#christ and the lamb

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Contemporary Gallery at the Chicago Art Institute

The Kiss (Bela Lugosi) by Andy Warhol, Greyed Rainbow by Jackson Pollock, American Collectors (Fred and Marcia Weisman) by David Hockney, Artist's Studio "Foot Medication" by Roy Lichtenstein, Christ and the Lamb by Jeff Koons and Mr. Pointy by Takashi Murakami, Two Penguins and Golden Bird by Constantin Brancusi, La Durée Poignardée by René Magritte

[beautysnake]

@linkerbell and I decided to start a new save for co-op and it's already off to a great start

[lotussart]

The Taking of The Lamb

COTLtober Week 4: A Kiss

[pinetreespants]

#pranked

@aveloka-draws

Sillies below

This was supposed to be funny but turned out really cute lol

[grace-of-spades1]

SERIOUSLY, REPENT

REPENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS AT HAND. JESUS IS COMING BACK

[bleeding-seraphic]

who would i be if i didnt make shitty trod doodles

better ones are on the way i swear @bamsara

[ultipoter]

A pokemon masters screenshot redraw that got Way Out Of Hand. (and I insist on posting this as a redraw, I feel the original context is Important)

Also, I finally remembered to record my process of drawing this (and then some :^D)

[thebeigelunatics]

SLOW HORSES (2022 — ) 🐴✨

#JUST WORK HUSBAND THINGS

[ahopefulbromantic]

[dramoor]

~Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner~

(Icon via Pinterest)

[hellenicrisis]

Behold, the Lamb of God,

Who cleanses this world of sin.

He who chose to receive a crown of thorns,

So that we may be crowned with his love.

He is beaten, he is whipped, he is crucified;

He is risen.

[loola-a]

an attack for @beetlebane from a little while ago >:-]

[artandthebible]

The Baptism of Christ

Artist: Andrea del Verrocchio and Leonardo da Vinci

Date: 1472–1475

Medium: Oil on Wood

Collection: Uffizi Gallery, Florence

The Baptism of Christ is an oil-on-panel painting finished around 1475 in the studio of the Italian Renaissance painter Andrea del Verrocchio and generally ascribed to him and his pupil Leonardo da Vinci. Some art historians discern the hands of other members of Verrocchio's workshop in the painting as well.

The picture depicts the Baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist as recorded in the Biblical Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. The angel to the left is recorded as having been painted by the youthful Leonardo, a fact which has excited so much special comment and mythology, that the importance and value of the picture as a whole and within the œuvre of Verrocchio is often overlooked. Modern critics also attribute much of the landscape in the background to Leonardo as well.

The picture depicts the Baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan River. There are two kneeling angels, one holding Jesus's garment, and the other with its hands folded, both in front of the symbolization of salvation and life, the palm tree. While barefoot in the river, John the Baptist is clothed in robes with a halo over his head. He is holding a staff with a gold cross at the top as he pours the river water on Jesus's head. Jesus has a halo over his head as he is depicted praying barefoot in the river. He has a small garment covering his genitals with visible pubic hair peeking through scroll by John's left hand contains the two Latin words "ECCE AGNIUS", a reference to a phrase in the description of Jesus' baptism in the Vulgate translation of John 1:29, Ecce agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi ("Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world"). There is also a bright-eyed raptor that swoops down over the head of John and into the trees in the background. God's hands can be seen at the top of the painting coming from heaven as it opens up. A dove and rays of sunlight shine through which symbolize the holy spirit shining above them revealing Jesús's divine nature.

[sleepboysummer]

the girl that remains of penny lamb stands in the middle of his room. it feels hollow, the heavy air of something that used to be there but is missing now. there is so much that she'd lost.

she has avoided reading the news or answering questions, hating every single person who tried to talk to her about what happened that night. the reports had made her into a miracle, a poster child of god's great blessings. no one spoke of the others except for in unit. no one ever spoke of him.

she looks around at his bedroom and all of his things. her eyes fall over posters, and pictures, and so much more, all of the things he had cared about so much. he was the smartest boy she had ever known. that was one of the things she was most in awe of about him- his mind was always so much greater than his seventeen years, constantly running, so full of thoughts and ideas and life.

he wanted to be a writer. he had so many dreams.

the girl that remains of penny lamb is hesitant to touch anything in this room, afraid that her hands will stain his memory, that she'll erase anything that's left. her fingers hover over the wood of his desk, stacked with soda cans and sticky notes. there is so much left unfinished. an incomplete page of scribbled writings still waits in an open notebook, his desk chair halfway pulled out, pencils and papers strewn over the floor. he was not ready to die.

so she holds herself in silence, waiting for something that'll never come. it's cold. the air is still. the only sound is her shaky breaths as she wanders slowly around his room, searching for something she didn't know, desperate to feel him again. her fingers tremble as she reaches his bed. it's been made since he'd passed, that much was clear- it's unnaturally perfect next to the mess around the rest of the room.

she runs a hand over the sheets, blankets neatly folded at the foot of the bed, set there with so much care from a mother. her only son, her baby taken from her just days before. what had she done when she'd learned what had happened? had she cried over his body? had she screamed at the paramedics? had she broken her vow of silence, no reason to fufill it any longer, begging for another chance? he was still just a child, his shelves were full of action figures. he was the youngest one to die.

the girl that remains of penny lamb had woken on september 14, at exactly 6:22 pm. she had been pulled away from the cart by the calculated hands of paramedics who had rehearsed this so many times before. a blanket had been thrown over her shoulders in an attempt to seem caring, but no one cared about her- they were all focused on the ones who hadn't made it out of the accident.

she sat shivering, fingers digging into the itchy fabric, doing anything she could not to look at the mangled bodies being taken out onto stretchers. you could barely tell who was who. they had all been twisted beyond recognition, arms and limbs hanging lifelessly like marionettes forgotten by time. it made her sick. but the thought of the alternative, averting her gaze down into her lap, only drove her eyes straight ahead once more.

shell-shocked, that's what they called her. a girl with the wide eyes of a war victim, sitting silently, covered in blood. the sole survivor. poor, poor penny. what a brave young girl, how strong she must be to stay alive.

but what onlookers didn't know, and the girl that remains of penny lamb did, is that the only one left had not been injured that night. she had come out of the disaster unharmed, left without even bruises on her knees to prove what she had been through. the only thing that brutally reminded her every time she looked down at herself was the blood- blood that was not hers.

since the moment of the accident, the only thing that she could see was red. stinging her eyes, staining her clothes, sticky and sickening and wrong; it clung to every last inch of her skin like he was still holding onto her, begging her not to leave him there. to take him with her beyond the crash. she squeezed her eyes shut as they carried him off, too afraid at what she might've seen if she'd opened them. she couldn't even imagine him like that. if she didn't think about it, it couldn't be true- because in some horrible, awful way, he was still with her; he was all around her, he was everything.

that night she had stood frozen in the shower, hands trembling as she gripped a bloodstained cloth. it was nothing like in the movies where you could stand under the water until it ran red and it would all be over. this was worse, so much worse, since the time spent at the scene had gave it long enough to dry. she couldn't just look away and let it wash down the drain. she had to fight against the tears pricking at her eyes, scrubbing until her skin was raw, every moment forced to watch what was left of him be washed away. there was a sick part of her that didn't want to. a part that wanted to stay there, lingering in memories forever, never letting go of him and of what they could've had. but when she looked down at herself once more her skin was clean and he was gone.

standing in his room for what is probably the final time makes her feel the same.

the girl that remains of penny lamb lets herself cry- she has put it off until this moment, as if pretending could keep him with her. the emptiness hangs in the air, it suffocates her, resting heavy on her chest until her shoulders are racking with sobs. she sinks onto the floor and stays there, crumpled over as if she had been one of the bodies they'd found that night. her face presses into the side of his bed like the shoulder she wishes she could cry on. her hands curl into his sheets until her knuckles go white. she will never understand what it is that let her be the one to live, and maybe that is for the better.

[lastmidtownshowmp3]

‘Suddenly the music changes and Peter appears in the corner, Christ-like,’

[grace-of-spades1]

my testimony

for eighteen years,I lived a life of fear and dread. My parents were toxic and abusive and the best way to avoid that was through just taking the blows. I was born and diagnosed with autism. Since I was the one kid that couldn't do anything the way they wanted or in their words, 'the right way' i became the family scapegoat. It was my fault if something went wrong always. I was never like my siblings or into the same things as them. My parents praised my siblings because they were athletic and smart and followed along with the mind games they would play. I was quieter and more into the arts. My gifts and talents were seen as useless and stupid. I began to believe it and fell into a massive hole of depression, anxiety, self loathing, and suicidal thoughts and actions. those who figured out what was happening at home were pushed away and were seen as bad people. I never felt more alone in my life. Eventually, I moved to a private Christian school. I was miserable. I was disgusted by the thought of Jesus Christ and how He allowed all this suffering in my life. But I remember one day in class, one of my teachers pulled me aside and told me that Jesus saw me and He never left me alone. He was watching over me and had big plans for my life. After hearing that, I could feel the Holy Spirit moving in the room. I burst into tears and allowed Jesus into my life.

After I graduated, i moved out. I have tried to restore a relationship with my family but no onehas bothered to return texts or calls. It has been a few months and I heard I had a new baby brother. The family made it clear I was not invited to see him. Please pray for them.

One verse in psalm 27 was 'when mother and father forsake me, the Lord will take care of me.'

Since I came to Christ, He has done so much in my life. I now have a job, a relationship with the distant family I missed out on growing up(so many cousins!), amazing group of friends, and a wonderful boyfriend.

So yes, my physical family may forsake me, but my Father in Heaven never will. Praise the Lord

He will turn your life around, He is knocking, let Him in