#bringing in the sheaves

[countesspetofi]

Bringing in the Sheaves ~ Burl Ives (1965)

When I was really little, we had this record of Burl Ives singing “Bringing in the Sheaves,” and it was one of my favorites. At the time, I thought he was singing about bringing in the sheets, as in taking the dry laundry off the clothesline like I used to help Mom do, All those lines about sewing (sowing) didn’t help, although I did wonder why Burl’s sheets needed so much mending. Kind of embarrassing for a kid who grew up in farm country.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Bringing in the Sheaves Nashville Bluegrass Ensemble | Runtime: 3mins 7secs

[sigma-tamale]

Favorite Moby Dick Quote:

“Towards the stern of the boat it is spirally coiled away in the tub, not like the worm-pipe of a still though, but so as to form one round, cheese-shaped mass of densely bedded 'sheaves,' or layers of concentric spiralizations, without any hollow but the 'heart,' or minute vertical tube formed at the axis of the cheese.”

[fhear]

"Bringing In The Sheaves" (with Lyrics) Old-Fashioned Bluegrass Gospel R...

[brooklynislandgirl]

💋 - from John

Berries for a Kiss || - Beth can be a skittish thing once night has fallen. Despite being the second oldest of the Riley children, she’s the smallest, one of the quietest, and generally spends more time in the Dutton barns than her own. Since childhood she’s gotten to know every creak, every shadow, nook and cranny of the barnes, the birthing sheds, the ranch’s house itself. And even though the rest of her clan’s returned to their own spread, ready to settle down for Christmas eve, she’s the last one to leave. She’s blanketing the horses, double checking her ledgers, the feed ratio and water temps. Not that it’s a lot of work, the Dutton livestock are treated far better than a lot of people that Beth could name. Still, she loves the horses and since many of them come down from the bloodlines the 5 Oaks have bred, sometimes she sees them as her own. It’s something John can appreciate when he, too, comes into the barn, needing a little quiet and cold air to clear his head. She doesn’t flinch, though it looks like she might. “Mr Dut--John.” “Hello, sweetheart”, he says, and touches the brim of his hat. “Figured you’d have headed home already.” Her eyes gleam as she smiles up at him. Pretty. Radiant. Young enough to be one of his own kids, though she isn’t. Does a man’s heart good to be so flattered. He has known for far too long that she’s been sweet on him. Every once in a while he may have indulged that, from dancing with her in the kitchen to having supper with her. It’s a nice change of pace from the friction of his own family. “..F’ya want me to go, I can…” She glances from his face to the toe of his boot and back. Curls a lock of hair round her fingertip. Some things never change. “I can make up the guest room for you. Roads are probably too dangerous now.” He closes the distance between them. Her hand settles on his middle. Sweeps her gaze up him til it meets his own. Despite the whole house being done up for the holidays, the barn is suspiciously absent of anything remotely festive. But that’s not to say he isn’t a resourceful man. He reaches behind her and plucks a blade of timothy grass and keeps it for a few seconds, running the pad of one finger along the centre of it before he holds it over her head. Then he leans down and kisses her just at the corner of her mouth, when he knew at best he should have aimed for her cheek. He almost gets his apology out. Almost. But before he can, both of her hands come up and cradle his face. She rises up on the tips of her toes, head tilted just so, and kisses him back. There’s no corner, it’s all lips on lips, and she sighs into him. He’s not a helpless old man by any means but he can’t do anything but wind his arms around her. Let his hands slide down to her backside before lifting her up. He’s got saddles with more weight then her, and he sits her down on the nearest bales. Settles himself in the break between her thighs. He savours the warmth of her and the way she tucks her legs around his own. Wonders why she tastes like cinnamon and autumn mornings. Or why she seems intent on chasing the whisky in his own mouth.

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By Moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part One- Babes in the Woods

Summery: Reader finds Uruk children alone in the forest and returns them to their own meeting their "Adar".

Warnings: cannon typical violence

Only a little Adar in this first bit but this will be many parts of pining for Lord Father of the Uruks. So enjoy time with the babies for now!

Druadan Forest was the farthest west you'd ever been. The pine trees cast their needles to the uneven path, wind wiping them around your aching feet. You pulled your thin cloaks hood tighter to your face as a harsh gust sent them to your exposed skin. The last warmth of summer still clung in the air and you were thankful for that.

Avari elves were few and far between these days. After kin had been stolen by Morgoth many hid away farther South, deep in forests or caves. For you this was an impossible ask, to spend your millennia without a glimpse of starlight or another kindred soul to watch the ages pass with. Your wild flee into the moonlit night from everything you'd ever known had been the most terrifying moment of your long life. Though to this day you could not regret the action, not even as the hunger pains hit once more.

You stopped by a gnarly felled tree, tucking yourself and your knapsack low in the cover of its exposed roots. The ground was softer here, a patch of moss that you rested your weary legs on. Your water skin was nearing empty but you drank your fill regardless. There was a stream or river close enough you could hear its rubble from your resting spot. You let your eyes drift closed against the golden rays piercing through the canopy and tried to hold off from eating the last of your last catch a little while longer.

The sound that startled you from your rest was unlike anything you'd ever heard. Loud, piercing and in an extreme state of duress. Your body seemed to react to it of its own accord, slinging your bag to your back and leaping into a run in one swift motion.

A part of you feared it may be some kind of trap. You'd encountered enough slit throats and wolves to feed that concern. That you'd be sprinting headfirst into your own death here but the wail only seemed to get more pained the closer to the river you ran. You made your mind up when you finally recognised the sound. You'd been the youngest of your kin and had never actually beheld an infant before but you were certain that's what it was. A baby.

The forest thinned by the river, earth turning to stone but your feet were light and made not a sound as you caught sight of an over turned caravan. It seemed made of scrap material and brittle wood and now laid on its side with two more coming into view in much the same state behind it.

You stopped your approach on the edge of the trees as a jeering laugh broke out. The wailing had stopped a abruptly and in its absence you were able to focus on the group ahead. Three men around a large fire. There were body's already burning upon it, filling the air with its acrid, metallic smell.

They seemed to be celebrating, this their enemy's pyre and not one for their own. Still it hardly seemed the place for a baby to be and you set your keen eyes to the men themselves. Each had sheaved weapons, bows strung to their backs. A mousey blond swiped dark blood from a long dagger onto his sleeve as his broad companion tossed something to the fire.

Then you saw it, the little bundle hanging in its tattered blanket from the fist of the smallest man. He sneered wildly at his companions before bringing the child back to him and removing the blanket.

The screech pierced the world again, an excruciating wail as the low sun's orange rays beat against ashen skin. Again your body moved before your mind, short sword drawn and sliced through the man's wrist. You caught the babe rolling with it pressed to your chest before the severed hand hit the ground.

The small man brought his bleeding stump to his face, screaming and stumbling back into the pyre. His wails turned shrill as he fought the spreading flames. His kin turning to your hunched form and drawing swords.

It was at this moment a stone whipped past your hair and struck the blond on his temple. Using the distraction your surged forward, driving your blade under the larger man's leather armor and to his heart. You spun as you pulled your blade free spraying crimson across white stone.

The blond met your eyes, a hand over his eye were blood trickled down. He had his own blade in hand now, a broadsword that seemed too large for his frame. Still with unexpected strength he swung it one handed were you had been. The blade just catching against the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric. Not for the first time in your journey you'd cursed the thing.

The baby you held cried out again and you risked a glance down at it, eyes widening as you finally took in its form. Pale skin, paler even than you'd first seen, rendered reddish by the suns exposure. It's ears tucked in wisps of white hair were pointed like your own but turned slight downward. It was an orc child.

You didn't have time to take it all in as a nearby squeak altered you to the swords stroke coming down to your head. You just managed to lift your own to meet it, metal clashing and sparking as you used it's momentum. You slid with the force pushed atop you between the assailants legs, orc again pressed against you. Then with a cry of your own you raised up and stabbed through the blonds back.

The world seemed to hold its breath then with you. Silence ringing in your ears as you looked to the setting sun. You turned your back to it, letting your shadow cast over the infants form as you held it out from you again. The cries were nothing more than burbles now, residual pain from its burnt skin being forgotten as it blinked large amber eyes at your own. Tiny hands reached out to you as grumbling sounds of discontentment fell from the baby's lips. You brought it back to your chest, its long nails grasping the neck of your dress as it settled.

You stayed like that a moment, blood dripping from your sword against the pale stone before your ears twitched. You'd almost forgotten about the other. The one who threw the stone and called out to rescue you from that sword. There was a shuffling of feet, worn fabric soles shifting against stone and earth. Not just the one set either, it sounded like several sets from one of the over turned caravans.

As slow as you could you flicked the blood from your blade, not missing a sharp intake of breathes. They didn't exhale when you returned your blade to your belt. Carefully you moved your cloak from your shoulders draping the hood over the baby's head and making sure its little body remained covered. You stepped hard on the stone, ensuring your approach would echo out.

"Greetings?" You called out, cringing at your hoarse tone. You'd not spoken a word to anyone since you'd left home in spring save a little song when you were deep in the woods. Now with autumns turn you weren't sure how to make your watchers feel safe. There was no movement from the torn fabric door of the cart, no sounds of their flee either.

"They're alive." You spoke again, clearer this time but again you flushed at your failing words. Staring again into the dark where you could now hear breathing. "Your baby, they're... I'll just place them here then."

You knelt by the caravan as a gust of wind shifted what you now could see was animal skin from the darkness. There you were met with 3 pairs of yellow eyes staring wide out at you. Children. They were all children but all bared fanged teeth out at you.

"It's alright, be at ease." You tried, smoothing your voice the best you could. You moved to pull the baby from you to return them to their kin but tiny nails dug further into the linen of your dress. You looked to the infant brows knitting together at the situation.

"Please little one. To your own." You coaxed, pushing a finger to their palm to release their grip. They protested still grabbing more fabric in their firsts and gumming it in their mouth. You looked back desperately to the orc children.

In turn they'd moved closer to the edge of their sanctuary and now watched you with softer eyes, almost mirthful. The eldest it seemed, or at least the largest of them, moved past the other two. The trees provided more shade here and they pulled a worn hood over their ears. They reached forward with shaking arms and spoke to the infant in words you didn't understand.

It took a moment but they were able to pry the protesting baby from you and pass them back to the other two children. Though you suddenly felt the cold space the baby had been so sorely. It was then the eldest pulled a wicked knife from their layers and pointed it crudely out at you. They spoke but seeing your knit brow they started again.

"Leave us be or i'll gut you!" They demanded now in shaking westron. Close you could see this child was a young orc boy. He'd shed tears recently and the track marks through the grime on his face were stark even against his more mottled skin.

You cast your eyes over them again. Children. They were just children, now alone as their kin burned in the fading light. How could they possibly make it alone? With such a small one in tow as well? You weren't even sure they'd be able to carry the baby themselves not for far at least.

"Do you know what an oath is child." You said. His face scrunched in anger.

"Of course I do!" He huffed, still waving his blade at you. "You swear something, then... then there's blood and..." he seemed paused in thought as he wasn't sure what would come next.

Though the metal of his dagger was ragged it was a clean blade and it looked wickedly sharp. You took his hand despite his protestations and guided it to your palm. He stopped fighting you as you drew the blade across your own skin, biting your cheek against the sting. You held the hand up, palm to the others as you dropped your head.

"You have my word, on my life I mean you no harm. I will deliver you to your kin if that is what you wish." Your voice finally sounded your own again. Certain and strong.

The children seemed to contemplate it a moment in their own tongue before the eldest nodded to you. All at once the sun now hidden behind the horizon the orc-lings poured from out of their shelter. It was hard to tell on ones so young but you think the one with a shock of red fluff atop their head was a girl. The other younger boy had sparse black hair but eyes so deep in their colour they almost looked red in the firelight.

"Where can we find other orcs..." You began.

"Uruk." Three little voices grunted at you in unison.

"Uruk." You returned, testing the word. "Sorry, where can we find more Uruk then. Your kinsmen."

The children weren't much help on the matter, only voicing that they wanted to go to their "lord father". You set them a small fire further from the bodies and set about the caravan. There were no maps but there was food so you brought it to your young traveling companions. There were water skins, that you filled for them and a small cart that must have been dragged along with them. It didn't take too long to have it covered in the caravans skins.

The girl, Tûkâ, and eldest, Thrak, walked alongside you for a time, her small claws poking holes in your torn skirts as she held to them. The smaller boy who'd introduced himself with a flourish as Torz sat inside the cart, cradling the baby. It wasn't long after you'd crossed the river that the other two joined him, though Thrak held out until he'd stumbled into your side.

When light came you drew the skins tight around the cart, only peaking in when you were sure the shadow of the high trees would be enough cover. The baby stirred, crying out and causing you to halt the journey. In shade you stooped low, poking your head into the cart entirely. The baby cried harder still, reaching arms up to you. Thrak passed them up to you, still wrapped in your cloak. The cries continued as you bounced them gently, singing a soft lullaby you remembered your mother singing to you. It helped a little but their tiny face was still screwed up and they were restless in your arms.

"He's hungry." Torz offered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Will he not eat?" You ask, cooing as he took a finger into his mouth.

"...He's a baby." Thrak frowned, crossing his arms. "He's got no teeth."

You thought a moment before turning your knapsack round your body. You had cooked potatoes you'd taken from the caravan, if you mushed them up in a bowl maybe the baby could eat it then. Thrak watched displeased but his expression softened when you were able to spoon a bit into the babies mouth.

"We must move quickly, I fear for this little one." You sighed. The baby's hands seemed weaker in its grasp than before, loosely curling around your bloodied hand. The reddish skin where they'd been burned seemed to be pealing at the edges and weeping into your cloak. You pealed it back gently before tearing your chemise to make bandages. You hoped they'd help until your could get him to his own.

For the next two days you ran the cart as fast as you could, pushing it as smoothly as possible through the now rolling hills. The raw wound on your hand ached and bled against the rough wood but you had to keep moving. The sun lost its warmth and without your cloak the chill hit you hard. The little ones huddled under the covers of the cart, taking turns with the baby and singing your song to him.

The woods grew back up again, oaks and sycamore dropping a carpet of brilliant leaves matching the children's eyes. When night fell you had to stop, your lungs burning and your legs like lead. Thrak brought you water with and the others curled around your fast cooling body. Their warmth helped block out the icy chill of the night but you could not find rest. Your mind churning in anxieties as you held the baby between your bodies. He was so quiet and though he breathed his skin felt cold.

You set out again a few hours before dawn, Thrak insisting on pushing the cart with Torz after you and Tûkâ. Hope swelled in your breast as you spied the faintest glow over the next hill. When you were sure they'd see it as well you pointed it out to your companions. They seemed weary at first, the memories of men still fresh in mind but soon their ears flicked. You'd heard it too, the gruffer voices speaking in their language.

Without thought you hurried ahead, the boys abandoning the cart and rushing faster to your side. They called out to their Uruk elders in their own tongue as you reached to top of the hill. Bellow you could now see a great score in the earth. A trench leading as far back as the mountains and covered with cloth animal skins to keep the light out.

The Uruk's that approached drew weapons, arrows nocked and aimed at you. The children huddled to your skirts, Thrak moving ahead to shout something to the adults. They paid him no mind, brushing past him as they drew closer.

Fearing for them you passed the baby down to Tûkâ and raised your palms. You were brought to your knees by a jab to your leg, cold mud seeping through your dress. Thrak continued to protest on your behalf as your belt and sword were taken from you and iron shackles were snapped in place.

You were pushed down the hill towards the camps of Uruk by the one you assumed to be their captain. He was mottled skinned like Thrak but with none of the kindness in his eyes. You were pushed down into the trench, falling hard onto the turned over earth. A chorus of cruel laughter broke out as you scrambled back to your feet.

"Better take this one to Adar." The captain growled. He pushed your back with the tip of his blade, forcing you forward. Over your shoulder you spied the children being taken the other way, Thrak still fighting to get back to you.

...

Adar stood alone in a dug out room, running his gauntlet's spiked fingers over the map. By winter they'd reach the Southlands but it would take into Summer before their work would be done. He'd labored for centuries to give his children a home, what was a few more months.

"Lord father." One of his children broke the silence. Adar turned to him, darkening his face when he saw the Elleth. One of his children held her sword in his fist, whilst his scouts captain hit her on the side of the head with his. She groaned dropping to her knees in front of him, her head remaining low as Adar stalked forward.

"Found this one on the border with youngins' Lord Father." his child continued. She remained still on the ground as Adar appraised her. She hardly seemed like a scout herself. Her dress was almost formal though it had seen far better days, now caked in grime and blood. Though its style was all too familiar to him.

"Lembi... What brings an Avari so far from home." Adar rasped watching her stiffen at his words. Her hands clenched a moment before Adar watched her turn them, bloodied palm now resting on her knees. Her eyes turned to his and he was struck by the sight. Even with the mud on her face and on her knees, she looked fierce. A strength in her gaze like the rivers themselves.

"An oath." She said.

[templeof-demeter]

My Morning Prayer to Demeter

Honored Demeter, rooted in the dark earth,

tender shoots and golden sheaves alike are yours.

Noble goddess, fair-haired provider of reward to those who work the land, trading sweat and toil for fruit and grain, mother of Persephone.

Your will and devotion turn the world, the seasons

Demeter, awe-inspiring goddess, wrathful one, endless one, I pray to you.

Grant me hope in despair, love and loyalty so fierce no foe can best me.

Grant me sufficiency, growth, transformation.

Demeter, bring me though darkness, temper my spirit, show me the joy within the pain, the life within cold soil.

Devotion Prayers to the Gods of the Greeks 3rd edition by Hearthstone

[wytchoftheways]

Lammas Prayer: 🌾🌞

The Corn king gives his life for the land,

We toast his sacrifice with ale in our hand,

And eat the bread, from the harvest made,

As sheaves of corn to the earth are laid.

Transformation surrounds us,

The harvest turned to food and drink,

Now is the time to learn and to think,

Of what we can do to grow even stronger,

As the summer recedes and nights grow longer.

We share our rewards and bless the earth,

That brings our fruitful abundance to birth, May our well-earned bounty reward our toil,

As we harvest the seed and the grain from the soil.

[matan4il]

✨✨✨here to sprinkle JEWISH JOY into your inbox ✨✨✨

Thank you so much, lovely! :D I hope it's okay if I try to sprinkle you with a bit of Jewish joy right back... An Israeli tradition that I love is taking the texts of Hebrew poets (even ones from centuries ago) or of Jewish rabbis, or from the Hebrew scriptures, and turning them into songs. So here's one that felt very fitting. This is a song by an Israeli band called Ha'Madregot (which is Hebrew for 'the stairs'), turning Tehilim קכ"ו (Psalm 126) into a song. I'll add a translation of the words into English after the vid, but the main theme? Joy. <333

[translator's notes in brackets]

A song of the ascents [the stairs of the Hebrew Temple in Jerusalem, where the People of Israel would gather 3 times a year, during the Jewish holidays of Sukkot, Pesach and Shavuot, and would be blessed by the Temple's priests]: When God will bring back The return of Zion [the return of Jews to Israel from their exile in Babylon, starting from the year 538 BC] We would be as dreamers. Then our mouth will be filled with laughter And our tongue with song / joy [the word רינה 'rina' carries both of these meanings, and I personally believe the biblical text chooses this specific word for 'joy' because it wants us to think of both]. Then the nations [the non-Jews] will say: Greatly has God done for these. Great has God done for us, We would be happy. Bring back, God, our captivity Like stream channels in the Negev [desert, in southern Israel. During the summer they dry out, but in the winter, they become filled with powerful streams again] Those who sow in tears, Will reap in song / joy. The carrier of valuable seeds will walk away crying, He will come [back] with song / joy, carrying his [harvested] sheaves. [This Psalm is yet another example of how Judaism itself is inherently Zionist and always has been. Bonus fun fact: It was one of the possibilities for the anthem of the State of Israel]

I hope I managed my goal, at least a bit. ;) xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[theskullkid]

So, if anyone had happened to pay attention to my blog description or the stuff that I reblog, you’d know that I am very queer and also very Christian. One of my favorite things to do is to tell Bible stories, and I decided— why the hell not, I’ll post ‘em on here! I decided to come to you all today with the story of Joseph, son of Jacob, who was sold by his own brothers into slavery. Very terrible of them. I’m well aware. It happened kinda like this:

Jacob was this old guy in the old testament. He had four wives— Rachel, Bilhah, Leah, and Zilpah— and eleven kids. And out of all of them, wifey Rachel and his sonny Joseph where his favorites. Rachel, his favorite wife, because that was who he WANTED to marry (the others were added onto the list after a whole buncha mess that would take a long time to get into); and Joseph, the son bore by the wife he really loved. Jacob favored Joseph so much that Joseph’s brothers were jealous of him and hated the very grounds Joseph walked on. Jacob even made Joseph a coat- a coat of many colors, as the bible says. It set him apart from his brothers, and it was hated by his siblings.

Joseph was blessed with a talent of being able to interpret dreams. I guess it made up for whatever he lacked in common sense. For example, once he went to his brothers and told him about a dream he had. 

“Hey, guys, I had a weird dream last night,” he said, although it wasn’t very odd to him. He knew what it meant. “We were all out gathering sheaves of grain out in the field, and all the sudden, my sheaf jerked outta my hands and rose upright, and your sheaves all jerked outta your hands, too, and bowed around mine! Isn’t that… Weird?” He gulped, because all the sudden, his brothers looked like they wanted to absolutely murder him. 

“You sayin’ that one day, you’re gonna rule over us?” They growled, because they absolutely wanted to murder him. Joseph had enough sense to keep his trap shut at that and shuffled off.

A while later, Jacob sent Joseph to go get his brothers and bring them home, because they were out in the field, doing farmerly things. They saw Joseph coming in the distance, and they all decided that they were sick of him and his stupid coat, so they plotted to kill him.

“Here comes the dreamer,” one of them said, mockingly. “Let’s just kill him and throw him into one of the dry wells. No one would know about it, and we can just say an animal killed him and ruin that stupid jacket as proof, easy peasy.”

Reuben, the eldest, turned a little pale. See, he hated Joseph himself, but he didn’t want to kill the guy. “Um… How ‘bout we, uh, not kill him? Just throwing that out there.” He said, nervously. “Lets just take the jacket and throw him into the well. Leave him there. Lets not get his blood on our hands.” Well, really, Reuben didn’t want Joseph’s blood on HIS hands. He intended on going back to the well and saving Joseph and leading him back.

A bit later, Joseph approached them.

“Hey, guys!” Joseph said, brightly, as the bloodthirsty figures of his brothers loomed over him. “Dad wants you guys back home, how much longer d’ya think you’ll be- ACK!”

The “ack” being the sound of Joseph’s brothers grabbing him, yanking off his coat, and tossing him into the well. For funnies, imagine that little cartoon sound effect that’s used when a character falls off a cliff. 

They left Joseph there, who was pretty much screaming, begging, pleading, and crying for his brothers to let him out, and went to go eat a meal— excluding Reuben, who was out biding some time before he went to save Joseph. As they were eating, they caught sight of some Ishmaelites passing through. 

“Hey, here’s a thought,” Judah said, his voice thick with food, “How ‘bout we sell him? That way, his blood ain’t on our hands, we’re a couple pieces of silver richer, AND we get rid of him. I mean, he is our own brother. Might as well show a little mercy and sell him into slavery.”

His brothers grunted in agreement, and when they finished, they went back to the well. 

“You came back!” Joseph hiccuped, a bruised, tear-stained and dirty mess, relief settled in his eyes. “I prayed you would! You can have the jacket, if you don’t like it- Huh?”

And then they sold Joseph for twenty pieces of silver.

When Reuben found Joseph wasn’t there, he freaked out. “What am I gonna do now? This is gonna kill Dad!” He stressed, but his brothers had already taken the coat and smeared it with animals blood. When they presented it to Jacob, he thought that Joseph was killed by some animals, and he tore his clothes and went deep into mourning. When his children and many wives tried to comfort him, he refused it. He said that he’d never stop mourning his son until he was dead right along with him.

Meanwhile, the Ishmaelites went and sold Jacob away to Egypt for slavery. To Potiphar, to be exact, who was one of the officials for the Pharaoh.

You can read the story for yourself in Genesis, Chapter 37: verses 1 through 36 in the Bible! :D

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Lughnasadh, also known as Lammas, is a Celtic festival marking the beginning of the harvest season. Celebrated on August 1st, it's a time to give thanks for the bounty of the earth and honor the hard work that goes into bringing food to our tables. This ancient festival is steeped in rich history and symbolism, offering a beautiful opportunity to connect with nature and appreciate the fruits of our labor.

History of Lughnasadh

Lughnasadh is named after the Celtic god Lugh, associated with skill, craftsmanship, and the sun. Traditionally, it was believed that Lugh established the festival to honor his foster mother, Tailtiu, who died of exhaustion after clearing the land for agriculture in Ireland. As such, Lughnasad is deeply intertwined with the agricultural cycle and the importance of the harvest.

Symbols of Lughnasadh

Several symbols are associated with this sabbat:

Grain: As the first harvest festival, grain is a prominent symbol, representing abundance and sustenance.

Bread: Baked from the newly harvested grain, bread symbolizes the transformation of nature's bounty into nourishment.

Sun: Representing the life-giving energy that fuels growth and harvest.

Lions: Associated with courage, strength, and leadership, often connected to the sun god.

Colors: Gold, green, and brown reflect the harvest season and the earth.

Celebrating Lughnasadh

There are many ways to celebrate Lughnasadh, both traditionally and in a modern context:

Harvest Feast: Gather with loved ones to enjoy a meal featuring the bounty of the season. Incorporate fresh,locally sourced ingredients into your dishes.

Decorate with Nature: Bring the outdoors in by decorating your home with flowers, wheat sheaves, or corn dollies.

Bake Bread: Create your own loaf of bread as a symbol of abundance and gratitude.

Outdoor Activities: Spend time in nature, hiking, gardening, or simply enjoying the sunshine.

Bonfire: Light a bonfire to symbolize the sun's energy and to ward off evil spirits.

Offerings: Leave offerings of food or drink to the land spirits as a token of appreciation.

Traditional Recipes

While specific recipes may vary, here are some traditional food items often associated with Lughnasadh:

Bread: A staple of any harvest celebration, try making a traditional loaf of bread using whole wheat flour.

Oatcakes: Simple and hearty, oatcakes were a common food for workers in the fields.

Honey Cakes: Sweet treats made with honey, a symbol of abundance and prosperity.

Stews and Soups: Hearty and comforting, these dishes utilize seasonal vegetables and meats.

Lughnasadh is a beautiful opportunity to connect with nature, appreciate the fruits of our labor, and celebrate the cycle of life. Whether you choose to observe the traditions or create your own modern rituals, this special day offers a chance to give thanks for the abundance in your life.

Happy Lughnasadh!

[antisemitism-eu]

Judaism is NOT Zionism: Psalms

I reviewed the Book of Psalms, in order to show that there's no connection between Judaism and Zionism.

Only 52 out of 150 psalms talk about the Land of Israel.

Zion, Jerusalem, G-d's City, G-d's land, Israel's land, G-d bringing Israel to their land etc.

That's just a mere 35%.

Add another 14 psalms that talk about the House of G-d (which we know was not on the Temple Mount), and another 2 that talk about the Return of Israel (to Poland?) - and we still have just 45%.

That's less than 50%!!!

And still there are some (!) Jews who think the Land of Israel is an integral part of Judaism.

I even found a Psalm about anti-Zionists!

See? Anti-Zionism is not new!!

Palm 129:

A song of ascents.

Since my youth they have often assailed me, let Israel now declare,

since my youth they have often assailed me, but they have never overcome me.

Plowmen plowed across my back; they made long furrows.

The LORD, the righteous one, has snapped the cords of the wicked.

Let all who hate Zion fall back in disgrace.

Let them be like grass on roofs that fades before it can be pulled up,

that affords no handful for the reaper, no armful for the gatherer of sheaves,

no exchange with passersby: “The blessing of the LORD be upon you.” “We bless you by the name of the LORD.”

* This study is not academic... so I might have missed a psalm or two

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Living His Word

He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him. — Psalm 126:6

Seasons of life can be like the four seasons of the year. For example, winter can represent a cold and dreary period of your life. It's just not the right time to start anything. There's no life anywhere and there's nothing you can do about it yet. Indeed, if you jumped the gun and tried to plant something, it would surely die. Instead, you just have to patiently go through it. The best you can do is get yourself ready for spring when things begin to warm up.

Then it happens. Spring comes and the time is right. It's time to get moving and get things started. It's a good time, a time of promise; however, it is also the time when you have to risk everything. It's not the time of reaping; it's the time of sowing. You have to take from what you have, no matter how little it is, and sow it into the ground. You have to rob the present in order to fund the future. That's why the sower in our verse for today goes out weeping. He's investing a lot in a venture with no guarantee. It takes faith to be a sower.

If that were not enough, you have to wait. There's no immediate reward. There's no return on investment right away. Instead, you must wait for the seeds to sprout and grow. You must go through the summer period of life when all you do is tend to your investment. It's hard work. It's hot outside and the work can be backbreaking, and it drags on for what seems like a lifetime. Would that the summer period of life lasted only a literal summer! Why can't the Lord speed things up? After all, He's God, and He can do anything.

The Lord, of course, has His own timetable as your summer drags on. Nevertheless, seasons don't last forever. They may take longer than we would like, but they always give way to the next one in line. Autumn comes. Your winter, spring, and summer periods of life are finally paying off. You trusted God and took the leap of faith. You invested your very life, and the time has come.

The time has come to reap. The time has come to bring home the sheaves with shouts of joy. Give thanks to the Lord of harvest.

© 2024 by Bible League International

[synnthamonsugar]

50 saveris...?

50. A Kiss . . . out of love

"I've lived a lifetime on the scale of stars, and never have I had a fraction of the contentment I do now," Savathûn mused as she rested along the flowerbeds of the Alluring Curtain. 

"Never?" asked Eris Morn, bared head askew. Atop a garden terrace, she crouched nearly eye-level to Savathûn. "What of Nezarec? When you snatched the veil from our enemy, or trapped Rhulk?"

"You know better than anyone that vengeance brings a different sort of satisfaction … fleeting. Appetizing, without fulfillment, like tithes fed to the insatiable jaws of Ur." She stretched out on the warm grass, unfocused her eyes against the cloudy green-yellow sky. "I do believe contentment is wanting for nothing." 

"No longer do you stake your life in lies, Witch, but I refuse to believe you all the same." 

"After all we've been through, you think I would lie to you?" she burred in mock-affront. 

"I think you would lie to yourself. Wanting has been a part of your nature since you bore the name Sathona. That is not a fire quenched by peace."

"What could I possibly desire, Eris? I'm free from my rattlebrained parasite and the scrutiny of the Witness's groveling errand-boy. No longer must I hide beneath sheaves of letters or the face of your old Vanguard, spinning endless yarns to appeal to your friends –" she leaned in close, eyes glinting, relishing the flame that sparked between Eris' brow. " – or you."

"So you have everything you want already," Eris entertained the Witch's claim, if for no other reason than to find the contradiction that proved her logic instead. "The Light, and a throne world built in it. The disciples, dead. Freedom from the worm-pact. Begrudging compliance of the Vanguard. My presence… my attention…"

"Very good," said Savathûn in praiseful sing-song. 

"But you don't have me." Eris stated flatly, chitinous brow furrowed.

Savathûn threw back her head, laughter clarion-sharp against the soft, low murmur of the garden. "You made your body a shrine to my pursuit, your mind a reliquary of my knowledge! Careful as you were, you let me in, nourished me with your failed attempts to understand . . . and delighted me with your successes. How glad I was to share my tithes; how eager you were to drink them!" Red blossomed beneath rivulets of ichor. "Honey, I couldn't ask for more."

Eris stepped forward, close enough now to sense body heat and Light. "I can."

It was Savathûn's turn to come to an understanding. She tilted her head forward, meeting Eris' lips with the incisal edge of her teeth experimentally. She rested the joint of one clawed finger against her waist, the pad of another touching softly against the bony crests of her head. For Eris' part, she slipped her hands under the chitin that armored her lower jaw, rubbing the soft flesh beneath. She'd witnessed human acts of affection, but partaking was uncharted territory. She thrilled in the alien tenderness, the feeling of skin to bone and Light to Darkness. 

When their mouths finally parted, Eris reached to stroke the orbital of Savathûn's third eye. She closed membranes over them, lulled by her touch. "You let me in, too," Eris whispered coyly. "You imagined who I was, and who I could be. Am I as you pictured?"

"Better."

Savathûn felt the sensation of lips upon the horns that framed her brow and smiled inwardly, no doubt that she had everything and more. 

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Masters of None

A Role Reversal AU

This fic is also available on Wattpad, if you would prefer to read it there.

Summary:

What if Rhian and Rafal were young, kidnapped, Reader students and Sophie and Agatha were School Masters?

For centuries, just as it’s gone every four years on the eleventh night of the eleventh month, Sophie kidnapped two Readers, one Good, one Evil, to maintain the balance with her sister Agatha. Except this time, complications arise. The Readers in question are twin brothers, Rhian and Rafal, forcibly uprooted from their home in Gavaldon, and once at the Schools, they prove to be… rather exceptional students.

Enamored with his School placement, Rhian longs for top marks at Good. Unfortunately, his meddling brother gets in the way, plotting against their kidnappers with an aim beyond ascending to the status of Class Captain. No, Rafal connives to depose the twin School Masters and install Rhian and himself before they so much as graduate with absolutely no regard for the Pen.

Worse still, the School Masters themselves contend with their own quarrel as the Evil School Master attempts to flirt with her new Reader, uses the boy for espionage, and invites the Nevers to the Evers’ Snow Ball, all while her sister disapproves of her ploys.

Note:

This fic is not 100% chronological, but there’s a reason for that, you’ll see. Considering that I’m juggling two pairs of twins this time, nonlinear storytelling seems to work better, but you can be the judge of that.

Also, this fic is set in an AU and has a role reversal premise, so don’t expect everything to comply with canon. To align with the brothers’ original characterizations in Rise, I’ve decided to keep Rhian Good and Rafal Evil. Being Good simply fits Rhian’s initial True Love goal better.

⸻

The petty spat between Good and Evil begins.

Two sisters.

One Good.

One Evil.

Twin School Masters, Sophie and Agatha, appointed centuries ago.

Together they watch over the Endless Woods.

Together they choose the students for the School for Good and Evil.

Together they train them, teach them, prepare them for their fate.

Then, something happens.

Something unexpected.

Something powerful.

They are met with two exceptional students, twin Reader brothers, Rhian and Rafal, who hail from beyond the Woods.

Two, whose prophesied arrival in their world promises to overturn everything they know and bring about their downfall.

Yes, they’ll need to keep a close eye on them. A very close eye indeed.

That is, if the brothers aren’t already watching them, waiting to strike.

Little do they know, the twin Reader brothers they kidnapped plot to overthrow them.

Or, one in particular does.

Who will survive?

Who will rule the School?

⸻

The School Masters’ Tower, Post-Kidnapping:

A shadow flitted through the balcony balustrades of the School Masters’ tower and congealed into a blonde girl’s slight, cloaked form. She sidled up next to her twin and unclipped her cloak, letting it drop to the floor, and the two School Masters watched their incoming students rain down from the sky.

“Agatha! I had that Stymph landing pad constructed for a reason!” Sophie mewled.

Agatha continued to scrawl on sheaves of paper as she leant on the railing over the balustrades, poring over her speech. “It’s funnier when they drop into the moat,” she grouched. “Anyway, your students don’t care for cleanliness as much as you do. No one does.”

Sophie shook her head with distaste as she watched a white-haired boy get dumped into the sludgy moat. “What a shame, he looked better dry without all the dirt and grime.”

She couldn’t see his brother across the bay, but she knew they made quite the pair. “Oh, aren't they a-dor-able, Aggie?” she cooed.

Agatha shrugged without looking up. “Don’t care. They look like trouble to me. A set of Good and Evil twins is never good news. They always turn out murderous.”

“Oh, pish posh! It was one time two centuries ago. And you ruined my fur coat.”

Agatha just stared at her twin.

“Sorry. I really didn’t mean it. And you lived!” Sophie appealed.

“You didn’t mean murder,” said Agatha doubtfully.

Sophie forged ahead, avoiding the subject, “But they are rather handsome, aren't they…”

Agatha raised a brow. “They’re students.”

“So? When has that ever stopped one of my conquests?”

Agatha groaned. “Sure, go ahead. I can’t stop you. When has your love life ever gone wrong?”

“Well, I suppose the one with the vampiric accent was rather too burlesque, even for me. Not to mention that he was appallingly disgusting by the end of it,” Sophie crooned.

Agatha shook her head. When would Sophie ever learn?

“I’m glad I murdered that one though, aren’t you? He could never get my name right, the absolute creep! Always called me Sofelia or Sophonisba or Sforza. Or just lapochka when he couldn’t even be bothered to try remembering my name! I almost suspected that he preferred men with his total disinterest until, well, you know. And the red wine stench! That whole affair was catastrophic!”

“Well, I’d just appreciate it if you could drag you and the Schools out of the smoldering ruins of your romances unscathed and in one piece. That would be enough for me. And maybe, never date again, for good measure,” Agatha spoke.

“Oh, balderdash! You and your ‘Good,’” Sophie dismissed.

“I am Good,” Agatha said firmly.

“Which is code for boring,” Sophie wisped.

Agatha let the insult slide off her back like water to a duck. Sophie could be a handful oftentimes.

“Besides, that tragicomedy was ages ago. I'm over it,” Sophie maintained.

She most certainly was not.

“And yet you still hold a grudge,” Agatha pointed out.

“Well, I am Evil, aren’t I, Aggie?”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

“What's a spot of homicide here and there? The man deserved it,” Sophie blithered on blithely.

“Sometimes, I think you still act like a venomous teenager.”

“We are teenagers. We have been for centuries. My skin is ageless. Can’t say the same about yours. You really do need to look into a proper skincare routine for that ashen complexion of yours, darling. Perhaps, I could find you a cream to remedy it.”

Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Say, what was his name?” Sophie inquired.

“Does it matter?”

“What was his name?” Sophie daintily tapped a long, taloned, bloodred nail on her delicate, dish plate-fine chin. “Ah, Vulcan!” she proclaimed triumphantly.

“That's the one,” Agatha assented. “The cad.”

“Impossible, that man! To think I ever liked him! What could I ever have seen in such a roué?”

“I don’t know. Ask the girl who built the impractical glass castle back then.”

“Natural white lighting is key to Beautification, and you’d know that if I didn’t have to teach your classes.”

Losing patience, Agatha didn’t respond and only half-listened to her twin.

Sophie prattled on, “I entered the white-haired boy’s dream the other night. His brother, the blond one, hosted a stunning masque.”

“Entered?” Agatha scoffed. “More like you invaded his dream.”

“He wore a silver mask. I danced with him in a great hall at that ball. At first, he refused to dance, and stood in the corner. I swear, he’s allergic to fun, Aggie. Nevertheless, I approached him, and convinced him to dance. He finally gave in, and I think he liked me. He kept tugging at his collar nervously.”

“How could he like you? You kidnapped him!”

“Pshaw, as if that ever stopped the best of romances!” Sophie trilled.

“For the last time, the Storian tends to exaggerate in tales!” Agatha rebuked. “And you’re delusional,” she muttered under her breath.

“Well, the Saders seem to say otherwise. And so too does The Rot.” Sophie lorded the prophecy over Agatha every chance she got.

“And you believe that insanity? That crackpot rubbish? Great. Guess I’m the only sane one left.” Agatha slunk off into another chamber, to her personal study, grumbling as she stormed off.

“It’s the free press, Agatha!” Sophie called after her. “Silver is an awfully neutral color. Maybe we could wear masks like the ones in the boy’s dream one day, if the need ever arose,” Sophie mused.

“Not another one of your hare-brained ideas…” Agatha excoriated from afar.

“Albeit, his mask was rather austere. I could have mine done up like a Fabergé egg, like it’s Carnival! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Prophecy or no, I refuse! No disguises, and no duplicity,” Agatha objected crossly.

⸻

Gavaldon, Kidnapping Night:

Rafal perched on the edge of his writing desk, swinging his legs as his brother preened in their wall mirror, fixing his hair. “How childish you are, Rhian. You can’t seriously believe in that storybook drivel?”

Rhian threw a balled-up handkerchief at Rafal which lightly thwapped Rafal in the head before it floated to the ground like a parachute. “Liars go to Hell, brother. And, I know you read them too.”

“Sure. Evil’s tales. Not the soppy ones you like.”

In truth, Rafal would never admit that the storybooks appealed to him too. Imagine the fame and glory, the absolute power he’d gain. He’d be rid of this loathsome town. If only it were true.

If he had magic in his blood, he’d train to be the greatest sorcerer of them all, of all time. If he had magic coursing through his veins, real magic, what he could do. Just imagine what he could do. Be feared. And be respected for once. Wouldn’t that be a cause for celebration?

Tyranny would suit him well. No matter if he ended up in a shallow grave by the end of it. He’d last through at least several revolts before that ever happened. Finally he’d get a chance to enjoy himself without sniveling Rhians in his way. What was the point of living if not the pursuit of power?

Rhian turned away from the mirror to confront Rafal directly. “What about Rapunzel? You seem to like her,” he posed the question abruptly. “You might have a type: fair-haired girls who inhabit towers. I’ve seen you stare at her illustrations in our storybooks.”

“I like the tower. Great architectural landmark. Would make an exceptional living space. Spartan, clean, bare. None of your fussiness. Optimal lighting for reading, if there were multiple windows. Quiet. No enemies, no threats of being burned at the stake. High security. Complete safety. Self-sufficiency. I’d trust no one. No one would ever disturb me. Don’t know why she ever wanted to leave.”

Rhian sighed. “Trust you to turn a tale of chivalric romance into another rant about why you detest all human life.”

“Not you. Yet,” Rafal clipped.

Resigned, Rhian sighed again, and said, “That’s rather reassuring. Thank you, brother. I’m honored to be in your good graces.”

Rafal looked away.

“Your marked disdain for human life, it gets sickening to live with after a while, you know,” Rhian complained. “Why, what a marvel. I’ve awoken the great Rafal’s disdain for human life. Yet again. As if it ever laid dormant. Yes, he knows he’s better than that. That’s he’s made for immortality, like all the great sorcerers. Have I guessed right?”

“You know me too well. It’s unsettling,” Rafal conceded.

Rhian stared wistfully out the window, into the starless, clouded night and the treeline beyond the edge of the village. “I just know I’m meant for a greater life. I can’t rot here any longer. My soul hungers for True Love. I was made for another world, one in which everyone finds a True Love. We’re nearly eighteen and I’ve never been kissed!”

“Not this foolish nonsense again. Magic schools of all things? Sounds like a nursery rhyme,” Rafal mocked. “I highly doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for in a fairy tale. And, if you think you will, you’re more of a simpleton than I thought. All those princes you moon over already have girls. Who’d want you?”

Rhian inhaled, hurt, trying to compose himself.

Rafal turned his back to Rhian and spoke again, this time more sincerely, quietly, “And, isn’t my love enough for you?”

Rhian did not hear him. “Just forget it,” he carped and waved a hand at Rafal dismissively. “Don’t bother. To try and understand,” he said in a raw voice, like he was about to cry. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to want more, to crave love with your very soul, in your heart of hearts. You’ll always be alone. So what does it matter?”

“Glad I’m not a weakling like you then. Spares me the pain. You’re always reliant on others, waiting for some mysterious figure to swoop in to your rescue and spirit you away,” Rafal derided Rhian expressionlessly.

In reality, Rafal’s chest pained him. His own heart and Rhian’s words bore down on him like Rhian had carved up his guts and left him, had hung him out to dry.

Maybe the Elders would have him hanged, drawn and quartered if Rhian disappeared into the Woods with no plausible explanation, gone, kidnapped. That would be the end of it. All the mawkish displays and rampant emotionalism. All the doltish crushes and puerile daydreams. Good riddance. Yet did he want his brother gone? Whisked off to Good alone, to Woods rife with death traps? Apart from Rhian’s ridiculous feelings, he was fond of him.

Rafal tried to dismiss the cutting remarks. But they persisted, echoing and echoing in his mind.

You’ll always be alone.

Rafal wished he could pluck his heart out of his body while he were still living and be done with it. No heart would be good. If he were dead, at least he’d get the chance to rest. No heart while he was still alive would be better.

Rhian broke him out of his trance. “When we wake up tomorrow morning in our own beds, in this miserable, pedestrian town, just, please don’t gloat about how you’re right like you always do, Rafal,” he managed to choke out. “It’s more than I can bear,” he admitted softly.

“I promise. It’d be my honor,” Rafal vowed

Rhian smiled at him with watery eyes and got into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

A magical school wouldn’t be that torturous, Rafal supposed. He amended the mental image in his thoughts. It was better than being burned at the stake as a heretic before he had the chance to turn forty, or with this place’s superstitions and small minds, a demon sent straight up from the deepest, most foul depths of Hell to terrorize the townspeople.

⸻

The School for Good and Evil, Overhead at Daybreak:

Rhian dangled loosely from the skeletal bird’s talons as he lost his favorite slippers to the wooded terrain below. “I knew it, Rafal! I was right!” he crowed jubilantly, dressing gown streaming behind him.

“Yes, you’re right, but at what cost?” Rafal lashed back as the wind battered his black tunic and pajama bottoms.

The Stymph swooped downward, risking the brothers’ life and limb.

Rhian screamed as he fell into the mist.

Rafal did not.

⸻

The School Masters’ Tower, Post-Kidnapping:

Sophie glided over to her dresser and slung on a heavy, layered necklace of saltwater pearls which dipped from her collarbone to her sternum. She studied herself in the mirror as she fastened the back of the necklace, examining how it draped. “This attire needs more panache. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Quiet, Sophie. I’ve got to finish my Welcoming address,” Agatha scolded.

“Even you should update your Welcoming attire. That midnight blue cloak and riding jacket are becoming a bit passé. Look at how your coattails are fraying.”

“I just bought it a mere three decades ago!”

“Exactly. It’s tired and positively worn out. What about a nicely embroidered, paneled vest? It’d enhance your figure,” Sophie prompted with a lilt.

“Enough. I’m trying to work.”

Sophie smoothed the front of her structured, black gown, and clasped a garnet choker around her pale neck that matched her garnet-drop earrings, glinting like drops of blood to complete the look. “Would the Evil brother like this look? Does it say, come hither, prithee?”

“You’ve got to stop reading those sensationalist bodice-rippers, Sophie. They’re rotting your brain.”

“I’m not a child, Aggie.” Sophie slipped on a slight headpiece, set with faceted, jet stones. It was crowned with a single black ostrich plume that waved archly.

“You act like one at times.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that every old man wants to ravish me from my tower and ravage me. But, I think I’d stand a chance with the young man. Now, what do you think?” She struck a pose.

Agatha suppressed a sigh at Sophie’s dramatics, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. She remembered “the incident” like it was yesterday.

From what Sophie had tearfully recounted, as ever the superior raconteur despite her trauma, Vulcan had forcibly attempted to kiss Sophie and she had ended him with one, lethal, hot pink bolt to the heart.

These days, Agatha was vigilant watching over her sister, and usually acted as an escort to and fro the Schools, from one shopping destination to another, or as chaperone if it came to it and Sophie had an actual date. It was exhausting, but she was always treated as Sophie’s eternal plus-one as a return favor whenever Sophie acquired expensive restaurant reservations that promised sumptuous food. The creamy pasta dishes contented her well enough to put up with her twin’s frivolity.

“Sure, it’s very… comely,” Agatha said flatly. “But, you can’t know what’s really in his heart.”

“Nonsense! He’s Evil and princely, what more do I need to know? And Agatha?”

“Yes?” Agatha groused.

“Be a dear and fetch me a few bobby pins and my black, pearl-inlaid, swan brooch. And don’t forget to pin yours to your lapel.”

Agatha groaned this time and lackadaisically flicked a wrist to float the hair pins and brooch over to Sophie with her sorcery.

“Thank you, darling.” Sophie expertly pinned up her hair halfway and let the rest cascade down her back. Then, she sauntered over to her closet about to grab a hanger and hesitated.

“I promise I won’t spill anything on your new, fur coat this time,” Agatha reassured her.

“You'd better not.”

“Or else what? You’d have me executed?”

“I could have that arranged. It’s a designer label, Madame Zarashin, first class, white ermine. But, it’s too balmy for it today anyway.”

Agatha laughed to herself out of Sophie’s sightline.

“Oh, and do remove that tarred, screaming mandrake root you’ve stuffed beneath my mattress. It is not conducive to proper beauty sleep.” She went on primping, applying a bloodred lipstick.

“How do you know your mattress isn’t just lumpy?” Agatha retorted.

“Because, luxury brand, swan down mattresses do not screech blue murder in the small hours of the night! You could've killed me!”

“As if you haven’t tried to kill me!”

Sophie smiled thinly. “But I’m the witch! You’re not supposed to. You’re not your mother. Just toss it.”

“It was a prank! We’re immortal! I knew the worst it’d cause you is a splitting headache” Agatha griped.

“And I don’t suppose you expect me to thank you for it? Mark my words: you don’t get to disturb my sleep and vex me without getting your own comeuppance.”

“And it’d do you good to remember: no salvation for sinners,” Agatha smirked. She clomped over to Sophie’s bed, stuck a hand under the mattress, and fished out the drippy, vinegary mandrake root.

Without looking, she flung it out the window without any fuss. So much for a practical joke. Then, Agatha hurried to the sink to run her hands under the water before the chemical burn set in.

The mandrake root landed in Evil’s murky moat with a plop and its last distorted scream, splashing the white-haired boy in the eyes before it sank into the depths of the muck.

The current swept the boy under again, submerging him for another minute or two. When he broke the surface, he raged and cursed.

“What’s that?” Agatha commented, grinning. “It sounds like your students are rioting.”

“Oh, botheration! My leadership is impeccable, I’ll have you know,” Sophie huffed. “And, you’ve already forgiven me for my peccadillos. Quit hounding me and I’ll refrain from turning your life into a living Hell.”

“Too late for empty promises,” Agatha quipped. “You’d better not approach that poor boy. He’s your kidnapping victim and for all we know, he thinks the School is holding him hostage.”

Sophie blotted her lipstick. “O, la-di-da, I’ll do whatever I want.” Her teeth gleamed in the mirror.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

⸻

Evil’s Moat:

Rafal treaded the moat’s roiling waters furiously, trying to stay afloat and keep his head above it, but something nearly smacked him in the face.

He thrust the tangly, knotty thing off, and it sank with a garbled, human-like scream. It seemed to have flown out a window, deposited directly into Evil’s moat, splashing cloudy, grey water and flecks of acrid tar into his eyes.

He roared in agony and cursed the Woods, blinded by the muck that stung his eyes. His shirt adhered to his torso as he was sucked under.

Again and again, he came up, yet the turgid waters kept towing him under, by some invisible, churning current that seemed to want to swallow him whole.

Somehow, the mandrake root had risen to the surface. There it floated, washed bare, bobbing up and down as if it were taunting him.

Finally, he found his footing amidst the shallows, near the moat’s bank, and kneeled for a moment to catch his breath.

A doughy lug of a boy got ahold of his neck from behind and held him underwater.

Rafal tried to not expel all the air in his lungs in that instant as he struggled against the other boy’s grip, but it was no use. He punched blindly, knocking the boy in the teeth, casting him backwards, and gasped for breath as he surfaced.

He sloshed through the stygian waters, out onto dry shore. Heart still pounding, he collapsed in a heap of pale limbs and black clothes, sopping wet and grim.

⸻

The Theater of Tales, The Welcoming:

Dripping dingy, grey water, Rafal sat imperiously on a hard, bare bench as if he owned the place, and did not let a flicker of fear cross his features. He stared across the aisle worriedly. The Good pews were empty, save for the girls.

Had Rhian survived the fall?

The great doors flung open.

Rafal’s heart swelled.

It wasn’t Rhian. It was the twin School Masters.

His heart shriveled and sank.

The dark-haired School Master looked to be shuffling note cards of her address as she strode down the aisle with long steps.

The blonde one was peering at herself in a compact mirror as she strutted down the aisle with much aplomb, the train of her black gown skimming the floor behind her.

Rafal ignored them and kept his eyes pinned on the door. He and Rhian would be on the first Stymph out of here. Then, they could travel the Woods. If escape failed, he’d start a coup among the other students and rule the Schools himself.

Just then, Rafal felt as if he were being watched. He turned and met the piercing green eyes of the Evil School Master.

She flashed him a winning smile.

He glared back accusingly as if to say, you did this to me, and turned away brusquely.

She quickly looked away, her face scalding.

He couldn’t drop the tension in his shoulders. Where was Rhian?

The doors banged open a second time, and Rhian waltzed in with other boys, chatting up the future princes at his sides, seemingly flirting. And he was nervous by the look of it, judging by how he wrung his hands and how his face burned uncontrollably.

Rafal exhaled in relief. Rhian was alive. Hopefully, the fall out of the sky hadn’t rendered him even more of a numbskull than he already was.

Euphorically, Rhian waved at Rafal as he seated himself, and beamed beatifically.

Rafal steeled himself and forced out a crooked smile back.

Then, Rhian frowned in return. There were fingerprint-shaped bruises ringing his brother’s neck. Had some brute roughed him up?

⸻

Several Weeks Later in the Clearing, Lunchtime:

Rafal had a plan. When did he not? He just had to warn Rhian, and wring a promise out of him to not interfere, even if it had to be done under duress.

He could probably rely on Rhian to lie for him, to cover for him, if anything went wrong.

“What have you observed?” Rafal began. “We need intel on them, so we can determine their weaknesses. My plan to usurp them may not work otherwise."

“I thought you said you could be the subject of my homework,” Rhian whinged.

“Rhian. Just tell me.”

“My School Master doesn’t seem to care for appearances. At all. She doesn’t put any stock into how she looks herself. She’s very unlike her students, but oddly, it’s refreshing, I must say. It’s Good Deeds that she favors the most. She told us to Help someone in need for our homework in practicing the Rules.”

“Right then, we can kill two birds with one stone. You Help me, I benefit, and you get your blasted homework done.”

“I don’t think being an accessory to Evil counts for this assignment,” Rhian jabbed sarcastically. “Something about your warped logic isn’t holding up.”

“Come now, is Helping your own brother really so treacherous?”

“It is when he’s planning a coup,” Rhian hissed loudly.

Rafal disregarded his brother. “I think the Evil School Master seems listless, and if not listless, restless. She’s confined in her tower all day whenever she’s not teaching. Yesterday, she had floor-to-ceiling mirrors installed in every hall and complained about the ‘pestilence.’”

Rhian shuddered.

“Really, it ruins the dark, dusty atmosphere. I think she means to sterilize everything with boiling water if she can’t burn it all to the ground,” he ridiculed. “I mean, it’s not exactly what I imagined actual Evil to be like. But it’s tolerable, I guess. So, if I end up a bloated, boiled corpse, floating out in a moat dyed hot pink, you know who to blame and how to avenge me. And, disfigure her face while you’re at it.”

Rhian gaped at Rafal in abject horror.

“That was a joke,” Rafal clarified. “Or it halfway was…”

“Oh. Can’t always tell with you,” said Rhian numbly.

“Apologies, brother mine.”

Rhian sighed. “Between you and the Snow Ball, I’m at a total loss.”

“Apparently, the Nevers were invited too. New edict. I have to say I don’t know why. Yet, I’ll tell you off the record.”

Rhian restrained a laugh. “What? Imagine that. You, dancing at a ball? With a girl?”

“Yes, but the School Master gave me a task on behalf of Evil and needed an excuse when she enlisted me as a spy. She wants me to infiltrate the ball and keep tabs on her sister’s best students before the Circus.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Rafal set his jaw. “Unfortunately, I am. From her monologues, I got the gist that she does want to unify the Schools, according to the Good School Master’s plans for reducing the death rate on School grounds and lessening student-on-student hostilities. But, in doing so and appeasing her sister, she seeks to grant Evil an advantage. And, she promised to save me a dance,” he muttered.

“Isn’t that cheating?” fretted Rhian.

“Not if I don’t do my job,” Rafal said slyly.

“You’re going to defy a School Master? Rafal! Are you insane? A decision like that could cost you your life. You’ll get yourself killed!”

“Not if I kill those School Masters first. I was thinking: how would you feel if I installed us as the next School Masters?” Rafal mused pridefully.

“B-b-but, what about the Pen?” Rhian jittered. “Nonononono. You’re insane. This School is turning you insane.”

“What about the Pen? It can’t possibly be that powerful. It's a sliver of metal. And how am I any different from before? I haven’t changed,” he said simply. “You have.”

Rhian gaped, speechless for a moment. “No! I forbid you,” he flared.

“You can’t forbid me from doing anything,” Rafal seared back as he stalked off to his barren side of the Clearing, leaving Rhian bristling with unease and anger of his own.

Rhian feared he was too late to dissuade Rafal. Once his brother made up his mind, it was set and nothing could ever sway him.

He couldn’t let Rafal’s Evil ambitions carry him off to his death. There was no chance that Rafal could succeed in replacing the two most powerful beings in these Woods. But what more could he have said?

⸻

The Outskirts of the Blue Forest:

Ordinarily, Surviving Fairy Tales wouldn’t have been the worst challenge of the year, but the brothers had now failed the class for a second time. Three times and they’d suffer a fate worse than death.

Every time they had the class, Rafal had thrust himself directly in harm’s way to save Rhian, each and every time. So, naturally, he’d ended up sustaining the brunt of the Stymph scratches and procured the nineteenth spot amongst the rankings for himself.

Fervently, Rhian had insisted he could handle himself, yet Rafal had denied him the right to Defend himself because he was allegedly “incapable” and would get in the way more than he could Help by stumbling into mortal peril. Or, that’s what Rafal believed, that his brother bungled up everything he so much as touched. Thereby meaning the only solution in his mind was to not let Rhian do anything, earning his brother the twentieth rank by Rhian’s inaction, which landed Rhian in last place.

Thus, Rafal stunted Rhian’s performance and ability to cope with danger himself, and while Rhian continually ended up doing nothing, Rafal kept getting injured in the line of fire, when usually, he wouldn’t, effectively stunting his own performance at Evil as well.

Therefore, it was no surprise whatsoever to the Good School Master that she’d find them arguing on the forest floor, covered in dust, and in uniforms viciously torn to shreds, much like she and her sister did when they were young. She clearly had a lot on her hands and had to intervene before their quarrels escalated any further.

Rafal attempted to get off the ground, but found he couldn’t. His side pulsed and swole immensely due to the Stymph’s last blow. Had the impact cracked his ribs? No punctured lungs, luckily.

Meanwhile, Rhian lay across from him and gasped in pain, straining to form words.

“These accursed Schools!” Rafal spat, blood trickling down his neck.

Rhian wheezed weakly. “It’s really not that bad!” he spluttered.

“Not that bad. Not that bad! You think being attacked by a Stymph is not that bad!” Rafal flamed.

“Well, it’s typical fairy tale fare, that I could’ve handled, isn’t it?”

Rafal sighed. “What am I going to do with you?” he reproached Rhian. “Sometimes, I think I should murder you myself, so no one else can get to you.”

Rhian frowned.

A shadow loomed over them. The Good School Master.

“My office, tomorrow, one o’clock sharp. Understood?”

Obediently, the brothers nodded.

⸻

Outside the Good School Master’s Door, A Quarter to One in the Afternoon:

Anxiety constricted Rafal’s throat as he waited for Rhian.

His brother was always punctual, claimed punctuality was an integral keystone to etiquette and that arriving early signified respect for the person you were meeting with. The irony did not escape Rafal, and it struck him that Rhian may have been spurting hot air like all the rest of the Evers. And, here he was, trying to play by Rules that weren’t even relevant to his side in the least, all so he could spare them both an egregious punishment. Then again, how likely was it that the Good School Master would punish them?

It was unlike Rhian to not arrive early for their appointment. In fact, Rafal was surprised that he’d arrived first, and he’d had to slog over from Evil, and endure a lengthy conversation, in truth, more of an overblown monologue, with the Evil School Master just to secure her permission to cross Halfway Bridge. It’d taken ages to convince her to unseal the barrier.

Had something befallen Rhian on the way? Rafal narrowed his eyes at the crystal grandfather clock, which now read 12:50. Five minutes late at being early. What was the state of the Woods coming to?

Then, a blur of white swan feathers, wild, golden locks and heavy cologne bounded up to Rafal, squashing him in a hug, assaulting his senses. “Rafal!” Rhian sang joyously without letting go. “You’re here! At Good!” Rhian looked to be all mended, as good as new, Rafal thought tartly.

Rafal patted Rhian’s back stiffly, feeling exposed as he squinted at the light streaming down from the ceiling, which was entirely a skylight. The vise-like pressure on his recovering ribs was not doing them any favors. “Yes, so I am.”

Undeterred, Rhian took his brother’s lackluster response in stride. “My tailor friend sewed this doublet for me after I did him a favor! Isn’t it just spiffing? Like something a real prince would wear!”

“Sure,” Rafal crabbed. He looked all about whilst in Rhian’s grasp, fearing for his well-earned reputation. Fortunately, the halls outside the School Master’s door were vacant.

“If we have the chance, why don’t you visit the dorms with me? You could meet my Good roommates! Also, maybe you could scare Pavel of Pifflepaff Hills into giving me back my scabbard. I lent it to him weeks ago.”

“No,” Rafal said shortly, seeming exhausted. “I’ve had enough people and chatter and pomp and circumstance for one day. Or this decade. Regardless, I’d take fire and brimstone over another conversation at this point.”

“Oh… that’s fine,” Rhian said in a small voice.

Rhian seemed to have wilted at Rafal’s refusal to visit. Perhaps, he’d been too harsh.

Then, Rhian gasped and pulled back. “You’ve lost weight! I can feel your ribs! What have you been subsisting on?”

“The blood and vital organs of small children and the elderly,” Rafal rebuffed snidely.

“We’re circling back to this issue later,” Rhian pronounced firmly, taking Rafal’s cold hand in his. “No, wait, I’ll take seconds whenever I can, to bring you, and I’ll give you half of all my meals whenever I can’t.”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to feed me, Rhian,” Rafal snapped. “I can provide for myself and I’m capable of doing everything alone. Just look at how I’m topping the rankings. Though, I wouldn’t put it past my School Master to poison my food if she were merely upset with me, or slip in a love potion if she actually is dead set on winning me over, not that she ever will. I’ve had to lie low since yesterday, so I wouldn’t incur her wrath when I asked to be allowed to cross the bridge, so I could get to Good on time to see your School Master. And that’s much less than what my classmates want to do to me—they resent me for my rankings as I’m on track to becoming Class Captain, so there’s no point in trusting them either. Indeed, it may be more accurate to say they resent me for the simple fact that I’m still breathing. You of all people should know by now that, as always, it’s easier to live paranoid than anything else because anything else could bring on death. Actually, as a whole, there’s no point in depending on my damn, Storian-forsaken School at all. If I don’t end up with the run of the place, the second I graduate, I’m washing my hands of this institution.”

Rhian stilled. “Rafal! Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner? This is no laughing matter—”

“Ha,” Rafal deadpanned brazenly.

Rhian’s brother was ever the contrarian. That was one constant that would never change. Hence, he resorted to shouting. “Have you no shame? Just look at you. You’re a dead man walking. You’re half-starved. Your face is gaunt. When did you last sleep? Between taking care of me, which you don’t have to do, and nursing your School takeover plan, it’s a wonder you’re not dead! You will accept my Help when you need it.”

“Fine,” said Rafal sharply just to shut Rhian down. He had no intention of accepting Rhian’s Help. Then he caught sight of a fresh, white chrysanthemum pinned to the breast of Rhian’s immaculate, white doublet.

His own flaccid, black, Nevers’ uniform was sorely lacking and the dark shadows beneath his eyes made him look all the more funereal. “Is that a token I spy?”

Rhian nodded. “No luck though. It was a girl that gave it to me. I’ve no prospective Snow Ball dates. Not one.”

“Not even your tailor?”

“No,” Rhian moped. “He’s not that sort of fellow. Thought he was like me and got humiliated by the other boys when I asked him out. We’re still friends though.”

“You might have to take a girl then, for practicality’s sake. But don’t worry, we’ll graduate soon enough, and then you’ll have a whole Woods full of boys to chase after,” Rafal paused, “If the School Master we’re about to see doesn’t turn us into trees or rodents. And assuming that we don’t die imminently.”

“How optimistic.”

Rafal leered. “Yes, it really is my forte, isn’t it?”

Rhian grinned and shook his head. “We’re disasters.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Rhian released Rafal’s hand and took in a quavering breath.

Rafal had to get his plot back on track as soon as he could after this colossal waste of time. He turned from Rhian, who looked a bit too soppy to be all right, but they had things to do and needed to move on, so Rafal swallowed his guilt before raising a fist to knock at the School Master’s door.

BONG, the grandfather clock echoed, frightening Rhian so much as to make him jump behind Rafal.

The coward appears, Rafal thought to himself sourly.

At that exact moment, the School Master’s door swung open.

The Good School Master stood in the doorframe, raimented in golden lighting, looking as if she’d slept in her office the night prior. Her raven hair was mussed up and stuck out unbrushed and she was in the same royal blue and gold gown she’d worn the day before.

⸻

The Good School Master’s Office:

Rhian surveyed the items clustered on the Good School Master’s unfathomably, appallingly untidy desk with great curiosity and mild revulsion.

A crystal ball gleamed on a stand, set beside a high stack of unopened letters embossed with Camelot’s blue-and-gold, waxen seal. There was a golden fountain pen, a matching inkwell, a basket of candied plums, supported by a stack of the selfsame horror novels Rafal was inclined to laugh at, which Rhian never had the guts nor the mettle to read himself, a miniature oil painting of a hideous, bald, Sphinx cat, another silver-framed portrait, with the Evil School Master’s roseleaf likeness, an abundant bouquet of pink hydrangeas wrapped in satiny paper, lain on its side, and a large, glass fishbowl of Wish Fish that swirled like dappled moonlight in the clear water.

The Good School Master clicked the door shut behind the brothers, plopped down on her cushioned chair behind her desk, which was upholstered with midnight blue velvet, and swung her clump-clad feet up on top of her desk.

Rhian tried not to look aghast at this blatant breach of hosting etiquette, but his facial expression was quite telling.

Agatha smiled knowingly, plucked a candied plum out of the basket, and tossed it into her mouth, chomping on it loudly. “Care for a plum?” she asked the brothers, entirely unfazed by her Good student.

Dazed, Rhian picked one up gingerly so as not to offend the Good School Master. But, when he bit into its splendid, succulent flesh, he found that he rather liked it.

At first, Rafal resisted taking one, then he gave into his baser impulses and snatched one from the basket as well. Upon eating it, he had to admit this was the first decent food he’d had in months. And the first time he hadn’t had to worry about lead plates, poison, love potions, acid, splinters, maggots, or mold.

Perhaps, he’d have to revise his plan. It could prove advantageous not to kill this School Master.

He grabbed several more handfuls and shoved the plums into his spacious tunic pockets.

Rhian’s eyes widened and opened his mouth, about to reprimand his brother, but he decided to keep quiet, remembering their talk from earlier.

Let Rafal do what he needed to do so he could feel in control, he reminded himself.

And, again, Agatha turned a blind eye, fiddling with a letter opener, and then slicing up one of the hefty, cream-colored, Camelot envelopes with a miniature model cutlass, and at last, tossing the scraps into the wastepaper basket by her desk.

The two Evers played along to spare the young Never’s dignity.

Then, the School Master spoke first. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.”

Rhian smiled genteelly and nodded, trying his best to appear polite and impress the School Master.

Rafal looked vaguely unimpressed, as if the School Master were wasting his time.

“Of course, School Master Agatha. Is it because we’re awful at Surviving Fairy Tales? I fully trust that you shall deal with us mercifully, and I swear under the open heaven that I will do my utmost to improve myself and my performance in class in an upstanding manner,” Rhian piped up before Rafal could clamp his mouth shut, speaking openly with honor, lowering his head in deference to the authority in the room.

Rafal banged his head on the desk. Idiot. Who in their right mind would admit to their faults or misdeeds while not under threat of death? His own gullible dunce of a brother who was too upright for his own self-preservation, apparently.

Agatha looked surprised for a moment. “Er, well, yes.”

Head throbbing and without any other options for a more confidential discussion, Rafal spun to Rhian irritably to berate him. “Rhian! What did I tell you about obscuring our weaknesses from strangers? Now, it’s too late to put up a united front! Like all things, we were supposed to approach this appointment strategically!”

“Sorry,” Rhian mumbled, blushing. “But surely, we can trust the School Master. I believe she wouldn’t condemn us.”

“Indeed, you can. Good is nothing if not trusting and champion of the truth,” Agatha assuaged Rhian gently. “And, it’s all right. We all make mistakes.” Agatha eyed Rafal at that.

Rhian looked down at his tall, black boots, polished to a mirror-like sheen. “Yes. Thank you, School Master.”

Agatha smiled. She next appraised Rafal for a moment. “So you’re the rational one, yes?”

Wary of a trick, Rafal nodded carefully without a word.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, young Never. I know what it’s like to be in your position,” the Good School Master told Rafal. “My sister, even these days, still damsels herself whenever the mood strikes. Well, when she’s not flown into a murderous rage. So, trust me, I know. Sometimes, you have to let Rhian rely on himself. As hard as this is to hear, you can’t save him from everything.”

Rafal stared at her skeptically.

“In truth, I understand your selfless instinct although it’s rather atypical in a Never. I won’t tell you to break that streak though. That’s not in my power, even if your School beats it out of you. It’s redemptive if nothing else, and even if you choose to hone your Evil and resourcefulness, I hope you’ll retain it as I believe love can serve Evil as well as it does Good, the way it does my sister and I, even if it doesn’t always look that way. Love is a worthy cause to fight for, whatever your means may be.”

Rafal’s gaze softened and he turned his attention to the bowl of Wish Fish.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, lads, I have an interrogation I must to get to, and a sibling I must corner and lecture to about proper conduct and professionalism. And put on probation for the time being.”

The School Master picked up the bouquet of pink, cerebrum-esque hydrangeas from her desk, gathered them into her arms, and made to leave.

She raised the window sash, held her palm out, and murmured an incantation. A warm, golden glow radiated from her hand, lighting the lattice of veins down her forearm, filling the room, enveloping herself in the pure aura.

Then, delicately, she lifted one silver Wish Fish out of the bowl, away from its brothers, and stepped off the window ledge as an enormous, iridescent bubble formed around her as her mode of transport back to her tower.

But before she swept away, midnight blue cloak and all, she nodded at Rafal and glanced back at Rhian as she left, “I hope yours isn't too much trouble, Rafal. Look ahead and don’t look back. Even if you’re not on my side, I expect great deeds from you.”

And, for once Rafal smiled at someone that wasn’t Rhian.

⸻

Note:

So, I haven’t mentioned this before, but I love the trope of role reversals in general, so when I first conceived this idea, I just had to write it down in some form. Though, I didn’t want to commit to another actual longfic, apart from TOTSMOV41 at the same time, so this piece instead turned into a oneshot I banged out from the outline, and I wrote all the scenes I had in mind.

Rafal took on Midas’ role in this AU, haha! A taste of his own medicine. Serves him right. Still love him though.

And, if anyone was at all worried, there wasn’t really a true rivalry between Sophie and Agatha. Rafal just became their source of external conflict.

Thank you for reading! I’d love to get any feedback and hear your thoughts, feelings, reactions, etc., and feel free to ask any questions or tell me your concerns. I’m also willing to answer questions about what’s already written and about the future since I’m aware I exited the story rather abruptly.

Also, I’m curious: what was your favorite line(s), scene, or part?

Lastly, I try to edit with a fine-toothed comb and a sieve, usually, but if you catch any errors, please alert me to their presence!

⸻

Songs I think capture the mood:

“No Love in LA” - Palaye Royale

This song is more for a general vibe, but some lyrics do fit.

“Two Young Hearts” - Sabrina Carpenter

Seriously, this song fits so ridiculously, insanely well for Rhian and Rafal as long as it is NOT taken romantically. Actually, at some points in the lyrics, it arguably fits better with canon than with this fic.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

6th November >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Feats of All Saints of Ireland

And

Wednesday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time.

 

Feats of All Saints of Ireland

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: B(II))

Either:

First Reading Hebrews 11:2,12:1-4,15,13:1 We should throw off everything that hinders us.

With so many witnesses in a great cloud on every side of us, we too, then, should throw off everything that hinders us, especially the sin that clings so easily, and keep running steadily in the race we have started. Let us not lose sight of Jesus, who leads us in our faith and brings it to perfection: for the sake of the joy which was still in the future, he endured the cross, disregarding the shamefulness of it, and from now on has taken his place at the right of God’s throne. Think of the way he stood such opposition from sinners and then you will not give up for want of courage. In the fight against sin, you have not yet had to keep fighting to the point of death.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading Ecclesiasticus 44:1-15 Their name lives on for all generations.

Let us praise illustrious men, our ancestors in their successive generations. The Lord has created an abundance of glory, and displayed his greatness from earliest times. Some wielded authority as kings and were renowned for their strength; others were intelligent advisers and uttered prophetic oracles. Others directed the people by their advice, by their understanding of the popular mind, and by the wise words of their teaching; others composed musical melodies, and set down ballads; others were rich and powerful, living peacefully in their homes. All these were honoured by their contemporaries, and were the glory of their day. Some of them left a name behind them, so that their praises are still sung. While others have left no memory, and disappeared as though they had not existed, they are now as though they had never been, and so too, their children after them.

But here is a list of generous men whose good works have not been forgotten. In their descendants there remains a rich inheritance born of them. Their descendants stand by the covenants and, thanks to them, so do their children’s children. Their offspring will last for ever, their glory will not fade. Their bodies have been buried in peace, and their name lives on for all generations. The peoples will proclaim their wisdom, the assembly will celebrate their praises.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 125(126)

R/ Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

When the Lord delivered Zion from bondage, it seemed like a dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter, on our lips there were songs.

R/ Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

The heathens themselves said: ‘What marvels the Lord worked for them!’ What marvels the Lord worked for us! Indeed we were glad.

R/ Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

Deliver us, O Lord, from our bondage as streams in dry land. Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

R/ Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

They go out, they go out, full of tears, carrying seed for the sowing: they come back, they come back, full of song, carrying their sheaves.

R/ Those who are sowing in tears will sing when they reap.

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 5:3

Alleluia, alleluia! How happy are the poor in spirit: theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Alleluia!

Or: Matthew 5:6

Alleluia, alleluia! Happy those who hunger and thirst for what is right: they shall be satisfied. Alleluia!

Or: Matthew 5:8

Alleluia, alleluia! Happy the pure in heart: they shall see God. Alleluia!

Or: Matthew 11:25

Alleluia, alleluia! Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for revealing the mysteries of the kingdom to mere children. Alleluia!

Or: Matthew 23:11,12

Alleluia, alleluia! The greatest among you must be your servant, says the Lord: the man who humbles himself will be exalted. Alleluia!

Or: Matthew 11:28

Alleluia, alleluia! Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened and I will give you rest, says the Lord. Alleluia!

Or: Luke 21:36

Alleluia, alleluia! Stay awake, praying at all times for the strength to stand with confidence before the Son of Man. Alleluia!

Or: John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia! I am the light of the world, says the Lord; anyone who follows me will have the light of life. Alleluia!

Or: John 8:31-32

Alleluia, alleluia! If you make my word your home you will indeed be my disciples, and you will learn the truth, says the Lord. Alleluia!

Or: John 13:34

Alleluia, alleluia! I give you a new commandment: love one another just as I have loved you, says the Lord. Alleluia!

Or: John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia! If anyone loves me he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we shall come to him. Alleluia!

Or: John 15:4,5

Alleluia, alleluia! Make your home in me, as I make mine in you, says the Lord; whoever remains in me bears fruit in plenty. Alleluia!

Or: John 15:9,5

Alleluia, alleluia! Remain in my love, says the Lord; whoever remains in me, with me in him, bears fruit in plenty. Alleluia!

Gospel Luke 6:20-26 Happy are you who are poor, who are hungry, who weep.

Fixing his eyes on his disciples Jesus said:

‘How happy are you who are poor: yours is the kingdom of God. Happy you who are hungry now: you shall be satisfied. Happy you who weep now: you shall laugh.

Happy are you when people hate you, drive you out, abuse you, denounce your name as criminal, on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice when that day comes and dance for joy, for then your reward will be great in heaven. This was the way their ancestors treated the prophets.

‘But alas for you who are rich: you are having your consolation now. Alas for you who have your fill now: you shall go hungry. Alas for you who laugh now: you shall mourn and weep.

‘Alas for you when the world speaks well of you! This was the way their ancestors treated the false prophets.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

-----------------------

Wednesday, Thirty First Week in Ordinary Time 

(Liturgical Colour: Green. Year: B(II))

First Reading Philippians 2:12-18 Work for your salvation, for God is working in you.

My dear friends, continue to do as I tell you, as you always have; not only as you did when I was there with you, but even more now that I am no longer there; and work for your salvation ‘in fear and trembling.’ It is God, for his own loving purpose, who puts both the will and the action into you. Do all that has to be done without complaining or arguing and then you will be innocent and genuine, perfect children of God among a deceitful and underhand brood, and you will shine in the world like bright stars because you are offering it the word of life. This would give me something to be proud of for the Day of Christ, and would mean that I had not run in the race and exhausted myself for nothing. And then, if my blood has to be shed as part of your own sacrifice and offering – which is your faith – I shall still be happy and rejoice with all of you, and you must be just as happy and rejoice with me.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 26(27):1,4,13-14

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

The Lord is my light and my help; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; before whom shall I shrink?

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

There is one thing I ask of the Lord, for this I long, to live in the house of the Lord, all the days of my life, to savour the sweetness of the Lord, to behold his temple.

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

I am sure I shall see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord!

R/ The Lord is my light and my help.

Gospel Acclamation Psalm 118:88

Alleluia, alleluia! Because of your love give me life, and I will do your will. Alleluia!

Or: 1 Peter 4:14

Alleluia, alleluia! It is a blessing for you when they insult you for bearing the name of Christ, for the Spirit of God rests on you. Alleluia!

Gospel Luke 14:25-33 Anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

Great crowds accompanied Jesus on his way and he turned and spoke to them. ‘If any man comes to me without hating his father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, yes and his own life too, he cannot be my disciple. Anyone who does not carry his cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. ‘And indeed, which of you here, intending to build a tower, would not first sit down and work out the cost to see if he had enough to complete it? Otherwise, if he laid the foundation and then found himself unable to finish the work, the onlookers would all start making fun of him and saying, “Here is a man who started to build and was unable to finish.” Or again, what king marching to war against another king would not first sit down and consider whether with ten thousand men he could stand up to the other who advanced against him with twenty thousand? If not, then while the other king was still a long way off, he would send envoys to sue for peace. So in the same way, none of you can be my disciple unless he gives up all his possessions.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.