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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 7 days ago

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Of Lust and Sex on Tolkien lore: Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Many fellow fans have complaint there’s a trend among the Tolkien fandom to de-sexualize Galadriel, but folks, this is not exclusive to her character. This is, actually, an on-going theme on how many see Tolkien’s world and work, in general, and it runs deeps.

There’s this weird headcanon that, just because Tolkien was catholic and a “gentleman”, the world he built is somehow devoid of sexuality or sexual matters, and asexual in itself. Nothing wrong with that, except we have countless examples of “sexual stuff” happening in the legendarium, from characters lusting after each other, to actual sexual assault. Just because Tolkien didn’t write explicit sex scenes (let’s say like George R.R. Martin, who devoted himself to try subvert Tolkien) doesn’t mean is not there. Not everything needs to be “in your face” meaning explicit.

Firstly, Tolkien cared enough about sexuality to write several essays on the matter, namely about the Eldar sex culture and customs. It’s clear that the Elves try to be the “perfect Catholics” on his lore, and this reflects on their views of sex = marriage, premarital sex is frowned upon, repression of sexual desire, adultery is unthinkable, and divorce is forbidden. The Eldar sex culture is purity culture in a nutshell. And it reflects Tolkien’s own views on the subject:

Later in life when sex cools down, it may be possible. It may happen between saints. To ordinary folk it can only rarely occur [...] Faithfulness in Christian marriage entails that: great mortification. For a Christian man there is no escape. Marriage may help to sanctify & direct to its proper object his sexual desires; its grace may help him in the struggle; but the struggle remains. It will not satisfy him – as hunger may be kept off by regular meals [...] No man, however truly he loved his betrothed and bride as a young man, has lived faithful to her as a wife in mind and body without deliberate conscious exercise of the will, without self-denial. [...] Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament [Marriage].... There you will find romance, glory, honour, fidelity, and the true way of all your loves upon earth, and more than that: Death: by the divine paradox, that which ends life, and demands the surrender of all, and yet by the taste (or foretaste) of which alone can what you seek in your earthly relationships (love, faithfulness, joy) be maintained, or take on that complexion of reality, of eternal endurance, which every man's heart desires. Tolkien Letter 43

In Tolkien lore, there’s a strong connection between sex and morality. This is clear on the most iconic romances on his legendarium: Beren and Lúthien, Aragorn and Arwen, etc., which follow the medieval tradition of Chivalric romance: adventures of knights, courtly love, codes of honor and chivalry, trials and tribulations in the pursuit of love and glory.

“Courly love”, in the European tradition, is a highly idealized portrayal of human romantic relationships, that emerged in the medieval courts of the continent. Is a form of ritualized love between a knight (Beren/Aragorn) and his lady (Lúthien/Arwen), characterized by restrain, discretion and devotion. Tolkien himself talks about this, as well:

It idealizes ‘love’ - and as far as it goes can be very good, since it takes in far more than physical pleasure, and enjoins if not purity, at least fidelity, and so self-denial, 'service’, courtesy, honor, and courage. Its weakness is, of course, that it began as an artificial courtly game, a way of enjoying love for its own sake without reference to (and indeed contrary to) matrimony.

It’s clear Tolkien sees the lustful side of relationships as something sinful, but does this equal “evil”? No, because his characters (including the Elves) and the legendarium are complex, and this is not a pure Good vs. Pure Evil world, as Tolkien says himself:

Some reviewers have called the whole thing simple-minded, just a plain fight between Good and Evil, with all the good just good, and the bad just bad. Pardonable, perhaps (though at least Boromir has been overlooked) in people in a hurry, and with only a fragment to read, and, of course, without the earlier written but unpublished Elvish histories. But the Elves are not wholly good or in the right. Tolkien Letter 154

For Tolkien, is more about being on the “right side of History” (let’s put it this way) than being an immaculate hero. His characters are complexed and nuanced:

There are also conflicts about important things or ideas. In such cases I am more impressed by the extreme importance of being on the right side, than I am disturbed by the revelation of the jungle of confused motives, private purposes, and individual actions (noble or base) in which the right and the wrong in actual human conflicts are commonly involved. If the conflict really is about things properly called right and wrong, or good and evil, then the rightness or goodness of one side is not proved or established by the claims of either side; it must depend on values and beliefs above and independent of the particular conflict. A judge must assign right and wrong according to principles which he holds valid in all cases. That being so, the right will remain an inalienable possession of the right side and Justify its cause throughout. (I speak of causes, not of individuals. Of course to a judge whose moral ideas have a religious or philosophical basis, or indeed to anyone not blinded by partisan fanaticism, the rightness of the cause will not justify the actions of its supporters, as individuals, that are morally wicked. But though 'propaganda' may seize on them as proofs that their cause was not in fact 'right', that is not valid. The aggressors are themselves primarily to blame for the evil deeds that proceed from their original violation of justice and the passions that their own wickedness must naturally (by their standards) have been expected to arouse. They at any rate have no right to demand that their victims when assaulted should not demand an eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth.) Similarly, good actions by those on the wrong side will not justify their cause. There may be deeds on the wrong side of heroic courage, or some of a higher moral level: deeds of mercy and forbearance. A judge may accord them honour and rejoice to see how some men can rise above the hate and anger of a conflict; even as he may deplore the evil deeds on the right side and be grieved to see how hatred once provoked can drag them down. But this will not alter his judgement as to which side was in the right, nor his assignment of the primary blame for all the evil that followed to the other side. In my story I do not deal in Absolute Evil. Letter 183

This is why, in "Rings of Power", Sauron can be in love with Galadriel and still be the villain he is. Tolkien doesn’t deal in absolutes, and Sauron is not pure evil, either.

And if people can’t wrap their head around nuanced and complex ideas, it’s not Tolkien's fault, really. This concept that “evil can love” (and it doesn’t make it any less evil) is absolutely fascinating to me, because I wholesome agree with this. Folks have this idealized notion of love (even Tolkien himself talks about this), like it’s only valid if it’s Beren and Lúthien. When it’s not. “Lord of the Rings” is meant to reflect our “fallen” world; and, in our world, tyrants and dictators can love, and have families, and still be genocidal monsters. Their ability to feel romantic love has no direct connection in how they treat their subjects. This is why Tolkien says that “good actions” on the wrong side don’t excuse it nor make it any less evil.

This is not “Harry Potter”, and Sauron is not “Voldemort” that can’t never “know love”. Tolkien was a college professor at Oxford, a renounced linguistic, the father of the modern fantasy genre, and a classic of World literature, he would never write just a basic concept.

This leads me to the idea that “Elves are not wholly good”, and that, they too, can be sinful, and that doesn’t make them “evil” (= on the wrong side). We see this with Galadriel in Tolkien legendarium; not only she commits the sin of pride, and greed, but also lust.

In "Unfinished Tales", Tolkien tells us: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. In Letter 43, Tolkien defines what he means by “a lover” (in general): “engaging and blending all his affections and powers of mind and body in a complex emotion powerfully coloured and energized by sex”.

So, it’s safe to assume that Galadriel was having sex with Celeborn before they were even married (premarital sex). Probably that’s why he had no quarrels with the wild John Boorman script of her and Frodo f*cking in the middle of the woods.

Galadriel doesn’t care about the Eldar sex customs, because, of course, she doesn’t, she's above that, being Noldor royalty and her own authority. Which makes sense with her “repentant sinner” character arc in the legendarium, actually.

Because, as Tolkien, told us: “in The Lord of the Rings the conflict is not basically about 'freedom', though that is naturally involved. It is about God, and His sole right to divine honour” (Letter 183). And “sin” is considered a transgression against divine law (aka God); an offense against religious and moral laws.

Tolkien was religious, but he wasn’t a Catholic priest, and he was well aware that women have sexual desire, and some are, indeed, promiscuous and have no problems acting on it: “You may meet in life (as in literature) women who are flighty, or even plain wanton — I don't refer to mere flirtatiousness, the sparring practice for the real combat, but to women who are too silly to take even love seriously, or are actually so depraved as to enjoy 'conquests', or even enjoy the giving of pain – but these are abnormalities, even though false teaching, bad upbringing, and corrupt fashions may encourage them” (Letter 43). Pardon the language, but Tolkien was, after all, a man of his time.

The “Higher Beings” Nonsense

This is one of the occasions I completely disagree with Charlie Vickers when he calls Sauron a “higher being”. He probably means it in sense he’s a Maia, a demigod or an angel in Tolkien lore, but his use of words can cause some confusion. Sauron is, in no way, shape of form, an “higher being” (in the Christain sense): he’s a literal demon, a satanist, a follower and a servant of Satan himself, in Tolkien legendarium. Demons exist in the lowest frequencies of existence in Christian theology.

Tolkien makes this very clear on his letters: Melkor/Morgoth is Lucifer/Satan on his myth, he straight-up calls him “diabolus” (Letter 153). It should be obvious enough on his entire character: he’s the one who corrupts God’s creation and is the symbolic archangel/Valar (like Lucifer was). Him being dragged in chains and imprisoned until the end of time also parallels a biblical event.

Sauron is the chief satanist demon in the lore, the #1 servant and follower of Morgoth/Satan: Satanic rebellion and evil of Morgoth and his satellite Sauron; in which Evil is largely incarnate, and in which physical resistance to it is a major act of loyalty to God (Letter 156).

And here, too, there’s a weird attempt of de-sexualizing these characters (mostly Sauron) in the Tolkien fandom. Despite the fact almost everyone recognizes the Christian inspiration here, and the Devil being seen as the creator of all kinds of sexual depravity, deviation and promiscuity in the world (according to Christain faith); the same way Morgoth was responsible for "corrupting" Arda. Apparently, sex had nothing to do with this corruption, according to some. Odd, to say the least, when Tolkien gives us descriptions of “indominable lust” on both characters (Morgoth and Sauron).

Them being magical and demonic creatures might indicate they have the ability to control whenever they want to reproduce or not. We know from the lore that Morgoth bound himself to his physical form because of his non-stop corruption of Arda.

On Note 5 (“Vinyar Tengwar”) of “Osanwe-kenta", Tolkien writes:

The things that are most binding [to Valar and Maiar] are those that in the Incarnates have to do with the life of the hroa itself, its sustenance, and its propagation. Thus eating and drinking are binding, but not the delight in beauty of sound and form. Most binding is begetting or conceiving. We do not know the axani (laws, rules, as primarily proceeding from Eru) that were laid down upon the Valar with particular reference to their state, but it seems clear that there was no axan against these things. Nonetheless it appears to be an axan, or maybe necessary consequence, that if they are done, then the spirit must dwell in the body that is used, and be under the same necessities as the Incarnate. The only case that is known in the histories of the Eldar is that of Melian (...) 'The great Valar do not do these things: they beget not, neither do they eat and drink, save at the high asari, in token of their lordship and indwelling of Arda, and for the blessing and sustenance of the Children. Melkor alone became at last bound to a bodily form...'

This might suggest that Morgoth became bound a physical form because of his “great lust”. "Begetting and conceiving” might, indeed, mean more than just standard reproduction, because Morgoth did “begot” with creation and mastery of several races and creatures. However, the only other example of a Ainur (in this case a Maia) getting bound to a physical form in the lore is Melian, when she became pregnant with Lúthien (after reproducing with her Elf love, Thingol).

* Trigger warning: Mentions of Sexual Assault *

Then we have the fact that Morgoth might have been a serial r*pist. In “Myths Transformed” section of “Morgoth’s ring”, Tolkien has Morgoth r*ping Arien, the Maia who ruled the sun, and was “the most ardent and beautiful of all the spirits that had entered into Eä with [Varda]":

. . . afire at once with desire and anger, [Melkor] went to Asa [The Sun] and he spoke to Arie, saying: 'I have chosen thee, and thou shalt be my spouse, even as Varda is to Manwe, and together we shall wield all splendour and majesty. Then the kingship of Arda shall be mine in deed as in right, and thou shalt be the partner of my glory.' But Arie rejected Melkor and rebuked him, saying: 'Speak not of right, which thou hast long forgotten. Neither for thee nor by thee alone was Ea made; and thou shalt not be King of Arda. Beware therefore; for there is in the heart of [Asa] a light in which thou hast no part, and a fire which will not serve thee. Put not out thy hand to it. For though thy potency may destroy it, it will burn thee and thy brightness will be made dark.' Melkor did not heed her warning, but cried in his wrath: 'The gift which was withheld I take!' and he ravished Arie, desiring both to abase her and to take into himself her powers. Then the spirit of Arie went up like a flame of anguish and wrath, and departed for ever from Arda; and the Sun was bereft of the Light of Varda, and was stained by the assault of Melkor. And [the Sun] being for a long while without rule . . . grievous hurt was done to Arda . . . until with long toil the Valar made a new order. But even as Arie foretold, Melkor was burned and his brightness darkened, and he gave no more light, but light pained him exceedingly and he hated it. Nonetheless Melkor would not leave Arda in peace . . .

So, yes, Tolkien really had the Devil r*ping the Sun... Can this be a parallel Sauron and Galadriel’s scene in “Rings of Power” Season 2 finale? When Sauron ravishes Galadriel's soul using Morgoth's crown? Since Sauron said he would make Galadriel a “queen as fair as the sea and the sun”, in 1x08? No quite. But more on that later.

Then we have the infamous Lúthien episode. There is an on-going debate on Morgoth’s intentions in this scene, but, in my opinion, and taking in consideration the incident with Arien, the “since he fled from Valinor” bit might indicate his intention was, indeed, to r*pe Lúthien.

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this “evil lust” Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ‘Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

“Nay,” saith Melkor, “such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see,” and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil. Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Almost every servant of Morgoth either came to resent him or were absolutely terrified of him. The most notorious case being Sauron himself, as he went into the hiding after his spectacular defeat in Tol-in-Gauhoth (at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, the Hound of Valinor), probably to escape being punished by Morgoth.

“Rings of Power” already had Sauron talking about the unbelievable tortures he endured at Morgoth’s hands, and taking into consideration all of this… well, those “r*pe of Mairon” dead dove fanfictions might be on to something here.

Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?

Sauron’s entire dialogue in this scene can be interpreted as that of a r*pe survivor, actually: we have the dissociation element of “sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game"; and the self-guilt of “no, you chose it” (which is something many victims of sexual assault go through).

And then, we have the fact that the “feminization of hyper-masculine Mairon” was a consequence of his corruption by Morgoth, as I’ve already talked about in this post.

Tolkien himself talks about the Christian devil in terms of sex and lust, so it’s odd why the Tolkien fandom plays mental gymnastics trying to equalize Tolkien’s use of the sin “lust” with “greed” (these are two different sins in Christian theology, even though they are connected).

The devil is endlessly ingenious, and sex is his favorite subject. He is as good every bit at catching you through generous romantic or tender motives, as through baser or more animal ones. Letter 43

Greed vs. Lust in Tolkien Lore

Indeed, Tolkien uses the sin “Lust” in connection with "Power" and "Jewels" (Silmarils/One ring/gold), but this might be a metaphor for sexual temptation, as well. Mainly because of his Christian inspiration behind the whole story.

Some examples of Tolkien’s usage of the word “lust”, that might be interpreted as “greed”:

The oath of the sons of Fëanor becomes operative, and lust for the Silmarils brings all the kingdoms of the Elves to ruin." "But also they [rings of power] enhanced the natural powers of a possessor – thus approaching 'magic', a motive easily corruptible into evil, a lust for domination." "Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, 'neglected by the gods', he [Sauron] becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves)." Now Sauron’s lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor

"Also so great was the [One] Ring's power of lust, that anyone who used it became mastered by it..." The Númenóreans attempted to take the Undying Land by force of a great armada in their lust for corporal immortality.

“Greed” is the disordered desire to consume (wealth, power); while “Lust” is the disordered desire to possess (something or someone). Lust is “consumption” and “action”, while greed is “hoarding” and “possessing”. Someone who is greedy wants more and more of something (not necessarily do anything with it); while someone who is lustful wants to do something with the thing it desires.

But “desire” that is not acted upon in Tolkien lore is not sinful, nor it’s a transgression of God’s (Eru) laws.

“The Original sin” (or “The Fall") is central to Tolkien world-building: “The dislocation of sex-instinct is one of the chief symptoms of the Fall [of Adam and Eve]”. And this means is that Lust is the “original sin”, and the gateway to sin, and from where all other sins originate.

St. Paul writes "cupiditas radix malorum": “the root of all evil is cupidity". This is motivated by the fact that Eve ate the forbidden fruit because "she saw it, was beautiful". This explains why Christians have such a bad view of sex, especially when it’s not restrained by marriage.

There is lust for the forbidden fruit (the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil that Adam and Eve were instructed not to eat in the Garden of Eden). This is when “sin” is first introduced into the world, leading to their banishment from paradise. The themes here are: disobedience to God, and succumbing to temptation (Devil).

And it’s the serpent that inflames Eve's lust, and "Rings of Power" wasn't even being subtle here (even the OST for this scene is called "The Fall of Galadriel"):

“Lust”, in his biblical/catholic sense, is the misuse of the body, sexually. The opposite of “lust” is “temperance” and “chastity”. “Lust” is disorderly sexual desire, and the subordinated enjoyment of sexual pleasure (against God’s law). It’s not just promiscuity, but extra-marital sex, as well.

In the Bible, “lust” is thematized by adultery (because marriage is a sacred sacrament, and acting against it, it’s breaking God’s laws, hence being a “deadly sin”). We also see this sin in connection with “idolatry” (one of Sauron’s crimes in Tolkien lore), when characters (such as Solomon) take foreign wives, symbolizing the forsaking of one’s partner for another.

But the catch here is: Eve wanted to eat the forbidden fruit. She wanted to bite into it, it was consensual. She was tempted, and she succumbed to temptation, to lust.

This pretty much goes hand with hand what I wrote on my “Of sin and sinners” post, that made the purity police gone wild. Galadriel and Sauron’s dynamic is not only hyper sexual, but it’s being consummated as well, and that’s why Galadriel gets banish from Valinor.

Sauron ravishing Galadriel using a sharp object parallels another Christian event (demonic version): the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

Beside me, on the left, appeared an angel in bodily form…. He was […] very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest rank of angels, who seem to be all on fire…. In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he pulled it out I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul content with anything but God. This is not a physical but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it—even a considerable share.

This is, essentially, a description of a Catholic saint having an orgasm. The “lorebros” wanted the Virgin Mary that never was, and “Rings of Power” delivered. Iconic. And that probably provides the subtext to this unhinged expression over here:

Happy with ourselves, are we?

So, yes, in the end, Sauron did take Celeborn’s woman as foreshadowed by Season 1 with the “clams” scene in Númenor (1x03). And now that his blood is inside of her, stuff is about to get wild.

#saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron

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ainsi-soit-il · 1 month ago

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Quote #3

"Christ's ordinary years are part of our redemption story. Because of the incarnation and those long, unrecorded years of Jesus' life, our small, normal lives matter. If Christ was a carpenter, all of us who are in Christ find that our work is sanctified and made holy. If Christ spent time in obscurity, then there is infinite worth found in obscurity. If Christ spent most of his life in quotidian ways, then all of life is brought under his lordship. There is no task too small or too routine to reflect God's glory and worth."

This is part of a series of guessing-game style polls that I am doing for the first fourteen days of October.

For the next fourteen days, my queue will spit out a quote from either a Protestant or a Catholic theologian. Responders make their best guess as to which this is.

This is strictly a no-nuance poll. No "They were accused of being a Lollard" this, no "Counter-Reformation" that. Despite the complex theological realities of Late Medieval Western Europe, if they died before 1517, they are being counted as Catholic.

Happy guessing!

Tish Harrison Warren, Liturgy of the Ordinary, 2016

Tish Harrison Warren is a priest in the Anglican Church in North America. She worked with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship for eight years, and her writing has appeared in Christianity Today.

#christianity tag #christblr #christians of tumblr #polls

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harrisonarchive · 10 months ago

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Photo by Ed Caraeff.

Perhaps the most frequently asked question this fan page gets is: are there any George books you’d recommend? So, for anyone interested, here are my personal top picks. Please note, these are just the fan page curator’s opinions. • I Me Mine — insightful commentary about the songs and what inspired them, alongside insights from Derek Taylor (with whom George conversed for this book), and, in the new editions, an introduction by Olivia. Indispensable. • Living In The Material World — accompanying the 2011 documentary of the same name, this is a treasure trove of rare photographs and commentary by those who knew George best. As with the previous book, indispensable. • Came The Lightening: Twenty Poems for George by Olivia Harrison • While My Guitar Gently Weeps: The Music of George Harrison by Simon Leng — an in-depth look at George’s music. • All Things Must Pass Away: Harrison, Clapton, and Other Assorted Love Songs by Kenneth Womack and Jason Kruppa — a detailed exploration of ATMP. • Very Naughty Boys: The Amazing True Story of HandMade Films by Robert Sellers (2013) — as the title indicates, a closer look at HandMade Films. • If you can speak German, of course, a book with a lot of insightful mentions of George is Klaus Voormann's Warum spielst du Imagine nicht auf dem weißen Klavier, John? (published in German only, 2003, and quite frequently translated from for this fan page). • Honorable mention: Here Comes The Sun: The Spiritual and Musical Journey of George Harrison by Joshua M. Greene (2006) And, as always, in terms of an ordinary biography covering all of George’s life and career… I personally feel that his own interviews and songs provide more insight into George as a complex human and an extraordinary artist than any one definitive biography that sanctifies him or bases itself in large part on rumors and gossip (and doesn’t see George as a human being with a family and a right to privacy).

#George Harrison #harrisonarchive asks #harrisonarchive book recommendations #fits queue like a glove

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 16 days ago

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29th October >> Mass Readings (USA)

Tuesday, Thirtieth Week in Ordinary Time

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

Either:

First Reading Ephesians 5:21-33 This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the Church.

Brothers and sisters: Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is head of his wife just as Christ is head of the Church, he himself the savior of the Body. As the Church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the Church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word, that he might present to himself the Church in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. So also husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ does the Church, because we are members of his Body. For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the Church. In any case, each one of you should love his wife as himself, and the wife should respect her husband.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Or:

First Reading Ephesians 5:25-33 Give way to one another in obedience to Christ.

Husbands should love their wives just as Christ loved the Church and sacrificed himself for her to make her holy. He made her clean by washing her in water with a form of words, so that when he took her to himself she would be glorious, with no speck or wrinkle or anything like that, but holy and faultless. In the same way, husbands must love their wives as they love their own bodies; for a man to love his wife is for him to love himself. A man never hates his own body, but he feeds it and looks after it; and that is the way Christ treats the Church, because it is his body – and we are its living parts. For this reason, a man must leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two will become one body. This mystery has many implications; but I am saying it applies to Christ and the Church. To sum up; you too, each one of you, must love his wife as he loves himself; and let every wife respect her husband.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 128:1-2, 3, 4-5

R/ Blessed are those who fear the Lord.

Blessed are you who fear the LORD, who walk in his ways! For you shall eat the fruit of your handiwork; blessed shall you be, and favored.

R/ Blessed are those who fear the Lord.

Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine in the recesses of your home; Your children like olive plants around your table.

R/ Blessed are those who fear the Lord.

Behold, thus is the man blessed who fears the LORD. The LORD bless you from Zion: may you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life.

R/ Blessed are those who fear the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation cf. Matthew 11:25

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth; you have revealed to little ones the mysteries of the Kingdom. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Luke 13:18-21 When it was fully grown, it became a large bush.

Jesus said, “What is the Kingdom of God like? To what can I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that a man took and planted in the garden. When it was fully grown, it became a large bush and the birds of the sky dwelt in its branches.” Again he said, “To what shall I compare the Kingdom of God? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of wheat flour until the whole batch of dough was leavened.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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pcssionfrt · 11 months ago

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hi hello! name's juve and it's been idk how long since i've been on tumblr so Pardon Me if i make any mistakes. anyway here's riye, your new student representative for evolution! movement. pls see below the cut for a brief tldr on her among other things! also plsplspls smash that like for plots 🤩 !! my ims no longer work(?) so until tumblr decides to respond to my ticket please add me on disc it's @ obiiive

bounced from home to home since young, stability was not a concept known till the age of 10, where she was adopted (this time, for good), packed up and moved to seoul. suddenly—new kid on the block.

objectively, she should feel glad, should be grateful, blessed to have a home to call her own, allowed to keep her own identity, her surname, her things. subjectively, riye hated the neighborhood. hated her classmates. her teacher. elderly neighbor. nosy woman at the register in the local grocers. just about everybody—give or take two (specifically, her parents). though even that gradually morphed when her anomaly started rearing its head.

the kwons were ordinary. human. religion leaning. simple. dash of impulsiveness that had them adopting a child twenty years into their marriage. did they realize that they were signing on for more than they could handle? no. did they regret it? maybe no. when their adopted daughter showed signs of an anomaly, what else was there to do but to accept her? yeah. live in fear.

fractures begins somewhere in her teens, squeezed in between the conflicts of hormones and a growing body. her parents are different now. riye is different now. but the three live under pretenses all the same. that nothing’s changed, that mom’s hand doesn’t tremble when she braids her hair. it wasn’t as if they weren't nice either—so what is there for her to say? what else was she to do except loathe them and herself and the sanctified marble face of dear lord and father of mankind, i pray you help our daughter every friday evening and sunday morning.

sua was the obvious choice. riye doesn't bat an eye when they pitch it to her. when mom cries, overjoyed at the sight of nullivi. when dad hands her pamphlets to the neighborhood church. when they leave, she crumbles; the feeling in her chest full and hollow at the same time.

CAMPUS LIFE: ????? grossly wip sorry

PERSONALITY

chronic self-hating people pleaser. help me help you help her by not getting Too involved. very prone to switching up on people (i.e. saying yes then gaslighting you for making her say yes). has unaddressed anger issues but also bad abandonment issues, overall her parents raised her to be a sweet christian girl and riye will do everything in her power to emulate it till she implodes or smth. in short: nice but not very sincere.

WANTED

“the friends she shows her parents” — essentially nice looking non-threatening people that she hangs out with, documents in photos and name drops to show her parents. preferably with normie anomalies as to not spook them. riye has nothing against them, but there’s underlying disgust for anything associated to her parents (even if she’s the one putting them in the situation). note: often leaves group hangouts w/o saying bye. walks right by you on campus like she’s never seen you before. doesn’t bother remembering the big things but will remember little things (food preferences, allergies) so you’re ? does she or doesn’t she care /:

“the (ex) boyfriend she shows her parents” — the first and only boy she’s introduced to her parents. idk yall probably broke up a while back because of how much her parents loved you (and she did, also, some kind of l word you) and it gave her the ick. v likely did not tell her parents yall broke up. note: constantly, and i mean constantly, gaslighted you. Did apologize when she realized but yk, damage done is damage done.

overall: friends she actually likes, former friend/exes who thinks she’s fake af, exes/fwbs/the works. i preference deeper connects over shallow surface relationships and i’m down to write anything from dark and saucy to crack!

#intro.#finished it on mobile sorry if it looks wonky!

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amateurmonastic · 6 days ago

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November is the spooky month

BLOG: All Saints and All Souls

Halloween is past, with all its vampires, witches, werewolves, and classic movies starring Vincent Price or Christopher Lee. (It was 80F here, albeit with low humidity.) Yesterday shone with the brightness of the saints in light: "O how glorious is the kingdom in which the saints rejoice with Christ!" (from the antiphon to the Magnificat at second Vespers of All Saints Day)

Today is All Souls Day, sometimes called the Commemoration of All Faithful Departed, and now, with all the saints and all the souls mentioned, now is when my spooky season begins.

Nowadays the "saints" of All Saints Day are understood as those who were extraordinary, notable Christians, such as the Apostles of the New Testament, the martyrs of the first two or three centuries, the outstanding monastics and mendicants like St. Benedict, St. Francis, St. Teresa of Avila. There are many others who are honored who may or may not have been officially canonized by Roman Catholic authority but have become important to many Christians, like Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, or Dorothy Day. That leaves All Souls' Day as a time to pray for the eternal welfare of all the ordinary, unknown Christians who didn't do anything heroic, like your parents (if they were baptized) or that devout old lady who used to babysit you.

However, I read something years ago, asserted by an Episcopalian priest and monk, that has stuck with me ever since. He said that originally, "all the saints" meant all baptized Christians, living and departed, heroic or average, virtuous or sinful. In the letters of the New Testament, Peter and Paul refer to what we could call the Church, capital C, as the saints. Anyone who has confessed faith in Jesus and been baptized in the Trinity is a saint, sanctified, made holy, destined for heaven.

The souls, according to this priest, for whom we pray on the day following All Saints meant everybody else: everyone who had died outside the Church, whether members of another religion, or Christians who had turned bad and died at odds with God. In this theology, anyone who hadn't confessed Jesus and been baptized was destined for hell, but the Church took one day to pray explicitly for their salvation, for a second chance that they might or might not get.

Do I believe that anyone who isn't a Christian will have some kind of punishment after death? No, I don't. But this older theology does explain the fear and trembling of the old Requiem Mass texts, the fear that even a Christian soul might fall into the pains of hell, the bottomless pit, the lion's mouth, Tartarus, the eternal darkness, without the guidance of the archangel Michael, the standard-bearer, and the prayers of the faithful still on earth.

What I do believe, as an Episcopalian but also a polytheist, is that anyone who has devotion and faith in a deity will be received by that deity after death, unless they have so deeply offended that deity's values as to make it impossible. To use a standard sort of example, I would assume that Joseph Stalin was baptized into the Orthodox Church as an infant, but having rejected all religion and carried out many atrocities in pursuit of his own power and security, he wouldn't want to be with Jesus even if Jesus invited him. I believe that Jesus is willing to receive anyone who turns to him, at whatever point in their life or afterlife.

However, not everyone has a devotion to a deity, or follows a school of spiritual practice. Not everyone even gets a formal burial. The Tibetan Buddhist Book of the Dead assumes that death is confusing, disorienting, and frightening; it attempts to offer direction to the dying or dead person, if not to enlightenment, then to a rebirth with a chance at enlightenment. I think that if a person isn't spiritually aware to a certain extent, their experience of death might not be heaven or hell, purgatory or reincarnation, but a sort of dull, shadowy half-life, as implied by the Hebrew Sheol, most of the Greek underworld, and the realm of Hel in Norse mythology--a place with neither punishment nor joy, no torment, no fulfillment, no meaning.

It is of those souls I think on All Souls' Day and through the month of November as the temperatures drop (though not as far as they used to), as the winds start to whine and howl around the corners of my building, as the texts of the liturgy increasingly look forward to Advent, to the promise of the Second Coming and the remaking of all things. It is for them I have lit a candle and put out a glass of pure water, not exactly an Anglican custom but not in opposition to the prayers of the Church. A little water for refreshment, a little light in the darkness. Follow the sound of voices singing, "O quam gloriosum est...." There is a way home through the dark for all of us.

#november #all saints #all souls #prayer for the dead

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dramoor · 1 year ago

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"If you are there in the middle of ordinary life, it doesn't mean Christ has forgotten about you or hasn't called you. He has invited you to stay among the activities and concerns of the world. He wants you to know that your human profession, your vocation, your talents, are not omitted from His divine plan. He has sanctified them and made them a most acceptable offering to His Father."

~W.J. West, Opus Dei: Exploding a Myth

#Lord Jesus Christ #Christian #you are not forgotten in ordinary life #God #Opus Dei #your life matters #you matter

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ynhart · 1 year ago

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Hello fellow sister in Christ! I have a story and question for you.

On the day that I was baptized and received into the Catholic Church, the confirmation saint that I chose was Saint Rose of Lima. The reason I chose her was because I thought her name was pretty and I wanted her name as my confirmation name. Afterwards, I felt like I regretted my choice because I felt like she just didn't "fit" my circumstances. I started to wish that I had chosen Saint Kateri Tekakwitha or Saint Joan of Arc to be my confirmation saint... But then, I started to reflect on my decision to choose Saint Rose of Lima and I came to the realization that God probably had me pick her specifically for a reason. Not just for the name, but because she dealt with family problems as well.

She was also a very kind and caring soul who ended up joining a Third Order after not being allowed to join a convent. I'm someone who has wanted to join the religious life myself, but in all honesty, I'd probably need to join a Third Order as my option due to certain health conditions I live with. And as for being kind and caring, those are qualities I hope to embody to the best of my ability as a social worker. So, in the end, I think I made the correct decision of choosing Saint Rose of Lima as my confirmation saint.

With all of that being said, my question to you is: Who is your confirmation saint, and why did you choose him or her?

Sincerely,

@ramen-chan-27 (Asking on anon since this is my sideblog)

Hi! Thanks for sharing your story <33 I actually didn't know much about St. Rose of Lima so thanks for letting me know! I'll definitely read more about her. All I can say is that all vocations are wonderful and I'm glad you were able to find which one's best for you :D

About my confirmation saints, I don't have one actually. I don't think we have that tradition of choosing a patron saint for our baptism/confirmation.

But if I were to choose one it would be St. Michael Archangel. As you know, my name is Micaela, which is like the female version of Michael, and I have this vague memory, from when I was little, of my parents teaching me about him and saying that we have the same name. I love that our names mean "who is like God?" it's awesome lol. So I like to think that he's my patron Saint!

And another friend Saint I have is St. Josemaría Escriva de Balaguer! He's a modern Saint so he kind of feels very close to us and can relate deeply to his emphasis on sanctifying through our jobs and ordinary lives.

How beautiful and different are all the saints, right?

#ask

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 year ago

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Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon

Morning, November 1st

"The church in thy house." – Philemon 1:2

Is there a Church in this house? Are parents, children, friends, servants, all members of it? or are some still unconverted? Let us pause here and let the question go round--Am I a member of the Church in this house? How would father's heart leap for joy, and mother's eyes fill with holy tears if from the eldest to the youngest all were saved! Let us pray for this great mercy until the Lord shall grant it to us. Probably it had been the dearest object of Philemon's desires to have all his household saved; but it was not at first granted him in its fulness. He had a wicked servant, Onesimus, who, having wronged him, ran away from his service. His master's prayers followed him, and at last, as God would have it, Onesimus was led to hear Paul preach; his heart was touched, and he returned to Philemon, not only to be a faithful servant, but a brother beloved, adding another member to the Church in Philemon's house. Is there an unconverted servant or child absent this morning? Make special supplication that such may, on their return to their home, gladden all hearts with good news of what grace has done! Is there one present? Let him partake in the same earnest entreaty.

If there be such a Church in our house, let us order it well, and let all act as in the sight of God. Let us move in the common affairs of life with studied holiness, diligence, kindness, and integrity. More is expected of a Church than of an ordinary household; family worship must, in such a case, be more devout and hearty; internal love must be more warm and unbroken, and external conduct must be more sanctified and Christlike. We need not fear that the smallness of our number will put us out of the list of Churches, for the Holy Spirit has here enrolled a family-church in the inspired book of remembrance. As a Church let us now draw nigh to the great head of the one Church universal, and let us beseech him to give us grace to shine before men to the glory of his name.

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christomythopoesis · 11 months ago

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What was family life in Nazareth like? In the home of the Holy Family in Nazareth, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph sanctified their ordinary life, without doing anything spectacular or newsworthy. They led a life that was to all appearance the same as that of their neighbors, a life that was important, not because of the material things they did, but because of the love that they put into these things, in perfect union with the Will of God the Father.

St. Josemaria Escriva

Blog | Marian Sisters of Santa Rosa

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 2 years ago

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5. XXI.1

The fork is the symbol of rebirth. We always make a point of having a fork on the table, right next to the front door. The front door is an emblem of birth, not just of the body but of the social self: it is the first gateway to a world apart from the world of childhood.

One can never be certain that one will return from the world outside. One can only be certain of the passage to it. And the first passage, from childhood to adult life, from the mother to the world at large, is the road through the front door. The door, a token of that passage, is more than just an emblem: it is a sanctifying ritual object. Not just the front door, but all the doors, in the rooms where the door is an ordinary thing, the arbitrary junction of wall and floor. The everyday door, trivial thing, an appendage of wood or metal, a tunnel with a handle. So ordinary, so familiar. Yet so sacred. And because of this, so unspeakable.

We see them at once. Glimpsing the world from the other side. Someone without a memory. Someone unburdened by the goddess. Someone entirely unprepared for her corpse. The debris, the litter, the entropy, all of it; the body, so well concealed in the perfection of the garment. The precise dimensions, the sharpness of the zipper. The small shining mesh holes of the netting. The rational planes of the face. The orchestration of hands and feet, erect posture, the low, fluid glide. The goddess has vanished. The body has fallen. The body is the body. The world is a gash, a tangle of wire and cloth and wires entangled in cloth. Three hundred milliliters of water.

We take them in. The spatial arrangement. The newcomer at the table. The first fork, on the first plate, in the first course. The raw egg, the scrambled egg, the overcooked egg. It is scrambled with olive oil, for flavor. The raw egg is uncooked and uncracked; the scrambled egg is stiff and smooth, the texture of muscle. But it is also an oil. The oil is porous, and it does not vanish.

As with all things, it is oil on eggs. The jug of water. The jug with its handle. And its mouth. The cone. The cone of silence. The egg. The egg made of oil, the hole made of egg, that is the mouth. Three hundred milliliters. The milliliter of pure essence. The three hundred.

The person standing at the front door, her ears flattened, her jaw slack. A person whose mouth is a flute. A flute inside her. And all around her, what is not a person, but a pack of notes. Some more clear than others. The notes undulating, pushing and pulling. Heaving and thrusting. Singing. Singing without meaning. Singing in the childish tongue. Singing no words. Singing wordless song. What does the singing mean? What does it mean to sing no words? What is the meaning of the sound?

The sound. The current passes through us. A powerful wave, a stream of notes, a torrent, a surging, a hot bath, a yawning, a swelling, a boiling, a flame. An overheating engine, a breaking rainstorm, the boil of a geyser, a welling, an undulating, an urging, a surge, a river, a precipice, an overflowing, a flood. A bit of noise. A blast. A music, a sound.

We hear them. Sound. Noises, words, texts, symbols. The babbling of the world. The flood of the world. Two thousand voices speaking, ten thousand minds thinking, one hundred thousand mouths moving, a billion eyes staring, a trillion hands grasping, more digits than there are grains of sand in all the beaches of the world. The voice of the world, the speech of the world. A roar that never stops.

Murmur, babble, hum, roar, rumble.

We hear it all. The loud and the quiet. The explosion, the rumble, the hum, the burst, the crackle, the subsonic, the loud, the quiet, the thunder. The pinpricks, the needles, the moving, the dipping, the undulating, the purr, the mumble, the scream, the nothing, the single drumbeat, the perfect tune, the cascade, the liquid, the waves, the stuttering, the sinking, the waterfall, the raging, the ringing, the babbling, the moan, the hoot, the sing, the croak, the cooing, the chant, the bay, the call, the whisper, the sigh, the shout, the cackle, the laughter, the yelp, the loud.

Leonora, love, it's terribly loud, this thing you have been doing.

We hear the voices of the world. A world teeming with voices. A world made of voices. A world so huge that the voice of the world becomes a single, simple voice. A torrent of voices, a single voice. The voice of the world is, at once, a billion voices, and is a single voice.

We hear all the voices, all at once, without distinction. The loud, and the quiet. The bright and the dark. The black and the white, the loud and the soft, the drone and the shriek, the roar and the twang, the underwater and the screaming, the flowers, the flowers, the flowers, their lips, the noise, the crickets, the myriad, the murmur, the nocturnal, the meditative, the noiseless, the dog, the tiger, the quail, the ant, the male, the female. The noises of the world, all at once, without distinction.

At once, all of them. The men, and the women, and the fields, and the sky. The sounds of all things. All at once. The voice of the world.

Darkness. Someone draws a blanket over it. Washes it away. Rips it off again. Rips it off, and it sticks to their hands. Blood, dried blood, blood in her hair, blood in her eyes, her scalp, her nose. The blood is her crown, her hair a black halo. The eyes, her eyes, are unfocused, nearly lost in their own darkness, but the blood can be seen in the whites.

The blood is viscous, forming a sac on her right eyelid. There is no trace of the wound. It is not visible. The torrent still falls over the scalp. The razor, the sharp, the glint, the whetstone, the blade, the pain, the gash, the pain, the cut. The warmth. The horror. The blade. The blood.

She cannot stop crying. A drip, a trickle, blood on her lip. She rubs her face. Pulls out a tissue and wipes away the streaks.

The blood has formed a sac. A translucent white film over the eye. The eye is cracked, or closed, or it is something else. Like an egg. The egg. The face is the egg. The mouth is the egg. The world is the egg. The red pulp of the blood is its yolk. The chalazion, the glucose, the egg white, the sugar, the yolk. The egg. The bud, the place of birth, the cradle, the nut, the yolk, the raw egg, the scrambled egg, the raw egg and the egg white, the yolk. The blood is an egg. The face is an egg. The death is an egg. The men are the eggs. The women are the eggs. The faces are eggs. The world is an egg. The eyes are eggs. All of them.

For once, the lips are closed. The head is tilted. A bandit's mask, a pirate, a privateer. A bandit's robe, made of gold, weighing ten thousand pounds. Clothed in white silk, and robbed of gold. A bandit, a pirate, a thief. A sharp blade with a hilt. Something other than a dagger, but only slightly. A weapon, a knife. Dagger, blade, a glinting shard of metal. Tipped with a thorn. A something, a sign, a symbol, a death. A bandit's robe, a pirate's cloak, a little bit of gold. The real thing. Cloth, clothing, a dagger, a sword, a ring, a crown, a clothing, a shirt, a mask, a mask of gold, a gold mask, a mask of flesh, a mask with a knife, a weapon, a blade, a knife, a dagger, two glasses of wine, a bandit's robe, a pirate's shirt. A pirate's robe,

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littleobelia · 1 year ago

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editing of nurserry2

He walks in the direction of his bus stop. There is a bus approaching, but he can’t make out the numbers. Too late he realises that it’s his bus. There’s no-one at the stop, so it blasts ahead and passes Harry, blowing black exhaust into his face. There won’t be another one for an hour. The Sunday timetable is the bane of his existence.

Someone he knows could drive past and see him near to crying. As soon as he thinks it he sees Martin Lee gunning past and hooking into the parking lot. Tardy Marty. He waves feebly in the direction of his colleague’s pale gold Astra, but he doesn't see him. Harry is invisible in his plain clothes. Out of scrubs he could be anyone. He walks on. He wants to see something extra-ordinary, an antidote to the misery, something to reinvigorate his faltering conviction that life is worth the pain. A man died in the night; had a fall at his council flat, brought it by ambulance, quickly acquired a UTI that wrought havoc to his kidneys, then whoopsy-daisy he was dead. Bed four, Mr Solomon Yeameni. His name was like a cryptic crossword clue. Solo – many. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Maybe religion is the answer? Our Lady of Sorrows. Her doors are open to the street. He steps into the dim vestibule and already the traffic is muffled by an invisible membrane of solace. In the vestibule there is an automatic hand sanitiser dispenser on a purpose-built plinth. Out of habit he cups his palm underneath it. The machine senses his hand; he is not invisible. The machine knows he is there, he machine knows he is doing the right thing. The machine seeks to reward him, whirrs, purrs, deposits a dollop of alcohol mixed with glycerin on his hand.

Harry rubs it in and feels sanctified. When their ward was audited two years ago he received a special commendation for his outstanding adherence to the hand hygiene protocol. He remembers with crystal clarity the euphoria of being singled out for doing something right, for a change. Praise is thin on the ground.

On the other side of a trestle table covered in pamphlets, there is an identical automatic dispenser on an identical plinth. Tacked on its face is a hand written label, which says “HOLY WATER”.

It’s the first thing to make Harry genuinely smile in at least the past week. It’s a sardonic smile, but a smile none-the-less. He offers his hand to the sensor. The machine senses him, but it seems to hesitate, sizing him up. After a judgemental pause, it grinds and sputters disdainfully. Nothing comes out.

Harry shrugs. He has satisfied his desire to see something novel. It’s extraordinary that such a thing even exists, such a wretched example of modern faith. It was probably full of pathogens; consecrated amoebae floating around in their stagnant bath.

Through the creaking door into the cavernous interior of the church. The first thing he does is look up at the ceiling. When ceilings are tall you must look up and appreciate how tall they are. He learnt that from Grand Designs.

The great oaken beams arch over him, protecting. There are six of them, like a giant rib cage. The emaciated body of Christ looms over the altar, his eyes downcast. Regarding him, Harry feels a faint impression of suffering, and then he feels merely faint. He has not eaten since yesterday evening. Portions of the host are stacked on the paten like so many poker chips and a silver platter holds dozens of little sips of wine in plastic thimble-sized cups, like raspberry jelly shots. His stomach growls miserably. He didn’t eat during his shift. The upside of this is that his bowels are minimally occupied, available to be filled from the other end. He’s a pragmatic self-harmer.

He treads silently down the outer edge of the room between the pews and the rendered walls, past the Stations of the Cross in their gaudy frames, then he sits in one of the centre pews and closes his eyes, swaying slightly in his seat. Harry is early, the first one here. A man in white glides in unhurriedly and genuflects, then across the floor and out the opposite door, his feet nearly silent and invisible beneath his robe; it gives the impression that he is a prop on track, or perhaps something like a dalek.

Hushed footsteps echo as the pews fill. The sound accumulates, proliferates, like incense smoke filling a shrine. His ears are suffused with whispers. He begins to fall asleep and his heavy head rolls to one side, pinching some nerve or other. He starts and winces, rubbing the affected part.

He is not alone on his pew any more. He stands when his pewmates stand, and he sits when they sit, but he is too heavy and weary to bother with communion. The priest at the lectern has a prominent black beard, reflecting tiny filaments of light from the candles on the altar. It covers half his face, framing his moist little mouth in neatly combed and parted whiskers. He looks more like a lumberjack than a priest. Harry is so absorbed in the observation of this glossy, oily facial hair, that it takes him a while to realise the mass is not in English.

He understands nothing. He thinks it might be Polish. Sibilant, slithering words, they trickle into his ears and fizz like vichy water, cleansing and soothing. When it's over an hour later he is catatonic.

The sunlight greets him in the street, meek and docile. “You ought to be in bed, lad,” the sun murmurs, slipping behind a cloud. He wanders down the road to a bus stop, then pulls out his phone and books an uber to his address, 14-18 Hartwell Street. The screen goes black, and he is faced with his own decrepit reflection. He jostles the screen back to life. These days the phones wake up when they are jostled. The phone analyses his features, his puffy eyes, his swollen nose and his chapped lips. “You look worse for wear,” thinks the phone, unlocking.

Lent 2022 Harry types into the safari search bar. Google informs him that lent started a few weeks ago. That’s a shame; he was tempted to give something up. Meph. Or booze. Or porn. He opens a bookmarked site and looks at gifs of small, hairless men being fucked by larger, hairier ones. He pretends he’s small and hairless and unwrinkled. A spring chicken. Lately the follicles on his temples have packed up and migrated to his lower back. He’s sprouting little short and curlies right there at the top of his arse-crack. If his lumbar spine weren’t so stiff he’d be able to twist his torso to shave them off.

He can’t do what this spring chicken in the gif is doing, arching his back like a cobra. He dims the screen to minimum brightness, though there is no one else around. The trembling, grainy moving images occupy his over-tired brain. He understands human mating, finds it comforting, though he doesn’t do it as often as one would like. He scarcely has the energy to masturbate. He’ll go home and have a long nap, and then maybe he’ll try. And if he can’t, he’ll get on the apps and find someone who can get it up and enjoy the vicarious sexual gratification.

#i dont think i can use any of this sadly #cutting room floor #my fic

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