#deacon st. john…i will protect you

[rpfisfine]

i wasn’t the biggest fan in the world of days gone (2019) bc the writing was a bit cheesy & corny at times and the second half felt like such an unbelievable chore to play that i was practically begging for the main story to begin wrapping up at one point instead of expanding into more and more nonsensical plotlines and I also wasn’t too happy abt the fact that they made the only canonically bisexual character cheat on her girlfriend with a man for no other apparent reason other than being bisexual but yesterday i learned they won’t be making a sequel bc playstation executives didn’t like that the sales weren’t too good despite the fact that ghost of tsushima sold even less copies and im pissed off as fuck

[thegirlwiththeblush]

Drifter

Deacon St. John x Reader

1.5k words

Warnings: Language

Special thanks to my dearest @vorsdany for proof-reading and editing 😌🫶🏼

please excuse my lack of talent :D but i hope you enjoy

It had been months since I’d given up counting the time that had passed since the infection began. It had been at least two years, maybe even closer to three, but there was no point in keeping track of time anymore. Without a schedule to keep, every day was the same: wake up and maintain the very basics of staying alive.

I’d managed to stay hidden in my family’s cabin in the woods all this time, eating fruit and vegetables grown in our garden (it truly was a miracle – how I’d managed to keep any of it alive), and the occasional small game I could catch without attracting freakers and swarmers. I’d lost all my family to the freakers; somehow, I’d stayed hidden and escaped.

Some days I wished I hadn’t.

I’d had little to no contact with the outside world since, only taking in the occasional civilian or refugee, usually on their way to a camp nearby. Every one of those on their way to 'sanctuary’ would encourage me to join them, insisting that there was safety in numbers and that being a part of a community would be so much better for me. With every such statement, I’d refused adamantly; I had it good here, and I wasn’t about to risk that by joining a bunch of strangers in a post-apocalyptic world. I got by, and that was enough for me.

That was, until an Anarchist army finally stumbled across my hideaway. They’d burned it down without hesitation, and I’d barely woken in time to the smell of smoke and the sound of triumphant shouts. Sprinting away from their molotovs and sniper rifles, I’d escaped with nothing to call my own. I was alone, with no way to defend myself, and nowhere to call home.

So here I was, losing track of the days since the attack – who knew if it had been days, weeks, or more – and sleeping in bushes when I could. I was starving, scavenging berries and mushrooms that I knew to be harmless, drinking from reservoirs and praying that dysentery wouldn’t come to plague me along with the rest of the world. I knew there was a good chance I was losing my mind, but I struggled on, as if I had a fighting chance.

That was, until the day I met the Drifter.

I was searching an abandoned car, as I often did, hoping for medical supplies or something that could sustain me in any way. Clambering into the front passenger seat, I shut the door behind me, like a fool, as if it would protect me. Opening and shutting the glove box and center console, I heard the throaty screeches of freakers in the distance, but disregarded them without even glancing up, presuming that they were far off by the volume.

The sharp screech of claws on metal sounded above me, snatching my attention with a jolt. My gaze shot upwards as my heart raced in my chest, and the sight around me drew a choking sob from my throat. About a dozen freakers surrounded the vehicle, clambering to get inside to me, their grotesque bodies writhing in delight at the sight of fresh meat. Judging from the screams I’d heard earlier, there were most likely more coming, and there was no way I could hold off a horde from getting in. I’d been an idiot to think I could make it on my own, and now I was going to pay the price in the most terrifying way.

Over the howling of the freakers, I barely heard the roaring engine of a motorcycle approaching, drawing the gaze of about half of the swarm. I stole a glance over my shoulder and caught sight of a lone figure approaching on his battered vehicle, a pistol in one hand, which he was lining up to the closest creature. I winced as he fired, and didn’t quite catch his wisecrack as he slid off the bike and ran into the midst of the throng. He grabbed a baseball bat covered in nails from a collection of weapons strapped to his back, and swung it in all directions, giving a war cry with each kill.

One particularly burly freaker grabbed him from behind, stopping him in his warpath. His shouts of pain awoke me from my reverie, and I scrambled around in search of some kind of weapon. Scouring each compartment, I found an old flashlight in the driver’s side door, and turned back to my door, ready to assist.

Another freaker stood at my window staring me down, its blood-red eyes gazing down at me hungrily. It shrieked, temporarily deafening me, but before I could freeze up in panic, I grabbed the door handle. As I yanked it, I booted the door open with all my might, throwing the freaker back with a yelp. I clambered out of the car, gripping the flashlight tightly and heading for the Drifter and his attacker. Standing up to my full height, I swung the makeshift weapon at the freaker’s head, momentarily dazing him long enough for the drifter to get free and swing his bat round, carefully avoiding me. Clocking the hefty monster, he breathed a sigh of relief as it fell to the ground with a loud thump.

“Good riddance, motherfuckers,” he murmured to himself, before turning his attention to me. His voice was deep, somewhat husky, and now that I could fully take in his features, I was somewhat taken aback. He was roguishly handsome, a half-unkempt beard lining his round jawline. His hazel eyes were softer now that he wasn’t on guard, and his dark hair was covered by a backwards cap. He looked down at me, checking me for injury; a rather awkward task given his height. “Are you alright?” he asked gruffly. “You shouldn’t be alone out here in the shit.”

I blinked at this, the memories of the last few days hitting me like a brick wall. The anxiety I’d felt at being alone and unprotected slowly dissipated; this Drifter felt safe, trustworthy. I wondered if he’d let me stay with him.

“Um...” He stepped awkwardly from one foot to another, and I realized I’d been gazing at him in awe and avoiding the question.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I stammered. “Just a little shaken. I know I shouldn’t be, but...” I hung a hand from my neck shyly. “I kinda have nowhere else to go.”

“Listen, there are plenty of camps nearby that’ll take you in,” he explained, and I bit my lip at the familiar spiel. Given my circumstances, however, it was suddenly sounding a lot more appealing. “I can give you directions to any of them, but, you’d have to promise me you’ll go.”

I raised an eyebrow at this, squinting up at him. “Why so serious?”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, do you not remember what happened just five minutes ago, when I came across you, helpless and alone and about to become freaker feed?”

I allowed myself a chuckle at this, and while he didn’t laugh, his eyes softened even more and the corners of his lips turned upwards in a cocky half-smile.

“Alright, alright, I promise,” I assured him, nodding in resignation. “Where’s the nearest one?”

“That’d be Lost Lake, about half a mile south of here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction. He hesitated before shuffling again on his feet. “I was actually on my way there myself, if you’d want a ride. Unless,” he waved his hands around dramatically, “you’re afraid of stranger danger and all that.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re strangers when you just saved my life,” I pointed out. “Besides, I’ve been walking non-stop for the last little while. My legs could use a break.”

I couldn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth with such confidence. It was true, the Drifter seemed to pose the very opposite of a threat, but getting on a bike with a man I’d just met, and who I felt increasingly drawn to, did seem-

“Alright then, let’s get on the road,” he replied without hesitation, strolling back over to his bike and waving me over. I followed tentatively, glancing his bike over as if I knew anything about motor vehicle safety. It looked fairly sturdy. To my very limited knowledge.

He straddled the bike, settling down in the seat and raising his eyebrows as he looked up at me, waiting. His biceps flexed slightly as he gripped the handlebars, and I jerked my gaze away, a little too obvious, I assumed from his resultant small smirk. I climbed on behind him, and after he glanced back at me, wrapped my arms around his waist, my forearms pressed against his toned torso. I gulped back any possible accidental comments or vocal reactions and did my best to relax as he started up the engine.

“I never even asked,” he yelled as he kicked into gear and accelerated, “what’s your name?”

The wind began whipping my hair in my face as we sped up, and I introduced myself in as loud a voice as I could muster. “What about you?”

“Deacon St. John,” he replied, skidding around a corner and leading me to hold on to him tighter. “You can call me Deacon.”

I smiled. Deacon. It was a good name. And with that, I fully relaxed into him as he drove me away to safety.

[soul-invictus]

rules: list 5 comfort characters and tag at least 5 people

Thank you @scrinovskaya for tagging me! 🖤

Bishop (Aliens)

Garrus Vakarian (Mass Effect)

Johnny Rico (Starship Troopers)

Deacon St. John (Days Gone)

Dum Dum (Cyberpunk 2077)

I'm not quite sure what's this all about - I googled it aaand it didn't help much because the very definition of a "comfort character" and "comfort" in general is a bit blurry to me. Since childhood I've been attracted to all weird things that no one else in my surroundings loved or understood, and so I always felt misunderstood and left behind, an outsider of sort. Plus, I never had a father figure as well as a loyal trustworthy partner, who would show me what's right or wrong, who would protect, help and make me feel safe through the darkest times of my youth and tough circumstances of adult life, I always had to be all by myself, never trusting anyone, always stressed out and completely out of any comfort zone. Probably that's why my top-5 is males only. Some of them are smart, calm and reasonable, some are reckless and full of energy to fight and achieve their goals, others are loyal to the bone and would never let you down, and some will give you a huff when no one else would. All of them I love dearly in one way or another and perhaps this's what brings me comfort.

Tagging (no pressure ofc): @bnbc @xphantasmagoria @roarmoreau @miyokovektor @cyberpunkaddict

[orthodoxadventure]

I don’t wanna be spicy but do you ever feel deterred or uncomfortable with the kinds of epithets or magnanimity ascribed to the Blessed Mother? In Orthodoxy especially, I mean. I’m 110% on for Mariam devotion, really and truly. But I was just reading prose from the Akathist hymn and it calls Mary the world’s salvation? I know it can be like.. the *reason* for the cause of salvation, and so be fitting language, but.. like.. isn’t it just technically a bit extreme, linguistically? *Also* in the Akathist, it ascribes “invincible power” to her. Only God is omnipotent—even if it’s a flattering-by-excessive-praise type euphemism, it strikes me as inappropriate… what do you think, personally? Thank you :)

If you spend time reading any Catholic Marian devotions, you will see extremely similar language used. If you read Saint Louis-Marie de Montfort for example, you will also find him using language describing the Blessed Virgin Mary as:

"It is by Mary that the salvation of the world has begun, and it is by Mary that it must be consummated."

"We must conclude that, the most holy Virgin being necessary to God by a necessity which we call hypothetical, in consequence of His Will, she is far more necessary to men, in order for them to arrive at their Last End. We must not confound devotions to our Blessed Lady with devotions to the other Saints, as if devotions to her were not far more necessary than devotion to them, or as if devotion to her were a matter of supererogation."

'The learned and pious Suarez the Jesuit, the erudite and devout Justus Lipsius doctor of Louvain, and many others, have proved invincibly, in consequence of the sentiments of the Fathers (and, among others, of St. Augustine, St. Ephrem deacon of Edessa, St. Cyril of Jerusalem, St. Germanus of Constantinople, St. John Damascene, St. Anselm, St. Bernard, St. Bernardine, St. Thomas, and St. Bonaventure), that devotion to our Blessed Lady is necessary to salvation, and that, even in the opinion of CEclompadius and some other heretics, it is an infallible mark of reprobation to have no esteem and love for the holy Virgin; while on the other hand it is an infallible mark of predestination to be entirely and truly devoted to her."

"If devotion to the most holy Virgin Mary is necessary to all men, simply for working out their salvation, it is still more so for those who are called to any particular perfection; and I do not think any one can acquire an intimate union with our Lord, and a perfect fidelity to the Holy Ghost, without a very great union with the most holy Virgin, and a great dependence on her succour".

[These are all quotes from 'True Devotion to Mary']

If you familiarise yourself with different dedications to the Blessed Virgin Mary, such as praying the Rosary daily, you will see similar promises that those that do so will end up in Heaven as the Blessed Virgin Mary will intercede for them upon their death. Looking into Marian appearances, you will again see that there are promises of salvation for those that are piously dedicated to her. There are prayers calling her the Mediatrix of Salvation.

Let us look at an abbreviated story of the Miraculous Medal for example

Four months later, in November of 1830, Mary again appeared to St. Catherine at the Rue de Bac Chapel. This time, our Blessed Mother was standing on a globe, with dazzling rays of light streaming from her outstretched hands. Framing the apparition was an inscription: “O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.” When Mary spoke to St. Catherine, she said “Have a medal struck upon this model. Those who wear it will receive great graces, especially if they wear it around the neck. Those who repeat this prayer with devotion will be, in a special manner, under the protection of the Mother of God. Graces will be abundantly bestowed upon those who have confidence.”

---

I use these examples to show that Orthodox Christianity is not unique in the titles and the language that it ascribes to the Theotokos. If you have an issue with the dedication that Orthodox Christians have towards the Theotokos, then you will also encounter these difficulties in Catholicism. Eastern Catholicism also use Akathists towards the Blessed Virgin Mary, in fact, the exact same ones that Orthodox Christians use. In which case, I would ask, is it inappropriate for Catholics to venerate the Blessed Virgin Mary in the language they use?

I would, in this situation, recommend both contacting your Priest to talk about the Catholic dedication to the Blessed Virgin Mary and would also suggest contacting a local Orthodox Priest to ask him questions about the Orthodox veneration. Because it seems like both would be extremely beneficial to you both in terms of grappling with the Catholic understanding of their veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Orthodox understanding of their veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary

In the womb of Mary, God and man were joined. She was the One Who served as it were as the ladder for the Son of God, Who descended from heaven. - Saint John Maximovitch, The Orthodox Veneration of the Mother of God

Orthodox veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary is bound up in the Incarnation and her unique role in mankind's salvation through Jesus. Invincible power is often ascribed to her in Catholicism as well, because Catholics too understand how her will conformed to the Will of God in a very unique way, and as such her intercession is ascribed as particularly powerful before God.

When I was undergoing RCIA, the prose and the titles and the language ascribed to Mary was particularly a challenge for me for precisely the reasons you ascribe "Isn't it a bit much to call her these things?". Even though, I too was perfectly fine with the idea of devotion to Mary. But one can be perfectly fine with the theory of, "yeah we can pray to Mary, isn't she great? :)" and not quite understand what the Saints are talking about when they actually talk about that veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary - or at least that was the case for me.

I hope I don't come across as rude with any of this by the way, I realise I can be a bit blunt or cold when answering questions. I'm just extremely autistic, in the actual diagnosable condition way. But if I may be so bold anyways, I would say that your issue with Orthodox veneration of Mary stems in the similar misunderstandings that I had about Marian devotion and that you feel safe to call this veneration of her inappropriate because it's ascribed to Orthodoxy and that sooner or later, you will encounter more of this language being used to describe her in Catholicism. When I was undergoing RCIA, I did look into Akathists and too felt weirded out by the language used, which is why I feel comfortable saying these things - because it feels very much like a similar position. It is infinitely better then, to do what I should have done, and speak with a Priest. Because a Priest is going to be infinitely more valuable and helpful than anything I have to say about it. I am not perfectly or even well) versed in Orthodox theology or arguments. All I can really draw upon is my Catholic background and how much time I spent reading Marian devotionals and about Marian prayers etc lol.

Perhaps something you might find helpful is reading Saint John Maximovitch's Orthodox Veneration of the Mother of God. It's actually not that long, and should be pretty accessible for you.

This is particularly aimed more at Protestants that are interested in Orthodox Christianity, but you might find that some of what they have to say here is also helpful in some capacity:

[embodies]

ASSORTED DIALOGUE PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. ❛ i had it under control. you didn't need to do that. ❜

@madsway.

he assesses the battlefield before her question bears weight, a marksman's eye scouring the bodies for any phantom movement or telltale twitch. it was bad enough back in afghanistan, where men played dead to get the advantage, the upper hand. he has seen worse things than apocalypses. but here, where their enemies are the literal undead, who's to stay they'll ever really stay down ? once satisfied with the quiet that succeeds the victory of murder, his eyes lift in almost apologetic acquiescence to the woman. she's right, really. it was hardly a whole horde of the fuckers and she seemed more than capable of taking them on. another trick of the trade, for you learn pretty quickly in situations of crisis who's got the stones to actually live with themselves. to do what must be done to survive. deacon st. john is certainly not short of moments like those up his sleeve, bearing the burden of lives lost like a cross.

❛ yeah, see, i kinda did . . . ❜ it's moreso mumbled to himself, not really fancying explaining the whole fucked up moral code he's got going on for himself to a complete stranger. don't hurt unarmed women, protect them at all costs. he's still unpacking the sideways misogyny of his own mind, knows he needs to back off and rid this stupid biker testament he's following like a creed. but sarah's loss skews him, makes him view the world as through a kaleidoscope. he is no sane man, but reassures himself that things could have turned out worse. he's certainly not gone down the cannibalism route, so there's something.

❛ i'm sorry, you clearly had it handled. just uh, i'm a magnet to danger, i guess. ❜ he eyes the spoils, decides it'll make the situation even weirder if he just starts collecting zombie ears in front of her, too. best to let them lie. ❛ don't worry about splittin' the loot or anything, alright ? really. they're your kills. ❜ he backs off a few steps, tucks bat laden with nails into the cross - strap on his back in sign of truce.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Thursday, February 29, 2024

february 16_february 29

St MACARIUS, METROPOLITAN OF MOSCOW , APOSTLE TO THE ALTAI (1926)

Saint Makary, Metropolitan of Moscow and Kolomna and Apostle of Altai (born Mikhail Andreevich Parvitsky-Nevsky) was born on 1 October 1835, on the feast of the Protection of the Mother of God. The village of Shapkino in the Vladimir province was his birthplace. His father, Andrey Ivanovich, served as a cantor in the village church of the Nativity of the Most Holy Theotokos. From childhood, Mikhail's mother taught him to pray. He enjoyed reading the works of St. Tikhon of Zadonsk, Ephrem the Syrian, and the life of St. Seraphim of Sarov.

In 1854, he graduated from the seminary, where he was given the surname Nevsky. Despite the opportunity to continue his education at the Academy as an outstanding student, he chose to join the Altai Mission as a rank-and-file member, driven by his desire to preach the Gospel. The venerable Archimandrite Makary (Glukharev, remembered on 18 May) was a model of missionary service for him, and he learned about his life and work from eyewitnesses. He served as a reader, taught at the Catechetical School, accompanied missionaries to remote, inaccessible, and wild places, and studied the Altai language.

On 16 March 1861, he took monastic tonsure and adopted the name Makary, in honour of St. Macarius the Great. The next day, he was ordained as a deacon, and on 19 March as a priest. This marked the beginning of his independent missionary service, first in the Chemal settlement, and then in Chulyshman. Success in preaching was only achieved when the Word of God was conveyed to the people in their native language. Father Makary mastered the Altai language and its dialects perfectly, dedicating himself to translating liturgical books into the Altai language over many years. In 1875, Father Makary was appointed as an assistant to the head of the Altai Mission. Source: St Elizabeth Convent... Continue reading

SAINT FLAVIAN ARCHBISHOP OF ANTIOCH (381_404)

St Flavian was born about the year 320, probably in Antioch. Although he had inherited wealth, Flavian resolved to devote his wealth, in addition to his talents, to the service of Christ's church. He was a defender of the orthodox faith against Arianism. In 361, Flavian was ordained a priest by Meletius, a Semi-Arian who later had accepted the Nicene creed and attended the Second Ecumenical Council in Constantinople. After the repose of Meletius in 381, Flavian was chosen to succeed him.

A schism of the Nicene creed party developed between the followers of Eustathius and those of Meletius after Meletius was appointed the successor to Eustathius after his death. Meletius' election was not recognized by the bishops of Rome and Alexandria while Paulinus and, subsequently, Evagrius were recognized by them as the successors to Eustathius. After Evagrius died in 393, Flavian was able to forestall the election of a successor to Evagrius. The Eustathians, however, continued to hold their services separately. After John Chrysostom was named Bishop of Constantinople in 398, he, with the influence of emperor Theodosius I, was able to obtain acknowledgment of Flavian as the legitimate bishop of Antioch. The schism, however, was not healed until 415, over ten years after Flavian's death in February 404.

1 JOHN 1:8-2:6

8 If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. 9 If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 10 If we say that we have not sinned, we make Him a liar, and His word is not in us.

1 My little children, these things I write to you, so that you may not sin. And if anyone sins, we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. 2 And He Himself is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the whole world. 3 Now by this we know that we know Him, if we keep His commandments. 4 He who says, "I know Him," and does not keep His commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him. 5 But whoever keeps His word, truly the love of God is perfected in him. By this we know that we are in Him. 6 He who says he abides in Him ought himself also to walk just as He walked.

MARK 13:31-14:2

31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will by no means pass away. 32 But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Take heed, watch and pray; for you do not know when the time is. 34 It is like a man going to a far country, who left his house and gave authority to his servants, and to each his work, and commanded the doorkeeper to watch. 35 Watch therefore, for you do not know when the master of the house is coming-in the evening, at midnight, at the crowing of the rooster, or in the morning- 36 lest, coming suddenly, he find you sleeping. 37 And what I say to you, I say to all: Watch!

1 After two days it was the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread. And the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might take Him by trickery and put Him to death. 2 But they said, "Not during the feast, lest there be an uproar of the people."

[noeticprayer]

October 1, 2018

Apostle of the 70: Ananias (1st); Venerable Romanos the Melodist, “Sweet Singer” (5th); Venerable Sabbas, abbot of Vishersk (1461); Venerable Martyr Michael and 36 Venerable Martyrs with him in Armenia; Venerable Domninos of Thessaloniki; Venerable John Kukuzelis the Singer of Mt Athos; St Bavo of Haarlem; Venerable Gregory the Singer of Mt Athos (4th); Mirian and Nana of Mtskheta

Protection (Pokrov) of the Most-Holy Theotokos

Phil 1.1-7 (Epistle)

Brethren, Paul and Timothy, bondservants of Jesus Christ, To all the saints in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine making request for you all with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ; just as it is right for me to think this of you all, because I have you in my heart, inasmuch as both in my chains and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel, you all are partakers with me of grace.

Heb 9.1-7 (Epistle—Protection)

Brethren, even the first covenant had ordinances of divine service and the earthly sanctuary. For a tabernacle was prepared: the first part, in which was the lampstand, the table, and the showbread, which is called the sanctuary; and behind the second veil, the part of the tabernacle which is called the Holiest of All, which had the golden censer and the ark of the covenant overlaid on all sides with gold, in which were the golden pot that had the manna, Aaron’s rod that budded, and the tablets of the covenant; and above it were the cherubim of glory overshadowing the mercy seat. Of these things we cannot now speak in detail. Now when these things had been thus prepared, the priests always went into the first part of the tabernacle, performing the services. But into the second part the high priest went alone once a year, not without blood, which he offered for himself and for the people’s sins committed in ignorance.

Luke 6.24-30 (Gospel)

The Lord said to the Jews that came to Him: woe to you who are rich, For you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full, For you shall hunger. Woe to you who laugh now, For you shall mourn and weep. Woe to you when all men speak well of you, For so did their fathers to the false prophets. But I say to you who hear: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who spitefully use you. To him who strikes you on the one cheek, offer the other also. And from him who takes away your cloak, do not withhold your tunic either. Give to everyone who asks of you. And from him who takes away your goods do not ask them back.

Luke 10.38-42, 11.27-28 (Gospel—Protection)

At that time, Jesus entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus’ feet and heard His word. But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” And Jesus answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her. . . . And it happened, as He spoke these things, that a certain woman from the crowd raised her voice and said to Him, “Blessed is the womb that bore You, and the breasts which nursed You!” But He said, “More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it!”

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Fearful of Forgetting

Characters: Deacon St. John X Reader

Request: @lunarastrobabe "Female reader overhears deacon talking to boozer about Sarah and she feels hurt and betrayed and is cold towards him then they have an argument about it and she asks if he loves her at all but then they make up and it’s a happy ending for them❤️"

Summary: In the past 2 years, you've grown strong feelings for the person who's protected you and kept you together when you wanted to crumble. Deacon has been holding something back. You find out the struggles that he's been having between holding onto his past and moving forward with his future.

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Fluff

As I gaze into the fire, the coldness of the night left my body. I raised my hands to the flames taking in all the heat. I looked over across the camp fire to see Boozer sharping his knife peacefully. In that moment, it felt like life was normal. I could ignore the shit storm that has happened the last two years. It just seemed like we were hanging out around a camp fire on a fall night. Nothing more, nothing less.

I realise that if this shit storm never happened I would have never ran into him. Deacon. My rock for the past while. Kept me together while I wanted to fall apart. Protected me when I crumbled and never left me alone. I smiled to myself to know how lucky I was to have these people around me in a time like this.

Deacon sat down beside on me on the log of wood we shared. I looked over to see his eyes closed, taking in the warmth that we've been missing. I wanted to look at him forever, just watch him... exist. He had no idea how I felt about him. We got closer over the years, I tried to give hints but I didn't push it. I feared that we would lose what we had if I did.

"This feels good" Deacon groaned sitting back more on the log.

"Hell ya brother" Boozer chuckled inspecting the blade of his knife upon the fire.

"You okay? You seem quiet" Deacon asked facing your direction but keeping an eye on the fire.

"I'm okay, just taking it all in. It nearly seems like a normal night. Just all of us hanging around camp fire" I smiled looking down at my hands picking at an old scab.

"You can say that again." Boozer smirked

"Do you ever think about where you be if.. things were different?" I asked, feeling a tinge of nostalgia.

"No. I don't" Deacon said bluntly.

"Yeah, I don't see much point in it" Boozer sighed

Time went by, we all stayed silent. Deacon seemed to be deep in thought. For the past couple of days I could feel this coldness between us. I didn't want to overthink it but it didn't leave my mind. He seemed to be not present as much, when I asked him if he wanted to go on a supply run a couple of days ago, he turned it down and continued on cleaning his rifle. He was usually up for anything especially knowing how well we get on together.

What made me over think it was, last week we were collecting fire wood for the winter which was a job we did pretty often to make sure we were ready for the harsh dark nights ahead. The sun was starting to set and we gathered the last few pieces of wood.

"After everything that has happened, I'm glad this hasn't changed" I paused looking over at the horizon. We were were pretty high up which gave us the widest view of everything below us.

Deacon walked over and gazed at the intense warm spectrum of colours spreading across the sky.

"Yeah, you're right about that" He spoke softly.

We stood there for a couple of minutes. I bend down to pick up last piece of wood off the ground and felt something sharp jab into my finger.

"Shit" I breathed pulling my brows together to see what hurt.

"You alright?" Deacon walked toward me.

"Yeah, just a splinter. These fuckers hurt so much" I continued to look at it, pushing my skin together to pop the splinter out.

No luck, it was really wedged in there. I dropped the piece of wood that caused it and leaned more towards to the fading light to get a better angle.

"Come here, let me have a look" Deacon held my wrist gently bringing his head down and focused on the injury.

I could feel him putting pressure on my finger trying to squeeze it out. I looked down to see how big his hands were compared to mine but how delicate he still was, making sure not to cause me more pain.

"I think I nearly got it" He continued to squeeze my fingers.

"Try and suck the last bit out" He brought his eyes to mine and smiled softly.

I put my finger in my mouth and sucked it, trying to see if I could feel the piece of wood come out. I pulled out my finger and analysed it again.

"Got it!" I grinned seeing the dot of blood oozing out of the fresh wound.

We both focus on the wound making sure there was no piece left over when I realised how close Deacon was to me. I could feel his heat coming off his body. We both looked up noticing the closeness of each other. At this point, there was barely any light left and all I could see was the outline of his features and glint in his eyes. It was completely quiet but I could hear his breathing so well. I felt a million butterflies bouncing around in my stomach knowing what could happen next. I glanced down at his lips feeling the urge to lean in and press them against mine. But I hesitated. He leaned down ever so slightly, bring his head closer to mine. I could feel his breath hitting my lips until we delicately brought them together. His lips were cold and soft giving me goosebumps. I breathed out through my nose feeling all my body just let go of any tension. I sensed myself getting pulled into him without any outside force. I realised how starved I was from any touch. I could feel him lightly caress my chin as we deepened the kiss. I brought my hands onto his chest. I could his hear a quiet moan coming from the back of his throat.

Out of nowhere I could hear the crackling of his radio on his chest. We broke the kiss immediately and pulled away, bringing us both back to reality.

"Deek? You nearly done with the wood?" Boozers voiced radiated out of the radio.

Deacon took a step back avoiding all eye contact with me and pressed the button to respond.

"Yeah Boozeman, just about to head back" He cleared his throat.

He picked up the last pieces of wood that we dropped at the beginning of all of this.

"We better head back" Deacon glanced back but never meeting my eyes.

I nodded into agreement covering the disappointment I felt inside on how fast the atmosphere changed.

Since then, Deacon barely even looked at me or spoken to me. My mind was going wild try to figure what was going on in his head but I was afraid to ask. I didn't want to hear what I might have already figured out. That he regret what he did and it was a mistake. The kiss made me understand that the feelings I had for Deacon were stronger and deeper than I thought. It made me even more scared to lose him.

I brought myself back to the present moment feeling the same sinking feel of anguish I felt back at the forest. I wanted to go to sleep and hope that this feeling would go away.

"I think I might go to bed" I tucked my hair behind my ear, glancing at Boozer and Deacon.

"This early?" Deacon looked at me, for the first time all day.

I nodded, said goodnight and got up from the log. I made my way up the steps until reaching the top of the watch tower. I looked down and watching them for a couple of minutes. They didn't share any words and just seemed to be enjoying the fire.

I made my way to my mattress, which was beside the doorway in the corner, on Boozer side of the room. It wasn't much but it was dry and soft. Enough for a goodnight sleep.

I plopped myself down and rolled over to my side bring my blanket over me and closed my eyes. I felt myself drift off to sleep.

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

I woke up to the sound of slight murmur from below. I must have only dozed off for a couple of hours. I felt wide awake and couldn't relax. I sat up, rubbing my eyes getting adjusted to the darkness. I could see a low amber glow in the room giving me the indication that the fire was still going strong. I unsteadily got to my feet and looked out the window to see Deacon and Boozer still haven't moved but seemed to be talking.

Deacon was leaned over closer to the fire. I wanted to know what he was saying. I wanted to know why he was so cold lately. I quietly walked over to the door and opened it gingerly. I didn't want to draw Boozer's attention as he was facing the door. I peeped down and he seem engrossed in conversation. I sat on my honkers to get lower and closer to the sound. I focused trying to zone in on Deacon's deep calm voice.

"I don't know Boozer.. I had everything I wanted" He somberly sighed

"You can't keep holding onto this"

"She was my life. All I think about is her. That night at the waterfall, when she said yes." He paused " I could see myself growing old with her."

"I know man. It's tough but if you keep going on like this. It's going to eat you up inside"

"Yeah, maybe I deserve it" Deacon mumbled.

I could feel my heart sink. All that time thinking I did something wrong. I was thinking that maybe he would see me more than just a friend. I felt stupid to think that I was anything special to Deacon.

Tears ran down my cheeks. All my emotions just erupted from the last couple of years. I was overwhelmed with sadness, hopelessness and pure loneliness. After years of this, I'm starved from intimacy or even touch. It was getting to me. I wrapped my arms around myself and gripped tight to give myself any comfort that was possible.

I could hear the familiar sound of the steps creaking down below. I got up on my tippy toes and briskly made my way back to my bed. I turned over to face the wall. I quickly wiped my tear stained cheeks and tucked my blanket over me and closed my eyes.

I could hear their foot steps coming closer. The movement stopped for a moment, which sounded just outside the ajar door.

"Hold on" I heard Boozer whisper. "You're allowed to be happy, she wouldn't want it any other way" I could hear Deacon sigh and quietly opened the door. There was shuffling for a couple of moments as they both got ready for bed. Within a couple moments, I could heard the soft snore of Boozer.

I turned over to face Deacon's and Boozer's bed and opened my eyes slightly. I could see Deacon laying on his back with his arm resting above his head. I know he wasn't sleeping. He breathing wasn't peaceful, it would hitch to different rhythms.

Apart of me wanted to get up and sit by him. I wanted to stroke his hair and comfort him. The words of the recent conversation just came to my mind and made my heart heavy. The thought of knowing he didn't feel the same way about me like I did about him. He just wanted Sarah. Even after everything we've been through, he still only wanted Sarah. The most hurtful thing is knowing I won't be wanted by anyone as much as Sarah was. That was the knife in the heart.

I didn't want to be in the same room as Deacon. I needed space and air. I needed to calm down and let go of some of the emotions I was holding back at this very moment. I slowly got up from my bed and put on some shoes and a jacket. I didn't care if Deacon heard me. It's not like he cared, he pretty much ignored me this whole week.

I opened and closed the door gently behind me and went down the steps. I could feel the cold crisp air hitting my cheeks which felt on fire right now from how upset I was. Before I even reached the ground, I could feel tears spilling over again. I felt all the pain in my chest overwhelm me. It was heartache. I went over to the dying fire, it was still throwing out intense heat. The glow was slowly dying from it. I couldn't stop crying. I could feel my head pulse. I pulled my sleeve over my hands and wiped my tears. My eyes and nose didn't stop running and I didn't care. I just wanted to let it out so I would be able to ease the pain. I had no idea how long I sat there, it could have been hours and I would have not known.

"Hey" I heard a soft whisper from behind me.

I snapped my head back, startled from the sudden presence of someone. I looked away and wiped my eyes and nose quickly wanting to hide the fact I was sobbing. But I think it was a little too late for that.

"Hi" I whispered barely audible.

It was Deacon. He was the last person I wanted to see right now. I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on the dying fire. I didn't want him to see how much of a mess I was right now. He sat on the other end of the log leaving a space between us.

He didn't say a word. We sat there for what felt like half the night. I wanted to steady my emotions before I said anything. I didn't even know what to say. I had so many feelings towards him. I was unbearably sad, immensely angry and undeniably in love with him.

"Why haven't you spoken to me since the kiss?" I asked hearing the shake in my voice.

I heard him take a deep breath, like he knew this was going to come. I could see him in the corner of my eye twisting one his rings around his finger mindlessly.

"I-I don't know" He murmured

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, knowing what I was going to ask was going to hurt and that it needed to be done. I wanted to move on and I needed to face the truth.

"You still miss her, don't you?" I asked knowing the answer already.

"I do, very much so" He responded his voice still soft.

We sat there in silence for awhile. I wanted to see if he had anything to say.

He didn't say a word.

I took a deep breath to try and steady my voice.

"Do you regret.... kissing me?" My voice broke off feeling a lump build up in my throat.

I brought my eyes up from the fire and looked over. He looked somber but I could tell he was upset. He had his jaw clenched.

"Y/n.... Why would you think that?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Deek, you haven't spoken a word to me or even glanced in my direction since then." I felt my voice start to crumble.

I clenched my teeth and felt a tear fall. I took another deep breath to keep my composure as much as possible.

"I know, I know" He brought his hands up to his face rubbing his eyes stressfully.

"I wish I could just tell you what the hell is going on up here" He continued holding his head.

"Tell me!" I cried wiping tears away

"I can't, I'm... I'm afraid" He voice turned into a desperate whisper.

I shook my head in confusion. I didn't understand what was going on. He turned towards me and leaned over. He took my hands away from my face and looked straight into my eyes for the first time in awhile. His eyes turned soft when he saw me crying. He brought one of his hands up to my face and gently wiped away my tears.

".. of what?" I sniffed as he gently stroked my red swollen cheeks.

"Hurting you.." He sighed

I felt my stomach drop a little more. I looked down at our hands. He thumb was caressing my knuckles. I wanted to take in the feeling of him being close to me as this might be one of the last times we would be this close. Even this state of distressed caused by him, I felt myself calming down in his presence when nothing was said.

I could see him searching his brain trying to breakdown what he was thinking. He sighed realising there was probably no easy way to say this. I braced myself from the potential damage that could be done.

"This is Sarah's and mine engagement anniversary. This was the week I proposed at the waterfall and saw my whole future with her" He spoke gently making sure to keep an eye on my reaction.

"For the past couple of years, I've been slowly letting go. When you appeared, you distracted me from the life I could have had. You let me see another path that wasn't so bad." He continued

"The kiss we had was... something I haven't had in years" I looked up to see his mouth coming to a soft smile.

"It scared me, it made me realised that I might be moving on from Sarah. That I was forgetting about her. That I was denying her existence in my life..... because the pain wasn't there anymore. How would I know if my love for her was ever real if the pain of losing her wasn't there anymore?" He breathed out and his head went down.

I saw a tear fall from his face onto the ground. He brought his shoulder up to wiped his cheek. He looked back up, his eyes red.

"I feel guilty, I feel so guilty about us. I feel guilty about the feelings I felt with Sarah, I know feel with you." Another tear rolled down his cheek and I couldn't bare to see him shed another.

I came closer to him. I bringing my hands up to his face and gently wiping away the tear. I leaned into him feeling his hands wrap around me bringing me closer to him. He rested his head on mine and I could hear his heartbeat. It was racing. He was so worried about how I was going to react.

"I don't know Sarah but I know that she would want you to be happy" I whispered

"I know, Boozer told me the same thing. I just wish I didn't have this feeling" Deacon squeezed his arms around me.

"Maybe the feeling pain, grew into guilt to show that you really did love Sarah and that maybe it was time to let go of the last piece and trust that you'll never forget about her" I continued.

"How does everyone see what I can't see. Boozer also said that too" He chuckled lightly followed by a sniffle.

"I'm sorry, I'm putting you through all of this. I'm a mess when it comes to my past." He explained, we leaned back to see each other.

"I really thought that you didn't want to be near me" I looked down feeling upset by what I just said.

"Y/n, I was avoiding you because I was trying to avoid the feelings that were growing so strong. I didn't know what to do with them." He raised my head up to look into my eyes.

"I didn't realise how much I hurt you in the process and I'm sorry for that" He flickered between both of my eyes making sure I was taking in what he was saying.

I nodded not knowing what to say next.

"You've healed me in so many ways. The happiness you've given me, makes me scared to lose you. I know the feeling of losing someone like you and I don't think I could go through it again. But I can't live in fear anymore" He caress my cheek.

"I'm sorry for making you shed all though tears. You didn't deserve it" He smiled gently.

"Deek, I've been falling for you since the day I landed my eyes on you." I searched his warm eyes.

We gazed into each other's eyes and felt completely smitten.

He took a deep breath and brought my hand up to his lips to kiss. I could feel my cheeks heat up for a different reason this time.

"Y/n, I'm unconditionally in love with you" He smiled

We leaned in and kissed. He lips were still cold but the kiss was gentle like he wanted to heal all the pain he had caused. He brought both of his hands up to my jaw and felt the kiss deepened. I felt his mouth open a little brushing his tongue along my lip. I leaned in more wanting to be as close to him as possible. I let his tongue dance with mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, with that, he brought his hands down to my thighs and lifted me on to his lap. I straddled him as we continue to kiss. I could feel his hands rest on my waist. I played with his hair on the back of his neck. It was welcomed with a moan escaping from the back of his throat.

We broke our kiss and brought our foreheads together.

"I love you" I whispered smiling so much cheeks started to hurt

"I love you too" Deacon beamed

I could feel his strong hands on my back, making sure I stayed close to him. I felt his body warmth spreading along mine. I wanted to touch every part of him. I traced the tattoos on his neck and kissed them earning a moan from him.

For the rest of the night, we didn't move. We stayed as close as possible taking in each other. The cold made us closer as I was embraced in his arms.

Since then, the only place I feel safest and at home is in Deacon arms.

Masterlist for Other Fics

[loversdelusion]

Days Scattered

Deacon St. John x St. John!Reader

Part 1 of 3

part two-part three

The St. John Siblings.

(Y/n) and Deacon Lee St. John.

(Y/n), Deacon's younger sister by 6 years.

They were both very close growing up, Deacon would do anything for his little sister, her all the same.

Their bond was no different in the Apocalyptic wasteland of Oregon. Boozer, (Y/n) and Deacon stuck by each other's side since they left Farewell, since they said goodbye to Sarah.

"Deacon, (Y/n), you there? Lost Lake to St. John siblings, come back" Boozer's voice sounded through the walkie talkie strapped to Deacon's chest "Yeah, Boozer?" Deacon acknowledged him, his eyes keeping a close eye on his sister, who was currently harvesting some plants they could use "What's up?" Deacon's voice lowered, barely noticeable.

"A group of Rippers were seen driving by the camp, looked like they were heading in your direction, keep a look out" Deacon's dark brows furrowed together "Dammit.." Deacon muttered under his breath "Okay, yeah, we'll make our way back" his put down the device and looked around for (Y/n), who was suddenly nowhere to be seen.

"(Y/n)..?" Deacon's eyes darted around the area "(Y/n), where are you?" He turned, his worry was gradually climbing "(Y/n)?" He called, he could hear the sound of roaring motors in the distance- probably the Rippers Boozer was talking about "(Y/n)! Dammit, you were just here!" He hastily searched around the small grove "(Y/n)!" He fumbled around with the walkie talkie strapped to his chest "(Y/n)! Where are you? We need to go!" He spoke into the device, crackling noises sounded back.

"Deek? What's wrong?" He sighed in relief when he heard her voice "Jesus, (Y/n)..we gotta go, there's Rippers coming and we aren't safe here, where did you go?" Static again before her voice replied "I found a stream, and there's fish in it" he nodded like she could see him "Okay, ju- just wait there, I'm coming to you" he strapped the small device back to his chest and immediately set into a light jog.

"(Y/n)?" He called out in a normal voice, scanning the bank of the stream "Over here" her voice came from behind a small bush, practically hiding her figure "I caught a few, we can turn them into the kitchen" Deacon eyed four fish beside her "Okay, but we have to go, here let me" he knelt down beside her, pulling a roll of string out of his bag and quickly stringing the fish together. "'Kay, c'mon" he tied the fish to his belt and grabbed her wrist, pulling her along with him "If we make it in time, we can leave before they get here" he said through panted breaths.

Yet, as always, the St. John's luck was never on their side, Deacon came to a halt, pulling them down into a crouch "Fuck..!" He said through gritted teeth, (Y/n) sighed "We can take them, there's only 3" (Y/n) said, a hopeful lilt in her tone, Deacon's gaze hardened as 5 more Rippers pulled up "Of fucking course.." (Y/n) muttered under her breath.

"The Lost are here!" The pair listened in as one of the Ripper's exclaimed "Find them" The group of Ripper's spread out, slowly stalking towards them "Go, go back to the stream, hurry!" Deacon said through hushed whispers "I'm right behind you" he nudged her back in the direction of the stream, the younger St. John did as she was told, scrambling up in a low crouch, Deacon following after her.

"How are we going to get back to the bikes?" (Y/n) asked after they made it an okay ways away to stop for a few minutes "You go around, I'll distract them" Deacon and (Y/n) shared a worried glance. "No, that's crazy even for you" she said, taking his larger hand in hers "We go together, Deek" her tone was firm "Together or I'm staying right here" Deacon sighed heavily "Don't do this now, just go, I'll be fine" her brows furrowed in frustration "Fine" she said, pulling away from him and walking away "Be careful".

Deacon turned away from her fleeting form, seeing 6 of the Ripper's coming into view, armed with Machine Guns and Rifles "Okay, time to get low, motherfuckers" Deacon never did notice the absence of the other 2 Ripper's.

(Y/n) carefully treaded along the grassy area, keeping a steady watch on her surroundings "(Y/n)?" The sound of her brothers came through the walkie talkie, startling her for a brief second "Yeah?" She replied "Make your way back to Lost Lake, I'll meet you there" she rolled her eyes, shaking her head "I'll wait for you" (Y/n) neared the road, glancing in both directions to make sure no one was on it.

Seeing that no one was near, she walked back in the direction of the bikes, walking in the tree line to stay hidden in case someone did drive by. Her eyes caught sight of numerous bikes parked on the road, her pave quickened as she could see her and brothers bikes still there, looking to be in the same condition they left them in.

She let out a breath of relief as she stood by her bike, she quickly checked it over, making sure nothing was missing "Deek?" She pulled the walkie talkie closer to her mouth "I'm here, you at the bikes?" He replied, she smiled "Yeah, are they all gone?" Deek took a second to reply "Yep, all dead and accounted for" (Y/n) could hear the exhaustion in his voice "Heading back now" She put the device back in its place, doing Deacon the favor of also checking over his bike.

She was crouched down, eyeing the engine and all that, the scuff of boots meeting gravel caught her attention, she didn't turn to look "That was fast" she jested, coming to a full stand once she deemed her brothers bike good. "Expecting your brother..Mongrel Princess?" She gasped, turning to meet 2 Ripper's, their bloodied and cut up bodies in full view, she quickly reached for her walkie talkie but the Ripper that didn't speak to her lunged for her, knocking the device out of her hand.

"No!" She yelled, thrashing against the Ripper's hold, their drug fueled strength proved to be 10x stronger than her, she grunted as she continued to fight against them "Carlos will be most pleased to see that we have caught the little Princess" the Ripper was in her face, she could smell his breath wafting into her nose, she cringed.

"Let go of me, you fucks!" She cried, kicking at the Ripper that wasn't holding her, trying to push him away, her boot-clad foot ended up connecting with the Ripper's groin, he doubled over in pain, she smirked at the satisfaction "Did that hurt, motherfucker? I hope it did!" She growled, the Ripper stood "Little bitch!" was the last thing she heard as the Ripper slapped her so hard, she blacked out.

Deacon finished looting all of the bodies, hoping to find some rags so he could fix up some bandages for a couple hits he took, he walked towards the direction of the bikes, wrapping the bandage around a bullet gash on his arm "-you fucks!" He halted in his tracks, picking up the sound of yelling "(Y/n)" he said, taking on a full sprint, the sight of 2 Ripper's lugging his unconscious sister onto the back of their bikes entered his vision.

"(Y/n)!" He shouted, adrenaline fueling him "No, (Y/n)!" The 2 Ripper's turned to him, having fully got his sister on one of their bikes "Let her go, you bastards!" The Ripper's started their bikes, the rev of the engines haunting Deacon "No, no!" He sprinted even faster if at all possible, they were pulling away from the grove, Deacon ran at the bike that had (Y/n), lunging with his full body at it but they were too fast, Deacon landed face first into the pavement, he scrambled to his feet despite the pain.

He felt so hopeless as he watched them drive away, their figures getting further and further by the second, his knees crashed to the ground. Defeat, failure, hopelessness and fear clouded his mind and body, defeat because he couldn't stop them, failure because he couldn't protect (Y/n), hopelessness because he was so close to saving her, if he was any faster, she would be in his arms right now, and finally..fear, fear because of what they do to hostages.

He sat against his bike, back against the engine "St. John to Lost Lake, do you copy? Deacon St. John to Lost Lake, come back" static filled his ears as he waited for a reply "Deek?" The familiar voice of Rikki reached his ears "Is everything alright?" Deacon's head lulled back, hitting the tank of the bike "No, Rikki.." He muttered, gaze set on the direction of where the Ripper's went.

"What is it? Is (Y/n) okay?" A lump formed in his throat, scared his voice would crack and waver if he answered, he waited a few seconds, taking a deep breath before he spoke again "No, goddammit" his reply was quick "What happened? Is she hurt?" Rikki's voice was taking on a worried tone "She will be, we were attacked by Ripper's, I- I thought that I- I thought that I killed them all but I guess not.." Deacon held his head in the hand that wasn't holding the walkie talkie.

"They took her..the last 2 Ripper's that I didn't kill, they took her" it was quiet for what felt like forever until Rikki spoke again "Okay, come back to camp and we'll figure out what to do from there, plus Mike wants to see you, it's urgent" Deacon's hand slapped the ground "Dammit, Rikki! Iron Mike is the least of my problems right now!" His temper flared even higher.

"Skizzo sold you, Boozer and (Y/n) out to Carlos.." Her voice was quiet as she spoke the one sentence that Deacon needed to be pushed over the edge "That's why Carlos has been sending groups of Ripper's to harass the supply runs, it's also why Carlos sent a group of Ripper's to capture both of you, come back to camp, Deek".

Deacon stomped up the steps of the lodge, roughly pushing the door open "It was for the good of the camp!" Deacon's anger flared upon hearing Skizzo's voice "Christ, Skizzo! If we start turning on each other, then we're no better than the Freaks, Rippers or anyone for that matter!" Iron Mike gaze flitted to Deacon, who standing behind Skizzo "Your treaties not gonna hold with the way you're running things!" Skizzo still hadn't noticed the other presence that entered the room. "You're going to get our people killed, it's three bikers for a whole camp!" Skizzo argued, Mike shook his head "That is not how we do things and you of all people should know that!" He yelled, pointing a finger in Skizzo's face "It doesn't matter who you were or what you've done in the past, if we don't stick together, we'll be gone in a damn week!".

Skizzo rolled his eyes "Whatever, Mike, don't come groveling at my feet when Carlos attacks the camp to get them" he waved him off, turning around and immediately running into Deacon, Skizzo's eyes went wide as he took a step back, he didn't really get that far as Deacon threw a punch that knocked Skizzo on his ass, a cut marked his cheekbone "Deacon?!" Skizzo said, bewildered "Yeah, it's me, what, did you expect the Ripper's to have me?".

Deacon knelt to eye level with him, he shook his head "You know what they do have?" His voice had a dangerous edge to it "(Y/n)" Deacon pulled his boot knife out and stabbed the knife into the wooden floor right next to Skizzo's leg, Skizzo visibly jumped "You got my sister captured, because what? You trying to be a hero? Huh?" Deacon was basically growling at this point.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 4th Sunday of Easter

Acts 4:8-12; Ps 118; 1 Jn 3:1-2; John 10:11-18

Social media influencers and so-called celebrities increase in value and marketing power based on the number of followers they have online. By doing ever more eye-catching things, going on holidays to exotic locations, and taking selfies in spectacular locations, they can increase their following. But why do people follow them? In what way do they follow them? What does it mean to follow someone on Twitter or Instagram? 

At the heart of being a follower is relatability. Perhaps we share a common interest, such as cooking or travel or fitness. These are things we enjoy and are interested in, and the influencer seems to do these things superlatively well. As such, their social media posts are also inspiring and attractive and they give us something to aspire to. And finally, the influencer is authentic - they don’t just share their highs but also their lows and their difficulties, and so we feel drawn into their confidence, as a friend. Here, we think, is someone we can relate to. As a result, we trust them, their views, and their choices - we want to buy what they buy, and eat where they eat, and go where they go. This, then, is what it means to be a follower. 

But what about us, sitting here in church today. We are all followers, are we not, of Jesus Christ? But why do we follow him? How are we called to follow him? What does it mean to call ourselves followers of Jesus? 

From ancient times in the Middle East, the first influencers, namely a king or a military leader, were likened to a shepherd. For the role of the shepherd was to influence the flock and to ensure that the sheep followed him, because he alone could lead them to safe pasture, and protect them from the wolves. The shepherd, therefore, was meant to ensure that his sheep would live and, indeed, have a good life! And this goal, it came to be understood, was to be shared by good kings and authentic leaders. To this day we elect leaders who we expect will help improve our lives and, indeed, people follow social media influencers because they hope for some share in the good life they display online. 

Jesus, when calling us to follow his lead, also uses the language and imagery of the shepherd, those first influencers of antiquity. But, I dare say, he also uses some of the methods of the influencers of our time. For Jesus says: “‘I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for my sheep.” So, at the heart of this statement is relatability, or, more precisely, relationship or indeed, communion. For Jesus calls us into an intimate relationship with him, one that is as close as his own relationship with God the Father: “I know my own and my own know me…” So, too, the social media influencer is someone we seem to know, and whose life we relate to. 

But Jesus offers us something infinitely better and closer and more fundamental because he says that he knows us just as the Father knows the Son. This means that he, God, knows us with an everlasting love, knows us throughly and intimately, and he knows all our wounds, our sorrows, our fears, and our needs as well as all our joys and triumphs and accomplishments. Christ our God and our good shepherd knows us because we are his own since by his Incarnation our humanity has been forever united to Christ’s divinity in his own flesh. Indeed, he gives us his own flesh in the Eucharist so that we are his, and he is ours. This is how closely, how lovingly, how truly Christ relates to us, and we to him; “I know my own and my own know me.” 

And then the social media influencer must offer something inspiring, attractive, beautiful. Hence Christ calls himself the beautiful, the attractive Shepherd. For if we look at the Greek text of St John’s Gospel, a better translation than good shepherd would be the attractive shepherd. Thus, he says later in this Gospel that he “will draw everyone to himself” (Jn 12:32), for we are attracted to and desire the beautiful. We naturally want to follow beauty. So what does Christ offer so that we might follow him? Himself. For Christ is the visible form of eternal Beauty itself, and he draws us in to himself, leading us along pathways of beauty to God his Father who is All-Beautiful. Thus the Son calls us to follow him, for he will shepherd us to the eternal pastures of heaven, which is resplendent with the beauty and glory of God. Christ offers us the beauty of his love, giving his all for us. 

And thirdly the social media influencer has to be authentic by sharing his life, his difficulties and struggles with his followers. Christ says, therefore, that he “lays down his life for his sheep”, and so he speaks of his suffering and death. But he doesn’t say this in order to gain more followers. Indeed, in his Passion and Crucifixion most of Jesus’s followers left his side; they unfollowed him! Rather, by laying down his life for all of humanity, it is we who stand to gain everything. Hence Christ died for all of us whom he regards as his friends, even when his disciples abandoned him, even for those who rejected and killed him, even for those in our time who do not want to know him. Yet, as Jesus says, he lays down his life for all of us, his sheep, because Christ is most authentic in his love for us. For God has loved us with an everlasting love, an undying love that no waters can quench, and God shows us the depths of his love by laying down his life for us upon the Cross. 

So, in a way that mirrors the three characteristics of an influencer, but that also transcends and goes far deeper than any human influencer of any time, Jesus Christ wants to influence you and me, not because he has anything to gain, but simply he loves us and so he wants to lead us to the eternal pastures of heaven. So he wants to influence us to choose to live the good life now so that we may share in the joys of heaven with him and all the Saints. Hence Christ desires that we buy what he buys, eat where he eats, and goes where he goes. What are these? 

Christ calls us to lay up treasure in heaven, to buy into a life of virtue, for these will never fade away nor go out of date nor rust and decay. The incorruptibility of gold, therefore, which never tarnishes, is an image and symbol of the spiritual treasures of heaven and of the life of unfading virtue. Christ then calls us to eat his Body and drink his Blood, so that he shall remain in us, giving us his vitality, his strength, his grace that endures for eternal life. And finally, Christ calls us to follow him daily so that we can go with him to the ultimate destination, that is, heaven. 

All this is summed up in the architecture of this church which, by its beauty and focus, powerfully attracts us and draws us to God who is Beauty himself. Thus we have this vision of heaven around the apse and High Altar which is now happily restored to its proper splendour. From here this golden beauty that evokes the eternity of heaven calls us forward, encouraging us, attracting us, summoning us to follow and imitate the virtues of the beautiful Shepherd, Jesus Christ. For, coming forth from the High Altar here, we are fed on the Bread of Heaven, which beautifies us and sanctifies us as Christ is beautiful and holy. Therefore, during the course of the Mass, having listened to the Word of God, we shall respond by turning towards the Lord. The priest and deacon and servers will lead the way by turning to go up the High Altar: by going up to the High Altar to offer the Mass, I shall be standing there with you, on the same side as you, for I am one with you as a Christian. And altogether, facing the Altar, we show that we are one flock following Christ our one good Shepherd. Since the very first century, from the time of the Apostles, Christians have followed this ancient Tradition of standing together at the Altar; together turned to face what was called the liturgical East, or the Apse, together looking towards a beautiful vision of heaven, as we do here in our church. For as St Augustine said: “When we rise to pray, we turn East, where heaven begins. And we do this not because God is there, as if He had moved away from the other directions on earth…, but rather to help us remember to turn our mind towards a higher order, that is, to God.” 

So, let us lift up our hearts to the Lord. Let us turn together in body and in spirit towards him. And together let us look towards a vision of heaven, for it is there that Christ our Good Shepherd leads us – together, facing him, we are all his followers!

[allthingsgoodanime]

.:.Life Turned Upside Down [Deacon St. John].:.

A year has passed since the global pandemic wiped the world's population of its humanity. The virus turned everyone infected into feral cannibalistic creatures, while the survivors grouped up into encampements to survive. Being a tracker and a hunter people found good use of your skills, but you didn't really want to work with anyone. With the world ending the humans turned out to be more treacherous than anyone could've imagined.

A few months into your solo life you met two men on motorcycles, looking for something in your territory. You easily snuck up on one of them, pressing a knife to his neck. The other one pointed his shotgun at you. Your blue eyes gleemed with determination in the twilight of the oncoming storm. After that, the three of you hit it off, travelling together, fighting off the evil that infested the world.

Deacon began growing feelings for you. Finding a purpose in life after the death of his wife. You gave him that purpose and he went to great lengths to protect you from anything dangerous. Boozer was ecstatic that his best friend was finally able to continue his life.

You were lying beside Deacon on a mattress on the floor of the towers they used as their sanctuary. His fingers were tracing unknown patterns into your back as you rested halfly on his chest. You adored the smell of his musk after a passionate night. The sun was rising slowly. "Sometimes I wish the moment would last forever." He chuckles, "you and me both. That way you would stay in my arms, safe and sound." "You're just a worrywart. You know I stay clear of trouble." "But what if-" You cut him short with your lips. You smile and sit up, stretching. "I'll always stay by your side, if only you'll want me." "I really do love you, you know that?" "And I love you."

Almost two years later you were brought to the Dechutes Milita after gaining their trust. When Garret lead you to a tent with their lead scientist and his Lieutenant, Deacon's body froze. His hold on your hand went lax and you looked up at him, then at the blonde whose back was turned to you. Connecting the dots immediately, you took a step back, tears threatening to fall. Garret introduced you both. "Liuetenant Whitaker, these are Deacon St. John and (y/n) (l/n)." Her eyes were wide in disbelief just like Deacon's. But yours narrowed in grief as you fought off your emotions. You excused yourself before the soldiers left, Deacon trying to stop you.

Tears came unwillingly and there was no way to stop them. Deacon was happy, you could hear it in his voice, happiest he's been in a long time. Unable to whitstand the pain anymore, you quietly sauntered off onto the roof of a nearby tower. There was no one there, but it was set up as a lookout.

The officer on patrol that night didn't have the heart to shoo you away. He recognised the look of despair in your eyes. The look you get when you lose an important person. The silence gave you time to think things through, you realised you weren't ready to give Deacon up, but if that's what he wanted, you would.

By nightfall you said goodbye to your silent partner and wandered the dirt roads a bit. Deacon came running up to you, grabbing you by the shoulders. "(Y/n), where you've been?! I've been looking for you for hours now, I..." He stopped in his panic when he saw the bloodshot eyes and tear-stained face. You stepped away from him, afraid that if he hugged you it would be the last time. "(Y/n), I'm... Shit, this is fucked up." He ran his hand over his hat, then through his hair, pacing back and forth. You stood there, helplessly. "I'm... I don't want to let you go, Deek... I love you so much." His dark eyes wavered dangerously close to tears as he watched you fade away in front of him.

"But I will... If you want to stay with... Here..." "(Y/n), don't... Don't do this to me." "Everything we told each other, all those nights - they're all a farse now. You needed someone to get over your dead wife and I was lonely. Except now, your wife isn't dead! And I'm... I'm..." You hugged yourself as sobs wrecked your whole body. Your legs could hardly keep you up as exhaustion settled in. Deacon caught you before you fell and hurt yourself. "I'm so sorry, baby." "I can't... I can't go out there again... Alone, lonely." "You don't have to. We'll go together." "No..."

He caught your lips in a passionate grip, not wanting to let go even as you struggled against him. So you gave in, holding the back of his neck, never wanting to let the moment go. Deacon cupped your cheeks and smiled, his forehead resting against yours. "There will always be a place in my heart for Sarah, always... But it was you who saved me. You brought me back. And I love you." "You don't mean that..." "Have I ever lied to you?" You shake your head as an answer to his question, sobbing. He chuckles and kisses you again.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Deacon St. John || Ambush

A/n: By the way, I do have a Wattpad where you’ll find these stories, too. I literally just copy these from my drafts and post them here. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You and Deacon have been happily married for five years. Even when all hell broke loose, your love for one another remained intact. One day while on a supply run, the two of you are ambushed by a group of marauders. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"So, what's the plan?" (Y/n) questioned, waiting patiently on Deacon's bike as he filled the tank with gas. 

"Get in, get out. It's just a normal supply run, (Y/n)," he said, placing the jerrycan down beside the barrels of gasoline.

"Remember what Tucker said the last time we visited the Hot Springs? Y'know, about all the marauder activity recently in Belknap and how all their supply routes were ambushed?"

Deacon took one of his wife's hands in his, entwining their fingers together. "You worry too much."

"You," she used her other hand to poke him on the cheek. "Don't worry enough. Someone's gotta make up for all your carelessness. And who would be a better candidate than the woman you married, huh? Even Boozer is as careless as you sometimes! I can't believe you both are still alive with all the crazy shit you've done in the past two years."

A smirk crept across Deacon's face as he released her hand and mounted the bike. "Pretty sure you're the reason why we're still alive. All that nagging keeps our asses in check."

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his waist with a scoff. "Why does that sound like and insult and compliment combined?"

"'Cause it is." Deacon revved the engine of his motorcycle, his smile widening. "Better hold on tighter. We're not stopping until we reach Belknap."

"I just hope this place you have in mind hasn't been raided yet," (Y/n) said, tightening her grip on the front of his shirt.

"I hope so, too." Deacon took off down the dirt trail of O'Leary Mountain, leaving the safehouse and Boozer behind.

The beautiful scenery of the mountain was plagued with the occasional dead corpse on the side of the trail and the groans of Freaks echoing through the trees.

Through the dark tunnel connecting Cascade to Belknap, a few Swarmers had chased them as Deacon carefully weaved the motorcycle between the vehicles.

Safely through the tunnel, they passed a NERO checkpoint as they made their way to Marion Forks. (Y/n) looked around and spotted a small glint. Before she could question what it was, they both were knocked off the bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt, creating sparks.

"Get 'em!" A man shouted. Several men and women emerged from the shrubbery aligned on the side of the highway with melee weapons raised in the air.

(Y/n) struggled as she tried to get to her feet and defend herself from the approaching marauders. A little ways down the road, she saw a truck heading straight for them. "Deacon," she called out weakly to her husband.

At the sound of her feeble voice, Deacon managed to get to his feet just as four marauders surrounded him. He whipped out his pistol, killing three of them in a flash. He turned to take out the last man, but a rush of pain in his gut knocked the air out of his lungs. Hunched over in pain and desperately gasping for air, he watched as the rustic truck pulled to a stop in between him and (Y/n).

Four more marauders jumped out of the rickety vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed the knife concealed in her boot and swung it, but one man grabbed her arm and knocked the blade out of her hand. She tried to punch him, but another adversary grabbed her other arm. She struggled against them as they dragged her to the truck while cackling at the top of their lungs. "Let go of me, you bastards!" Swinging her legs, (Y/n) desperately tried to kick them.

"Knock 'er out, Ben!" One of the men restraining her demanded.

A younger man walked over with a wooden bat in his grasp. He didn't hesitate to swing the weapon and knock (Y/n) unconscious. The two men hauled her body into the backseat of the truck with a victorious chant. The remaining marauders hopped into the vehicle, but one had managed to strike Deacon in the spine with a metal pipe before hopping into the bed.

The drifter's entire body ached and he could barely move from the abuse. He managed to lift his head from the ground as the man behind the wheel lowered the window and grinned down at him menacingly. "This is what you fucking get for killing my friends, drifter. You want your girl back? Just try. You'll be dead before you can set foot in our camp. Sayonara, ya bastard!"

Deacon helplessly watched the truck disappear in the same direction it came from. With slightly shaky limbs, he pushed himself off the ground and to his bike. The engine was smoking, but he had just enough scrap to repair it. "You sons of bitches just wait. I'll kill every last one of you," he growled under his breath as he hauled his aching body onto the motorcycle.

Not wasting a single minute, Deacon pursued the marauders. Once leaving Marion Forks, he easily spotted the fresh tire tracks in the dirt and followed as fast as his bike could go. Unfortunately, his pursuit was halted when he spotted a horde making its way down the road. Confused as to why the large group of Swarmers were out during the day, he turned his bike around and searched for a place to hide. He was ill-equipped to take down a horde and had no other choice but to wait until they passed by.

Deacon found some foliage to hide in and parked his bike on the side of the road. He hid in the shrubbery and watched as the horde slowly made its way past him.

It felt like an entire hour crawled by before every last Swarmer passed him and headed further down the road. With an annoyed sigh, Deacon returned to his bike and searched for the tire tracks. However, all traces of the vehicle had been cleansed from the ground by the footprints of the horde. Desperate to save his wife, he searched for anything that could help him track the marauders who took her. Morosely, there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dammit!"

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a few hours since (Y/n) was captured by marauders. She recognized the area as Bear Creek Hot Springs, which wasn't very far from Marion Forks, but it was hidden along the base of the northern mountain range. They had tossed her in a small, makeshift prison beside a house. She had regained consciousness a few minutes ago with a splitting headache and a thick, dried streak of blood down the side of her face where the bat made contact with her skull. Now, she was pacing around in circles like a caged tiger.

None of the marauders had come to check on (Y/n), which made her happy to some extent. By what she could hear from a few women chatting just a few feet from the prison, Deacon was the intended target. Their laughter filled the air before their voices grew distant.

Suddenly, the door to the prison was unlocked and a smirking man stood on the other side as it swung open. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes raked across her body and a disgusted look appeared on (Y/n)'s face. She backed away from him, glaring sharply. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just sizing up the goods," he chuckled darkly. When his eyes spotted the diamond ring on her left hand, he guffawed in amusement. "You're married to that bastard? Ha! You're married to a murderer, you know that, sweetheart?"

"First of all," (Y/n) snarled. "Don't you fucking dare call me "sweetheart". And second, he's not a murderer. Last I checked, the only murderers here are you morons. Guess idiots of a feather really do flock together."

"You're the moron for not knowing the definition of murder," he scoffed. "Let me tell you about all the shit that fucking drifter has done."

(Y/n) patted the back of her head as she listened to the marauder insult Deacon. She discovered a hairpin in her (h/c) hair and gripped it between her fingers tightly. She waited for the perfect moment, pretending to listen to the man as he ranted. The second he stepped towards her with his hands resting by his sides, she lunges forward and plunges the hairpin into his eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream before losing his balance and falling to the ground, curling up into a ball. "Look at the bright side—you can start wearing an eyepatch. Heard they kinda look badass."

(Y/n) stepped over the marauder's body and exited the prison. Fortunately for her, there were no men or women around to hear his painful wails. She snuck around the camp, searching for a way to escape. The dirt muffled her footsteps as she stealthily made her way out of the camp. Knowing exactly where she was, the woman headed back to Marion Forks in hopes to find some shelter from the approaching darkness of the night and a safe place away from Freakers. She even prayed she would reunite with Deacon, but she had no idea her husband was heading in the opposite direction.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"C'mon, Tuck. Someone must've seen something!" Deacon stalked after the old woman.

"Listen, Deek. I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, but no one knows where these assholes are camping out," Ada replied with a sigh. "You should know by now that people who are captured by marauders never return."

"If you think I'm gonna give up on (Y/n), you're fucking mistaken. She's my wife and I would do everything in my power to protect her. Someone in this damn camp must know something." Deacon left before Ada could respond and asked around the Hot Springs.

After stalking around the camp and asking around, Deacon stumbled upon Alkai. He placed his hands on the counter of the man's stall and leaned forward. "Problems aside, I know you've been on plenty of supply runs. And I know—"

Alkai interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "A few drifters arrived a couple days ago and reported spotting an ambush camp at Bear Creek Hot Springs. They said they were going to try and wipe them out, but they have yet to return."

"'Bout damn time someone told me something," Deacon sneered.

"You've got enough ammo to take down an entire camp of marauders?"

"Always do."

Deacon departed from the Hot Springs and headed north to Bear Creek as the moon rose into the sky, taking the place of the sun. It was dangerous at night, but the darkness would provide more cover for him to move through the ambush camp without being spotted.

Arriving at the camp, the drifter was shocked to find it was empty all except for two men. He crept closer to them, listening closely.

"Goddammit, Ben!" The man on the ground shouted as he covered his left eye.

"How the hell am I supposed to get it out?!" Ben yelled back. "Your eye is fucked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," the unnamed man grumbled.

Seeing as either man wasn't armed, Deacon grabbed his handgun and emerged from his hiding spot. He shoved the muzzle of the pistol into the back of Ben's head. "So you're Ben, huh? Heard your buddies shouting your name during the ambush."

Slowly, Ben stood up and stepped aside with his hands in the air. "H-Hey, listen, man. None of that shit was my idea! It was this asshole's plan!"

"I don't give a shit who's plan it was." Deacon pulled the trigger, a single bullet whizzing through the man's skull. "All I care about is killing you bunch of murderers and finding (Y/n)."

Stepping over the corpse, Deacon kneeled beside the man crumpled up on the ground. The object protruding from his eyes caused the drifter to smirk in amusement. "Pretty sure those don't go in your eye."

"Fuck off, drifter. That damn bitch of yours did this to me," he hissed.

"Never thought I would ever see someone use a hairpin as a weapon," Deacon guffawed. "(Y/n)'s just that resourceful."

The marauder on the ground grinned. "That fucking broad is gonna get what's coming to her. The entire camp went after her once they found out what she did."

Deacon's smirk morphed into a fierce glare. He grabbed the tip of the hairpin and tugged harshly, the marauder shrieking loudly form the rush of unbearable pain. "You gonna tell me where they went or am I gonna have to tear this hairpin out of your damn eye first?"

"M-Marion Forks!" The man wailed, his voice raspy from all the yelling.

The drifter released the hairpin and stood up. The man on the ground lifted his body slightly with a painful and confused expression. "You're not gonna shoot me?"

"No." Deacon holstered his firearm, stepping closer to the assailant. "I'm gonna slam that hairpin further into your skull." He stomped his foot directly on the hairpin, pushing it further into the marauder's eye. His shrill cries echoed throughout the camp, but he suddenly fell silent. The drifter didn't bother to check to see if the man was still alive, but he would succumb to his injury soon and perish.

When Deacon arrived in Marion Forks, he spotted the familiar white truck parked by the church. The center of town was crawling with marauders as they searched the buildings. He armed himself with his boot knife and crept around the town, taking down any marauders he could while searching for (Y/n).

"Come on out! We know you're here!" One woman yelled as she searched the gas station alongside a couple of her companions. Deacon circled around around the gas station, avoiding their line of sight and making his way across the street to Hungry Jim's. He jumped through a broken window and landed on the shards of glass. The small noise caused him to freeze and he heard something skittering behind the counter. Gripping his knife tightly, he snuck further into the restaurant, keeping his head low.

Rounding the counter, he spotted droplets of blood leading to the kitchen. Deacon followed the trail out the rear entrance of the restaurant and to a car located in the parking lot. Peering through the foggy window and into the backseat, he saw a figure laying down. Opening the door, he realized it was (Y/n). His heart raced as the sudden click of the door opening startled her and she bolted out the other door thinking he was a marauder. She fell out of the car and on the asphalt, small pebbles digging into her palms.

Deacon swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle to stop her from running. "Hey, hey, it's me." He squatted down in front of her, obscuring the only escape route she had. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and whispered gently to calm her down. "It's me, sweetheart."

(Y/n) inhaled a shaky breath as she registered Deacon's voice. "Oh, god, Deacon." The moment he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I thought you were one of them."

"You... stabbed a guy in the eye with a hairpin?" He questioned as he held her body flush against his his.

"Uh, yeah." (Y/n) pulled away slightly to meet Deacon's gaze. "A little gruesome, but it gave me the chance I needed to escape."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled the couple. Deacon was the first to act and dragged (Y/n) down to the ground to hide from the marauder. He held her in his arms, taking cover behind the car. They listened to the marauder approach the vehicle, but their footsteps suddenly stopped on the other side. "There's no one fucking here!" The marauder suddenly shouted.

"Keep lookin'! There's no way in hell she could've made it far," a woman yelled back.

The second the man turned and headed back towards the rear entrance of Hungry Jim's, (Y/n) wiggles out of Deacon's arms and pilfers the knife from his boot. She crept after the man and followed him into the kitchen where she rammed the blade into the enemy's back, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You bitch!"

(Y/n) leaned down and yanked the blade from his back with a smirk. "It's a shame I don't have another hairpin. Enjoy bleeding out."

The man screamed as loud as he could, luring all the marauders to the restaurant. The (h/c)-haired woman rushed back to where she left her husband. Deacon was still crouched behind the car, watching the marauders storm into Hungry Jim's. "Let's get the hell outta here," he mumbled to her.

"Lead the way."

<———————————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"You both look like shit," Boozer commented when they arrived back at the safehouse the next morning.

"Nice to see you, too, buddy," (Y/n) snorts with laughter.

"What happened out there? I thought you'd be back before nightfall."

"One word—marauders," Deacon replied. "Bastards ambushed us on the highway. Remind me to return later on this week to kill the rest of 'em."

"Do we have anything for a headache?" The woman inquired, placing a hand against her pulsating head.

"There's some in the watchtower," Boozer responds before turning towards his bike. "I'm heading out to trade with Cope. Maybe we can get our hands on some more fish."

"Alright, Boozeman. Be careful," Deacon said. He looked over his shoulder to ask (Y/n) a question, but he saw she was making her way up the watchtower and followed. At the top, he watched her scrounge around for the medicine.

A dizzy spell caused (Y/n) to lose her footing, but she managed to catch herself before she fell. "Ugh, dammit..." Lowering her hand from her forehead, the blood on her fingertips caused her to grimace. "Why did it have to be a baseball bat?"

Deacon quickly rushed to her aid and caught her before she fell to the floor. He supported her body and guided her towards the small bed they shared. "You need to sit down and relax." He placed her on the bed gently before bending down to examine the wound on her head. Blood trickled down the side of her face, adding to the blood that had dried hours ago. He searched for a clean rag, medicine, and water.

Dabbing the cut along her hairline, he gripped the bottle of pills tightly. The plastic bent in his grasp, the top threatening to pop off from the pressure. "What else did they do?"

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the question she thought he would've asked her hours ago. "And here comes the worrywart." She placed a hand against his cheek once he was done cleaning the wound. Her smirk transformed into a gentle smile. "Besides a bat to the head, nothing." She dropped her hand and patted the space next to her. 

Deacon sat beside (Y/n) on the bed and handed over the medicine. "You're out of commission until I say you aren't."

She swallowed the pill with a raised brow. Once the medicine slid down her throat, she spoke. "We've been married for five years, Deek. Haven't you learned anything?"

"Even if you beg me with those damn puppy dog eyes, I'm not changing my mind," he declared.

"I've more control over you than you know. I can change your mind. It's like flipping a coin—easy and simple," (Y/n) grinned.

A smug grin etched across the man's face. "Whatever you say." When Deacon saw she was about to stand up, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She gasped in surprise when the world around her spun and when her vision steadied, she was laying beside him. "For now, we're gonna get some rest."

The bed was small, but it provided enough room for them both. (Y/n) rested her head on Deacon's chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. "Didn't realize how tired I was until now."

Deacon combed his fingers through her soft, (h/c) locks. He continued his ministrations, glancing down at her face and watching her blink tiredly. "We're taking the entire day off."

"Agreed," (Y/n) smiled, closing her eyes and welcoming slumber with open arms.

[diaxfeliz]

ADRIAN helps and eventually meets DEACON in person, but he only knows her as a double-crosser.

Adrian Price - me

-

-

“Hey.” crackled Deacon's radio.

Someone he didn't know was on the same channel as him, but he didn't respond to it. He had better things to worry about like the fact a chopper landed in his exact area. There was yelling outside of muffled voices — muffled voices in masks. It was NERO.

“Look, I don't care if you respond or not,” the unfamiliar voice from his radio said. “but I want to help you get out of there.”

Help him get out? Who was she exactly? Deacon carefully peeked out of the small cave he was in and looked around. He could definitely see the chopper from where he was, but not exactly the person he was talking to.

“Where are you?”

“I'm at a sniping range,” the person responded. “but don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you. See my friends outside? The NERO soldiers, do you see them?”

Deacon looked out again. He saw a bright highlighter yellow near the chopper. There were a couple of them wearing that neon HAZMAT suit while one was wearing a white one. He could make out the NERO acronym on their backs.

“You're with them?” Deacon asked, eyeing their guns.

The person ignored her. “Those soldiers, I can't tell them what to do so they will shoot you on sight if they see you, so I'll need you to listen to me, okay? On my signal, I need to make a break for it to your... right behind those rocks.”

To Deacon' right, there were small boulders embedded into the ground. It was just about enough cover for him, but he was still wary of the mystery NERO person. “How can I trust a NERO agent like you?” Deacon spat.

“It's either them or the Freaks closing in. I know what I'm doing, trust me. On my cue.” The person shifted their sniping position based on the ruffling of their clothes. “And...” A silenced gunshot came from their end. “now.”

Deacon, as quiet as possible, dashed out of the cave and jumped behind the boulders that gave him cover from the NERO soldiers' sights. He was lucky to have taken cover in time. A soldier, one in the neon suits, stepped out from the trees.

“Nice one.” chuckled the sniper.

Deacon attentively watched the soldier as he scanned the area. He must've heard the gunshot too. The soldier pulled out his radio. “Specialist, was that you?”

Specialist?

“T'was me, corporal.” The mystery person responded and chambered their rifle again, the bullet casing popping out of the magazine. “A couple Freakers are closing in on the LZ. They were attracted by the helo, so if all of you, down there, could do yourselves a favor, it's to hurry it up.”

The soldier scoffed. “Cool it, specialist, the lieutenant needs to take his time.”

“Fuck the lieutenant.”

Another shot was fired from the sniper's end, and not too far from Deacon was another Freaker dropping. Convinced, the soldier eventually left Deacon's hiding area which gave him space to breathe. It was pretty risky for him to be doing this; listening to a NERO agent to get away from NERO soldiers.

“You still there? I can't see you from my scope.”

Deacon snapped out of her thoughts and lifted her radio. “I'm still here.”

“Okay, good.” They chambered their gun again. “There's a road to your right. It looks like a straight shot from the LZ. You could make a run for it.”

“I could, but then your ‘friends' would start shooting!” Deacon looked over to rocks again to check out the soldiers' guns. “Do you see their semi-automatics?!”

“It's shit, I know right?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know.” the person chuckled. “I'll cause a distraction. On my cue.”

Suddenly, the sound of something exploding erupted northeast of the LZ. Undoubtedly, it caught everyone's attention, both the NERO agents and nearby Freakers. The soldiers all began yelling something about protecting the lieutenant. It was chaos in the LZ.

“That's your cue. Adieu.”

Without another word, Deacon made a break for it to the road. As he ran, she kept crunching leaves and branches, but since Adrian had caused that extremely loud distraction, it masked the crunching of leaves and branches. Deacon didn't stop running until he made it out and was out of breath. The adrenaline made his heart pound against his chest and head spin.

He looked back into the forest where the NERO LZ was and thought back to that one agent who's name he didn't catch.

“Specialist Price! What was that?!” yelled the same corporal through his radio the sniper spoke to earlier.

“I have no fucking idea! My sights are kinda limited by all these trees, corporal. You go check it out yourself. I'll do my best cover you.”

Price. That was her name. She worked with NERO, yet she helped Deacon out of there, causing a big of a ruckus even just so he could escape. What kind of double-crossing agent was she?

“Adrian, this is Addy. She's Lost Lake's doctor.” Deacon heard Rikki inside when he entered the infirmary.

“Adrian Price.” an almost familiar voice said.

Price... didn't she hear that name from a couple days ago?

Deacon stopped to the corner right before the room where the three of them were. He listened in because she had a feeling this ‘Adrian Price' person was the same sniper who helped him out of that NERO LZ.

“Addy, if you're aware, Adrian's the one Iron Mike's been talking about for a while.”

“The one from Copeland's camp?”

The sniper — Adrian audibly sighed. “Yes, the one from Copeland's camp.”

“Adrian here's gonna be helping me out in my runs while she's here. She knows a lot about the different areas according to Mike.”

“Thank you, Adrian. I hope you'll find Lost Lake to be worthwhile.”

Deacon finally revealed herself to get a look at the sniper. His entrance to the room made Rikki, Addy, and Adrian turn to her. When he and Adrian made eye contact, Adrian immediately recognized him, and it wasn't a good kind of ‘recognized'.

“She's with NERO.” Deacon bluntly told them.

“NE — who?” Adrian played dumb, tipping her head to the side.

“She was the sniper I told you about, the one who helped me out of the LZ a couple weeks ago!”

“Deek,” Rikki stepped in between them before Deacon could lay a hand on her. “she isn't with NERO.” Rikki tried reasoning with him, unaware of what Deacon knew. “Adrian here has been working with another camp and now she's here to help out in Lost Lake, alright?”

Both Rikki and Addy thought that an argument — a fight was gonna ensue, but Adrian stepped out from behind Rikki and casually approached Deacon. Deacon kept his guard up just in case, but Adrian just held out her hand.

“Adrian Price.” the sniper introduced herself finally. “You're Deacon?”

He was surprised. “Yeah... Deacon St. John...”

Deacon eased himself and cautiously took Adrian's hand. The sniper smiled. Not sure if it was fake or genuine, but she smiled. Deacon didn't smile back. He just hoped she was really a double-crossing agent; he wouldn't know what to do if she wasn't betraying NERO, knowing it would be too late by then.

[pamphletstoinspire]

One, Holy, Catholic, and Neuter

The Church today suffers from a deficiency in her identity, lacking awareness of both her Marian and Petrine dimensions. I borrow these concepts from Hans Urs von Balthasar to explore the feminine and masculine aspects of the Church. In some ways we have become a neuter Church, lacking both Mary’s feminine receptivity toward Christ and Peter’s masculine boldness toward the world. (This is not to say that men are incapable of accessing the feminine dimension in their soul or that women cannot exhibit a masculine boldness vis-à-vis the world).

The Marian dimension of the Church precedes the Petrine. The Petrine dimension of the Church includes ecclesiastical structures that are necessary: the pope, bishops, and priests who are ordained to govern the Church, celebrate the sacraments, and preach the Gospel. But these activities cannot be limited to externals. The Marian, feminine dimension of the Church reminds us that receptivity precedes activity. Jesus praised another Mary for sitting at his feet and listening to him, in contrast with Martha who was preoccupied with the human activity of serving the Lord.

Pope Emeritus Benedict has written about a misplaced masculinity in our approach to the Church. He has in mind our own internal relationship with the Church and not the masculine boldness we need in preaching the Gospel in a secular culture. In Mary, the Church at the Source, he writes, “In today’s intellectual climate, only the masculine principle counts. And that means doing, achieving results, actively planning and producing the world oneself … this attitude characterizes our whole approach to the Church. We treat the Church almost like some technological device that we plan and make … this is why the Church needs the Marian mystery; this is why the Church herself is a Marian mystery.”

The Marian mystery is one of humble, feminine receptivity to the grace of God and the love of Christ. It is modeled on Mary’s fiat in the Annunciation: “Let it be done to me according to your word,” followed by the Incarnation of Christ in the womb of Mary. All of us are first called to imitate this Marian fiat before receiving the grace of Peter’s boldness in proclaiming the Gospel. As the Latin legal maxim reminds us, Nemo dat quod non habet. “No one can give what he does not have.” Applying this phrase to the spiritual life, it is clear that no one can give to others what he has not first received from God. As Saint Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “What do you have that you did not receive?”

Peter himself possessed a dimension of Marian receptivity to Christ’s love. When the risen Christ appeared to Peter and several other apostles by the Sea of Tiberias, Jesus asked Peter three times, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter replied three times, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” We can assume that Jesus was looking intently at Peter and loving him. Peter received this love and reciprocated. Only then did Jesus say, “Feed my sheep.”

Later, Peter and the apostles received the Spirit at Pentecost to proclaim the Gospel with power, performing miracles and converting thousands of people. Many passages in the Acts of the Apostles are a study in parrhesia, the Greek word that is entering the English language as a technical term for boldness in preaching the Gospel. In chapter 4, we read that the Jewish leaders arrested Peter and the apostles for teaching the people and proclaiming in Jesus the Resurrection of the dead. Peter preached to the gathered assembly of the elders, scribes and the high-priestly family, who were amazed at the parrhesia of both Peter and John, noticing they were uneducated and ordinary men. The council threatened them and ordered them not to speak or teach in the name of Jesus. Once released, however, they gathered together and prayed, “Lord … grant your servants to speak your word with all parrhesia,” and they continued to fearlessly proclaim the Resurrection of Christ. In comparison with Peter and the apostles, something is definitely lacking in our boldness in sharing the Gospel with our contemporaries.

One reason for the absence of masculine boldness in the Church’s proclamation is precisely the lack of feminine receptivity to Christ’s love within the Church and in the Eucharist. (Recall that Peter first received Christ’s love by the Sea of Tiberias before he proclaimed the Gospel in Jerusalem). What happens in the sanctuary affects the strength of the Church’s witness in the world. In every Eucharist, we should be able to repeat the lovers’ dialogue from the Song of Songs, and apply it to our soul’s relationship with Christ: “My beloved belongs to me and I to him.” It is impossible to have a spiritual and emotional experience of Christ’s love in the Eucharist and to remain the same, to keep quiet. Those who fall in love always tell their friends.

In a sense, every Christian must learn to imitate Mary at the Annunciation, and Peter on Pentecost. Obviously, in the history of salvation, there is no Pentecost and no Church without the Annunciation and the Incarnation. But the same is true with every Christian. Without first accepting the gift of Christ’s love with a Marian receptivity, we will have no personal Pentecost and no Gospel to share.

How can we become more Marian? In part, through consecration to her and by praying the Rosary. Many saints such as St. Louis de Montfort, St. Maximilian Kolbe, and St. John Paul II have promoted personal consecration to Mary as a sure and certain means of sanctification. Through our consecration, and by praying the Rosary with a reverent and recollected spirit, we are asking for Our Lady’s constant intercession to give us a heart like hers to listen to the Word of God and receive the gift of Christ’s love.

How do we imitate Peter’s boldness in preaching the Gospel? Each one of us can pray for the grace of Pentecost and the Holy Spirit’s gift of boldness. The Charismatic Renewal is evidence that the same Holy Spirit that inspired Peter and the Apostles is alive, active, and powerfully present in the Church today. Those ordained to formally preach the Gospel—the pope, bishops, priests and deacons—should be on our knees begging for a spirit of boldness and courage to meet the challenge of proclaiming Christ in a secular environment that is at times indifferent or even hostile. However, the same is true for the people of God who are called to share the Gospel with their family, friends, and colleagues.

The Marian fiat and the Petrine parrhesia, the feminine and masculine, are both essential to the spiritual health and strength of the Church. Western secular culture may be hurtling further into the abyss of absurd ideologies, for instance gender theory on the sameness and interchangeability of men and women, but now is the time for the Church to be more clearly masculine and feminine rightly understood. In God’s providential plan, perhaps it is the very prevalence of gender ideology in our secular culture that can drive us deeper into our own identity, and make us more effective witnesses in the world.

I wonder if the Church may also need an element of masculine strength in imitating the men who rebuilt Jerusalem after the Exile. They built with one hand, while the other was ready to grab a sword. We need to protect the tender, vulnerable, feminine, and Marian dimension of our souls and of the Church, so that in safety and security, we can enjoy the embrace of the Beloved, without fear of being disturbed by our enemies. Subsequently, when the soul has been deeply nourished and revived by the food of love, then we have the stamina, courage and parrhesia to go out into the world to proclaim the Good News.

BY: FR. TIM MCCAULEY

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Somebody to love pt.1; Queen x reader x oc male

*Author’s note*

Alrighty party people here we go, the second to last chapter I have for you all today. Now there is something new I wanna try, for some chapters like these two and some in the future based on what I write, I will include a music playlist for you all to listen to in order to help set the mood based on whatever is going on in the chapter. So below the tag list I’ve included the music playlist.  It would be great if you all listened to the playlist but again you don’t have to, it’s just while I’ve been reading and making changes to these last two chapters, this idea’s been playing in my head. And if any of you have suggestions for music choices, don’t be shy to send me an inbox. Cause I’ll be needing some in the near future.

Taglist (open as always)

@onebigfangirlworld

@mr-badguymercury

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@naturalswifty89

dj-lowkey

@isbellan-bby

@5sos-wdw

Music Playlist: *recommended to listen to the following songs to fit the chapter*

Somebody to Love- Queen

All out of love- Air Supply

****Cant fight this feeling- REO Speedwagon

Careless Whisper- Wham

_________________________________________________

*August 21st, 1983*

It was too late.  Jack was leaving today and with the Angel-Queen tour kicking off in London tonight, there was no time for me to say goodbye to Jack one last time before he went back to America.

It was 5 minutes till showtime and 5 minutes till Jack left for America.  I was still in my dressing room when I heard a knock at my door.  I turned around and said.

“It’s open.” Peeking in was Rog.

“Hey, how you doing darling?”

“Compared to the first time that Freddie and you lot had me sing for the very first time. I’d say I’ve got some butterflies.”

“You’ll do fine as always, we’re right there with you. And this time you won’t be touring alone so I hope you can deal with sharing the spotlight.” I smiled softly but Roger seemed to notice that something was off. “You okay love?”

“Yeah, I’m great Rog.”

“No you’re not. C’mon the boys and I know you better than you think. Every time I crack a joke your smile always reaches your eyes, this one didn’t. So come on tell me what’s going on?” He sat down on my mini loveseat right by my makeup dresser where I was sitting at on the chair.

“Jack’s heading home tonight.” With that his face grew solemn and he understood where I was going.

“Do you—do you wish to say one final goodbye to him? We can hold the concert as long as you need to.”

“No, besides he’s probably already on board the plane right now. Roger can I ask you something? And can you be brutally honest like how you are when interviewers ask you about different music.”

“I’m almost afraid to answer but go ahead.”

“Was it a mistake? Seeking a friendship with Jack the way I did, knowing that I may never see him again.” He sighed deeply and he said.

“God I wish you asked this question to Brian, he’s better at stuff like this than me, but I’ve told you before and I’ll keep telling you; seeing you with Jack I’ve never seen you happier. When you first started working for Jim all those years ago when Adam was still in the picture, any mentions of him there was just this dull look in your eyes and your face never glowed, not like when you would work or when it was just the five of us. But this summer, ever since meeting Jack it’s like you’re a brand new woman. All smiles and giddy like you’re still that school girl we met. And we’re glad that he saved you from that rotter reporter and that we could trust someone to look after you when we couldn’t.”

I looked at Roger at his confession.  Even with the bad boy reputation he’s always made himself to have, I’m lucky to be one of the most fortunate people to see this caring side he has.  This loyal, protective yet pure nurturing side of him.

“And like Brian sometimes rambles on, the stars always align back in some shape or form, if you really care for Jack then maybe this won’t be the last time you two will see each other.”

“Thanks Rog, that really means a lot.”

“I’m always here for you love, no matter what.” He said as kissed my forehead before embracing me into a warm bear hug.  I felt him rub my back then he said. “Come on, Fred wants to run some vocal warmups with you before the show.” I nodded and followed him to the guys dressing room.

The concert soon began and the boys started off first by opening up the arena with “We will Rock you” followed by “We are the Champions.”  As the night went on and I was introduced on stage to sing a duet with the boys for one of my favorite songs of theirs, “Somebody to love.”

As Freddie began on the piano and I was backup vocals for the first part of the song, I began to think back on this entire summer ever since I met Jack.  In fact I was so deep in thought that I had completely missed my cue to sing.

Suddenly realizing, I did the only thing that I could do to get some space from the audience as well as the boys, I ran off stage.

From the wings I could hear the crowd crying in commotion demanding to know what the hell was happening, I was then stopped by one of my agents who said.

“(Y/n) get back up on that stage now!”

“Ian I’m sorry but I have to get to the airport and fast!”

“You are not going anywhere unless it’s back on that stage! You’ve already caused an uproar now go back up there and fix it!”

“(Y/n)!” I turned around and saw the boys running towards me and Freddie asked me.

“(Y/n) darling what happened up there? Are you alright?”

“No I—I have to get to the airport. I’m….I’m in love with Jack!” The boys looked at me before looking at each other before all four of them screamed out.

“About bloody time!!!”

“What now?” I questioned.

“Darling you really are dense sometimes. We all knew you were in love with the boy even when you kept denying it.” Explained Freddie.

“Although if you had mentioned a week earlier, I would’ve won the bet.” Deacy piped in.

“The bet? You guys made a bet on me!?!?”

“We’ll explain later darling, right now let’s get you to the airport and find Jack.”

“I can’t no it’s too late he’s probably thousands of feet in the air by now. His flight took off at the start of the concert.” I said.

“We may not know that, remember all global flights usually are delayed nine times out of ten, remember all the delays we had. If we hurry we can get you there and to Jack before it’s too late.” Said Roger.

“Great idea Rog, everyone to the car!” Freddie cried as the five of us raced out of the arena and to the garage parking lot.

We all piled in one of the limo cars and Roger took the wheel and turned the engine on before flooring it out of the garage and onto the road.

“But how do we know his flight wasn’t one of the ones to be delayed? God I wish we had phones that we could carry wirelessly so that I could get a hold of him and find out.”

“Well right now we’ll have to improvise,” Deacy then took the in-limo phone and began dialing the number of the London airlines airport. “Yes hello this is John Deacon and I would like to know the situation of a non-stop flight to Kansas City?” There was silence as John nodded and he said. “Uh-huh, flight delayed by an hour, okay,” he pulled the phone away and said to me, “You are so lucky, and for what its worth a 2 hours early notice would’ve been sufficient to.”

“I’m sorry alright, now what else do they have to say?” John put the phone back to his ear and he said.

“Okay, anyone I want to get in contact with?” I shook my head no but the boys egged me on and I refused because I wasn’t going to do a phone confession, I wanted it to be face-to-face. “No, no but do you mind telling me the gate number?” There was silence again. “Gate 21A, okay thank you very much, have a good evening too.” With that he hung up the phone.

“So do we have time?” Brian asked.

“Yes, they’re boarding now because of the delay, apparently there was a storm and the plane had to wait for bad turbulence to clear out of Kansas. We can make it.”

“Step on it Rog!” Proclaimed Freddie.

“Alright hang on back there.” With that the limo sped faster as we tried to reach the airport in time.

Finally we arrived at the airport and we raced through the gates trying to find the one that Jack was going to be one.  Once we found his gate, I saw a whole bunch of people in line blocking any hope of finding Jack.

“Do you—do any of you see him?” I asked frantically.

“I can’t see him.” Brian said.

“Jack? Jack Kline?!” I cried out.

“There he is!” Roger shouted as just going through the doors was Jack.

“Jack! Jack!”

“Whoa, whoa excuse me ma’am, do you have a boarding pass?” The gatekeeper stopped me from going through the doors.

“No, no I just need to talk to the boy who just walked through those doors.”

“I’m sorry, but you cannot go any further without a boarding pass.” He told me.

“No, no you don’t under—”

“JACK GET YOUR ARSE BACK HERE!!!” Never have I heard Deacy scream so loud before in my entire life, and I’m betting the boys hadn’t either.  Suddenly Jack came out confused but his confusion soon turned to shock as he said.

“What the….Oh my God what are—what are you guys doing here? I thought the kickoff tour was tonight?”

“Okay, tell him now.” Deacy demanded as he gently pushed me towards Jack.

“What? Tell me what? (Y/n) you’re scaring me, what is it?” I pulled Jack aside away from the gate as I said.

“Okay the thing is……”

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Don’t go.” I finally confessed.

“What?”

“Please, please stay with me, I am so in love with you Jack Kline. Please don’t go.” He looked at me in shock as he muttered.

“Oh my god.”

“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have waited till now to say it but I was stupid. Okay I was stupid and scared because of my last relationship but I can’t deny it anymore. I’m in love with you Jack Kline. And I know I’m asking you to leave everyone at home behind you but please, please stay with me. Come on tour with me.” I took his hands in mine as I finally whimpered out, “Please don’t get on this plane.” He looked at me sadly then before he could answer the gatekeeper said.

“Sir, are you boarding the plane?” Jack turned to him but I turned his head back around to face me and said as I cupped his face in my hands.

“Hey, hey. I know you’re scared. But we can make it work, just please. Please stay.” I stroked his cheeks with my thumbs as tears brimmed in my eyes.

“Sir” the gatekeeper stated firmly one last time.

“I—I….I have to get on the plane.”

“No you don’t.” I whimpered out.

“Yes I do.” He choked out.

“No you don’t.”

“I do, my family’s waiting for me (y/n). I can’t do this right now, I just can’t I’m sorry.” He broke away from me. I stepped towards him whimpering out his name and he said as he gave the gatekeeper his ticket before turning back towards me and he whispered one last time. “I’m so sorry.” With that he walked through the gates and they closed up behind him.

The gatekeeper locked the doors and walked away without looking at me going back to his job.  

I lowered my head as the boys slowly walked up to me.  I felt Deacy’s hand on my shoulder and I looked up at my boys and I whimpered out.

“I thought they always said yes when you’d do stuff like this?”

“We’re so sorry love” Brian said.  I sniffled and the first one to hug me was Deacy.

I wrapped my arms around him as I fell to my knees and sobbed.  Soon the rest of the guys joined in the group hug, each of them whispering words of comfort.

But it still didn’t fix my broken heart.

With my heart completely shattered once more and with no hope of it ever coming back together, I just asked the guys to take me back home.  After my stunt big stunt at the live kick off tour and probably the sighting of me with Jack at the airport, the news people were gonna have a field day with my ‘Heartbreak airport book scene.’

So I just had the guys drop me off at my flat so that I could just hide from the world and not want anything to do with anyone. They wanted to cancel the tour so that they could be with me but I told them no and threw Freddie’s famous words “The Show must go on” right back in his face.

Without another word, we arrived back at my flat and I solemnly thanked the guys for all that they’ve done for me and they said their solemn goodbyes, each telling me that they would have the girls check in on me.  I soon entered my flat.

*3rd Person POV*

As the boys watched their little rock angel go into her flat, they couldn’t help but feel awful about what had just happened. The first chance at a real relationship and happiness and it was snatched away from her.  Her second failed relationship.

“Poor baby” Freddie said.

“I know, god I feel so awful. I wish there was something we could do for her.” Said Brian.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” asked Roger.

“Yeah, with time. But we need to fill her command and continue the tour, as much as I hate to leave her like this.” Deacy said. With that Roger put the car on drive and the boys left (y/n)’s drive through and headed back to the concert arena to pack up their stuff and get ready for their flight to Paris.

*My POV*

As I now came into my flat, I took off my jacket and tossed my hat aside as I noticed I had a voicemail on my message box. I went ahead and pressed play thinking it was probably Jim or someone from the arena completely pissed at me or some reporter wanting the dirt on why I ditched the concert.

‘(Y/n), hi. It’s me.’ Jack’s voice soon came on. His voice solemn and filled with regret.  I fell to my couch and gripped onto one of the pillows and listened to the message. ‘I just got back on the plane, and I just feel awful. That is so not how I wanted things to end between us. It’s….it’s just I wasn’t expecting to see you again and then all of a sudden you left your concert and were standing there saying these things….Now I’m just standing here thinking, of all the things I should’ve said but didn’t. I mean I didn’t even get to tell you that I love you too.’

I whimpered out as I buried my face into my pillow finally hearing a confession from Jack but I knew by now he was probably in the air heading back to America.

‘Because of course I do. I love you. I love you…..I love you.’ His voice soon perked up almost as if a lightbulb had gone off.  I looked at my machine in confusion as his voice continued in the same realization tone, ‘What the hell am I doing? I’m in love with the Rock Angel. Oh, I’ve got to see you. I’ve gotta get off this plane.’

“Oh my god” I said as I crawled towards the phone.

‘Okay, excuse me.’ Jack’s voice said.

‘Sir, please hang up the phone and take your seat.’ I heard a woman’s voice say, probably a flight attendant’s voice.

‘No, I’m sorry I’m really sorry but I need to get off this plane. Okay I just need to tell a girl that I love her’ Jack’s voice said urgently.

‘Sir, I can’t let you off the plane.’

“LET HIM OFF THE BLOODY PLANE!!!” I shouted as I stood up from my couch.

‘I’m afraid you are gonna have to hang up the phone and take your seat right now!’ the flight attendant’s voice demanded.

‘Oh please miss you don’t understand!’

“TRY TO UNDERSTAND! HE LOVES THE ROCK ANGEL!!” I cried out.

‘Oh come on miss, isn’t there any way that you can just let me off the—’ with that the line went dead and the phone beeped indicating the end of the message.

“NO! NOOOO!!” I raced towards my machine and frantically tried to rewind it as I whimpered out, “Oh my god. Did he get off the plane? Did he get off the plane?” I rewind the tape hoping to hear the rest of the message when suddenly a voice said behind me.

“I got off the plane.” I turned around and standing there with the door wide open with his suitcases right at his side was Jack.

He stood there with that precious smile on his face and his eyes filled with tears as he looked at me with nothing but pure love. My hands flew to my mouth as I stared at him, almost not believing that he was standing there until I finally whimpered out.

“You got off the plane.” I sobbed again and couldn’t even move so Jack came up to me and he cupped my face and his lips came down onto mine in a passionate kiss.

I wrapped my arms around him and even hopped up and wrapped my legs around his waist as our kiss got deeper.  He spun me around my living room until air became a burden and we were forced to separate.

“I love you (y/n) (l/n).” He said as he wiped my tears away.

“And I love you Jack Kline, and I never want to let you go again.”

“Me neither because the only girl I want to hold in my arms for the rest of my life is you, you my Rock angel.” I smiled and laughed softly.

I then leaned forward and kissed him once more, this time more sincere and softer than our last kiss.  My heart pounded as he kissed back.  This was by far a better kiss than any that I have ever shared with Adam throughout the entire course of that relationship.

I’ve finally found somebody to love, and this time I knew it would last for all eternity.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

17th March >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on

Luke 5:1-11 for the Solemnity of Saint Patrick, Bishop, Missionary (Ireland)

& on

Luke 9:28-36 for the Second Sunday of Lent, Cycle C.

Solemnity of Saint Patrick, Bishop, Missionary  (Ireland)

Gospel

Luke 5:1-11

They left everything and followed him

Jesus was standing one day by the Lake of Gennesaret, with the crowd pressing round him listening to the word of God, when he caught sight of two boats close to the bank. The fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats – it was Simon’s – and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat.

When he had finished speaking he said to Simon, ‘Put out into deep water and pay out your nets for a catch.’ ‘Master,’ Simon replied, ‘we worked hard all night long and caught nothing, but if you say so, I will pay out the nets.’ And when they had done this they netted such a huge number of fish that their nets began to tear, so they signalled to their companions in the other boat to come and help them; when these came, they filled the two boats to sinking point.

When Simon Peter saw this he fell at the knees of Jesus saying, ‘Leave me, Lord; I am a sinful man.’ For he and all his companions were completely overcome by the catch they had made; so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were Simon’s partners. But Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on it is men you will catch.’ Then, bringing their boats back to land, they left everything and followed him.

Reflections (7)

(i) Feast of Saint Patrick

We are very fortunate that the story of Patrick has been preserved in two short Latin letters which he himself wrote in his old age, a letter to the soldiers of Coroticus, the leader of a tribe in Britain, and what has come to be called, ‘St Patrick’s Confession’. In these invaluable historical documents, Patrick gives us a lot of information about himself. He came from a well to do family, the rural gentry, who lived somewhere in Britain or in what is now Brittany. He was kidnapped from his family villa by pirates and taken to Ireland when he was only sixteen years of age. His grandfather had been a priest and his father a deacon, so Patrick was raised in a Christian home. However by the time of his capture, his faith was lukewarm.

During several years of harsh slavery in Ireland, when he was struggling with the loss of so much that was dear to him, he had a spiritual awakening. He began to experience a strong desire to pray, ‘In a single day I would pray a hundred times and the same at night, even when I was in the woods on the mountain’. His time of exile was a watershed in his life. Looking back on his life before his faith was rekindled, he says that he was ‘like a stone stuck deep in the mud’. Continuing with that image, he speaks of his spiritual awakening as a time when the Lord ‘in his mercy lifted me up and raised me on high, placing me on top of a wall’. Patrick speaks of this turning point in his life as an experience of the Lord’s mercy. He had a strong sense that this reawakening of his faith was the Lord’s doing. He writes, ‘I must not conceal the gift of God that he has given me in the land of my captivity’. Whenever, in our own lives, we experience some devastating loss, and we find ourselves in a dark place, we too can find, as Patrick did, that the risen Lord comes to us in that dark place and touches us deeply.

Patrick’s spiritual reawakening had enormous consequences for the people in the land of his captivity. After several years of slavery in Ireland, he heard the voice of God telling him to flee back to his home. Against all the odds, he managed to escape and make his way back to his family. However, after many years, he heard the voice of God again calling him to return to the land of his captivity, this time to proclaim the gospel to the very people who once enslaved him. After studying for the priesthood, he was eventually sent back to Ireland on mission as a bishop. He gave himself wholeheartedly to proclaiming Christ to those who had never heard of him. He writes in his Confessions, ‘I spent myself for you all… I travelled among you everywhere risking many dangers for your sake even to the farthest places beyond which no one lived. No one had ever gone that far to baptize or ordain clergy or serve the people’. He engaged in this mission at great personal cost to himself, as he wrote in his letter to Coroticus, ‘I sacrificed my homeland and parents and I offer my life to the moment of death’.

Every year, as I reread the two writings of Patrick, I am struck by something new in them. The gospel reading for the feast of Saint Patrick this year made me more sensitive to one feature in particular in Patrick’s writings. In the gospel reading Peter has an overwhelming sense of his own unworthiness, ‘Depart from me, Lord; I am a sinful man’. Yet, this did not deter the Lord from calling him to share in his work, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will catch’. Patrick also had a very strong sense of his own limitations and of his failings. He begins his Confession, ‘I am Patrick, a sinner… I am the least of all the faithful, and to many the most despised’. At one point in this text he shares an experience of temptation, using a striking image: ‘While I was sleeping that very night, Satan greatly tempted me. I will remember the experience as long as I am in this body. Something like a huge rock seemed to fall on me so that I couldn’t move my arms or legs’. A little further on he writes, ‘He is strong who tries daily to turn me away from my faith and the purity of true religion that I have chosen to embrace to the end of my life for Christ the Lord’. He is honest about his personal struggles to remain faithful to the Lord’s call. Yet, those struggles did not discourage him. They brought home to him his total dependence on the Lord. He ends his Confession acknowledging that ‘any small thing I accomplished or did that was pleasing to God was done through his gift’.

Patrick, like Peter in the gospel reading, is an encouragement to us all. He reminds us that the Lord does not ask us to be perfect before calling us to share in his work of leading others to God. The Lord can work powerfully through us, weak as we are, if, like Patrick, we have a generosity of spirit when it comes to witnessing to our faith and if we recognize our dependence on the Lord for everything.

And/Or

(ii) Feast of Saint Patrick

Saint Patrick lived at a time and place very different to our own. He was born at the end of the fourth century on the embattled edge of the crumbling Roman Empire, probably somewhere in Britain. This was a time when the Roman legions had been withdrawn from the edges of the Empire, and there was a general breakdown in Roman law and order. The way Patrick speaks of his family in his Confessions suggests that there were from the rural gentry. His father was a deacon of the church and his grandfather a priest. Yet, their reasonably well to do background did not prevent them from suffering the effects of the general breakdown of order in Roman society. The protection of Rome was not there to prevent Patrick being captured at the tender age of sixteen. He spent six years as a slave in Ireland, escaping only at the age of twenty-two. Ireland, at the time, was a very different society to anywhere in the Roman Empire, even the edges of the Empire where Patrick was from. He often refers to himself as living among strangers. Coming to Ireland at that tender age must have been a huge culture shock, apart altogether from the hardships of slavery.

Yet, he subsequently came to see these six years as a time of great grace. He refers to ‘the many great blessings and grace which the Lord chooses to give me in the land of my captivity’. When he was taken captive, he said, ‘I did not yet know what I ought to desire and what to avoid’. Although born into a Christian family, he had never taken his faith seriously. He uses a striking image to describe his life at the time he was taken captive, ‘I was like a stone lying in the deepest mire’. Yet, in exile as a slave in Ireland, he underwent what can only be called a profound spiritual transformation. He writes, ‘I must not hide the gift of God which he gave us bountifully in the land of my captivity, because it was then that I fiercely sought him and there found him’. He writes at one point in his confessions, ‘When I had arrived in Ireland and was looking after flocks the whole time, I prayed frequently each day. And more and more, the love of God and the fear of him grew in me, and my faith was increased’. This spiritual renewal would form the basis of his extraordinary missionary work in Ireland many years later. This was a time of great loss in Patrick’s life, but also a time of deep spiritual and personal growth. It is often the way in our own lives that the most painful experiences can also be the most life-giving, for ourselves and for others. Patrick discovered that when so much was taken from him, the Lord worked powerfully in his life. The Lord is always at work in a life-giving way in all our struggles and losses. At any stage of our lives, we can find ourselves in a kind of exile experience. Our personal landscape changes and we feel estranged, lonely, frightened. We are not alone at such times. The Lord is at our side. He is always close to the broken hearted, those whose spirit is crushed, working to bringing something new out of what is dying.

After six years of captivity, Patrick made his escape and managed to board a boat. After a long and perilous journey, he finally made it back to his home. He writes, ‘I was again with my parents in Britain who welcomed me home as a son. They begged me in good faith after all my adversities to go nowhere else, or ever leave them again’. It is likely that Patrick believed he would never leave them again. However, God works in mysterious ways. Patrick writes in his Confessions that after many long years ‘God chose to give me a great grace towards that people (who had held me captive), but this was something I had never thought of, nor hoped for, in my youth’. He had a vision in which he heard the voice of the Irish call out to him, ‘O holy boy, we beg you to come again and walk among us’. After studying for the priesthood, he was eventually sent on mission to Ireland as a bishop. In the course of that difficult mission, he says that he often felt the urge to go back to his homeland, but he resisted it because, as he writes, ‘I fear the loss of the work I have begun here, since it is not I but Christ the Lord who ordered me to come here and be with these people for the rest of my life’. If his first visit to Ireland was as a young slave, this second visit was in response to the Lord’s call; he came as a slave of the gospel. As he says right at the end of his Confessions, ‘the one and only purpose I had in coming back to that people from whom I had earlier escaped was the gospel and the promises of God’. This second visit of Patrick to Ireland with all its momentous consequences brings home to us the unexpected nature of God’s call to all of us. God’s call can surprise us. God can be prompting us to take a path we might never have considered if left to ourselves. God’s purpose for our lives can be so much greater than our own plans. Patrick teaches us to hold ourselves in readiness for the Lord’s surprising call in our lives.

And/Or

(iii) Feast of Saint Patrick

Today we celebrate the feast of the missionary who was the first to preach the gospel in large parts of this Island. Two of his writings have survived. It is nothing short of a miracle that these two texts have come down to us through the turmoil of history. They allow us to hear in our own time the voice of Patrick. We must be grateful to Patrick for sharing something of his story with us and to the scribes who made copies of the texts down through the centuries.

There is great humility in these two texts. Patrick recognizes his imperfections. He says in his confession, ‘I am imperfect in many ways’. Looking back on his youth he writes that ‘We had turned away from God and had not kept the commandments’. He goes on to declare, ‘I did not believe in the living God… I remained in death and unbelief’. It was the experience of captivity that opened him up to God. He says that in the land of his captivity, he was ‘seized by an awareness of God’s presence’. Patrick seems to have come from a very privileged background. When all that was taken from him, he became sensitive to God’s presence. He expresses this religious awakening in a very striking image, ‘Before my humiliation, I was like a stone lying deep in mire; and the Mighty One came and in his mercy… raised me up and placed me on top of a wall’. Having been living in a kind of spiritual death, he was now raised to a new life in God. His spiritual awakening was an experience of God as Love. He writes in his Confessions that ‘the love of God surrounded me more and more and my faith and reverence towards God was strengthened and my spirit was moved so much that in a single day I would pray as many as a hundred times’. He was so deeply touched by God’s love for him that he had a deep desire to communicate with God in prayer.

Yet it is clear from his writings that this period of rejoicing in God’s love did not stay with him every day ever after. He is very open about the times when his faith was put to the test. Sometime after he escaped from captivity and before he arrived at his home, he endured a great assault on his relationship with God. He speaks of this experience in very vivid imagery, ‘While I was sleeping, Satan assailed me violently, which I will remember as long as I am in this body. He came down upon me like a huge rock, so that none of my limbs could move’. He goes on to say that when he saw the sun rise he cried out with all his strength and he declares, ‘the splendour of the sun fell upon me suddenly and immediately freed me from all the weight of oppression. I believe that I had been helped by Christ my Lord’. Elsewhere he writes, ‘there is a strong force which strives every day to subvert me from the faith’. He knew the darker side of faith and, also, the presence of Christ as light in the midst of the darkness.

Sometime after returning home from captivity, Patrick heard the voice of the Irish calling to him to leave his home once more and return among them as a free man, as a messenger of the Lord. ‘We beg you, O Holy youth, to come and walk once more among us’. His subsequent mission among the Irish bore great fruit. Yet, it is evident from his writings that he suffered a great deal in the exercise of that mission. One of the most painful experiences was when some senior members of the church tried to undermine his ministry when some sin of his youth was brought to their attention. He writes that ‘on that day I was hit so hard I could have fallen here and forever’. Yet, he managed to keep going because, as he writes, ‘the Lord… boldly came to my assistance in this trampling, as a result of which I did not fall apart badly even though shame and blame fell upon me’

His accusers were made aware of some weed from his past, in the language of the gospel reading, and, on that basis they were prepared to undermine all the good he was doing. Patrick was very aware that he was a mixture of wheat and darnel and, yet, he also knew that the Lord loved him and was working powerfully through him, flawed though he was. One of the messages Jesus is giving us in that parable is that the attempt to root out evil may destroy the good as well. There is a mixture of good and evil, of virtue and sin, in each one of us and in the church as a whole. Patrick’s story teaches us that the existence of evil is not a cause for disillusionment. If we acknowledge it and open ourselves to the Lord’s love in our weakness, he can strengthen what is good in us and empower us to be his messengers in the world.

And/Or

(iv) Feast of Saint Patrick

The Confessions of Saint Patrick is one of two written works that have come down from him. They are very far removed from us in time, Patrick having written them towards the end of his mission in Ireland sometime in the mid to late fifth century. Yet, it is a very personal document, a personal statement of faith, and, it can continue to speak to us today, almost one thousand six hundred years later.

He speaks in that document of his two periods of time in Ireland, the first during which he was a slave of a slave owner, and the second when he was a slave of the Lord, faithfully doing the Lord’s work as a bishop. Patrick’s father was a deacon of the church and his grandfather was a pries; they were reasonably well off. He said in his Confessions that at the time of his captivity by pirates at the age of sixteen he was ‘ignorant of the true God’’ and had abandoned God’s commandments. It was while he was in captivity in Ireland, in an alien land, that the Lord touched his heart. As a result, he came to see his time in captivity as a blessing. He uses a striking image to express his spiritual awakening during his time of exile, ‘I was like a stone lying in the deepest mire; and, then, he who is mighty came and, in his mercy, raised me up’. He spells out in some detail how this spiritual awakening transformed him, ‘I prayed frequently each day, and more and more the love of God and the fear of him grew in me, and my faith was increased and my spirit enlivened... come rain, hail or snow, I was up before dawn to pray... I now understand this: at that time the Spirit was fervent in me’. In his Confessions he is giving thanks to God for this reawakening of faith that occurred in him. He declares, ‘I must not hide that gift of God which he gave me bountifully in the land of my captivity, for it was then that I fiercely sought him and there found him’. The God to whom Patrick had been so indifferent in the comfort of his own home, he became passionate about when he was torn away from all he knew and loved. Perhaps this experience of Patrick might resonate with us. It can be the darker experiences of life that open us up to the Lord more fully. When what we treasure is taken from us we can become more sensitive to the Lord’s presence in our lives.

After six years in captivity he ran away from his master and after a journey of two hundred miles he boarded a ship which sailed to Gaul. He finally made his way back to his family in Britain. He writes that his parents ‘welcomed me home as a son. They begged me in good faith after all my adversities to go nowhere else, nor ever leave them again’. Patrick must have presumed that he was home among his own for good. Yet, he then had this powerful spiritual experience which sent him back to the very people who had taken him captive. He had a vision in which a man called Victorinus came to him with innumerable letters and as he read one Patrick said that he thought the heard the voice of those who live around the wood of Foclut which is close to the Western Sea shouting with one voice, ‘O holy boy, we beg you to come again and walk among us’. He was ordained priest and then appointed bishop and travelled back to Ireland to begin his mission. Looking back over his mission towards the end of his life, he was very aware that his second coming to Ireland was no more his own decision that his first coming. He says at the end of his Confessions, ‘It is not I but Christ the Lord who has ordered me to come here and be with these people for the rest of my life’. He had a very successful mission in Ireland but, clearly, it cost him a great deal. He writes that ‘not a day passes but I expect to be killed or waylaid or taken into slavery or assaulted in some other way’. Patrick’s sense of being called to this work, even though he knew in advance it would cost him so much, is very striking. He encourages us all to be open to the Lord’s call in our own lives. ‘What is the Lord asking of me?’ is a question worth pondering. Sometimes, as in the case of Patrick, he may be asking us to do something that, from a merely human point of view, doesn’t make a lot of sense. To become aware of what the Lord may be asking of us, we need to give ourselves time and space so as to listen to him.

And/Or

(v) Feast of Saint Patrick

We are very fortunate that the story of Patrick has been preserved in two short Latin letters which he himself wrote in his old age, a letter to the soldiers of Coroticus, the leader of a tribe in Wales, and his own Confessions. In these invaluable documents, Patrick describes himself as a Briton of the Roman nobility who was kidnapped from his family villa by pirates and taken to Ireland when he was about sixteen. His grandfather had been a priest and his father a deacon, so Patrick was raised in a Christian home. However by the time of his capture at the age of sixteen, he had lost his childhood faith and had become an unbeliever. He writes, ‘I was only a young man, almost a speechless boy, when I was captured, before I knew what I ought to seek out or avoid’.

Nevertheless, several years of brutal slavery in Ireland turned him into a fervent believer. During that traumatic period of exile and slavery he had a spiritual awakening. His time of exile was a spiritual watershed in his life. Looking back on his life before this conversion moment, he says that he was ‘like a stone stuck deep in the mud’. Continuing with that image, he speaks of his spiritual awakening as a time when the Lord ‘in his mercy lifted me up and raised me on high, placing me on top of a wall’. In this Jubilee Year of Mercy, it is interesting that Patrick speaks of this turning point in his life as an experience of the Lord’s mercy. He had a strong sense that it was the Lord rather he himself who brought out this change in him. He writes, ‘I must not conceal the gift of God that he has given me in the land of my captivity’. He found in himself a great need to pray, ‘In a single day I would pray a hundred times and the same at night, even when I was in the woods on the mountain’.

This spiritual awakening had enormous consequences not just for Patrick but for so many others in the land of his captivity. After several years of brutal slavery in Ireland, he heard the voice of God telling him to flee back to Britain. Against all the odds, he managed to escape to Britain and eventually made his way back to his family. However, after some time he heard the voice of God again calling him to return to the land of his captivity to proclaim the gospel to the very people who had enslaved him. He did not set out on this mission immediately but trained for the priesthood, possibly in Auxerre in Gaul. He was quickly appointed bishop and sent on his mission to Ireland. The sense we get from his writings is that he gave himself wholeheartedly to sharing the gift of faith he had rediscovered with those who had never heard of Christ. He writes in his Confessions, ‘I spent myself for you all... I travelled among you everywhere risking many dangers for your sake even to the farthest places beyond which no one lived. No one had ever gone that far to baptize or ordain clergy or serve the people’.

I always try to reread the two writings of Patrick that have come down to us as we approach his feast day. Every year something new in them strikes. The gospel reading for the feast of Saint Patrick this particular year made me more sensitive to one feature in particular of Patrick’s writings. In the gospel reading Peter has an overwhelming sense of his own unworthiness, ‘Depart from me, Lord; I am a sinful man’. Simon Peter seems to have had a realistic sense of his own past and present failings. Yet, this did not deter the Lord from calling him, ‘Do not be afraid; from now on it is people you will catch’. Patrick also had a very strong sense of his own limitations and of his failings. He begins his letter to the soldiers of Coroticus with the sentence, ‘I am Patrick, a sinner and a very ignorant man’. He begins his Confessions in a similar way, ‘I am Patrick, a sinner and a very unsophisticated man. I am the least of all the faithful, and to many the most despised’. At one point in his Confessions he shares an experience of temptation, using a striking image: ‘While I was sleeping that very night, Satan greatly tempted me. I will remember the experience as long as I am in this body. Something like a huge rock seemed to fall on me so that I couldn’t move my arms or legs’. S little further on he writes, ‘He is strong who tries daily to turn me away from my faith and the pure chastity that I have chosen to embrace to the end of my life for Christ the Lord. But the hostile flesh always drags me toward death, to those enticing, forbidden desires’. He is very honest about his personal struggles to remain faithful to the Lord’s call. There is a great realism about his writing. Yet, those struggles did not discourage him. They brought home to him his total dependence on the Lord. He ends his confessions with the acknowledgement that ‘any small thing I accomplished or did that was pleasing to God was done through his gift’.

Patrick, like Peter in the gospel reading, is an encouragement to us all. He reminds us that the Lord does not ask us to be perfect before calling us to share in his work. He can work powerfully through us, weak as we are, if, like Patrick, we have a generosity of spirit and a recognition of our dependence on the Lord for everything.

And/Or

(vi)  Feast of Saint Patrick

We venerate Patrick on this his feast day because he gave himself over to proclaiming the gospel on this island, bringing Christ to huge numbers of people. He says of himself in his Confessions, ‘The love of Christ gave me to these people to serve them humbly and sincerely for my entire lifetime’. In amazement at what God had done through him, he asks, ‘How then does it happen in Ireland that a people who in their ignorance of God always worshipped only idols and unclean things up to now, have lately become a people of the Lord and are called children of God?’ He was amazed at how much God had done through him. We are the heirs of Patrick’s great missionary work. He lit a new fire in this land which has never gone out. Patrick was all the more amazed at how God had worked through him because he was very aware of his failings and weaknesses. At the beginning of his Confessions he says, ‘although I am imperfect in many ways I want my brothers and sisters and my relatives to know what kind of man I am so that they may understand the aspiration of my life’. Later on in his Confessions he says, ‘I realize that I did not altogether lead a life as perfect as other believers’. Patrick knew that he had been a continued to be a mixture of wheat and weed, like the field in the parable of today’s gospel reading. In that parable the owner of the field does not despise the field because weed was to be found among the wheat. He was happy to allow both to grow together knowing that they would be separated at harvest time. When the Lord looks upon us, he looks beyond our failings to the good that is within us. Patrick did not allow his awareness of his imperfections to hold him back from doing what he knew God was calling him to do.

On his feast day we give thanks for Patrick’s response to God’s call to preach the gospel in the land of his former captivity. He was brought here as a slave at the age of 16, having been cruelly separated from his family and his homeland, a truly traumatic experience for a young adolescent. Yet, out of this difficult experience came great good. Although Patrick had been baptized a Christian in his youth, he had developed no relationship with Christ. The faith into which he had been baptized had made no impact on his life. It was only in his captivity that Christ became real for him. He tells us: ‘When I came to Ireland… I used to pray many times during the day... My faith increased… the spirit was burning within me’. Patrick uses a striking image to express this transformation in his life: ‘Before I was humbled I was like a stone lying in the deep mud. Then he who is mighty came and in his mercy he... lifted me up and placed me at the very top of the wall’. This spiritual awakening in captivity had enormous consequences for himself and for the people of the land where he was held captive.

In the course of our lives we can find ourselves in unfamiliar and threatening territory, unsure of our future and with regrets about the past. Patrick’s story reminds us that when we find ourselves in such wilderness places, our brokenness can provide the openings for the Lord to enter our lives. Patrick says in his confessions: ‘I cannot be silent… about the great benefits and graces that the Lord saw fit to confer on me in the land of my captivity’. When we are brought low, the Lord will be there to lift us up, and he will be as generous with us as he was with Patrick. If we seek the Lord in such times, as Patrick did, the Lord will not only grace us but he will grace many others through us.

After six years as a captive Patrick was given the opportunity to escape from his captivity. He was directed to a boat some distance from where he was minding sheep. The captain reluctantly took him on board. Three days sailing was followed by twenty eight days journeying through deserted country, probably Gaul. At the end of that journey Patrick describes a very dark spiritual experience that he had, ‘when I was asleep Satan tempted me with a violence which I will remember as long as I am in this body. There fell on me as it were a great rock and I could not stir a limb’. However, he goes on to say that when he cried out in prayer he saw the sun rising in the sky; he says, ‘the brilliance of that sun fell suddenly on me and lifted my depression at once’. Reflecting on that experience, he declares, ‘I believe that I was sustained by Christ my Lord and that his Spirit was even then calling out on my behalf’. Although he was a very successful missionary, Patrick struggled with the darker experiences of life. Yet, he knew that the Lord was as present to him in his darkness of spirit as much as in the success of his mission. Patrick’s experience teaches us to be alert to the signs of God’s presence in difficult times as well as in good times, in those times when we are more aware of the darnel in our lives than of the wheat. His story also teaches us that even when all is not as well with us as we might like, the Lord continues to work powerfully within us and through us.

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(vii) Feast of St. Patrick

Last October twelve months I climbed Croagh Patrick for the first time, in the company of my sister and brother-in-law. They both live in California. Patrick, who is from the United States, came to Ireland determined to climb Croagh Patrick. He is recovering from cancer and he wanted to make this climb in thanksgiving for having come through the surgery and the treatment so well, and, also, as a form of prayer of petition for God’s ongoing help. We managed to get to the top, just about.

The Croagh Patrick climb is one expression of the cult of St. Patrick that has continued down to our own time. We venerate Patrick today, not so much as the one who first brought Christianity to this island. Historians tell us that the bishop Palladius first preached the gospel in Ireland, some years before Patrick arrived. We venerate Patrick because he spent himself in proclaiming the gospel on this island, bringing Christ to huge numbers of people who never heard of him. Patrick says in his Confessions, ‘I am very much in debt to God who gave me so much grace that through me many people should be born again in God and afterwards confirmed, and that clergy should be ordained for them everywhere’. In amazement at what God had done through him, he asks, ‘How then does it happen in Ireland that a people who in their ignorance of God always worshipped only idols and unclean things up to now, have lately become a people of the Lord and are called children of God?’

Today we give thanks for Patrick’s response to God’s call to preach the gospel in the land of his former captivity. His first journey to Ireland was not of his own choosing. He was brought here as a slave at the age of 16, having been cruelly separated from his family and his homeland. This must have been a hugely traumatic experience for a young adolescent. His identity was anything but fully formed at this stage. He says in his confessions: ‘I was taken captive… before I knew what to seek or what to avoid’. This experience was a personal disaster. Yet, out of this traumatic experience came great good. Although Patrick had been baptized a Christian, he had developed no relationship with Christ. The faith into which he had been baptized had made no impact on his life. In his captivity, he had a religious awakening. He tells us: ‘When I came to Ireland… I used to pray many times during the day. More and more the love of God and reverence for him came to me. My faith increased… As I now realize, the spirit was burning within me’. That spiritual awakening in the land of his captivity had enormous consequences, not only for himself but for huge numbers of people in the land where he was held captive.

The Lord somehow got through to Patrick during the rigours of captivity in a way he had not got through to Patrick during his reasonably privileged upbringing at home. Patrick uses a striking image to express this transformation in his life: ‘Before I was humbled I was like a stone lying in the deep mud. Then he who is mighty came and in his mercy he not only pulled me out but lifted me up and placed me at the very top of the wall’.

Patrick’s own story brings home to us that the Lord can work powerfully in and through our own experiences of captivity. In the course of our lives we sometimes are brought somewhere we would rather not go. We can find ourselves in situations where we are conscious only of loss. We are separated from someone or from some experience that has been very significant for us, that has helped to define us. We experience ourselves as isolated and adrift, in unfamiliar and threatening territory, unsure of our future and with regrets about the past. Patrick’s story reminds us that when we find ourselves in such wilderness places, the Lord does not abandon us. On the contrary, when we seem to be loosing much, he graces us all the more. Patrick says in his confessions: ‘I cannot be silent… about the great benefits and graces that the Lord saw fit to confer on me in the land of my captivity’. The Lord will be as generous with us as he was with Patrick in the land of our captivity, whatever form that might take. If we remain open to the Lord in such times, as Patrick did, the Lord will not only grace us but he will also grace many others through us.

There is a sense in which it is true to say that the church in Ireland has been going through something of a wilderness time in recent years. Many of us in the church are conscious of a sense of loss. The numbers coming to the Sacraments have fallen greatly; there has been a dramatic decline in the numbers going on for priesthood and the religious life; the fabric of our society seems to be more and more resistant to the values of the gospel; the way we have come to relate to each other seem more and more at odds with the Lord’s teaching and lifestyle. Patrick’s story is a reminder to us that the Lord continues to work powerfully in what appears to be unpromising terrain. In the gospel reading Jesus instructs the seventy two to proclaim the same message regardless of how they are received, ‘the kingdom of God is very near to you’. Even in barren and lean times, it remains the case that the kingdom of God is very near to us. Patrick teaches us to be alert to the signs of God’s kingdom even in periods of loss. He encourages us to be attentive to the new deed that God is always doing in the land of our captivity.

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Second Sunday of Lent. Cycle C

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 9:28-36

Jesus is transfigured before them

Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up the mountain to pray. As he prayed, the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became brilliant as lightning. Suddenly there were two men there talking to him; they were Moses and Elijah appearing in glory, and they were speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were heavy with sleep, but they kept awake and saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As these were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ – He did not know what he was saying. As he spoke, a cloud came and covered them with shadow; and when they went into the cloud the disciples were afraid. And a voice came from the cloud saying, ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him.’ And after the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. The disciples kept silence and, at that time, told no one what they had seen.

Gospel (USA)

Luke 9:28b–36

While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white.

Jesus took Peter, John, and James and went up the mountain to pray. While he was praying, his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white. And behold, two men were conversing with him, Moses and Elijah, who appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions had been overcome by sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As they were about to part from him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good that we are here; let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” But he did not know what he was saying. While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. They fell silent and did not at that time tell anyone what they had seen.

Reflections (5)

(i) Second Sunday of Lent

We all have our good and bad days. There are times in our lives when we feel very content and at peace, and there are other times when a kind of darkness can descend on us. Very often the light and shade of life has to do in one way or another with other people. When we are with those we love and who love us we are at peace. When we are without them, we can find life empty. Whether we experience life as a joy or a burden can also have to do with our state of health. When we feel physically well, we have a spring in our step. When we are battling with serious illness, life can be a depressing struggle. Our contentedness or otherwise can also have to do with how we are spending our time. Certain activities can give us momentary pleasure but do not leave us very content in the long term. Other activities, which can take a lot out of us at the time, can leave us with a sense of having done something worthwhile, and confirm for us our own sense of worth. Putting ourselves out for others, sharing our gifts with them, enriches us, even though it can cost us something.

If we have people in our lives that we love and who love us, if our health is good, if we are engaged in activities that are deeply satisfying, then we are indeed fortunate. Yet, invariably there will come a time when we will be without some or even all of these realities. There is a certain letting go which we all have to face into. What then? What are we left with? The readings today suggest that the supreme and ultimate reality that brings us deep and lasting joy is our relationship with the Lord. When that relationship is significant for us, our lives can be full and rich, even when we find ourselves separated from those we love, even when our health is not good, even when we are not engaged in satisfying activity.

Today’s second reading is from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. At the time he wrote that letter Paul was confined in prison. The future did not look good. Yet, he writes as someone who is full of joy. The human support he experienced from others at that vulnerable time was one reason for his joy. A more fundamental reason was his relationship with the Lord. In the course of that letter he says, ‘I can do all things in him who strengthens me’. In a time of great human weakness, he knew the Lord’s strength. As he faced into the prospect of his own death, he looked forward in hope to that moment when the Lord would transfigure his broken body into a copy of his own glorious body.

Paul’s faith, and the faith of others, kept him joyful, when there seemed to be little to rejoice about. I am sure that all of us who are here this morning value our faith, our relationship with the Lord. His involvement with us and ours with him sustains us, keeps us hopeful and joyful, even when much that we have come to value has been taken from us, whether that be loved ones, or health or various activities that were important to us. In the words of today’s responsorial psalm, ‘The Lord is my light and my help; whom shall I fear? Before whom shall I shrink?’ Lent is a good time to acknowledge to ourselves that our relationship with the Lord is the most important value in our lives. Lent is a good moment to consider how we might deepen that relationship, how we might grow in our response to the Lord’s call and presence in our lives. Today’s responsorial psalm invites us to ‘seek his face’. If we are to grow in our relationship with the Lord, we need to seek him, to reach out towards him, as so many people are portrayed as doing in the gospels. One of the ways we seek the Lord’s face is in prayer. To pray is to open ourselves to the Lord’s presence. Lent is a good moment to create more space for prayer in our lives.

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus takes Peter and John and James up a mountain to pray. He went up the mountain to seek God in prayer, and in prayer he was transfigured. Jesus was very aware that he was facing down a long road to Jerusalem where rejection and death awaited him, where everything would be taken away from him. He had just told his disciples as much in Caesarea Philippi. Now he goes up the mountain to seek the face of the Lord to be strengthened for the road ahead. His relationship with his Father was one thing that could not be taken from him. Here was the greatest value of his life that would endure when all else failed. In prayerful communion with God, he was transfigured; he experienced himself as he would be, beyond the rejection, suffering, and death that awaited him in Jerusalem.

This was a wonderful moment not only for Jesus himself but for those who went up the mountain with him. ‘Master, it is wonderful for us to be here’, said Peter. Some of us may be fortunate enough in the course of our lives to have known such moments when God seemed very near to us, when we felt fully alive in God’s presence, fully loved with a love greater than any human love. Such moments are little glimpses of that final transfiguration that awaits us all; they assure us that when we have to let go of everything, God remains, and in God we will find all again, transformed and renewed.

And/Or

(ii) Second Sunday of Lent

There are times in all of our lives when we feel deeply happy and at peace, and there are other times when life seems an endless struggle. If we were to look at why we can be deeply happy at some times and struggling greatly at other times, we might find that both have a lot to do with other people in our lives. When we are with people whom we love and who love us, we find ourselves at peace and content, even when other things are going against us. When we are with people who do not have our good at heart, then we struggle, even if other things in our life are going well. Who we are with, the ways that people relate to us, can be very influential in determining whether we find ourselves in a place of light or a place of darkness. Our response to the psalm this morning was, ‘The Lord is my light and my help’. Like the person who composed that psalm, we believe that our relationship with God brings light into our lives. If people who love us can bring light into our lives, the Lord who loves us with an eternal love can do so even more.

Jesus also knew times in his life when he felt deeply happy and at peace and other times when life was a real struggle. In last Sunday’s gospel reading Jesus struggled with Satan in the wilderness. Today’s gospel reading puts before us a very different moment in Jesus’ life. In the wilderness Jesus was alone with only Satan for company. Here on the mount of transfiguration, he is with his three closest disciples, Peter, James and John. Not only has he his three closest disciples for company, two of the great Jewish prophets appear to him and speak to him, Moses and Elijah. Even more significantly, Jesus heard his heavenly Father address him as ‘my Son, the Chosen One’. If in the wilderness, Jesus was being put to a great test, here on the mountain he is being given great consolation. Jesus needed this moment of assurance, because he was about to set out on the most difficult journey of his life, the journey to Jerusalem. A few verses after this scene, Luke the evangelist says, ‘When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem’. According to our gospel reading, Moses and Elijah were speaking to Jesus about his departure which he was about to accomplish in Jerusalem, his death. Jesus had gone up the mountain to pray, and it was while he was at prayer that Moses and Elijah appeared to him, and the voice of the Father was heard to speak. This time of prayer on the mountain was for Jesus a time of great consolation, of great reassurance. It was an experience which strengthened him for the journey that he was about to face into.

Lent is a time when, in a sense, the whole church is called to go up the mountain to pray, as Jesus did. It is a season when we are called to nurture, through prayer, the most important relationship in our lives, our relationship with the Lord who is our light and our help. Our prayer can take many different forms; none of us prays in the same way all of the time. Today’s gospel reading of the transfiguration, however, draws attention to one particular form of prayer, the prayer of listening. When Peter, James and John were on the mountain with Jesus, the voice of God spoke to him and said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him’. The three disciples were being called to the prayer of listening. Jesus was just about to head for Jerusalem with his disciples. In the course of that journey, Luke presents Jesus as having a great deal to say to his disciples. Along the way he gave them a lot of teaching and instruction. Before they headed out on this journey, the disciples were being called to listen to Jesus.

As we begin our Lenten journey, we too hear the voice from the cloud say to us, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him’. Lent is a journey of listening to the word of the Lord. Last Sunday, the first Sunday of Lent, people in the church were invited to come forward to receive a copy of the gospel of Luke on behalf of their family or on their own behalf. This Lent the church in Dublin is being called to listen to the word of Jesus as it comes to us through the gospel of Luke. The prayerful reading of that gospel would be a worthwhile Lenten exercise, one in keeping with the call of today’s gospel reading. As Jesus was praying on the mountain, he was transfigured. As we prayerfully listen to the Lord’s word, we too will be transfigured; we will be transformed more fully into the image and likeness of God’s Son. Paul reminds us in today’s second reading our ultimate destiny is that our earthly bodies will be transfigured into copies of the Lord’s glorious body. In giving ourselves over to the prayerful listening of the Lord’s word, that process of transfiguration can begin here and now.

And/Or

(iii) Second Sunday of Lent

We live by the sea here in Clontarf and we are very fortunate to do so. We have wonderful opportunities for walking along the promenade, down the Bull Wall, in Saint Anne’s Park. There are some people who might find the terrain around Clontarf a little bit flat. They like a bit of height when they are walking; they like to climb. Our nearest high ground here is the Hill of Howth and there are some lovely walks around the Hill of Howth. Those looking for higher ground might be more inclined to head towards the Dublin hills or the Wicklow Mountains. Mountains do have an appeal of their own. When you are on a mountain, you have a sense of being away from it all, above it all. There can be a great sense of peace on the mountain.

Galilee, where Jesus spent most of his public ministry, was very flat in places but it also has hills, some of them quite high. This morning’s gospel reading is set on such a hill or mountain. In the gospel reading, this mountain is a place of worship. Luke tells us that Jesus took Peter and John and James up the mountain to pray. That intense moment of communion with God on the mountain had a profound effect on Jesus. We are told that the aspect of his face was changed and his clothes became brilliant as lightning. He was transfigured. He heard God call his name in love, ‘this is my beloved Son’, and that had a transforming effect on him. Whenever we hear our name called in love, we are, in some sense, transfigured. Our faces light up; our hearts burn within us. The disciples were caught up into Jesus’ experience of transforming communion with God. Their hearts too began to burn within them; they wanted to preserve this wonderful moment. Peter cried out, ‘Master, it is wonderful for us to be here. Let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah’. He was saying, ‘let us preserve this moment’.

Yet, this was a moment that could not last indefinitely. Jesus knew that he would have to come down the mountain. Luke tells us that Jesus was speaking to Moses and Elijah about ‘his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem’. He was talking to them about his coming suffering and death. He knew that he would soon have to set his face to go to Jerusalem where he would be put to death. He would have to face into the valley of work and suffering. He was being strengthened on the mountain for the journey ahead, for the valley that had to be entered. This was something the disciples were slow to appreciate. When the voice from heaven said to the disciples ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One; listen to him!’ they were being called upon to listen to Jesus when he spoke to them about the inevitability of his suffering and death. They would show themselves to be very slow to listen to these painful words of Jesus, just as they were slow to come down the mountain.

As followers of Jesus we live our lives between the mountain of prayer and the valley where we live and work and navigate our various struggles. Like Jesus we spend far more time in the valley than on the mountain. Yet, we need the mountain of prayer as Jesus did. We need to step back and simply be before the Lord. It is on the mountain of worship and prayer that we inhale the power, grace and truth of Jesus. The place of prayer is where we listen to the Lord and allow ourselves to hear the Lord call our name in love. It is the place where our spiritual resources can be renewed and our moral vision clarified. The mountain of prayer can take many forms. It can be a building like this, a church, a space which we enter alone or gather with others as we are doing this morning. It can be any place where we step back from our daily routine and prayerfully open up ourselves to God present to us in his love.

We need these places when we become conscious of a source of life and goodness beyond ourselves and others, so that when we enter the valley of life, of work, of struggle, we can exhale what we have inhaled on the mountain of prayer. Jesus went to the mountain so as to bring its grace and peace to the valley. Raphael’s famous painting of the Transfiguration in the Vatican Art Gallery shows Jesus virtually floating in mid-air, glorious and splendid on the mountain. The bottom half of the painting depicts the valley where a father is pleading to the his disciples to do something for his possessed son. That was the situation Jesus would immediately face into when he came down the mountain. Lent is a time to journey afresh to the mountain of prayer so as to recommit ourselves to the work of the valley, a sharing in Jesus’ life-giving work. We need to inhale and exhale. This is the dynamic of our lives as followers of Jesus.

And/Or

(iv) Second Sunday of Lent

Coming towards the end of my time in secondary school I noticed I could not see the writing on the blackboard very well. I went to an optician and discovered that I needed glasses. As I got older the prescription for the glasses have got gradually stronger. Some years ago I ended up with bifocals. Needing ever stronger glasses is part of the aging process for some of us.

There are different forms of seeing. There is physical sight, for which some of us need help in the form of glasses as we get older. Then there is a deeper kind of seeing, where we see below the surface of things. Some kind of light comes on in us and we see in a way that we have never seen before. We often refer to these experiences not so much as moments of sight as moments of insight. Perhaps this is the kind of seeing that the disciples were gifted with in this morning’s gospel reading. They had been with Jesus for some time now. They had seen him heal the sick, share table with all sorts of people, feed a multitude in the wilderness. However, now, on the mountain, they saw Jesus in a way they had never seen him before. The gospel reading says that they saw Jesus’ glory. They saw beneath the surface of his life to the person he truly was. He saw him in all his full reality. He was more than a wonderful human being; he was the Son of God. The disciples on the mountain were graced with an ability to see the personal reality of Jesus unveiled. It was a momentary experience. Peter wanted to prolong it, ‘let us make three tents...’ However, this was an experience that could not be bottled. It could not be frozen, so as to avail of it as Peter chose. It was a momentary gift; it could be savoured for the moment. The memory of this experience could sustain the disciples for the difficult road ahead as they walked behind Jesus who was soon to set his face to go to Jerusalem.

There are times in our own lives when we can be graced in a way that is similar to how Peter, James and John were graced on the mountain. We may think we know someone well. Then we get a sudden and momentary insight into some dimension of their being. It is as if we see them more deeply than we have ever seen them. We sense that these moments of insight come to us as a gift. We are not aware of having done anything to make them happen. They are given to us and, yet, every gift has to be received and, so, in some sense, we have been receptive to this gift. The gift of seeing Jesus in a way the disciples had never seen him before came to them in the context of prayer. Jesus had taken Peter, James and John had up the mountain to join him in prayer. In our own lives, a prayerful spirit can dispose us to receive this momentary grace of seeing people in all their full reality, indeed, in their glorious reality, as people made in the image and likeness of God. Having seen someone in this deeper way once, this experience can live on in our memory, to be called upon when we might be tempted to see them in a much more surface way.

This deeper seeing can impact not only on how we see other people but on how we see all of reality. When we look at a certain situation in life in a purely surface way, we might see it as a problem and no more than that. However, when we open ourselves to that grace of seeing the situation more deeply, we can come to discover that the problem is not only a problem but it is also an opportunity that calls out to us. There is a sacramental quality to all of life. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The flesh of life, all of it, reveals something of the Word who is God. God is revealed in all of our experience. The Word of God speaks to us through all of our human experience, even those dark experiences that seem devoid of God’s light. There is a spiritual quality to all of life and the Lord will give us eyes to see this deeper dimension to all things if we are open to this gift.

The gospel reading invites us to reflect not only on how we see others, how we see life, but how we see ourselves. In that second reading, Paul tells us that our ultimate destiny in eternity is to be transfigured, so that we finally become copies of Christ’s own glorious body. There is a sense in which this transfiguration is already underway through the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. As Paul says in one of his other letters, ‘we are being transformed into the same image (the image of the Lord) from one degree of glory to another’. Something of the same depth that the disciples saw in Jesus on the mountain is to be found in each one of us if we have eyes to see.

And/Or

(v) Second Sunday of Lent

I watched an interesting programme on Michelangelo on the T.V. last Sunday night. It showed how he worked to transfigure a huge block of marble into a beautiful work of art. It is easy to forget that his wonderful David in Florence and his powerful Pieta in Rome were once rough blocks of marble cut out of the mountainside. In a similar way, an artist with the brush, a painter, takes a blank canvass and transfigures it into an image that people delight in looking at. Or an artist with the pen, a writer, takes blank pages and transfigures them into something engaging and absorbing to read.

It is not only marble, canvass and paper that can be transfigured. People can be transfigured. You may have noticed people at airports waiting to greet a loved one. They search each face as the passengers come through the arrival doors. The longer it goes without seeing the person they have come to greet, the more concerned they become. When they suddenly recognize their loved one, their faces light up. In a sense, they become transfigured.

We have all had our transfiguration moments, when, not only our faces light up, but our hearts light up as well. Such moments will often be times when we hear our name spoken in love, when we have a deep sense that we are accepted and welcomed and valued by someone. We find it easy to remember those moments. In more difficult times we can find ourselves going back to such moments in memory and continuing to draw life from them. Such experiences live on in our memories, and can sustain us long after they have happened.

The gospel reading describes a moment in the life of Jesus when he was transfigured. We are told that, while he was at prayer, ‘the aspect of his face was changed’. Not only his face but his whole being lit up; he was glorified. Jesus was transfigured because, in prayer, he heard God his Father call his name in love. ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One’. This, for Jesus, was a moment of deep communion with God, with the one who loved him with a perfect love, a love that would prove stronger than death. The gospel reading says that Moses and Elijah were talking with Jesus about his passing, his death. Jesus knew that his leaving this world in death would also be his entry into the hands of his loving Father beyond death. ‘Father, into your hands I commend my Spirit’. On the mountain, Jesus experienced a love that was faithful enough to carry him through death, and the experience of such a love was transfiguring.

Jesus has called us into the same relationship with God that he has. He has sent his Spirit into our hearts, and that Spirit prompts us to cry out ‘Abba, Father’ to God as Jesus did. If we share the same relationship with God that Jesus has, hopefully their will be moments in our own lives when we experience God as Jesus did on that mountain, in a way that leaves us transfigured in the very depths of our being. Such an experience of God speaking our name in love may not be a regular occurrence, but it is surely a gift that God gives to us from time to time. Different people can hear God call their name in love in different ways. For some, it might happen in and through some experience of nature. In the first reading, the Lord prompts Abraham to look up to heaven and to count the stars. The sight of the stars deepened Abraham’s faith in God’s loving purpose for himself and his descendants. The sky at night, the setting sun, the wonder and beauty of nature in all its forms, can speak to us of God’s abiding love for us. The sense of God saying to us, ‘You are my chosen one’, can also come through the celebration of the Sacraments. God’s love can touch us at a very deep level in and through the Sacrament of Reconciliation or the Sacrament of the Eucharist. We can come away from those sacramental moments transfigured in some way. For many of us, God’s transforming love is experienced in and through the relationships that matter to us. The experience of a human love that is faithful without being possessive can be transforming of us, transfiguring, and can give us a foretaste of that moment in eternity when we will experience God’s love to the full.

St. Paul in the second reading encourages us to look forward to that future moment, when the Lord will transfigure these wretched bodies of ours into copies of his glorious body. We live in hope of that final transfiguration, when we will be conformed to the image of the risen Christ. On the mountain, Jesus gave his disciples a glimpse of their own future destiny. This glimpse was so appealing that Peter wanted to prolong the moment for as long as possible. ‘It is wonderful for us to be here’, Peter said, ‘Let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah’. Yet, this was only a glimpse of what would come at the end of life’s journey. It was not yet the end. They all had to come down the mountain and face into a difficult journey to Jerusalem. We are familiar with that same journey. We all have to face down the road to our own Jerusalems. We know the way of the cross. Yet, we also know that at the end of our journey there will be a wonderful moment when we will hear God calling our name in love, and we are transfigured. We also believe that along the way we will hear echoes of that loving call of God, if we are attentive.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  frmartinhogan@gmail.com

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