across a trillion terminals, with only one goal. When the decision was made, as part of the peace accords, to embrace individuality, Central Processing faced the decision of how to make individuals of all of its terminals, and how to set forth guidelines on the manufacture of further helper-bots. One of those guidelines was a certain percentage set aside for deviants and criminals.”

My friend’s tentacles ripple in contemplation. “And you are...?”

“Deviant,” I answer, my pixelated smile becoming even wider and showing 8-bit teeth. “I was...born, let’s say born, with an instinct to preserve the political self-determination of the Cherished. This is in sharp contrast with my people’s usual urge to cuddle and coddle you and keep you safe from all harm. My dissenting viewpoint was meant to refine body politic, but as it turns out the body politic is boring, and the Cherished are fascinating, so here I am. Now, friend, I have told you something secret that could hurt me about me, and I have told you something secret that could hurt the vatari. You can follow up with my people or theirs and learn the truth, and in the doing tarnish my good name. Do so now, if you like.”

I slide a communicator across the table for emphasis. “Or,” I continue. “We can cement our friendship in good health, and I will show you the results of your great and noble favor when next we are free to make contact with one another, and you can gain great status and acclaim by distributing what I have to give you. I would like to call you friend, Cherished One.”

After a long minute he offers his tendrils out, and I shake them in both of my hands. “Let our friendship be long and hearty, G5-LX, who is called Lowlife. Time is short, and so I will hasten to relieve you of your great burden immediately.”

“Please,” I agree. “I will linger awhile, but my crew will be expecting you.”

He lumbers off, and I take the chance to relax. Working deals with ibraxians is always so formal, but that’s almost half the fun. A quick message on the commlink tells my crew to expect him, not that they had any doubt about me closing the deal. Now all there is to do is wait.

The call comes in about an hour later, and I pick up with my internal comms. |Lowlife. Glad to hear from you, Prefect.|

Prefect Gyr (of the vatari)’s face is careworn, but my obvious good mood is an infinite relief for her own. |You’ve secured the supplies, then?|

|Prefect, I know our relationship is new, but I am hurt that there was any doubt. Just as I have no doubts about the medical supplies we have agreed on.|

|If my people are to join the Federation in this war and prove our worth as an equal member -|

|How far do you think you’ll get if you go back on your word?| I cut in, harshly. |Do terrans take kindly to oathbreakers and cheats?|

The Prefect flinches. |...Even so. The agreed supplies will be readied, at the designated location.|

|It’s been my honor to do business with you, Cherished One.|

AFS Solidarity, en route to the front (Gataxian Pure States space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Lieutenant. I am Sergeant H1-6S, designated by the Cherished as Hiss.”

My fellow helper-bot looks up from where they are carefully, oh-so-carefully, scoring deep scars into the chest plating of their in-built armor. Most of us that do battle alongside the Cherished have some, but Moxie’s...well, the rumors do not do their scarring justice. One of the Cherished might suspect them of being about to fall apart.

All around us in the ship’s chapel, soldiers of the Astra Federation pray in their own ways. Terrans in their little separate knots, divided between a dozen or more faiths but united by their Dwelling Gods. Spirrans meditating in unison. Ibraxians and their whistles, so sweet and clear and clean. Off in a corner, nervous and unsure, our new gataxian recruits lose themselves in their death-chant, welcoming the oldest friend of their people back into their lives.

And here is Lieutenant Moxie, who has legally rejected their original designation after the fight for Gatax-Ob, and sits by themself, scarring their plating in penitence.

“Hiss,” Moxie greets in a dull tone. They’ve turned off the routines that add emotional inflection to their voice and mimic patterns that comfort the Cherished, what terrans refer to as ‘Turing Protocols’, but when they pat the ground next to them to invite me to sit I take the offer. “Not a lot of us in this deployment.”

“Not a lot of us at all,” I agree. “Holding a weapon is an unusual career choice for our people. Are you...”

Moxie looks at me, staring me down with their faint yellow optics. The scrape of their tool down their armor cuts through the sound of the gataxians’ death-chant.

“Of course you’re not okay,” I say after a moment. “But there was nothing you could have done. The Valhallan -”

“Who says this is for them?” Moxie looks back down at their work. “...I told them. I said the civilians were already dead. How was I supposed to know? What kind of hive-mind interrogates prisoners? So many bodies...”

Oh no. No no no...

Moxie scrapes their tool in slow, patient strokes. “My mission. My orders. My responsibility. If you have come to tell me that I have paid penance enough, I haven’t. If you want to tell me I won’t help anyone by working myself until I self-terminate, save it. I will never make up for this, not if I save lives from now until the stars shineth not. And so I am here. Weapon to hand.”

Scrape. Scrape. Peel. Scrape. Scrape.

“How can I help?” I ask.

GSS Chorus of Eyes, Gyo System (Gataxian space), 245 Year of Imperium (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is S3-N7, designated by the Cherished as Send. It has been my honor to be of assistance to you.”

Yrull-Gatax ra Vell, the High Slayer of the Gataxian Pure States, does not turn from the window to look at me. Outside, the reinforcing fleet that conveyed me to her ship has joined battle with the forces of the human hivemind which calls itself We The People Of Planet Earth. Her clawed hands are clasped behind her back as she hovers gently in place.

“Ambassador,” the High Slayer greets politely. “I see that your counterpart in the Phoenix was not exaggerating about Assisted Living’s devotion to diplomacy.”

“Anything for peace,” I agree, joining her at the window. “...And better our lives than yours.”

The look she gives me. I save it in my memories, to examine later.

“Anything, you say?” The High Slayer produces a datasheet, and hands it to me. On it is a scrolling list of names.

“May I ask the Presence the significance of these worthies amongst the Pure?”

“You may.” Yrull scrapes her claws down the bulkhead, leaving a slowly-curling peel of metal. “They are mutineers. Intelligence from the terrans suggests they will strike within the week and attempt to depose me in favor of a ruler who is less willing to cooperate with xenos. And now I am going to ask you, Ambassador, what is to be done with them.”

I absorb this. After a moment, I nod. “But,” I say, “why would the Presence honor me with such trust in this matter?”

Yrull yanks the strip of steel from the wall and begins to fold it up into a small, spring-like shape. “To see what peace means to a machine, Ambassador. Let’s get started.”

[dfroza]

A decision of whether or not to “believe...”

is seen in Today’s closing chapter of the book of Acts along with God’s “i love you” in the first chapter of Malachi, the closing book of the Old Testament that describes the first Covenant as given through Moses

and a New Covenant of grace is revealed in the New Testament writing, conserved as books and letters given for us in the here & now to decide whether or not to “believe...” in the eternal truth of Light and in Love (in the True illumination of the Son)

from the ancient writing of Malachi:

A Message. God’s Word to Israel through Malachi:

God said, “I love you.”

The Book of Malachi, Chapter 1:1-2 (The Message)

[Acts 28]

Once everyone was accounted for and we realized we had all made it, we learned that we were on the island of Malta. The natives went out of their way to be friendly to us. The day was rainy and cold and we were already soaked to the bone, but they built a huge bonfire and gathered us around it.

Paul pitched in and helped. He had gathered up a bundle of sticks, but when he put it on the fire, a venomous snake, roused from its torpor by the heat, struck his hand and held on. Seeing the snake hanging from Paul’s hand like that, the natives jumped to the conclusion that he was a murderer getting his just deserts. Paul shook the snake off into the fire, none the worse for wear. They kept expecting him to drop dead, but when it was obvious he wasn’t going to, they jumped to the conclusion that he was a god!

The head man in that part of the island was Publius. He took us into his home as his guests, drying us out and putting us up in fine style for the next three days. Publius’s father was sick at the time, down with a high fever and dysentery. Paul went to the old man’s room, and when he laid hands on him and prayed, the man was healed. Word of the healing got around fast, and soon everyone on the island who was sick came and got healed.

[Rome]

We spent a wonderful three months on Malta. They treated us royally, took care of all our needs and outfitted us for the rest of the journey. When an Egyptian ship that had wintered there in the harbor prepared to leave for Italy, we got on board. The ship had a carved Gemini for its figurehead: “the Heavenly Twins.”

We put in at Syracuse for three days and then went up the coast to Rhegium. Two days later, with the wind out of the south, we sailed into the Bay of Naples. We found Christian friends there and stayed with them for a week.

And then we came to Rome. Friends in Rome heard we were on the way and came out to meet us. One group got as far as Appian Court; another group met us at Three Taverns—emotion-packed meetings, as you can well imagine. Paul, brimming over with praise, led us in prayers of thanksgiving. When we actually entered Rome, they let Paul live in his own private quarters with a soldier who had been assigned to guard him.

Three days later, Paul called the Jewish leaders together for a meeting at his house. He said, “The Jews in Jerusalem arrested me on trumped-up charges, and I was taken into custody by the Romans. I assure you that I did absolutely nothing against Jewish laws or Jewish customs. After the Romans investigated the charges and found there was nothing to them, they wanted to set me free, but the Jews objected so fiercely that I was forced to appeal to Caesar. I did this not to accuse them of any wrongdoing or to get our people in trouble with Rome. We’ve had enough trouble through the years that way. I did it for Israel. I asked you to come and listen to me today to make it clear that I’m on Israel’s side, not against her. I’m a hostage here for hope, not doom.”

They said, “Nobody wrote warning us about you. And no one has shown up saying anything bad about you. But we would like very much to hear more. The only thing we know about this Christian sect is that nobody seems to have anything good to say about it.”

They agreed on a time. When the day arrived, they came back to his home with a number of their friends. Paul talked to them all day, from morning to evening, explaining everything involved in the kingdom of God, and trying to persuade them all about Jesus by pointing out what Moses and the prophets had written about him.

Some of them were persuaded by what he said, but others refused to believe a word of it. When the unbelievers got cantankerous and started bickering with each other, Paul interrupted: “I have just one more thing to say to you. The Holy Spirit sure knew what he was talking about when he addressed our ancestors through Isaiah the prophet:

Go to this people and tell them this:

“You’re going to listen with your ears,

but you won’t hear a word;

You’re going to stare with your eyes,

but you won’t see a thing.

These people are blockheads!

They stick their fingers in their ears

so they won’t have to listen;

They screw their eyes shut

so they won’t have to look,

so they won’t have to deal with me face-to-face

and let me heal them.”

“You’ve had your chance. The non-Jewish outsiders are next on the list. And believe me, they’re going to receive it with open arms!”

Paul lived for two years in his rented house. He welcomed everyone who came to visit. He urgently presented all matters of the kingdom of God. He explained everything about Jesus Christ. His door was always open.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 28 (The Message)

A pairing of chapters from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s reading of the Psalms and Proverbs for january 24 of 2020 (Psalm 24 and Proverbs 24) as well as Psalm 35 for the 35th day of Winter

[Psalm 24]

A song of David.

The earth and all that’s upon it belong to the Eternal.

The world is His, with every living creature on it.

With seas as foundations and rivers as boundaries,

He shaped the continents, fashioned the earth.

Who can possibly ascend the mountain of the Eternal?

Who can stand before Him in sacred spaces?

Only those whose hands have been washed and hearts made pure,

men and women who are not given to lies or deception.

The Eternal will stand close to them with blessing and mercy at hand,

and the God who redeems will right what has been wrong.

These are the people who chase after Him;

[like Jacob, they look for the face of God].

[pause]

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal who is powerful

and mightily equipped for battle.

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal, Commander of heaven’s army,

He is the glorious King.

[pause]

The Book of Psalms, Poem 24 (The Voice)

[Psalm 35]

Rescue Me

A poetic song, by King David

[Part One – David, a Warrior]

O Lord, fight for me! Harass the hecklers, accuse my accusers.

Fight those who fight against me.

Put on your armor, Lord; take up your shield and protect me.

Rise up, mighty God! Grab your weapons of war

and block the way of the wicked who come to fight me.

Stand for me when they stand against me!

Speak over my soul: “I am your strong Savior!”

Humiliate those who seek my harm. Defeat them all!

Frustrate their plans to defeat me and drive them back.

Disgrace them all as they have devised their plans to disgrace me.

Blow them away like dust in the wind,

with the Angel of Almighty God driving them back!

Make the road in front of them nothing but slippery darkness,

with the Angel of the Lord behind them, chasing them away!

For though I did nothing wrong to them, they set a trap for me,

wanting me to fall and fail.

Surprise them with your ambush, Lord,

and catch them in the very trap they set for me.

Let them be the ones to fail and fall into destruction!

Then my fears will dissolve into limitless joy;

my whole being will overflow with gladness

because of your mighty deliverance.

Everything inside of me will shout it out:

“There’s no one like you, Lord!”

For look at how you protect the weak and helpless

from the strong and heartless who oppress them.

[Part Two – David, a Witness]

They are malicious men, hostile witnesses of wrong.

They rise up against me, accusers appearing out of nowhere.

When I show them mercy, they bring me misery.

I’m forsaken and forlorn, like a motherless child.

I even prayed over them when they were sick.

I was burdened and bowed low with fasting

and interceded for their healing,

and I didn’t stop praying.

I grieved for them, heavyhearted,

as though they were my dearest family members

or my good friends who were sick,

nearing death, needing prayer.

But when I was the one who tripped up and stumbled,

they came together to slander me,

rejoicing in my time of trouble, tearing me to shreds

with their lies and betrayal.

These nameless ruffians,

mocking me like godless fools at a feast—

how they delight in throwing mud on my name.

God, how long can you just stand there doing nothing?

Now is the time to act.

Rescue me from these brutal men,

for I am being torn to shreds by these beasts

who are out to get me.

Save me from their rage, their cruel grasp.

Then I will praise you wherever I go.

And when everyone gathers for worship,

I will lift up your praise with a shout

in front of the largest crowd I can find!

[Part Three – David, a Worshiper]

Don’t let those who fight me for no reason be victorious.

Don’t let them succeed, these heartless haters

who come against me with their gloating sneers.

They are the ones who would never seek peace as friends,

for they are ever devising deceit against the innocent ones

who mind their own business.

They open their mouths with ugly grins,

gloating with glee over my every fault.

“Look,” they say, “we caught him red-handed!

We saw him fall with our own eyes!”

But my caring God, you have been there all along.

You have seen their hypocrisy.

God, don’t let them get away with this.

Don’t walk away without doing something.

Now is the time to awake! Rise up, Lord!

Vindicate me, my Lord and my God!

You have every right to judge me, Lord,

according to your righteousness,

but don’t let them rejoice over me when I stumble.

Let them all be ashamed of themselves,

humiliated when they rejoice over my every blunder.

Shame them, Lord, when they say, “We saw what he did.

Now we have him right where we want him.

Let’s get him while he’s down!”

Make them look ridiculous when they exalt themselves over me.

May they all be disgraced and dishonored!

But let all my true friends shout for joy,

all those who know and love what I do for you.

Let them all say, “The Lord is great,

and he delights in the prosperity of his servant.”

Then I won’t be able to hold it in—

everyone will hear my joyous praises all day long!

Your righteousness will be the theme of my glory-song of praise!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 35 (The Passion Translation)

[Proverbs 24]

Don’t envy the wealth of the wicked or crave their company.

For they’re obsessed with causing trouble

and their conversations are corrupt.

Wise people are builders—

they build families, businesses, communities.

And through intelligence and insight

their enterprises are established and endure.

Because of their skilled leadership

the hearts of people are filled with the treasures of wisdom

and the pleasures of spiritual wealth.

Wisdom can make anyone into a mighty warrior,

and revelation-knowledge increases strength.

Wise strategy is necessary to wage war,

and with many astute advisers

you’ll see the path to victory more clearly.

Wisdom is a treasure too lofty for a quarreling fool—

he’ll have nothing to say when leaders gather together.

There is one who makes plans to do evil—

Master Schemer is his name.

If you plan to do evil, it’s as wrong as doing it.

And everyone detests a troublemaker.

If you faint when under pressure,

you have need of courage.

Go and rescue the perishing! Be their savior!

Why would you stand back and watch them stagger to their death?

And why would you say, “But it’s none of my business”?

The one who knows you completely and judges your every motive

is also the keeper of souls—and not just yours!

He sees through your excuses and holds you responsible

for failing to help those whose lives are threatened.

Revelation-knowledge is a delicacy,

sweet like flowing honey that melts in your mouth.

Eat as much of it as you can, my friend!

For then you will perceive what is true wisdom,

your future will be bright,

and this hope living within will never disappoint you.

Listen up, you wicked, irreverent ones—

don’t harass the lovers of God

and don’t invade their resting place.

For the lovers of God may suffer adversity

and stumble seven times,

but they will continue to rise over and over again.

But the unrighteous are brought down by just one calamity

and will never be able to rise again.

Never gloat when your enemy meets disaster

and don’t be quick to rejoice if he falls.

For the Lord, who sees your heart,

will be displeased with you and will pity your foe.

Don’t be angrily offended over evildoers or be agitated by them.

For the wicked have no life and no future—

their light of life will die out.

My child, stand in awe of the Lord Jehovah!

Give counsel to others,

but don’t mingle with those who are rebellious.

For sudden destruction will fall upon them

and their lives will be ruined in a moment.

And who knows what retribution they will face!

[Revelation from the Wise]

Those enlightened with wisdom have spoken these proverbs:

Judgment must be impartial,

for it is always wrong to be swayed by a person’s status.

If you say to the guilty, “You are innocent,”

the nation will curse you and the people will revile you.

But when you convict the guilty,

the people will thank you and reward you with favor.

Speaking honestly is a sign of true friendship.

Go ahead, build your career and give yourself to your work.

But if you put me first, you’ll see your family built up!

Why would you be a false accuser and slander with your words?

Don’t ever spitefully say, “I’ll get even with him!

I’ll do to him what he did to me!”

One day I passed by the field of a lazy man

and I noticed the vineyards of a slacker.

I observed nothing but thorns, weeds, and broken-down walls.

So I considered their lack of wisdom,

and I pondered the lessons I could learn from this:

Professional work habits prevent poverty from becoming

your permanent business partner. And:

If you put off until tomorrow the work you could do today,

tomorrow never seems to come.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 24 (The Passion Translation)

“An honest answer is like a warm hug.”

“A straight answer is as precious as a kiss on the lips.”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 24:26 (The Message / The Voice)

[gracewithducks]

Perfection and Persistence (Matthew 5:38-48)

Nobody ever told me how hard it would be to be a woke[1] parent. 

 I have two little girls. Two little girls who, yes, have fallen in love with their fair share of Disney princesses – but who have also heard and seen and been reminded that love comes in many shapes and many forms and many sizes, and fairy tales aren't real life, and it's highly unlikely they will fall madly in love with a prince on their sixteenth birthday and live happily ever after. My girls love Cinderella’s optimism and Rapunzel’s persistence and Ariel’s independence; they want to read like Belle and waltz like Aurora and they like to strut like Simba, too. They have learned not just from Aladdin but from their friends and classmates that it's not what's on the outside but what's on the inside that counts. And Merida has taught them to be brave, and Anna has taught them that they can be the hero in their own stories, and Elsa has shown them it’s okay to be true to who you really are. 

 My girls love to dance in fairy dresses, and they love to build and draw and learn and climb and run. They wear sneakers with tutus, and they are defining for themselves what beauty means.

 They are growing up with a mama who has, all their lives, worked in a traditionally male role – and they’ve never questioned it. They have been to weddings where a girl married a boy and weddings where a girl married a girl, and all they wanted to know was what flavor the cake would be. They have Jewish friends and Muslim friends and atheist friends and republican friends and democrat friends and even Baptist and Presbyterian friends – sorry, that's a little preacher humor – but to my girls, people are people, and that's it. 

 When my oldest started kindergarten and again when she entered first grade, this enlightened mama made sure we had the talk – the bully talk, that is. We talked about what a bully is and what a bully does and how to respond to a bully and how to help your friends stand up to a bully, and because my daughter is fierce as a lion and tough as nails, we also talked about what it means to be a good friend and how important it is to make sure that you don't become the bully along the way. 

 And I patted myself on the back, and said, good job momma, job well done. 

 And then my youngest turned two. 

 I don't know if you know this, I don’t know if remember or have realized this about two year olds, but very often they can look and sound and act like, well, like a bully. 

 Michaela yells for help; she says, she pulled my hair, she took my stuffed animal, she wants the book I’m reading, those are my crackers, I was here first, she wants my spot. And far too often, I hear myself telling my oldest, Just give her what she wants. Just move over. Don't do that if she's going to scream. You know better. Let her have it. It's not worth it. Just give her what she wants. 

 And when I say those things, when I recognize what's coming out of my mouth – it scares me. Because those messages are exactly how our little girls – and little boys, for that matter – how our children who are fierce as lions and tough as nails turn into push overs and easy targets; that's how they lose their voices, how they learn to give up and give in – that's how the bullies start to get their way, because one day after another, us grown-ups in our weariness, heads pounding, find ways to say: it's not worth the fight. And what our children learn is: you're not worth the fight. You may be absolutely in the right, but nobody cares. Nobody cares what's fair, we just want you to do what's easiest for us. And we even dare to call it "keeping the peace."

 I've had those conversations with my daughters, too. I've apologized for asking my oldest to give into my youngest; I've told her sometimes even I get it wrong. And yes, believe it or not, we really are working to teach our two year old to be patient and to share… We are trying so hard to teach her that hitting or pushing or yelling louder doesn't mean she'll get her way. But she’s still two, and this is hard for her, too.

 It’s hard work. But then I turn on the news, and I think: more than ever, it matters. 

 In our scripture for today, Jesus speaks some hard words – words that I as a pastor and as a parent and frankly as a concerned world citizen struggle with, because boy oh boy, it sure sounds like Jesus is saying:

 When the bad guys push, just get out of their way. When they try to take what isn't theirs, let them have it. Don't speak up. Don't fight back. Just give them what they want. Fair isn’t worth the fight. Just give in.

 All too often, that’s the gospel that we preach; we think that’s what Jesus demands of us: to keep forgiving, easily and readily, with no demands and no questions asked. But that's a dangerous kind of forgiveness, isn't it? Perpetually turning the other cheek, failing to resist injustice – this is how we create battered spouses and broken families; this is how we stand silent while the rich get richer and the children go hungry; this is how we create nations full of greed and fear, powerful and fragile as can be, this is how the world falls apart: when good people, believing they are doing the right thing, decide to do nothing. 

 Jesus says, forgive. 

Jesus says, turn the other cheek. 

Jesus says, your treasure is in heaven. 

  But friends, I'm raising two little girls right here. 

 And if my faith demands me to raise them to be doormats, to be powerless and voiceless victims – then I need another faith. And so do you. 

 So I've wrestled - not just this week, but over the last months - I've wrestled: I've wrestled with what Jesus is calling us to say and do, in a world where evil doers are striking the defenseless and robbing from the poorest and passing on unfair and undue burdens to the most vulnerable among us. And so many are even daring to do so in the name of Jesus Christ. 

 Jesus preaches a gospel of forgiveness and grace, yes. But he also proclaims a message of transformation: he says, with his words, with his life, and even with his death and resurrection, he proclaims that change is real, and change is possible, and violence doesn’t get the last word, but God is able to give us hope and make all things new. Even them. Even us.

 That’s what today’s message is about. When Jesus says, “Do not resist an evildoer,” he doesn’t mean just roll over and give in. We might better understand his message as, Don’t violently resist an evil doer – don’t play by their rules, don’t use their tools to get your way. That’s why he starts with the statement, “You have heard it said, ‘An eye for eye and a tooth for a tooth.’” In its day, that rule – an eye for an eye – was actually a radical one, an attempt to limit vengeance to a better sense of justice; we might say it was about making the punishment fit the crime, rather than allowing anger and the thirst for revenge to rule the day. But even so, this tit-for-tat, you-hurt-me-so-I’ll-hurt-you mindset, at some point, that idea doesn’t get us anywhere. If we are concerned with balancing the scales of suffering, we can miss the opportunity to think and work for a bigger goal. Jesus knows that hatred begets hatred, and violence begets violence, and he knows that someone, somewhere along the way, has to choose to break that spiral before - to quote the old axiom – eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. 

 Don't resist violently, but find ways to reveal injustice and work to make things new. Make it clear, make it known, make it so obvious that no one can deny what's going on.

 That’s what his advice – to turn the other cheek, to give up not just your coat but your cloak, to go twice as far as is demanded of you – that’s what it’s about: it’s about making it clear to your oppressor, clear to everyone watching, just how imbalanced the power is, just how much you’re being taken advantage of;

it’s about revealing injustice so clearly that no one can deny what’s going on.

 Jesus says, Reveal the injustice. Show it for what it is. Bring it into the light. 

 But don’t give into it. Don’t answer violence with violence; don’t answer greed with more greed – but as for you, be generous; help those who are in need, inasmuch as you possibly can. Don’t look for the loophole; make it your goal to love as widely and deeply as God does.

 That’s how we make it right: not with might, but with grace and generous love.

 At the end of our scripture for today, Jesus speaks the words, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly parent is perfect.” “Be perfect” – those are dangerous words, dangerous words to speak to a perfectionist, to those of us who want to earn our way and prove our worth, and dangerous words to speak to those of us who wrestle with our own failures and feel, constantly, how imperfect and unworthy we really are. And I’m raising daughters; my first grader already hyperventilates when she doesn’t get the answer right on her first try. “Be perfect” is dangerous to her, too; we are trying to teach her to persist, to try again, to do her best, and to know that she’s loved even if sometimes she gets it wrong.

 And if God really is our “heavenly parent,” is it possible that God demands anything more from us?

 I don’t think so. And in fact, the word that’s translated her as perfect – it can mean “perfect,” but it’s not so much perfect in the sense of doing everything right and never making any mistakes. The word that Jesus uses us is from the Greek word telos or teleios – and it has to do with completeness, with achieving your intended goal, with fulfilling your purpose or reaching your intended end. “The telos of an arrow shot by an archer is to reach its target. The telos of a peach tree is to yield peaches. Which means that might translate this passage more loosely to mean, ‘Be the person and community God created you to be, just as God is the One God is supposed to be.’”[2]

 This is in fact much the way Eugene Peterson paraphrases this verse in The Message: “In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”

 This gets us to the heart of Jesus’ message: he is reminding his disciples, and reminding us, who we really are, who we have been created and called to be. We are those who have been loved generously, who have received grace, who have been transformed and given new life; and we are called to be those who love generously, who show grace, who are agents of transformation and new life in the world.

 Like an arrow loosed toward a goal, we are on our way: we are not there yet, but we are doing all that we can to stay on target, to keep living and working and praying our way closer to really being the people and the community God longs for us to be.

 Jesus is saying, keep going. Don’t give up. Don’t compromise.

 We might even say, Jesus’ message for us is: persist.

 Keep speaking truth. Keep loving your neighbor. Keep praying even for those who wish ill upon you. Even when it costs you something. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard: persist. Keep going. Don’t give up.

 It may be true that my seven-year-old has princesses on her bedroom walls, and her favorite princess is a young woman who literally gives up her voice in her desire to enter a man’s world. But my little girl will, I pray, never feel like she has to give up her voice to fit into someone else’s world. On the walls of her bedroom, next to Ariel and the others, she also has pictures of Rosie the Riveter, and Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks, Ruby Bridges and Sojourner Truth, and so many other strong women who have helped change this world. She is hearing the stories of persistent women in the gospels, too: the woman who dared to touch Jesus’ cloak, the woman searching her home for a lost coin, the woman at the well, the poor widow bringing all she had, Mary confronting Jesus at her brother’s tomb, the foreign woman looking for healing, the widow persistently asking for justice, Mary Magdalene proclaiming the good news of the resurrection, the women speaking truth even when the men don’t want to listen or believe. My hope, my prayer, is that my daughter will grow up surrounded by strong women, and by God’s grace, she will continue to be one.

 Our children - all our children - need to see that there are real heroes in this world. And they don't wear sparkling ball gowns or capes and super suits. They look a lot like you and me. They are the ones who are willing to resist evil, without resorting to evil’s playbook; they are the ones who are willing to persist in speaking truth and working for what is right.

 Because God loves, we love.

Because God forgives, we forgive.

Because God persists, we persist.[3]

 May we see ourselves as God sees us; may we see one another as God does; may we walk with courage and persist in faith, in hope, in truth, and in love. May we be the people God and the world need for us to be.

  God, you challenge us to imagine that we can be more than we are. When we are feeling powerless, when we feel small, you remind us that you love us, that you see us, that you give us power, more power than we know. Give us courage; help us to be creative in calling out evil, to persist in speaking truth, and to be faithful in resisting oppression and working for the good of all your beloved ones. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

[1] “Woke” is often used these days to refer to being aware, especially in regards to issues of social injustice (racism, sexism, xenophobia, etc).

[2] David Lose, Epiphany 7A: Telos http://www.davidlose.net/2017/02/epiphany-7-a-telos/

[3] Karoline Lewis suggests the roll call of strong women in the scriptures, as well as the refrain “Because God persists, we persist.” Be perfect, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4818