#all in the name of duty (and the penalty of death if he returned home with nothing).

[alicent-archive]

Once again, free Tyland Lannister from the Targ administration.

[news4dzhozhar]

Miriam Conrad has dedicated her three-decade-long law career to defending the poor and sometimes those — like Marathon bomber Dzhokhar Tsarnaev — who committed unspeakable crimes. She sees it as her duty to convey a picture of a defendant ”as a whole person” and to help judges and juries see that picture, too.

That dedication and compassion will be sorely missed, colleagues say, when she steps down next spring from her position as the chief federal public defender in Massachusetts after more than 15 years in the post — a decision she just recently announced.

Conrad, responsible for cases in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island, can be fierce when cross-examining a witness, her colleagues say, and tenacious with expert witnesses and law enforcement. As a boss, they say, she’s down in the trenches with her team, laughing at the absurd, always available for advice, and able to “deliver a kick in the posterior” when necessary.

“She’s a superb lawyer,” said retired federal judge Nancy Gertner. “She’s as good as it gets; she’s dogged and courageous and untiring, and cares unbelievably deeply about her clients.”

Conrad was Bill Fick’s boss for a decade, and he was part of the five-member team that defended Tsarnaev in 2015.

“She built the office into a great collection of lawyers and support staff, and created an environment where she took care of all the bureaucracy and got us the necessary resources to do what needed to be done for our clients,” said Fick, now in private practice.

The emotionally charged Tsarnaev trial was a demanding two-month ordeal under a media spotlight that took place at an exceedingly quick pace for a death penalty case, Fick said. The case is still pending. Tsarnaev was convicted and sentenced to death, but the sentence was overturned on appeal.

“I really quite frankly don’t know how she managed to keep running the office and remain on the team,” Fick said. “But it worked.”

While the trial was underway, Conrad also was fighting for resources.

“She fought hard for more staffing and money for her office,” said US District Judge Patti B. Saris, who at the time was chief judge for the District of Massachusetts.

She hasn’t let up, said the current chief judge, Dennis Saylor.

“If she has 11 things that she wants brought up, she’s not going to stop at 10,” Saylor said. “She’s very effective and a very strong advocate.”

When she formally steps down March 31, Conrad expects to remain involved in the legal field, perhaps representing poor defendants part time or volunteering on policy initiative work.

But first, Conrad is “thinking of just taking a gap year,” focused on travel and relaxation, she said.

Before Conrad had a law career, she worked as a journalist. She earned a journalism degree at Northwestern University and in the early 1980s worked as a crime reporter for the Miami Herald. She next worked at the Kansas City Times, now called the Kansas City Star.

A car accident in which Conrad suffered a pulverized heel when she was 25 would help steer her toward the law. She used a settlement from the accident to pay for her third year of law school at Harvard.

It was a natural progression, Conrad said. Her training as a reporter taught her to write quickly and clearly, to view facts as sacrosanct, and to tell her defendants’ stories.

“It’s storytelling,” said Conrad, who is 64. “Our work is telling our client’s personal stories to convey a picture of who they are as a whole person.”

Conrad graduated from Harvard Law School in 1987, clerked for a federal judge, and in 1992 joined the Federal Public Defender Office in Massachusetts, where she worked as an assistant public defender for 13 years. She is serving her fourth four-year term as chief defender.

When Conrad went to law school, she had no plans to become a criminal defense lawyer. She was even considering returning to journalism, Conrad said. That was until she started work as a public defender, and then she knew she’d found her calling.

“It just felt like home,” Conrad said. “It’s been incredible to have this opportunity to do something that I love so much, and to have had the opportunity to do meaningful work with an incredibly talented and dedicated staff.”

As chief defender, Conrad draws accolades from across aisles, benches, and circuits.

“She has a large footprint, not only in the circuit but within the country,” Saris said.

Saris has watched Conrad grow from a fledgling lawyer, to a standout chief public defender, to the voice of the nation’s federal defenders testifying before the 2018 US Sentencing Commission (which Saris chaired).

Conrad has testified several times before the sentencing commission, most recently about first-time offenders and alternatives to incarceration.

“In the courtroom, she is very forceful, and when she’s advocating institutionally for positions she’s not somebody along the lines of, ‘Hey, let’s reach a compromise,’ ” Saris said. “She’s a zealous advocate for both defendants and defense policy.”

Gertner, the retired judge, recalled a pornography trial that Conrad played a role in that was based on Photoshopped images. In a withering cross-examination, Conrad challenged a prosecutorial expert who claimed he could use metadata to authenticate photos. Among those he allegedly authenticated was a doctored image of Shrek, the movie ogre.

“This was not Miriam’s strong suit,” Gertner said. “But she dug in. It was at first deadly dull . . . but she did one of the most amazing cross-examinations of the witness that I can remember.

“The takeaway was she was unafraid to take on experts, unafraid to do the work,” Gertner said.

In 2016, Harvard Law School named Conrad as one of its International Women’s Day honorees, nominated by a student, faculty, or staff member for her work as a public defender and mentor and “in recognition of her commitment to zealously advocating for and providing top quality legal services to indigent clients.” Also honored that same year were Senator Elizabeth Warren, Justice Sonia Sotomayor, and former US attorney general Loretta Lynch.

“To do the work as long as she has,” said Fick, Conrad’s former employee, “you have to see the humanity in everybody and take seriously the responsibility to focus on the needs of the client and not really anything else.”

[96thdayofrage]

Until there are consistent severe consequences for the killings of Black people by unqualified, poorly trained, frightened, deviant, RACIST, sniveling white police, this homicidal foolery will continue and only grow horrifically worse.

Why is it that white mass murderers can be arrested unmolested, one even taken to Burger King on his way to jail, while Black motorists literally fear for their lives during routine traffic stops?!!!! A white killer of eight who 'was having a bad day,' was collected and mug shot wearing a bullet proof vest, while an active duty United States Army OFFICER with a spotless record was pepper sprayed, and forced to the ground like a common criminal for simply not having more than a temporary plate on a new vehicle he had just purchased before attempting to drive home. A 17 year old high school drop out from Illinois, in Kenosha, Wisconsin past a mandated curfew, who shot three protestors, killing two, was actually thanked by police on the scene for providing additional support and given bottled water before being ordered to return to his Illinois home. Meanwhile, the subject of that protest was shot in the back and permanently paralyzed by police who feared he may stab them with a knife found in the car AFTER the shooting. All of this while Derek Chauvin, a cretin on no fewer than three video recordings kneeling on handcuffed George Floyd's neck for just under just under 10 minutes, is trying to evade 2nd degree murder sentencing.

Poor Daunte Wright was pulled over because his 'air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror obstructed his view.' Having an extra large air freshener is not a death penalty offense. Once it was learned he had an outstanding warrant, he should have been arrested and read his rights while being cuffed without a weapon ever having been pulled.  Had he managed to evade capture during that encounter, the authorities now had a name, address and full description for him to be collected later.  There was no reason to pepper spray him, taze him, or, worst, open fire on him. Yet, Officer Potter 'feared for her life' and shot him, 'mistaking her 9mm pistol for her tazer.'

This particular extermination scenario was NEVER reasonable, a narrative that grows increasingly egregious and indefensible with every single new flagrant abuse of police authority. I've had it with targeting Black men, in particular, as the level of threat that police are allowed to execute on a whim with impunity. Officer Potter took the life of this 20 year old man over a warrant she could have served at any time after this encounter. Daunte Wright was not wanted for murder. None of his offenses combined amounted to more than fines and light penalties. He had done nothing that posed a threat to either officer on the scene. He was shot attempting to NOT be arrested. He did not deserve to be assaulted in an attempt to subdue him to the ground or killed just because he did not want to be arrested. It's time to bring an end to white police being able to kill Black motorists who openly refuse to be unnecessarily assaulted, abused, and maliciously demeaned during encounters that should only result in a warning or a ticket. Black motorists don't have to grin and buck dance for hateful cops on criminal fishing expeditions just to not be shot. Cops need to be punished fully for unnecessarily detaining, harming and MURDERING Black motorists.

Officer Potter was allowed to resign when she should have been immediately terminated, and ARRESTED on 2nd degree murder charges.  She was a 26 year veteran cop who should have known the difference between a 9mm and a lighter weight, often more colorful stun gun, routinely holstered on the opposite side of the body to avoid this very conflict. She held that weapon in front of her, yelling taser, long enough to have seen that she holding her pistol, yet fired it at close range on an unarmed man who had posed no threat to her whatsoever. Daunte was trying get away from her, not kill her. Once he was dead, however, just like the cops in Ferguson, Missouri did Michael Brown after Darren Wilson emptied a clip into him, poor Daunte Wright was left dead at the scene for hours while cops struggled to pretty up this indefensible atrocity, as a caution to the Black community of the danger of failure to appease and comply with corrupt, homicidal law enforcement.

Black people are done with being pulled out of cars, physically assaulted, or shot like rabid animals during 'routine traffic stops.' Officers need not approach every Black motorist with weapons drawn, demanding we exit the vehicle and lay on the ground in the prone position while a K9 unit sniffs the vehicle. We, too, have drivers licenses, proof of current insurance, and vehicle registration documentation. Every Black motorist is not a drug dealing, drug abusing, unregistered weapons toting potential cop killer, justifying such fear for police safety. Black motorists have families who love us to whom we too want to get safely home to love longer. We are no more criminal than any other demographic of motorists on the roads.

I personally mourn for the Wright family. Daunte could have been my son or nephew, my brother, my cousin, my godchild, or just a friend. Daunte called his mom when he was pulled over. Any reasonable mother of children would have told him to put mom on speaker so she would know where she and his dad needed to go to post his bail. Not Officer Potter though. So, for murdering poor Daunte in some of the most hamfisted feckless policing documented in 2021, she needs to be fired and prosecuted for the outrageous dereliction of her duty as a sworn law enforcer. Killing Daunte Wright is simply indefensible. The city can never replace Daunte, but deserves to go broke paying the Wright Family for the son Officer Potter took from them. Use Officer Potter's retirement fund to make the first payment. She won't be needing it in prison.

[troybeecham]

Today the Church remembers St. Alcuin of York, Deacon and Abbot of Tours.

Ora pro nobis.

Alcuin of York (c. 735 – 19 May 804 AD) – also called Ealhwine, Alhwin or Alchoin – was an English scholar, clergyman, poet and teacher from York, Northumbria.

He was born around 735 AD and became the student of Archbishop Ecgbert at York. At the invitation of Charlemagne, he became a leading scholar and teacher at the Carolingian court, where he remained a figure in the 780s and 790s.

Alcuin wrote many theological and dogmatic treatises, as well as a few grammatical works and a number of poems. He was made Abbot of Tours in 796, where he remained until his death. "The most learned man anywhere to be found", according to Einhard's Life of Charlemagne (ca. AD 817-833), he is considered among the most important architects of the Carolingian Renaissance. Among his pupils were many of the dominant intellectuals of the Carolingian era.

Alcuin was born in Northumbria, presumably sometime in the 730s. Virtually nothing is known of his parents, family background, or origin. In common hagiographical fashion, the Vita Alcuini asserts that Alcuin was 'of noble English stock,' and this statement has usually been accepted by scholars. Alcuin's own work only mentions such collateral kinsmen as Wilgils, father of the missionary saint Willibrord; and Beornrad (also spelled Beornred), abbot of Echternach and bishop of Sens. Willibrord, Alcuin and Beornrad were all related by blood.

In his Life of St Willibrord, Alcuin writes that Wilgils, called a paterfamilias, had founded an oratory and church at the mouth of the Humber, which had fallen into Alcuin's possession by inheritance. Because in early Anglo-Latin writing paterfamilias ("head of a family, householder") usually referred to a ceorl, Donald A. Bullough suggests that Alcuin's family was of cierlisc status: i.e., free but subordinate to a noble lord, and that Alcuin and other members of his family rose to prominence through beneficial connections with the aristocracy. If so, Alcuin's origins may lie in the southern part of what was formerly known as Deira.

The young Alcuin came to the cathedral church of York during the golden age of Archbishop Ecgbert and his brother, the Northumbrian King Eadberht. Ecgbert had been a disciple of the Venerable Bede, who urged him to raise York to an archbishopric. King Eadberht and Archbishop Ecgbert oversaw the re-energising and re-organisation of the English church, with an emphasis on reforming the clergy and on the tradition of learning that Bede had begun. Ecgbert was devoted to Alcuin, who thrived under his tutelage.

The York school was renowned as a centre of learning in the liberal arts, literature, and science, as well as in religious matters. It was from here that Alcuin drew inspiration for the school he would lead at the Frankish court. He revived the school with the trivium and quadrivium disciplines, writing a codex on the trivium, while his student Hraban wrote one on the quadrivium.

Alcuin graduated to become a teacher during the 750s. His ascendancy to the headship of the York school, the ancestor of St Peter's School, began after Aelbert became Archbishop of York in 767. Around the same time Alcuin became a deacon in the church. He was never ordained a priest. Though there is no real evidence that he took monastic vows, he lived as if he had.

In 781, King Elfwald sent Alcuin to Rome to petition the Pope for official confirmation of York's status as an archbishopric and to confirm the election of the new archbishop, Eanbald I. On his way home he met Charlemagne (whom he had met once before), this time in the Italian city of Parma.

Alcuin's intellectual curiosity allowed him to be reluctantly persuaded to join Charlemagne's court. He joined an illustrious group of scholars that Charlemagne had gathered around him, the mainsprings of the Carolingian Renaissance: Peter of Pisa, Paulinus of Aquileia, Rado, and Abbot Fulrad. Alcuin would later write that "the Lord was calling me to the service of King Charles."

Alcuin became Master of the Palace School of Charlemagne in Aachen (Urbs Regale) in 782. It had been founded by the king's ancestors as a place for the education of the royal children (mostly in manners and the ways of the court). However, Charlemagne wanted to include the liberal arts and, most importantly, the study of religion. From 782 to 790, Alcuin taught Charlemagne himself, his sons Pepin and Louis, as well as young men sent to be educated at court, and the young clerics attached to the palace chapel. Bringing with him from York his assistants Pyttel, Sigewulf, and Joseph, Alcuin revolutionised the educational standards of the Palace School, introducing Charlemagne to the liberal arts and creating a personalised atmosphere of scholarship and learning, to the extent that the institution came to be known as the 'school of Master Albinus'.

In this role as adviser, he took issue with the emperor's policy of forcing pagans to be baptised on pain of death, arguing, "Faith is a free act of the will, not a forced act. We must appeal to the conscience, not compel it by violence. You can force people to be baptised, but you cannot force them to believe." His arguments seem to have prevailed – Charlemagne abolished the death penalty for paganism in 797.

Charlemagne gathered the best men of every land in his court, and became far more than just the king at the centre. It seems that he made many of these men his closest friends and counsellors. They referred to him as 'David', a reference to the Biblical king David. Alcuin soon found himself on intimate terms with Charlemagne and the other men at court, where pupils and masters were known by affectionate and jesting nicknames. Alcuin himself was known as 'Albinus' or 'Flaccus'. While at Aachen, Alcuin bestowed pet names upon his pupils – derived mainly from Virgil's Eclogues. According to the Encyclopædia Britannica, "He loved Charlemagne and enjoyed the king's esteem, but his letters reveal that his fear of him was as great as his love.

In 790 Alcuin returned from the court of Charlemagne to England, to which he had remained attached. He dwelt there for some time, but Charlemagne then invited him back to help in the fight against the Adoptionist heresy which was at that time making great progress in Toledo, the old capital of the Visigoths and still a major city for the Christians under Islamic rule in Spain. He is believed to have had contacts with Beatus of Liébana, from the Kingdom of Asturias, who fought against Adoptionism. At the Council of Frankfurt in 794, Alcuin upheld the orthodox doctrine against the views expressed by Felix of Urgel, an heresiarch according to the Catholic Encyclopaedia. Having failed during his stay in Northumbria to influence King Æthelred in the conduct of his reign, Alcuin never returned home.

He was back at Charlemagne's court by at least mid-792, writing a series of letters to Æthelred, to Hygbald, Bishop of Lindisfarne, and to Æthelhard, Archbishop of Canterbury in the succeeding months, dealing with the Viking attack on Lindisfarne in July 793. These letters and Alcuin's poem on the subject, De clade Lindisfarnensis monasterii, provide the only significant contemporary account of these events. In his description of the Viking attack, he wrote: "Never before has such terror appeared in Britain. Behold the church of St Cuthbert, splattered with the blood of God's priests, robbed of its ornaments."

In 796 Alcuin was in his sixties. He hoped to be free from court duties and upon the death of Abbot Itherius of Saint Martin at Tours, Charlemagne put Marmoutier Abbey into Alcuin's care, with the understanding that he should be available if the king ever needed his counsel. There he encouraged the work of the monks on the beautiful Carolingian minuscule script, ancestor of modern Roman typefaces.

Alcuin died on 19 May 804 AD, some ten years before the emperor, and was buried at St. Martin's Church under an epitaph that partly read:

Dust, worms, and ashes now ...

Alcuin my name, wisdom I always loved,

Pray, reader, for my soul.

The majority of details on Alcuin's life come from his letters and poems. There are also autobiographical sections in Alcuin's poem on York and in the Vita Alcuini, a Life written for him at Ferrières in the 820s, possibly based in part on the memories of Sigwulf, one of Alcuin's pupils.

Almighty God, in an age when Western Europe was filled with warfare and cultural disarray, you raised up your deacon Alcuin to rekindle the light of learning: Illumine our minds, we pray, that amid the uncertainties and confusions of our own time we may show forth your eternal truth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

[lady-divine-writes]

A Blessed Fall (Rated NC17)

Watching Aziraphale fall breaks Crowley’s heart. For Aziraphale, however, it’s a beautiful experience - birth and death, transformation, and a new beginning all wrapped up in one.

Because he’s not alone. (1819 words)

Crowley gazes lovingly at his angel’s naked body – a glorious sight he thought he might never see. He leans in to kiss the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. The smile he wears as he watches Aziraphale’s breathing slow, his breathing settle, is genuine, but bittersweet in nature. He’s proud of his angel. Proud of how he’s chosen to handle things. Proud to be with him.

He just wishes things could have turned out another way.

Aziraphale looks different now. So terribly different. His curly white locks have become silver-grey. A dashing silver-grey, Crowley feels. They lend color to his face, make him appear less pale, less ethereal.

Less untouchable.

That naïve blush of rose in his lips and cheeks has blossomed into a fiery stain, washing away any hint of innocence that once existed before. But the most obvious change has been his angel’s eyes. They’ve gone black from the whites straight through the blues. A shiny, silky black, like an oil slick.

It’s not unattractive. It’s just going to take some getting used to.

“How do you feel, angel?” Crowley whispers. His word usage may seem unusual, all things considered, but he refuses to stop calling Aziraphale angel. When he started, it wasn’t so much a nickname but an indicator of what Aziraphale was, the boundary that existed ever between them.

6000 years later, it means so much more.

“I feel … sleepy … sore,” Aziraphale teases, hugging his pillow beneath him and giggling like a fool.

At least he’s a happy fool, Crowley thinks, his smile trembling at the corners.

“I should imagine so. That happens the first time, or so I’ve been told.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley’s smile trembles a little more. Aziraphale may not look as innocent as he did, but it’s still there, buried deep inside.

“I don’t. This was a first for both of us,” Crowley reassures him. He runs his nails lightly down Aziraphale’s back, skirting his shoulders, avoiding the shattered nubs of broken wings. He closes his eyes and pictures Aziraphale’s wings as they were – strong, graceful arches of pristine white feathers towering over his head, shielding him from the rain.

His wings will grow back, albeit a different color.

Unfortunately, them coming in will hurt twice as much as him losing them.

He told Aziraphale that. Warned him. He didn’t want to. He wanted to put it off, give Aziraphale time to adjust before he came at him with more bad news. But Aziraphale asked him, begged him not to lie to him even for his sake. So Crowley told him, explained it in detail the way he remembered it, Aziraphale looking at him the entire time with sadness creasing his brow. Crowley thought Aziraphale had been devastated by his description, maybe frightened by the thought of more pain. But Aziraphale put a hand to his demon’s cheek and said, “Oh, you poor dear.”

“Wha-what? What are you talking about?”

“So alone. So scared. So full of doubt. That wasn’t right. Wasn’t right at all.” Aziraphale smiled. “At least I’ll have you here beside me. I wish I could have been there for you.”

Then Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it to keep from losing the last bit of strength he had left.

Crowley didn’t particularly want to be reminded of falling, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he could forget. He didn’t need Aziraphale falling to trigger it. It would be easy to distance himself from Aziraphale now. Maybe that was what the Almighty was counting on when She pulled this little trick.

Finally separating them for good.

That’s what started this anyhow.

The worst part is Aziraphale would understand.

He’d forgive him.

But Crowley couldn’t do that to Aziraphale. No matter what happened between them, he could never abandon Aziraphale. Not when his angel truly needed him. Crowley may be many things. He’s vain beyond belief. He may even be a coward on occasion. But he loved Aziraphale more than he loved himself.

He couldn’t leave him.

Crowley fell from Grace because he’d asked questions. Too many questions. He was a menace with questions.

Aziraphale didn’t fall because they’d made love to one another. That actually came after. A celebration of sorts.

Aziraphale fell because he said no to God.

He’d received an express post envelope that morning from Gabriel – one of the Archangel’s long-winded letters pretentiously printed in gold ink on white parchment. It read, “Principality Aziraphale: It has come to the Almighty’s attention that you have been conspiring with a demon of Hell (because, of course, there are demons of other places, Aziraphale had joked to himself, such as Waitrose and the laundromat) by the name of Crawly for the entirety of your assigned years on Earth. After lengthy consideration by a congregation of your superiors, this has been deemed fraternizing with the enemy, a crime that carries with it a substantial penalty. It is therefore required by the home office that you cease all communication with said demon immediately or suffer the consequences.

Sincerely;

Gabriel

Archangel”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he snapped his fingers and sent back a message of his own that read, “Dear Archangel Gabriel: I apologize but I find I must decline your recent request on the grounds that it is wholly unreasonable and unnecessary. Nothing with regard to my relationship with the demon Anthony J Crowley makes me unfit or incapable of doing my job on Earth as outlined in its description. Neither has it for the past six plus millennia, as evidenced by my list of accomplishments (see attached). Therefore I see no reason to terminate said relationship as a requirement for me to continue my duties. Thank you, however, for your concern. It is duly noted. If there is a fine that I must pay for my perceived insubordination, please let me know what it is so that I may appeal it expeditiously through the appropriate channels.

Sincerely;

Aziraphale

Principality”

Aziraphale felt no fear nor hesitation in sending that message off, even with the knowledge that it could be forwarded to God Herself. He’d done nothing wrong. He had no intention of shirking his angelic duties. He never had. But he also had no intention of giving up the one thing on Earth that was his and his alone - his lifelong friendship with Crowley. Being friends with a demon didn’t make him a lesser angel, and as such, he didn’t feel he should be forced to make a choice.

Aziraphale waited for a response, but when he received none, he put the matter out of his mind.

Later that evening, while drinking with Crowley in his bookshop, he felt an odd pain in his chest. It hit him hard like a hammer straight to the ribcage, radiating to his shoulders and down his torso, filling every limb with white hot pain. Were he mortal, he might have thought he were having a heart attack. He’d never experienced anything like it before. It felt like a fork digging through his insides, trying to tear him apart.

Crowley seemed to know it for what it was just by looking at him. He ran to the angel’s side and took his hand as Aziraphale slid off the sofa and fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Crowley caught his gaze and locked on to it, determined not to let go, even when the fire beneath Aziraphale’s flesh began to burn him as well.

“Stay with me,” Crowley whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I promise. But whatever you do, don’t give in to it. Don’t let it destroy you.”

“I … I won’t …” Aziraphale said, anchoring his gaze to the serpent eyes in front of him, using them to keep him grounded.

Then the world went black and all he could feel was pain.

Pain and Crowley’s hand holding his.

But now, lying beside Crowley on his enormous mattress, Aziraphale doesn’t feel any different - apart from the throbbing in his back where his wings have been singed off. Which is to say he doesn’t feel Evil. Ironically, he feels that his capacity for love, for compassion, may have even grown somewhat. If that’s a side-effect, if it’s temporary, only time will tell. But he should find a way to use that for as long as it lasts.

Crowley had said that a demon could get in real trouble for doing the right thing, but he’s been performing blessings for thousands of years. Aziraphale needs to find out how Crowley has been able to manage it without getting caught. He definitely sees the opportunity to exploit a few loopholes.

He finds himself getting excited just thinking about it.

The act of falling, the physical manifestation of it, is what he’d always imagined birth and dying feeling like, only in reverse. There are things he’ll miss about being an angel. Absolutely there are things he’ll miss. But he’s choosing not to think of those right now. He’s gone through a transformation, a new stage in his existence. He’s metamorphosed, become a dark butterfly. And at the other end of his fall was Crowley, kissing his forehead, murmuring words of encouragement …

… even praying for his safe return.

Before he’d opened his eyes, he heard Crowley say that he’d love him forever. He’d take care of him, stand beside him no matter what he turned into, and Aziraphale couldn’t help grinning.

It sounded like a wedding vow.

But the oddest thing of all is the thing he’d feared the most – he doesn’t feel God’s love any less than he had before. He thought for sure it had been torn from him in the process of falling and that there’d be a void, but it was still there. He may be mistaken, but it feels that way.

Maybe because he has Crowley with him, loving him enough for both God and himself.

All in all, along with making love to his demon, falling has actually been a beautiful experience.

Fancy.

“Are you … are you scared?” Crowley asks.

“No,” Aziraphale says without pausing to think, wiping at the worry on Crowley’s face with a kiss on the lips. “Not a whit.”

“How …?” Crowley shakes his head, his voice dissolving with every word “… how can you say that? Everything you had, the life you knew … it’s all over.”

“It’s not all over. Stop being such an alarmist.” Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley’s and scrunches his nose, trying to lure a smile from his demon. “Listen - are you willing to stay with me, dear boy?”

“Every minute.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Crowley sniffs. “I … I swear.”

“Then I choose not to see this as an ending” - Aziraphale pulls Crowley down beside him and wraps his arms around him - “but the beginning of a great adventure.”

[arelya-andaria]

Star-crossed lovers Phantom AU

Erik and Christine finding - and losing - each other - across time. Rated T - for @littlelonghairedoutlaw‘s contest =) contains also a bit or Erik/Daroga - Christine/Raoul - Christine/Meg.

*-* Immortals across time, they find themselves again and again.

It begins at the dawn of time, when they are both from different tribes. Not at war with each other, but keeping a safe distance.

He is rejected by his own, after a hunting accident leaves him deeply scarred. He saves the life of several others, but is shunned for it. No one would mate with him.

Wanders the wild alone, learning to survive, and finding relief in music. That’s when she hears it for the first time. His music, the twin to hers, the echo of it in her heart.

They spend a summer together, but death finds him first, and they make a promise to each other: they will always find one another.

She mates with a gentle, adventurous soul. He’s not the twin to her soul, but he loves her, and she learns to love him too.

*-*

When she’s reborn, hundreds of years later, the sun shines heavily on her brown skin, the high-born daughter of a great scribe. Set to marry one of her friends. But one day, as she leaves her home of shadowed patios and delightful fountains, she hears him. He wears a beautiful, golden mask, and his fingers on the harp are agile and fascinating. She stays to listen to him when his eyes fall on hers, golden like the gods’.

Later that night, she finds him, and they run together to the river, joining their voices as their souls beat against one another.

Early that morning, as the dawn finds them sprawled on the grass, an adder finds her, and she’s dead by midday.

Broken by grief, he throws himself in the Nile.

*-*

By their third incarnation, in the beautiful cities of Greece, they both know they are not destined to be with each other. But how can they resist true love’s call?

This time, they try to be cautious. She’s a priestess to the god Apollo, blessed by him with a fabulous voice. She’s dancing and singing during the yearly festivities, barely 16, when he sees her. A retired, scarred warrior, become poet, he’s already had a young lover, a brown skinned man from the other side of the sea, with a name as sweet as honey, and he, too, makes beautiful, exotic music. But his heart knows his mate, and when their eyes meet, so do their souls.

They know the penalty for their love, but are ready to pay it nonetheless.

They’re both found poisoned, on the last day of the festival, entwined in each other’s arms.

*-*

It is a new continent, and a different culture. Her hair is black and soft as silk, and his eyes are wonderfully deep, black as the night sky. He was born for honor and duty, keeping his love for music for the time he is home, and not away fighting for his Emperor.

She is raised a proud daughter, her gaze unblinking, even as she gracefully pours her new husband tea. She is happy she shares him with a friend. Older than her, she teaches her young protégée all that she has to know in the ways of love, and perhaps her touch is not what girlfriends are supposed to share.

She doesn’t care.

They are not supposed to meet. And she knows, when her husband brings his new friend home, saying he has saved his life at the expense of his own beauty, that it’s the start of the end.

She makes him music, to show him her appreciation, as they meet under the cherry trees, the wind a gentle sound tangling her careful coiffure, as she dances and sings. Once again, their souls meet, and entwine.

Once again, their music binds them.

And it defeats them in the same blink.

A katana through the heart, when he’s found with his friend’s wife, and given the choice of death or dishonor.

She cries herself to death, hidden in the ancient forest, his blood is all over her kimono.

*-*

Early medieval times. A beautiful fair, and a young girl learning the violin, from her papa’s hands. Running through the forest with her two friends, a gentle boy with golden hair and a dazzling smile, who she kisses on a dare, and a witty, fierce dark-haired dancer, who loves to climb up the trees as the tiniest, darkest human chipmunk.

She meets him then, an old man who reads her stories in the dark tavern. When she sings softly to thank him, his eyes close, and he thanks her deeply. He feels what she cannot, and though she’s gone the following morning, to play somewhere else, he knows his heart is gone with her. For the first time, she hasn’t recognized him.

When she goes back to the same village, ten years later, she goes to the tavern, feeling her heart called out by another.

But then her feet lead her somewhere else, by the small town’s heavy church, and the small graveyard next to it.

There he lies, headstone simple and white against the green earth, and she cries out for him. She plays the violin, to appease her heart, and his own.

She never returns afterwards.

*-*

It is a time of changes and discoveries. Disguised as a boy, she sets out to the new world. She has nothing and no one left waiting for her in the old one.

The voyage is long, and the waters treacherous. Not long after they’ve finally spotted land, the ship hits the deep rock hiding the entrance of a safe harbor. She can swim, sets out for the shore, and there she finds him. He saves her from drowning, and she recoils from him at first, believing him a monster from her homeland stories, his face hideous and deeply scarred.

But he sings for her, tends to her, and her heart recognizes him at last.

Together at last, nothing to separate them.

Or so they believe.

Later that month, as she’s fully recovered from her near-death, a settler’s party finds them, and frightened by his sight, fires at him. He bleeds out in her arms, and she’s taken away from the monster.

She runs away, tears in her eyes, and finds comfort in a Native tribe. Understanding is hard, but with perseverance, she settles down with them, those who love her and soothe her aching heart. The chief’s youngest daughter is her dearest friend, her name the sound of the wind in the trees, the color of the river flowing next to the village, and there she finds peace, heart beating to the sound of the drums.

*-*

A party, for the late Duke’s only son’s birthday. A ball, where the young ladies are throwing themselves at him. It is a masquerade, after all, and the plagued face that made his own father despise him is at last hidden away.

Here, he talks and charms, knowing he is to find a bride. If not out of spite, he must still have an heir.

He plays the violin and the piano and composes and he’s an architect, a scientist, ladies. Oh, he sings too? What a worldly young man… How is it he never found a bride, they whisper around him.

She’s not supposed to be here. She’s only been invited by her dear aunt, who took pity on her and dressed her up for the occasion, and threw her to the pit of snakes. She hears their whispers too, how a country girl should appear here, how obvious she is, from her rough hands, and her tanned skin. Still, when she sings, they listen, and so does he.

He feels her arrive, knows her heart as he knows his own.

But their time, as usual, is short.

Beneath the moonless sky, as they walk through the gardens, drunk on their love and watching the fireworks over the fountains, her ridiculous gown a giant thing keeping him at an arm’s length from her, they sing out their hearts.

At peace, if only for a moment. The mask falls out before they kiss, and her cries of surprise bring the whole of the castle to them.

Ashamed of her reaction, she leaves, and hides herself in a convent. He endlessly looks for her, but never succeeds.

*-*

End of the 19th century.

He’s a Music ghost hiding away in an Opera house, and she’s a delicate, broken young soprano dreaming of better times and red scarfs and Angels.

They meet on a lonely night, and he teaches her how to wield her voice, sending her out on a journey to Prima Donna.

She gives him her soul, and finds her old lover, childhood sweetheart, returned from his travels overseas.

She does not recognize him, either, this time, until it is too late. Chaos has been brought to their doors, from grief and too much passion.

Only at the end does she recognize what her heart and soul were telling her, and she gives him back his golden ring, as he lies there, dying.

Fleeing with her friend has never been so hard.

*-*

By luck, they escape the great wars, and are born at the turn of the century.

They are both weary, finding love only to lose it painfully, and refuse to acknowledge what is between them, as they meet in a cold beach, in December. The waves are crashing on the shore, seagulls crying over their heads.

She’s sitting on the damp sand, wind tangling her hair, grey light blinding her, and she feels him.

Fear and shame rush through her veins, as the memories of a hundred different lives come back to her.

How she loved him, and always lost him.

He’s there by sheer luck, turned away by an editor too frightful to publish his music. He thought it would be better to hide away on a deserted beach than drunk at home.

Mask on, and scarf around his head, a nobody in Northern France.

Their eyes meet, for the first time. For the latest time.

He can feel her music, in his soul.

She can feel his melody reaching out to her.

They sing, and are home.

For the first and latest time, they embrace.

Now the spell is broken.

They’ve spent several lifetimes apart, finding love with others, losing love, losing hope, but this time, they’ll share one love.

This lifetime is theirs, and theirs alone.

[captainpikeachu]

so I’ve talked a lot before about how Anson Mount in one of his interviews said that Pike’s story this season will show that his eventual fate in The Menagerie in TOS wasn’t a tragedy but a victory, and just recently Alex Kurtzman stated that there’s a dimension to Pike’s story and link to his canon fate that we may not know yet - so because of these comments I’ve been wondering how any of this was going to come to pass and having just read one of the old Star Trek comics, I think I may have found the answer

I really recommend any fan who’s enjoyed Pike over the course of this season to read the Star Trek #61 Return To Talos

basically in this story, Spock returns to Talos IV twenty years after he took an injured Pike there so he could live out a life with the Talosians and Vina because Starfleet has developed a new experimental medical procedure that may restore Pike to his previously uninjured state

when Spock arrives, he meets up with Pike and Vina who has been living on the surface trying to rebuild the planet and they’ve had a son named Phillip. Spock is concerned that Pike may have given into illusion and thinks that Phillip cannot be real due to Pike and Vina’s respective injuries, meanwhile Pike and Vina are trying to decide if Pike should go back to Starfleet for this procedure or not

essentially Pike doesn’t want to leave because he’s made a life here and he wants to help the Talosians rebuild their world so they don’t just die out and go exctint

Spock is attacked by various illusions in different forms and eventually finds out that Phillip conjured up the illusions to try and scare Spock away because the child was afraid that Spock was going to take his father away. Pike intervenes and eventually explains to Spock that Pike didn’t just learn mind projections from the Talosians but he also learned from the wealth of knowledge that the Talosians had of their old civilization, they had advanced medical techniques that was able to allow him and Vina to have a child

Pike decides that he is staying on Talos with his family and to help the Talosians rebuild their home and their civilization. Spock returns to Enterprise and in his talk with Kirk and Bones, he recommends that Pike be put back to active duty as a Contact Specialist for Talos and General Order 7 which restricted travel to Talos under penalty of death should be lifted so that they can keep in contact when one day they might join the Federation

now I don’t know if any of the Disco writers have read the comics, there are some among the staff who write the novels though, but I would have to assume that they are aware of these old comics from the 90s once they realized they were going to bring Pike back on screen again

all this talk about his story being a victory, if they follow this comic, if we even get to see a glimpse or hint of this future where he has a child and he’s helping Talos rebuild, then it would be a victory because his story doesn’t just end as someone left behind on Talos because he has to be, but rather he had a chance to leave but stayed there as he is because he chose to help rebuild

honestly everything in this comic fits in so well with what Discovery is doing with their version of Pike - Vina talks about how Pike wears selflessness like a cloak - and when offered the chance to get his body back, Pike chooses to stay on Talos instead of leaving because he wants to help the Talosians have a second chance

Christopher Pike ran into the radiation to pull out all those cadets, despite the likely fatal risks to his life, because the cadets were his responsibility

Christopher Pike chooses to stay on Talos, despite the likely chance of regaining his old life back, because the Talosians are his responsibility

he literally states in the comic “do I dare pay for the elimination of a minor inconvenience with the death of a race?”

Christopher Pike would rather remain in his injured state than leaving the Talosians to fall apart and go extinct - Starfleet doesn’t need him anymore but the Talosians do, so he stays

this is exactly the things that Discovery’s Pike would and could be seen doing, that same mentality of looking after people that he’s responsible for and risking it all to help

if the show could somehow hint to a future where Pike stays on Talos to help the Talosians rebuild, then it would be the victory of his story, as Kirk even said “it’s a fitting destiny for Chris, he’s helped lead humanity into the stars, and now he’s leading the Talosians into the future”

not to mention that this would tie in perfectly into canon, as Talos IV appears as a travel destination listed on a screen in TNG’s episode “Inheritance”, which means that over 100 years from the current season 2 timeline, Talos does somehow rebuild enough to be a place for people to travel again as Spock wished for in the comic instead of being this restricted barren planet, which means that Pike did succeed!

again I have no clue if anything from the comics is even gonna be tied into the show but this is a future for Pike that I would wish for where his story gets to continue and he still gets to be the explorer leading the Talosians into a better future - so much of the Pike traits in this comic are exactly the ones that Discovery has shown he exhibits in this season, traits that make him truly the best of Starfleet as Cornwell called him, it would just be amazing if the show and the comic could connect

also, who knew they already predicted back in 1994 that Anson Mount would play Pike

[code-twenty-one-blog]

The True Story of Jack Sparrow

Jack Sparrow, the drunkard pirate. We all know about him from the famous franchise “Pirates of the Caribbean”. The pirate who adores rum and spent his life sailing the seas in search of mysterious adventures. But what if that fictional character is actually based on a true one?

History can be concealed or covered with the cloth of fiction. But shall we let the truth covered by that damned cloth? Nay! Let that cloth be ripped and let the truth seduce every traveller on its path. Here it is the true story of Jack Sparrow.

Jack Ward was his real name. He was an English Sailor born around the year 1553 in Faversham, Kent in southeast England and earned a living working in local fisheries. But Faversham was a haven for the fugitives such as smugglers and pirates. That city shared with those pirates their rebellion and transgression, and soon enough, its poison was spread into Jack Ward’s heart. And he became obsessed with the seas and the pirates and their adventures. Eventually, he left his parent’s home determined to be a privateer licensed by the Queen of England, and live the adventures he always dreamed of.

At the time, England’s invasion attempt against the Spanish Armada had recently failed. The duties of the privateers were ended when the war was over. But the whim of change didn’t find a place in most of the privateers’ hearts. So many of them rebelled and did not return, even though the penalties set by the new King of England “James I” against the pirates who refuse to return were severe. But Jack actually returned to his simple life, working in local fisheries like the old days. But his life soon changed when he was forced to join the Royal Navy and pull of a specific task under a license granted by the King. But he never preferred the legal route, so he chose to desert his comrades in exchange for a completely new life that once upon a time was stolen from him. He gathered a new crew and was elected as their captain after capturing a small ship and setting the sails toward the mighty waves of the deep seas!

Jack Ward and his crew were hungry and dangerous. They were capturing ships one after the other, and in each time they would get a ship that is better and bigger than the last one. Eventually, he became known as the master of the Mediterranean. Later He was known by his nickname Jack Birdy, for he was obsessed with birds. And he became famous among all sailors, especially in England. At that time, Jack Birdy made arrangements with a Muslim sailor to use a navy base in Tunisia which would allow him to capture more merchant ships more easily. After years of fighting, the Ottoman Dey in Algeria offered a safe haven to Captain Jack in Tunisia. Jack Birdy accepted the offer and after one year, Captain Jack converted to Islam with his entire crew and changed his name to Yusuf Reis.

Yusuf Reis and other pirates who also converted to Islam established what was known as “The Republic of Sea Fighters” in the Tunisian coasts. And soon they became the worst nightmare of the Crusaders’ ships. Indeed, they were militias descended from the rivers of the Garden of Eden, to end the tyranny of the Crusaders and to strengthen the power of the Ottoman navy which was under the leadership of Barbarossa.

The fire of enmity between Yusuf Reis and the king of England was getting more and more inflamed. And the Captain had numerous ballads written about him, some even taunting the King of England.

“Go tell the king of England, go tell him this from me,

If he reigns king of all the land, I will reign king at sea”

And the fire of enmity between Yusuf Reis and the new rulers of Andalusia was even more inflamed, for he played a major role in rescuing thousands of Spanish Jews and Muslims who had to flee their homes because of the inquisition which was the tool used to force the Jews and the Muslims to convert to Christianity during the fall of Andalusia from the hands of the Islamic Caliphate.

In 1612, a play titled “Christian turned Turk” was written about his conversion to Islam by English dramatist Robert Daborne. Indeed, they started defaming the Captain centuries ago. And it is our duty as Muslims to respond and to teach people who he truly was. Not the drunkard, the scum or the filthy pirate. but the hero, the sea fighter who saved thousands of lives from the Christian inquisition of death.

[woodworkingpastor]

When the sweet by and by meets the nasty hear and now --Daniel 6:6-27 -- First Sunday of Advent -- November 29, 2020

Sometimes I wonder if we realize the choices we’re making with the stories we include in children’s Bible story books.  Daniel in the lions’ den is certainly an “interesting” choice.  Are we trying to keep our kids up at night?  I went into the nursery this week to see if I could find this story in a children’s book; sure enough, this book was on top of the stack.  Daniel in the Lions’ Den: fun with pull-tabs, flaps, and pop-ups.  One page includes a picture of a rock which is really a flap hiding some angry-looking lions; the next page has a pull tab that transforms the angry lions into beasts as docile as housecats.

I can imagine that if I were to Daniel and the Lions’ Den as the children’s story, you’d have no great issue with it.  But if I were to illustrate the story by bringing in some really scary-looking dogs and have them sit next to me while I told the story, a lot of you would be really angry.  People visiting the church with their children would probably leave and never return. And it might not matter if the dogs were harmless, or were exceptionally well trained, would it?  Scaring the children in such a manner would be inappropriate.  And yet, this is the story we tell.  Maybe we brush over that because we know how the story ends.  But there is still a very uncertain middle where Daniel spends the night surrounded by lions.  Even the king believes Daniel will be killed, and the reader is left uncertain of how the story will end.

Why do we tell stories like these?  We see in them a moralistic tale of right living. We want our children to understand that if they just do what is right—come to church, honor God, treat people like they want to be treated—then life will work out well for them.  If you just trust God, then all your problems will be taken care of. It’s a view that the Bible advocates. Blessings are available for those who honor God; curses for those who do not.

The problem is, we know that life doesn’t always work out this way. The Biblical writers knew this, too.  Many of the stories we encounter in the Bible—from the story of Job in the Old Testament to stories like that of the man born blind in John 9—are accounts of people wrestling with the notion that the life they thought they had been promised wasn’t being delivered to them.  They’ve done nothing wrong, yet they are suffering.  They know of people who have lived wicked, unrighteous lives, who seem to prosper.  What is more, sometimes intentional evil is directed at the righteous.  

On this first Sunday of Advent, the question is, “Where do we find hope when ‘the sweet by and by’ runs up against ‘the nasty here and now’?”  

When office politics meets xenophobia

When you start digging into Daniel’s story, you might be amazed at how ordinary and unremarkable most of the details are, and how uninspiring and uncreative—and even petty—the “bad guys” are. Daniel is one of a number of persons who were victims of the conquest of Jerusalem and were taken to captivity in Babylon by King Nebuchadnezzar.  Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are three other persons like this whose names you have heard.

Being of the royal family, these men were given opportunities that others their age would not have had.  Daniel especially benefits from this opportunity; he quickly rises to become one of the most powerful rulers in Babylon. In fact, the king had plans to appoint him to a position something like Prime Minister.  

In the verses immediately prior to our Scripture reading this story becomes so very human: this is a story about office politics.  Some of the Babylonian government officials were upset that Daniel—a foreigner—had risen to this position of great authority. It didn’t matter that these people benefitted from Daniel’s leadership because of his great ability and his great integrity.  It didn’t matter that the whole nation was better off with him in this position.  Racism rears its ugly head; Daniel is not one of “us” and must be gotten rid of.  Being unable to find a legitimate complaint against him, they manufacture one.

And so they go to the king and they take advantage of his raging ego.  They propose that he write a new law that forbids prayer to anyone other than him for the next 30 days.  All the praise and supplication of the people is to be directed nowhere else but the king, upon penalty of death.  This is a dangerous merging of politics and religion: crafting one interpretation of patriotism into a purity test of loyalty and devotion. It is an act that turns religious belief into treason and fashions it into a weapon to be used against all those who do not measure up to the prevailing political winds of the day.

It appears that the plan has worked; Daniel is trapped between the competing allegiances of God and country.  Daniel has proven himself to be a loyal public servant; he has made peace with his new home and chosen to serve it to the best of his significant ability. But he has reserved the best of his devotion for God.  And so here in this moment when the sweet by and by meets the nasty here and now, Daniel has a choice to make about how he will proceed. The law signed into effect by King Darius was aimed at Daniel’s devotion.  So how will Daniel pray, now that prayer has been made a crime?

One option is to pray in secret. He could go about his duties as administrator and simply hold his prayers quietly in his heart.  He could find some hidden place to pray.  This is not an unknown strategy; when teaching us to pray, Jesus says

And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you (Matthew 6:5-6).

But Daniel will not choose this option, because remaining silent and modifying his behavior in the face of this law would be to act as if it had ultimate control over his life. Praying in secret would appear to be renouncing his faith.

So Daniel chooses a different option: he goes about his business, business which includes going to his home three times a day to get down on his knees in prayer.  In his commentary on Daniel, Old Testament scholar John Goldingay describes Daniel’s choice this way:

Daniel’s response to the prohibition on prayer is to continue praying. There is no fuss or rush about his stand…he cannot hide the fact that he prays. When prayer is fashionable, it is time to pray in secret, but when prayer is under pressure, to pray in secret is to give the appearance of fearing the king more than God” (Daniel, 131).

Daniel honors God, and the punishment comes anyway. Daniel spends the night with the lions.  Of course, we know how the story ends: God closes the mouths of the lions; Daniel is rescued and God’s name is exalted throughout the land. And as for those who conspired against Daniel; they are thrown into the lions’ den and are torn to pieces before they hit the ground (a detail that is included in the children’s storybook, by the way).

Sometimes the biggest challenges in life are just figuring out what we’re dealing with.  That is true of interpreting this story.  Daniel and the Lions’ Den is not a morality tale, it is a martyr story.  It is a story of someone maintaining their hope in Jesus even when hope comes at a great price.

Hope found through martyr stories

The focus of martyr stories is to encourage steadfastness in the face of persecution.  Deliverance is not the issue; there is no question that God can deliver us. In an earlier part of Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego confront a very similar trial for their faith.  When the sweet by and by met the nasty here and now in their life, their appeal to hope was to say:

O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to present a defense to you in this matter. If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up (Daniel 3:16b-18).

As we enter into these Sundays of Advent, anticipating the coming and coming again of Jesus, we are professing a hope in something that is both real and anticipated.  Hope enables us to maintain our belief in the promise of God’s saving action in spite of the difficulties present before us. Hope is disciplined waiting, even when waiting proves difficult; even when waiting for God’s purposes to be revealed means experiencing our own loss of comfort; even when waiting extends beyond our lifetimes.

Paul spoke to a disciplined hope that choses to actively pursue our faith and to honor God in the midst of difficulty when he wrote to the Philippians from prison:

I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.

Paul’s comfort was not the object of his life—God’s glory was the object, and Paul was willing to remain faithful to God’s plan through suffering and imprisonment.  His hope that more people—all people!—would come to honor God. If his suffering helped accomplish that, then it was fine with him.

Brian Zahnd, pastor of Word of Life church in St. Joseph, MO, talks about what hope looks like when our times look like Daniel’s, and faithfulness to God is held prisoner by faithfulness to empire:

Once we untether Jesus from the interests of empire, we begin to see just how countercultural and radical Jesus’ ideas actually are.  Enemies? Love them. Violence? Renounce it. Money? Share it. Foreigners? Welcome them. Sinners? Forgive them.  These are the kind of radical ideas that will always be opposed by the principalities and powers, but which the followers of Jesus are called to embrace, announce, and enact (Postcards from Babylon, 17).

Stories like Daniel and the Lions’ Den remind us that we can do everything God asks of us and still encounter trouble.  Our faith in Jesus isn’t going to protect us from difficult choices and scenarios.  In fact, our faith might be the cause of those difficult choices and scenarios.  This is why stories like these are important for the building up of our hope: they were written as encouragement to those who are struggling to find hope.  Others have had hard times, too.  When human beings become beasts because they will not acknowledge God’s kingdom, hope reminds us that God will one day confront the beast and rescue his world.

Martyr stories have a long history in Christian spiritual formation.  In colonial America, it was common for Anabaptist Christians—here I’m thinking mostly of the Mennonite Church—to have two books in their home: the Bible, and the book Martyr’s Mirror, an over 1,000 page book that chronicles 1700 years of persecution of Christians.  They read these stories because they understood from their own lived experience that what happened to Daniel could—and did—happen to them.  Rather than protecting themselves and their children from stories that might be hard to hear, that saw in these stories a means of instilling hope in Christ.  

How does the church respond when the sweet by and by meets the nasty here and now? We follow the example of Daniel who got

down on his knees three times a day to pray to his God and praise him, just as he had done previously (Daniel 6:10).

This, sisters and brothers, is where hope is found.

[storywars-r]

8/14 - Entrance

(mansik yang)

Chapter 1 by R

She shimmers, she shines.

She glows.

They can't help but stare at her, as she walks through the crowd. A girl her age, out on the streets, that's nothing new. The people of the city hardly notice children mucking about through the streets, accompanied by parents or not. If anything, they're more annoyance than worry. Easily ignored.

But her, you have to notice her as she walks in. It's not just the way she's dressed, nicer than most of the town, looking almost like an adventurer, and it's not just the way she talks, an accent that no one in the crowd can place. No, it's the way she acts, because her personality seems to force herself in to the center of attention. You can't take your eyes off of her. You don't want to.

She's showing off tricks, to the whole crowd, but mostly to the children clamoring at her ankles. They're good tricks, but anyone who's seen a magician has seen them before. Enough to wow children, and impress some adults, but nothing grand. Still, there's something about her so utterly mystifying, so enchanting, so magical. The way around her light seems to glimmer and sparkle.

Feathers fall.

The whole town, it seems, has it's eyes on her. And she's only been here ten minutes.

Chapter 2 by Sir John Jax

"Sir." The word reluctantly oozed past the lieutenants clenched teeth. His commander seemed to not hear him.

"SIR." He spoke up, taking a step closer. "She's just-"

"QUIEEEEEET!" He reeled around as he shrieked at the soldier. The gold tassels on his shoulders swung out widely making little 'thump, thump thump' sounds on his chest. He stared at his subordinate with rage in his eyes, his eyebrows forming an angry V that ended in the wisps of his hairs curling up his forehead.

"I felt her enter the city. She's much stronger than before." At that, he abruptly marched out of the control room, leaving the lieutenant with his mouth half open. He hurried to catch up, walking half a pace behind.

"We can't let her roam free, we must keep her away from the children! She's probably already attracted a guard." He picked up his pace, striding down the ornate hallway leading to the royal wing.

"The Queen will most likely be none too happy she's back, sir."

With the flash of an eye and the crack of a whip, the commander turned on his heel and backhanded the man, a single drop of crimson blood flowed from his lip and down his freshly shaved chin.

"You are the absolute last person I want to hear 'thoughts' from," his voice rising to the roar of a lion, "considering it was your bumbling buffoonery that let her get away in the first place!"

His face scarlet red and trembling, he raised his hand as if to strike again, but seemed to think better of it and turned again to the gilded doors at the end of the hall, pausing to contemplate how he was going to break the news to the Queen.

Regaining his composure, he reached out, spreading his bejeweled fingers, and pushed.

The room beyond was a wonder to behold, it's volume a sight to behold, lit up by two full walls of windows on either side overlooking the city. Statues and art depicting stories and histories from across the kingdom and beyond were intricately placed throughout the room. Rays of sun pierced through the iridescent stained glass, casting geometric mandalas across the marble floor which, if one didn't look directly at them, appeared to move and change. At the far end was the Queen, sitting at her enormous desk, presumably doing the duty of running a kingdom.

As the commander and his minion set across the vast expanse, he thought to himself about the best way to tell her.

Her daughter had returned.

Chapter 3 by Eliza

I, a lowly servant, standing next to the queen, took in all the details. The queen was a dark, evil creature, a witch. You would never know unless you wronged her. She can turn against you faster than the blink of an eye.

I watched silently as the room went quiet. Hugh Whittington walked in, bedazzled to an insane amount. He strutted in like a peacock. He twirled his mustache in an attempt to hide his obvious stress. He fooled the others, but not me.

He crossed the huge room full of riches towards the queen. He bowed to her, in a hope that she would attempt to take pity on him.

He said something quietly to her, in a hushed whisper. I saw her eyes widen in what felt like slow motion. She screamed and threw her trident. She took a deep breath and fixed her red hair. She got up quietly, with an unmistakable rage in her eyes.

"How could you let this happen?" She huffed, grabbing him by his shirt.

"Your majesty, please don't blame me! I have always been loyal to you!" Whittington stammered.

It was absolutely astonishing. To see such a man as he express such fear in that fashion.

"You have wronged me. Don't do it again, Or you will be of no further use to me. Do I make myself clear?" She articulated with a sly smile.

"Yes, your majesty, Queen Miller." Whittington croaked.

"Now get out of my sight." She snarled, shoving him away and sitting back into her throne.

"Servant!" The queen said, gesturing to me. "Fetch my trident."

Chapter 4 by Sir John Jax

The stone steps leading up to the tower were cracked and tattered, worn by the weathering of time. What once used to be a symbol of peace and joy was now degraded to a mere remnant of it's past glory and power. A soft, cold breeze whispered secrets long ago buried within the confines of the deserted ancient structure. Debris collected in the corners and crevices, appearing to her that no one had taken care of her old home in many years.

She remembered playing on these steps as a child. She remembers enjoying a game of hide and go seek with her father and cousins. The regal flags flew high upon their masts, emblazoned with her family's crest, now ruled illegal under the penalty of death.

She remembered fleeing down these steps as a child. Many people had died here; he had died here. No more were there story times of her heroic ancestors, no more were her forefathers celebrated for their founding of this great kingdom.

A moment in time froze while she stood at the entrance to the tower, her scarlet red locks glowing like autumn leaves rustling in the wind. Her juniper green jacket buttons and pinned on trinkets twinkled in the afternoon light.

The children have followed her all the way from the city center, entranced by her beauty, kindness, and tricks, yet not scared away by the intensity of her gaze or the purpose in her gait. Giggling and skipping, they formed an irregular semicircle around her, the kind of barrier against any who might mean her harm.

She took a deep breath and pulled at the colossal hickory wooden doors which creaked and groaned under the weight of time itself. No one had been in here since she escaped the city so many years ago; a spell of sorts that kept her enemies out until her return.

The obsidian darkness inside is complete, but she knew it by heart, traversing the room while the children peer inside the doorway, still holding onto the innocent fear of the unknown until someone tells them it's all going to be alright.

She snaps her fingers and, almost instantly, every torch in the octagonal room ignites. The staircase that follows the inside wall spirals up and up into the gloom, a pinpoint of light at the top. Elaborate marble statues of her predecessors line the steps, ornately inset into the walls, relics of a time before. Serene and regal, they gaze at her, hope filling their stoic faces.

There is still evidence of the atrocities that took place here when she was too young to understand their implications. Dark, carob stains in irregular shapes were scattered about the floor. She attempted not to associate them with the names of the loved ones she lost.

Best to focus on those responsible. Her eyes fixate upon the three pronged scars in the stone walls. Those gouges burnt into rock in the way that only dark magic can make its mark.

She would make them pay.

Strom Hobbman.

Hugh Wittington.

'Queen' Mother Miller.

There was much to be done over the next three days, she thought to herself. The plan forming in her head would take all of her cunning, a little help from an inside man, and center stage at this weekend's Harvest Festival.

Let the preparations begin.

Chapter 5 by Sir John Jax

Click clack - click clack

Commander Hugh Wittington glided down the cavernous palace hallway at a clip. His rarely ridden riding boots announcing his presence with their alloy clad soles wherever he went.

The painted arched ceilings depicting a pantheon of heroes and gods from a time, all too recently forgotten, echoing his own inflated sense of self worth. After all, to him, his purposeful stride was the sound of courage, bravery, and enlightened humility.

Two moisturised fingers reached up and grasped the ends of his salt and pepper dyed black mustache, twisting so tight that his lip raised into a curl of mild disgust.

The Commander stood, once again, outside the doors before a meeting with the Queen. He looked over his shoulder at Lieutenant Hobbman, who was nursing his lip with his kerchief. He had blood on his uniform, 'how unprofessional,' He thought.

Hugh admitted to himself that he might have been a little out of hand. Whipping the man during his pep talk. "Man management! Haven't I taught you anything?!?" In retrospect, maybe hitting him with the riding crop wasn't the best way to handle it.

Eh. Strom hadn't complained.

The preparations for Harvest Festival hadn't all gone to plan, but at the eleventh hour it had all come together. The entertainment, food, and spectacles were all accounted for. Hugh Wittington gave himself a pat on the back as he started across the vast expanse to the Queen's desk.

He hadn't noticed the clouds when he'd left his office. Now there were thunderheads looming dark across half the sky beginning to blow the trees around like rag dolls. The expansive windows seemed to cast dancing shadows, Hugh could've sworn he saw the shadows of men past. Men he'd betrayed.

Arriving in front of her desk, at full attention,

"My most benevolent Queen, I have just heard word, everything is in order. Harvest Festival is set and all events are on schedule. This will be a festival never to be forgotten."

Commander Wittington bowed low, fingers rolling his mustache on the way down which wrinkled his jacket sending one of his military pinned on rank signets tink-tink-tinkling to the floor.

The Queen eyed him picking it up with his finger nails and wondered if it meant much of anything to anyone except Wittington.

"Your highness, regarding your other concern, we've been following her for the last twenty four hours. She's been busy but everything is under control."

"Well, Commander, let's get this over with. Opening ceremonies have to be opened by someone. Bloody wish I didn't have incompetent fools to run my Final Ascension. If you don't find the girl by dusk tomorrow," her green eyes blazing with emerald fire, the gaze penetrating their souls, "I will have your hides."

Queen Miller stood and walked around the royal desk. She stood twelve hands tall, red hair streaked with silver, a black raven's feather cape draped her shoulders. Her mood was brooding.

"Servant! Fetch my Trident!"

Across the city a group of children gathered flowers, whole bushels and baskets, stuffing shirts and shorts.

From above the city buildings she watched the storm roll in. The tower was having a soft grand re-opening. With the help of a few friends of her family she had reached out and found what she was looking for.

Her sister. She worked in the palace.

A ghost residing among demons.

Chapter 6 by Dan Ramazan

After Hugh's report, Queen Miller went to her chamber. She sent her servants away, and looked at the mirror, throwing the hateful trident at her feet.

Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years ago, Serena Miller was born. The third child of an impoverished nobleman, a weak sorceress. Nobody knew how she achieved such success.

"But the answer was under your nose all this time," A sad smile appeared on her face at that thought. She looked at the doors – they were tightly closed. She took off her gloves and frowned. After the death of the king, no one saw her without them. A fashion choice, everybody thought. No one knew that the true reason was fear and shame.

Miller didn’t care about her age. Her real life began thirteen years ago and it wasn’t limited by years. She looked at her hands. Her left palm was black and covered with deep cracks, a fire raging deep inside them. It looked like a burning wood. She still felt her right hand, but this process also began on it. Only the ring and little fingers remained intact.

"It's very simple. Ten fingers - ten wishes. After ten wishes, you are mine," It said. She agreed. Back then, thirteen years ago, it seemed to her that she only needed three. Beauty to make the king to fall in love, his death to be alone and magic power to keep the power after. But soon she asked for another favor. She lost one more finger. Then again. In three years she lost her entire left palm. And now she had only two wishes left. The price was too high, but the girl could ruin everything. Serena couldn’t rely on idiots like Hugh or Strom anymore. And if the ascension would be a success, she’d be freed from the damned deal.

The Queen bent down and tried to grab the trident with her right hand. The affected fingers moved slowly, with a disgusting crunch, sparks flew from the fiery cracks. Finally, she succeeded. She straightened and lifted the trident.

"I know that you’re here. I want the girl dead. I’ll pay the price." Nobody answered Serena. But she knew that she had been heard. The ring finger on her right hand turned black and the infection spread.

A black vortex appeared somewhere in the sky over the capital, among the clouds. It fell down into the streets, circling around them, opening the doors and windows of the frightened citizens’ houses. Like thirteen years ago, it was looking for its prey.

Chapter 7 by Dan Ramazan

“Can anybody tell where were we at the end of our last lesson?”

The pale girl, with her hair dyed in a bright red color, jumped up from her seat, “The ban on all contacts with magical spirits, adopted by the Council of Masters in the 3rd year of the blessed reign of Queen Miller!”

“Thank you, Amanda, you can sit now. Yes, in the third year, our queen made the most controversial decision in her reign.” Cara sighed heavily. For all these ten years, she had been giving this lecture to young wizards and witches. And with every year it became harder for her to imagine how much the world of magic had lost after the ban.

“If I’d ask my mother for something for 10 years in a row, she would have given it to me, just so I would shut up,” Whispered the boy at the last desk and his friend snorted. Master Cara Miller grimaced and snapped her fingers.

“And if...” Now the boy’s voice boomed to the whole audience and he covered his mouth with his hands.

“It seemed to me that if you want to share something with us, Joffrey, we all should hear that. If you don’t think so, please spare us from your comments,” Cara said when the students stopped laughing at the reddened boy. “Let’s get back to the law. It’s supposed to defend weak wizards and witches from powerful dark spirits.”

“Master Miller, but you said that a powerful spirit wouldn’t even answer to a weak wizard?” The boy sitting in front of Joffrey raised his hand.

“Yes, very good, William. Of course, there are rare exceptions. For example, when dealing with powerful artifacts that serve as an anchor for spirits in our world. Such magical objects will respond to any wizard, regardless of his or her power. Of course, no wizard in his right mind would interact with such a thing if he is not confident in his abilities. Such reckless act will surely lead to the death of an inexperienced mage.” Cara looked at the students, hoping that they would remember it well, and winced again when she saw that Joffrey was looking out the window with his mouth open.

“Mr. Walker, I hope that you can repeat what I said,” Cara snapped her fingers, removing the spell from the boy and went to him.

“Master, look!” Joffrey whispered pointing his finger at the window. Cara, starting to boil with indignation, turned sharply to the window and gasped in surprise. The festival square was empty. Builders, actors, bustling officials - there was no one left except for one small figure. An enormous colorful wall was rapidly growing in front of her, feeding on dozens of small lines which covered the whole square.

“These lines… It’s petals”, One of the students said with surprise.

Now Cara recognized the figure, who with graceful movements of her hands, commanded this colorful dance like a conductor. Her sister always loved bright colors. Flowers that adorned vans, signs, and laid on the ground, abandoned by someone in a hurry, gave their petals, which flowed to the wall in iridescent streams.

The enchantment of this silent dance was broken by a strange, growing whistle. Growing louder and louder, it finally ended in a terrible crash and the frightened students sprang back from the windows. Having demolished the entire second floor of the old grocery store, a black whirlwind flew out onto the square and froze for a moment. Then, with the same terrible whistle, becoming bigger and bigger, it flew towards the wall of petals. Queen Miller’s ninth wish was going to be fulfilled.

[bookingshotelbg]

Their Short and Typical Characteristics

Ancient men called every mountain they saw in Anatolia and Greece as “Mount Olympus”. Mount Olympus is the home of gods. They used to spend most of their time there. Gods lived here with their contrivances, loves and brutality.

Over twenty mountains in Anatolia have been named as Olympus while there is only one mountain in Greece that can be Mount Olympus. Mounts Erciyes, Hasan, Ararat, Süphan, Uludağ… Each of these was a kind of Mount Olympus and home of gods. The Olympian gods were happier in Anatolia. They used to travel from one mountain to another and enjoy their immor­tality while they had just one homeland in Greece. They used to watch the sunrise and sunset of the enchanting Anatolian sun. They were keeping an eye on Anatolian people and enjoying the votives submitted to them. Therefore, Anatolia has been the homeland of the Olympian gods. Since they spent most of their time in Anatolia, their love affairs, quarrels, weddings, races and festivals took place in locations within the boundaries of Anatolia. We see that the names of the places of incidents generally belong to Anatolia when we have a look on the affairs between immor­tals and the gods and goddesses.

The Twelve Olympian Gods

Zeus: As it is known he deposes his father from the throne and takes the lead of the gods. He is the lord of heavens. Here, his sister at the same time is Zeus’s wife.

Zeus by a large shows his strength by generating lightning. No one has can know what he is going to do and o does whatever he wants. However he is fair in most cases. All of the good and evil instances the mankind experience are his appreciation. He 11 eates hurricanes and punishes the mankind if they seem to be i orrupting day by day.

Zeus came into the world by Rea on the Mount Ida. Then he married his sister Hera and had a glorious wedding. Yet, Hera was unhappy most of the time in their marriage and is always filled with hatred of Zeus’s infidelities. No matter mortal, immortal, woman or man, Zeus cheats on her every time.

One day Hera sits on her own above the rocks of the Mount Olympus and watches the matchless beauty of Anatolia. Some people are working on their fields, some fishing and some hav­ing fun with his or her beloved. Hera oversees the heavenly riv­ers on “Heaven Garden Anatolia” one by one, Tigris, Euphrates, Kızılırmak, Gediz, Sakarya… But she is always obsessed with Zeus. Because he is not around, god knows after whom he is.

She wishes to punish Zeus for her hatred against him; but how?… While there is no one on Mount Olympus and she is alone, Hera summons one handsome guy among the immortal mankind to the Mount Olympus.

Hera, who got off the deep end from jealousy, is dedicated; she is going to cheat on her. She puts the Kerberos dog with one hundred eyes to the skirts of the mountain to stand guard so that no one will come up. Fifty ones of one hundred eyes of this dog are open in the daytime and the other fifty at night. In this way, he is usually awake and no one even gods can go in the place he is guarding.

Having taken the Mount Olympus under control with Kerberos dog the guarding, Hera becomes closer to her lover and more relaxed. However, the youngest of the gods, Hermes, gets wind of this situation. He immediately lets his father Zeus, who is going after another adventure away from the Mount Olympus. Zeus goes crazy and instantaneously returns to Olympus but the dog does not let him. All threats by Zeus are in vain. Zeus calls his son Apollo for help. After being informed, Apollo begins to play his lyre in style. Zeus does not grasp what is going on.

He springs lightening around with anger. Apollo wants Zeus to stay calm. After a few minutes the eyes of the watchdog begin to go closed as a result of the effect by lyre and Zeus sets out to Olympus. He disgraces Hera and his lover. He beats them for many hours. The watchdog went fall asleep by influenced by the magical sound of lyre played by Apollo is found guilty by Zeus and he calls the dog immediately. He insults the dog so much but Zeus cannot unwind still and tears out the eyes of the dog one by one with his hands. He throws down these eyes from the Mount Olympus. The eyes of the dog fall onto the tails of the peacock going by at that time. Those beautiful eyes we see on the tails of the peacock today are the eyes of watchdog Kerberos.

As it can be inferred from this adventure taken place between Zeus and Hera, a kind of patriarchal order is seen when lifestyles and family hierarchy are examined. The woman does not work, her place is her home. Her only duty is to cook and give birth to a child. Every Hellene has a loyal wife who bears a child and mis­tress with who he can entertain himself. The woman never can cheat on her husband. The punishment is death penalty. While the social and moral structure was as shaped like this, the gods have to be similar in this respect so that their position becomes legitimized.

[skitravelling]

Their Short and Typical Characteristics

Ancient men called every mountain they saw in Anatolia and Greece as “Mount Olympus”. Mount Olympus is the home of gods. They used to spend most of their time there. Gods lived here with their contrivances, loves and brutality.

Over twenty mountains in Anatolia have been named as Olympus while there is only one mountain in Greece that can be Mount Olympus. Mounts Erciyes, Hasan, Ararat, Süphan, Uludağ… Each of these was a kind of Mount Olympus and home of gods. The Olympian gods were happier in Anatolia. They used to travel from one mountain to another and enjoy their immor­tality while they had just one homeland in Greece. They used to watch the sunrise and sunset of the enchanting Anatolian sun. They were keeping an eye on Anatolian people and enjoying the votives submitted to them. Therefore, Anatolia has been the homeland of the Olympian gods. Since they spent most of their time in Anatolia, their love affairs, quarrels, weddings, races and festivals took place in locations within the boundaries of Anatolia. We see that the names of the places of incidents generally belong to Anatolia when we have a look on the affairs between immor­tals and the gods and goddesses.

The Twelve Olympian Gods

Zeus: As it is known he deposes his father from the throne and takes the lead of the gods. He is the lord of heavens. Here, his sister at the same time is Zeus’s wife.

Zeus by a large shows his strength by generating lightning. No one has can know what he is going to do and o does whatever he wants. However he is fair in most cases. All of the good and evil instances the mankind experience are his appreciation. He 11 eates hurricanes and punishes the mankind if they seem to be i orrupting day by day.

Zeus came into the world by Rea on the Mount Ida. Then he married his sister Hera and had a glorious wedding. Yet, Hera was unhappy most of the time in their marriage and is always filled with hatred of Zeus’s infidelities. No matter mortal, immortal, woman or man, Zeus cheats on her every time.

One day Hera sits on her own above the rocks of the Mount Olympus and watches the matchless beauty of Anatolia. Some people are working on their fields, some fishing and some hav­ing fun with his or her beloved. Hera oversees the heavenly riv­ers on “Heaven Garden Anatolia” one by one, Tigris, Euphrates, Kızılırmak, Gediz, Sakarya… But she is always obsessed with Zeus. Because he is not around, god knows after whom he is.

She wishes to punish Zeus for her hatred against him; but how?… While there is no one on Mount Olympus and she is alone, Hera summons one handsome guy among the immortal mankind to the Mount Olympus.

Hera, who got off the deep end from jealousy, is dedicated; she is going to cheat on her. She puts the Kerberos dog with one hundred eyes to the skirts of the mountain to stand guard so that no one will come up. Fifty ones of one hundred eyes of this dog are open in the daytime and the other fifty at night. In this way, he is usually awake and no one even gods can go in the place he is guarding.

Having taken the Mount Olympus under control with Kerberos dog the guarding, Hera becomes closer to her lover and more relaxed. However, the youngest of the gods, Hermes, gets wind of this situation. He immediately lets his father Zeus, who is going after another adventure away from the Mount Olympus. Zeus goes crazy and instantaneously returns to Olympus but the dog does not let him. All threats by Zeus are in vain. Zeus calls his son Apollo for help. After being informed, Apollo begins to play his lyre in style. Zeus does not grasp what is going on.

He springs lightening around with anger. Apollo wants Zeus to stay calm. After a few minutes the eyes of the watchdog begin to go closed as a result of the effect by lyre and Zeus sets out to Olympus. He disgraces Hera and his lover. He beats them for many hours. The watchdog went fall asleep by influenced by the magical sound of lyre played by Apollo is found guilty by Zeus and he calls the dog immediately. He insults the dog so much but Zeus cannot unwind still and tears out the eyes of the dog one by one with his hands. He throws down these eyes from the Mount Olympus. The eyes of the dog fall onto the tails of the peacock going by at that time. Those beautiful eyes we see on the tails of the peacock today are the eyes of watchdog Kerberos.

As it can be inferred from this adventure taken place between Zeus and Hera, a kind of patriarchal order is seen when lifestyles and family hierarchy are examined. The woman does not work, her place is her home. Her only duty is to cook and give birth to a child. Every Hellene has a loyal wife who bears a child and mis­tress with who he can entertain himself. The woman never can cheat on her husband. The punishment is death penalty. While the social and moral structure was as shaped like this, the gods have to be similar in this respect so that their position becomes legitimized.

[troybeecham]

Today the Church remembers St. Alcuin of York, Deacon and Abbot of Tours.

Ora pro nobis.

Alcuin of York (c. 735 – 19 May 804 AD) – also called Ealhwine, Alhwin or Alchoin – was an English scholar, clergyman, poet and teacher from York, Northumbria.

He was born around 735 AD and became the student of Archbishop Ecgbert at York. At the invitation of Charlemagne, he became a leading scholar and teacher at the Carolingian court, where he remained a figure in the 780s and 790s.

Alcuin wrote many theological and dogmatic treatises, as well as a few grammatical works and a number of poems. He was made Abbot of Tours in 796, where he remained until his death. "The most learned man anywhere to be found", according to Einhard's Life of Charlemagne (ca. AD 817-833), he is considered among the most important architects of the Carolingian Renaissance. Among his pupils were many of the dominant intellectuals of the Carolingian era.

Alcuin was born in Northumbria, presumably sometime in the 730s. Virtually nothing is known of his parents, family background, or origin. In common hagiographical fashion, the Vita Alcuini asserts that Alcuin was 'of noble English stock,' and this statement has usually been accepted by scholars. Alcuin's own work only mentions such collateral kinsmen as Wilgils, father of the missionary saint Willibrord; and Beornrad (also spelled Beornred), abbot of Echternach and bishop of Sens. Willibrord, Alcuin and Beornrad were all related by blood.

In his Life of St Willibrord, Alcuin writes that Wilgils, called a paterfamilias, had founded an oratory and church at the mouth of the Humber, which had fallen into Alcuin's possession by inheritance. Because in early Anglo-Latin writing paterfamilias ("head of a family, householder") usually referred to a ceorl, Donald A. Bullough suggests that Alcuin's family was of cierlisc status: i.e., free but subordinate to a noble lord, and that Alcuin and other members of his family rose to prominence through beneficial connections with the aristocracy. If so, Alcuin's origins may lie in the southern part of what was formerly known as Deira.

The young Alcuin came to the cathedral church of York during the golden age of Archbishop Ecgbert and his brother, the Northumbrian King Eadberht. Ecgbert had been a disciple of the Venerable Bede, who urged him to raise York to an archbishopric. King Eadberht and Archbishop Ecgbert oversaw the re-energising and re-organisation of the English church, with an emphasis on reforming the clergy and on the tradition of learning that Bede had begun. Ecgbert was devoted to Alcuin, who thrived under his tutelage.

The York school was renowned as a centre of learning in the liberal arts, literature, and science, as well as in religious matters. It was from here that Alcuin drew inspiration for the school he would lead at the Frankish court. He revived the school with the trivium and quadrivium disciplines, writing a codex on the trivium, while his student Hraban wrote one on the quadrivium.

Alcuin graduated to become a teacher during the 750s. His ascendancy to the headship of the York school, the ancestor of St Peter's School, began after Aelbert became Archbishop of York in 767. Around the same time Alcuin became a deacon in the church. He was never ordained a priest. Though there is no real evidence that he took monastic vows, he lived as if he had.

In 781, King Elfwald sent Alcuin to Rome to petition the Pope for official confirmation of York's status as an archbishopric and to confirm the election of the new archbishop, Eanbald I. On his way home he met Charlemagne (whom he had met once before), this time in the Italian city of Parma.

Alcuin's intellectual curiosity allowed him to be reluctantly persuaded to join Charlemagne's court. He joined an illustrious group of scholars that Charlemagne had gathered around him, the mainsprings of the Carolingian Renaissance: Peter of Pisa, Paulinus of Aquileia, Rado, and Abbot Fulrad. Alcuin would later write that "the Lord was calling me to the service of King Charles."

Alcuin became Master of the Palace School of Charlemagne in Aachen (Urbs Regale) in 782. It had been founded by the king's ancestors as a place for the education of the royal children (mostly in manners and the ways of the court). However, Charlemagne wanted to include the liberal arts and, most importantly, the study of religion. From 782 to 790, Alcuin taught Charlemagne himself, his sons Pepin and Louis, as well as young men sent to be educated at court, and the young clerics attached to the palace chapel. Bringing with him from York his assistants Pyttel, Sigewulf, and Joseph, Alcuin revolutionised the educational standards of the Palace School, introducing Charlemagne to the liberal arts and creating a personalised atmosphere of scholarship and learning, to the extent that the institution came to be known as the 'school of Master Albinus'.

In this role as adviser, he took issue with the emperor's policy of forcing pagans to be baptised on pain of death, arguing, "Faith is a free act of the will, not a forced act. We must appeal to the conscience, not compel it by violence. You can force people to be baptised, but you cannot force them to believe." His arguments seem to have prevailed – Charlemagne abolished the death penalty for paganism in 797.

Charlemagne gathered the best men of every land in his court, and became far more than just the king at the centre. It seems that he made many of these men his closest friends and counsellors. They referred to him as 'David', a reference to the Biblical king David. Alcuin soon found himself on intimate terms with Charlemagne and the other men at court, where pupils and masters were known by affectionate and jesting nicknames. Alcuin himself was known as 'Albinus' or 'Flaccus'. While at Aachen, Alcuin bestowed pet names upon his pupils – derived mainly from Virgil's Eclogues. According to the Encyclopædia Britannica, "He loved Charlemagne and enjoyed the king's esteem, but his letters reveal that his fear of him was as great as his love.

In 790 Alcuin returned from the court of Charlemagne to England, to which he had remained attached. He dwelt there for some time, but Charlemagne then invited him back to help in the fight against the Adoptionist heresy which was at that time making great progress in Toledo, the old capital of the Visigoths and still a major city for the Christians under Islamic rule in Spain. He is believed to have had contacts with Beatus of Liébana, from the Kingdom of Asturias, who fought against Adoptionism. At the Council of Frankfurt in 794, Alcuin upheld the orthodox doctrine against the views expressed by Felix of Urgel, an heresiarch according to the Catholic Encyclopaedia. Having failed during his stay in Northumbria to influence King Æthelred in the conduct of his reign, Alcuin never returned home.

He was back at Charlemagne's court by at least mid-792, writing a series of letters to Æthelred, to Hygbald, Bishop of Lindisfarne, and to Æthelhard, Archbishop of Canterbury in the succeeding months, dealing with the Viking attack on Lindisfarne in July 793. These letters and Alcuin's poem on the subject, De clade Lindisfarnensis monasterii, provide the only significant contemporary account of these events. In his description of the Viking attack, he wrote: "Never before has such terror appeared in Britain. Behold the church of St Cuthbert, splattered with the blood of God's priests, robbed of its ornaments."

In 796 Alcuin was in his sixties. He hoped to be free from court duties and upon the death of Abbot Itherius of Saint Martin at Tours, Charlemagne put Marmoutier Abbey into Alcuin's care, with the understanding that he should be available if the king ever needed his counsel. There he encouraged the work of the monks on the beautiful Carolingian minuscule script, ancestor of modern Roman typefaces.

Alcuin died on 19 May 804 AD, some ten years before the emperor, and was buried at St. Martin's Church under an epitaph that partly read:

Dust, worms, and ashes now ...

Alcuin my name, wisdom I always loved,

Pray, reader, for my soul.

The majority of details on Alcuin's life come from his letters and poems. There are also autobiographical sections in Alcuin's poem on York and in the Vita Alcuini, a Life written for him at Ferrières in the 820s, possibly based in part on the memories of Sigwulf, one of Alcuin's pupils.

Almighty God, in an age when Western Europe was filled with warfare and cultural disarray, you raised up your deacon Alcuin to rekindle the light of learning: Illumine our minds, we pray, that amid the uncertainties and confusions of our own time we may show forth your eternal truth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

[travelsinser]

Their Short and Typical Characteristics

Ancient men called every mountain they saw in Anatolia and Greece as “Mount Olympus”. Mount Olympus is the home of gods. They used to spend most of their time there. Gods lived here with their contrivances, loves and brutality.

Over twenty mountains in Anatolia have been named as Olympus while there is only one mountain in Greece that can be Mount Olympus. Mounts Erciyes, Hasan, Ararat, Süphan, Uludağ… Each of these was a kind of Mount Olympus and home of gods. The Olympian gods were happier in Anatolia. They used to travel from one mountain to another and enjoy their immor­tality while they had just one homeland in Greece. They used to watch the sunrise and sunset of the enchanting Anatolian sun. They were keeping an eye on Anatolian people and enjoying the votives submitted to them. Therefore, Anatolia has been the homeland of the Olympian gods. Since they spent most of their time in Anatolia, their love affairs, quarrels, weddings, races and festivals took place in locations within the boundaries of Anatolia. We see that the names of the places of incidents generally belong to Anatolia when we have a look on the affairs between immor­tals and the gods and goddesses.

The Twelve Olympian Gods

Zeus: As it is known he deposes his father from the throne and takes the lead of the gods. He is the lord of heavens. Here, his sister at the same time is Zeus’s wife.

Zeus by a large shows his strength by generating lightning. No one has can know what he is going to do and o does whatever he wants. However he is fair in most cases. All of the good and evil instances the mankind experience are his appreciation. He 11 eates hurricanes and punishes the mankind if they seem to be i orrupting day by day.

Zeus came into the world by Rea on the Mount Ida. Then he married his sister Hera and had a glorious wedding. Yet, Hera was unhappy most of the time in their marriage and is always filled with hatred of Zeus’s infidelities. No matter mortal, immortal, woman or man, Zeus cheats on her every time.

One day Hera sits on her own above the rocks of the Mount Olympus and watches the matchless beauty of Anatolia. Some people are working on their fields, some fishing and some hav­ing fun with his or her beloved. Hera oversees the heavenly riv­ers on “Heaven Garden Anatolia” one by one, Tigris, Euphrates, Kızılırmak, Gediz, Sakarya… But she is always obsessed with Zeus. Because he is not around, god knows after whom he is.

She wishes to punish Zeus for her hatred against him; but how?… While there is no one on Mount Olympus and she is alone, Hera summons one handsome guy among the immortal mankind to the Mount Olympus.

Hera, who got off the deep end from jealousy, is dedicated; she is going to cheat on her. She puts the Kerberos dog with one hundred eyes to the skirts of the mountain to stand guard so that no one will come up. Fifty ones of one hundred eyes of this dog are open in the daytime and the other fifty at night. In this way, he is usually awake and no one even gods can go in the place he is guarding.

Having taken the Mount Olympus under control with Kerberos dog the guarding, Hera becomes closer to her lover and more relaxed. However, the youngest of the gods, Hermes, gets wind of this situation. He immediately lets his father Zeus, who is going after another adventure away from the Mount Olympus. Zeus goes crazy and instantaneously returns to Olympus but the dog does not let him. All threats by Zeus are in vain. Zeus calls his son Apollo for help. After being informed, Apollo begins to play his lyre in style. Zeus does not grasp what is going on.

He springs lightening around with anger. Apollo wants Zeus to stay calm. After a few minutes the eyes of the watchdog begin to go closed as a result of the effect by lyre and Zeus sets out to Olympus. He disgraces Hera and his lover. He beats them for many hours. The watchdog went fall asleep by influenced by the magical sound of lyre played by Apollo is found guilty by Zeus and he calls the dog immediately. He insults the dog so much but Zeus cannot unwind still and tears out the eyes of the dog one by one with his hands. He throws down these eyes from the Mount Olympus. The eyes of the dog fall onto the tails of the peacock going by at that time. Those beautiful eyes we see on the tails of the peacock today are the eyes of watchdog Kerberos.

As it can be inferred from this adventure taken place between Zeus and Hera, a kind of patriarchal order is seen when lifestyles and family hierarchy are examined. The woman does not work, her place is her home. Her only duty is to cook and give birth to a child. Every Hellene has a loyal wife who bears a child and mis­tress with who he can entertain himself. The woman never can cheat on her husband. The punishment is death penalty. While the social and moral structure was as shaped like this, the gods have to be similar in this respect so that their position becomes legitimized.

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Their Short and Typical Characteristics

Ancient men called every mountain they saw in Anatolia and Greece as “Mount Olympus”. Mount Olympus is the home of gods. They used to spend most of their time there. Gods lived here with their contrivances, loves and brutality.

Over twenty mountains in Anatolia have been named as Olympus while there is only one mountain in Greece that can be Mount Olympus. Mounts Erciyes, Hasan, Ararat, Süphan, Uludağ… Each of these was a kind of Mount Olympus and home of gods. The Olympian gods were happier in Anatolia. They used to travel from one mountain to another and enjoy their immor­tality while they had just one homeland in Greece. They used to watch the sunrise and sunset of the enchanting Anatolian sun. They were keeping an eye on Anatolian people and enjoying the votives submitted to them. Therefore, Anatolia has been the homeland of the Olympian gods. Since they spent most of their time in Anatolia, their love affairs, quarrels, weddings, races and festivals took place in locations within the boundaries of Anatolia. We see that the names of the places of incidents generally belong to Anatolia when we have a look on the affairs between immor­tals and the gods and goddesses.

The Twelve Olympian Gods

Zeus: As it is known he deposes his father from the throne and takes the lead of the gods. He is the lord of heavens. Here, his sister at the same time is Zeus’s wife.

Zeus by a large shows his strength by generating lightning. No one has can know what he is going to do and o does whatever he wants. However he is fair in most cases. All of the good and evil instances the mankind experience are his appreciation. He 11 eates hurricanes and punishes the mankind if they seem to be i orrupting day by day.

Zeus came into the world by Rea on the Mount Ida. Then he married his sister Hera and had a glorious wedding. Yet, Hera was unhappy most of the time in their marriage and is always filled with hatred of Zeus’s infidelities. No matter mortal, immortal, woman or man, Zeus cheats on her every time.

One day Hera sits on her own above the rocks of the Mount Olympus and watches the matchless beauty of Anatolia. Some people are working on their fields, some fishing and some hav­ing fun with his or her beloved. Hera oversees the heavenly riv­ers on “Heaven Garden Anatolia” one by one, Tigris, Euphrates, Kızılırmak, Gediz, Sakarya… But she is always obsessed with Zeus. Because he is not around, god knows after whom he is.

She wishes to punish Zeus for her hatred against him; but how?… While there is no one on Mount Olympus and she is alone, Hera summons one handsome guy among the immortal mankind to the Mount Olympus.

Hera, who got off the deep end from jealousy, is dedicated; she is going to cheat on her. She puts the Kerberos dog with one hundred eyes to the skirts of the mountain to stand guard so that no one will come up. Fifty ones of one hundred eyes of this dog are open in the daytime and the other fifty at night. In this way, he is usually awake and no one even gods can go in the place he is guarding.

Having taken the Mount Olympus under control with Kerberos dog the guarding, Hera becomes closer to her lover and more relaxed. However, the youngest of the gods, Hermes, gets wind of this situation. He immediately lets his father Zeus, who is going after another adventure away from the Mount Olympus. Zeus goes crazy and instantaneously returns to Olympus but the dog does not let him. All threats by Zeus are in vain. Zeus calls his son Apollo for help. After being informed, Apollo begins to play his lyre in style. Zeus does not grasp what is going on.

He springs lightening around with anger. Apollo wants Zeus to stay calm. After a few minutes the eyes of the watchdog begin to go closed as a result of the effect by lyre and Zeus sets out to Olympus. He disgraces Hera and his lover. He beats them for many hours. The watchdog went fall asleep by influenced by the magical sound of lyre played by Apollo is found guilty by Zeus and he calls the dog immediately. He insults the dog so much but Zeus cannot unwind still and tears out the eyes of the dog one by one with his hands. He throws down these eyes from the Mount Olympus. The eyes of the dog fall onto the tails of the peacock going by at that time. Those beautiful eyes we see on the tails of the peacock today are the eyes of watchdog Kerberos.

As it can be inferred from this adventure taken place between Zeus and Hera, a kind of patriarchal order is seen when lifestyles and family hierarchy are examined. The woman does not work, her place is her home. Her only duty is to cook and give birth to a child. Every Hellene has a loyal wife who bears a child and mis­tress with who he can entertain himself. The woman never can cheat on her husband. The punishment is death penalty. While the social and moral structure was as shaped like this, the gods have to be similar in this respect so that their position becomes legitimized.

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Their Short and Typical Characteristics

Ancient men called every mountain they saw in Anatolia and Greece as “Mount Olympus”. Mount Olympus is the home of gods. They used to spend most of their time there. Gods lived here with their contrivances, loves and brutality.

Over twenty mountains in Anatolia have been named as Olympus while there is only one mountain in Greece that can be Mount Olympus. Mounts Erciyes, Hasan, Ararat, Süphan, Uludağ… Each of these was a kind of Mount Olympus and home of gods. The Olympian gods were happier in Anatolia. They used to travel from one mountain to another and enjoy their immor­tality while they had just one homeland in Greece. They used to watch the sunrise and sunset of the enchanting Anatolian sun. They were keeping an eye on Anatolian people and enjoying the votives submitted to them. Therefore, Anatolia has been the homeland of the Olympian gods. Since they spent most of their time in Anatolia, their love affairs, quarrels, weddings, races and festivals took place in locations within the boundaries of Anatolia. We see that the names of the places of incidents generally belong to Anatolia when we have a look on the affairs between immor­tals and the gods and goddesses.

The Twelve Olympian Gods

Zeus: As it is known he deposes his father from the throne and takes the lead of the gods. He is the lord of heavens. Here, his sister at the same time is Zeus’s wife.

Zeus by a large shows his strength by generating lightning. No one has can know what he is going to do and o does whatever he wants. However he is fair in most cases. All of the good and evil instances the mankind experience are his appreciation. He 11 eates hurricanes and punishes the mankind if they seem to be i orrupting day by day.

Zeus came into the world by Rea on the Mount Ida. Then he married his sister Hera and had a glorious wedding. Yet, Hera was unhappy most of the time in their marriage and is always filled with hatred of Zeus’s infidelities. No matter mortal, immortal, woman or man, Zeus cheats on her every time.

One day Hera sits on her own above the rocks of the Mount Olympus and watches the matchless beauty of Anatolia. Some people are working on their fields, some fishing and some hav­ing fun with his or her beloved. Hera oversees the heavenly riv­ers on “Heaven Garden Anatolia” one by one, Tigris, Euphrates, Kızılırmak, Gediz, Sakarya… But she is always obsessed with Zeus. Because he is not around, god knows after whom he is.

She wishes to punish Zeus for her hatred against him; but how?… While there is no one on Mount Olympus and she is alone, Hera summons one handsome guy among the immortal mankind to the Mount Olympus.

Hera, who got off the deep end from jealousy, is dedicated; she is going to cheat on her. She puts the Kerberos dog with one hundred eyes to the skirts of the mountain to stand guard so that no one will come up. Fifty ones of one hundred eyes of this dog are open in the daytime and the other fifty at night. In this way, he is usually awake and no one even gods can go in the place he is guarding.

Having taken the Mount Olympus under control with Kerberos dog the guarding, Hera becomes closer to her lover and more relaxed. However, the youngest of the gods, Hermes, gets wind of this situation. He immediately lets his father Zeus, who is going after another adventure away from the Mount Olympus. Zeus goes crazy and instantaneously returns to Olympus but the dog does not let him. All threats by Zeus are in vain. Zeus calls his son Apollo for help. After being informed, Apollo begins to play his lyre in style. Zeus does not grasp what is going on.

He springs lightening around with anger. Apollo wants Zeus to stay calm. After a few minutes the eyes of the watchdog begin to go closed as a result of the effect by lyre and Zeus sets out to Olympus. He disgraces Hera and his lover. He beats them for many hours. The watchdog went fall asleep by influenced by the magical sound of lyre played by Apollo is found guilty by Zeus and he calls the dog immediately. He insults the dog so much but Zeus cannot unwind still and tears out the eyes of the dog one by one with his hands. He throws down these eyes from the Mount Olympus. The eyes of the dog fall onto the tails of the peacock going by at that time. Those beautiful eyes we see on the tails of the peacock today are the eyes of watchdog Kerberos.

As it can be inferred from this adventure taken place between Zeus and Hera, a kind of patriarchal order is seen when lifestyles and family hierarchy are examined. The woman does not work, her place is her home. Her only duty is to cook and give birth to a child. Every Hellene has a loyal wife who bears a child and mis­tress with who he can entertain himself. The woman never can cheat on her husband. The punishment is death penalty. While the social and moral structure was as shaped like this, the gods have to be similar in this respect so that their position becomes legitimized.