#mess of pottage

[thewordwideweb]

Another fine mess

With apologies to Laurel and Hardy, today’s Word of the Day is another fine mess you’ve gotten me into. I can’t recall what I was reading, watching or listening to that made reference to a bunch of military folk dining in a “mess hall.” So what makes a mess hall, um, messy?

Now, you might think they call it a “mess” hall because, after a long day of marching, standing at attention and saluting, tired soldiers can get pretty sloppy while chowing down. Or perhaps you think the mess refers to a big, gloopy ladleful of, say, creamed chipped beef being plopped onto a tin tray. And, of course, you’d be almost completely wrong.

We may not know which came first, the chicken or the egg (It’s obviously the egg, but that’s an argument for another day), but we know for sure that the mess in “mess hall” came first and general messiness came later. Much, much later.

The word “mess” came into English around 1300 and originally meant a portion of food, enough for one meal. In modern French, “mets” means “dish, or dishes.” (Insert your own “Let’s go mets” joke here.) But once upon a time, old Frenchmen speaking Old French spelled “mets” as “mes.” And both “mets” and “mes” trace their roots back to the Late Latin word “missus,” meaning to put or send (which is where we get the word “mission”), but also “a course at a meal; something put on the table to be eaten.”

By the early 1500’s, “mess” came to mean not just the meal, but a group of people (usually numbering four, we’re told) eating at the same communal table. Those folks were your mess-mates, and the meal was eaten in the mess-room. It took until the early 1800’s for the mess-room to join the military and become a “mess hall.”

And it appears the mess wasn’t just any food - it was usually a semi-liquid meal, like a stew or thick soup. That’s where we get the Biblical tale of Esau selling his birthright for a “mess of pottage.” Pottage is another word for soup or stew. Today, a “mess of pottage” can refer to anything that is “valueless or trivial or of inferior value —used especially of something accepted instead of a rightful thing of far greater value.” (Merriam-Webster). But I digress.

That semi-liquid mess – the term was also applied to mushy animal feed – is what finally gave rise to the mess we know and love (and probably live with) today. The animal slop gave “mess” the meaning of “a jumble, a mixed mass” as well as a “state of confusion, a situation of disorder…condition of untidiness.” (Online Etymology Dictionary)

It only took 500 years to go from “a portion of food” to “a dirty or untidy state of things…a state of affairs that is confused or full of difficulties.”

What a mess!

#word of the day #words #language #humor #mess #mess hall #laurel and hardy #mess of pottage #esau #food

[sayitwithsarcophilus]

Of all the nasty things one could say about "white people food," I must object to the "it looks like a heap of glop" accusation. Dishes that look like heaps of glop are found in the cuisines of all agricultural societies!

A nice dish of matar ki dal may be the delicious aromatic product of a millennia-old culinary tradition, but it's no less gloppy than Anglo-Saxon mushy peas.

Make peace with glop! (And in general, internalize the fact that especially when photographed by an amateur - food photography is considered a specific skillset for a reason - home-cooked food often looks worse than it tastes.) It'll serve you better than constantly having to make the "can I EWWW this stew (that I'm not even in a position to smell, let alone taste) on vibes alone, or will it turn out I've just insulted some cherished cultural dish of a group my ancestors oppressed for hundreds of years?" calculations.

#perhaps i'm unduly sensitive to this because as a vegetarian #a lot of international cuisine that i can eat is Some Kind of Bean And/Or Vegetable Stew #so i'm a bit protective of my messes of pottage

[justdiptych]

There's a scene in Fallout: New Vegas that I find really interesting in how it uses skill checks in dialogue. A merchant company, the Crimson Caravan, want to buy out one of their rivals, Cassidy Caravans, and they hire the player character to negotiate the deal. The player has likely already met the rival company's owner, Rose of Sharon Cassidy, by this point - in fact, it's entirely possible that she suggested they ask the Crimson Caravan for work in the first place.

Cass is propping up the bar at a truck stop on the border near the game's opening area. She's heard that her caravan has been destroyed in her absence - her employees killed and their wagons burned in an attack on the road - but she can't investigate because of a bureaucratic hold-up. The man in charge of the border post, Ranger Jackson, has halted all commercial traffic across the border because of dangers on the roads - wild animals, bandits, and enemy soldiers - that the authorities are struggling to get under control.

When the player brings the Crimson Caravan's offer to Cass, she refuses on principle. Her business may have effectively been destroyed, but she's too proud and too stubborn to sell her surname for any number of messes of pottage. Convincing her requires that the player employs one of either their Speech or Barter skills - there are two options for each, requiring either moderate or high investments of skill points. Skill and Barter are the game's two Charisma-based skills, and it's not uncommon for them to appear side-by-side like this, but here, they diverge in application.

The easier Speech option is simple - the player just reminds Cass that, if she sells the business, she won't be commercial traffic anymore, so she'll be able to get across the border. She's itching to get on the road again, so this convinces her. (She will ask the player to help Jackson clear the roads for the benefit of her fellow merchants, but this is a very simple quest that they likely already completed hours ago.)

The more challenging Speech check is to tell Cass that there's no way her business can survive, so it's her duty to do the merciful thing - shoot it in the head, bury it, and move on with her life. This, naturally, brings her close to socking the player in the jaw, but she sees the truth in it. She's been holding onto the forlorn hope that there might be something left to save, but she really has lost everything. This bypasses Jackson's quest - she just wants to walk out and not look back.

The Barter options approach things differently - from the Speech options, and from each other. The more challenging one involves making some sport of the offer, challenging Cass to a drinking contest. The player has to supply the booze, and they run the risk of getting embarrassingly drunk if their Endurance stat is too low, but, either way, this will impress Cass enough that she'll sign the contract.

The easier Barter option, though, is, I think, the most interesting. It requires the player to sweeten the deal with their own money - a not insubstantial amount of it, in fact. Cass is still hesitant, though, which allows the player to make a very interesting point. With the money from the Crimson Caravan plus the player's contribution, she'd have enough to restart her business - buy new animals and equipment, hire a new crew, start trading again.

Further, the player can point out that the Crimson Caravan are unlikely to continue using the 'Cassidy Caravans' name after buying it. They're only buying her out to try to monopolise local trade, after all. If they don't use the name, they'll forfeit their rights to it - meaning that Cass can, as she puts it, take their money, give them nothing, and go back to running her business as if the attack never happened.

Cass, naturally, accepts this offer, though she's staggered that the player is so willing to sell out their employers to help her like this. (The player needn't feel any moral misgivings about doing so. A little investigation reveals that the attack on Cass's business was actually engineered by the Crimson Caravan themselves, in collusion with a crime family, in a conspiracy to wipe out their competition.)

I think this entire interaction represents how well New Vegas uses skill checks. Barter, in RPGs, is often a very barebones skill. Its use is letting the player earn more and spend less - as part of an equation determining shop prices, or in dialogue options that boil down to asking for money. It's not uncommon for Speech to be the skill of the peaceful, benevolent diplomat, while Barter is for common mercenaries.

Here, though, the Barter options actually cost more than their Speech equivalents. The player ends up out of pocket for a sizable chunk of change or at least a lot of booze. Instead, the Barter skill represents the character's understanding of common business practices and relevant laws. It allows them to convince Cass to accept a deal by finding a loophole that benefits her more than if she refused.

The equivalent Speech options, meanwhile, are effectively free, but do involve making Cass feel that little bit worse. They emphasise what she's lost, how trapped she is by her circumstances, and convince her to give up and let the Crimson Caravan win. In the long run, this doesn't make a real difference - once she leaves the outpost, she and the player can discover the conspiracy and get their revenge either way - but I think the choice does let the player say something about their character.

Part of the brilliance of this game is how little details, like Cass being stuck at the outpost, tie into other details all across the story. Caravan traffic is halted, in part, because deathclaws have nested near the roads to the north. They've nested there because the local quarry has ceased operations - the noise caused by the digging and blasting had previously scared them off.

The quarry closed down because escaped convicts raided it and stole the workers' stash of mining explosives. The convicts escaped because the government was using them for forced labour on the railroads, and foolishly entrusted them with enough dynamite to stage an uprising, seize control of the prison, and turn it into a fortress and a base of operations for banditry.

Similarly, the threads of Cass's story spread outwards, ultimately affecting the entire future of New California. When she learns that the Crimson Caravan and their allies killed her friends, Cass is furious. She wants to march over there and beat the snot out of the people responsible. The player can convince her to instead settle things legally - get proof of their crimes, pass them on to Ranger Jackson, and hope the justice system gets revenge for her.

If Cass does things her way, the criminals pay with their lives, but their bosses end up better off for it. With their regional execs murdered, the trading companies can claim that the government isn't doing enough to protect them - so, they don't have to support the government's interests, either. They withdraw trade, demand special treatment, and end up making their shortfall everyone's problem.

If the legal option is pursued, though, the evidence becomes blackmail material. The government has the trading companies over a barrel, and that lets them pass stricter trade laws. Given the choice of accepting regulation or facing criminal investigation, the crooked execs choose to stay out of jail. Those responsible for the murders technically avoid justice, but their hopes of a monopoly are dashed - and their superiors are unlikely to be pleased with them having hurt long-term profits so badly.

Cass's story is political and economical all the way through. It's about the influence of wealth on government, and the fundamental injustices of the carceral system. It's about revenge, and reform, and how to hit people where it hurts - their bottom line. And it's about how, sometimes, skills in an RPG aren't about making numbers go up - they're about how a character understands the world around them, and how they can apply that understanding to help someone out of a jam, or help reshape the trade lines of a whole nation.

#vidyo games #fallout #fallout: new vegas

[oldgayjew]

LIARS ... Clinton sold them the technology and computers they needed to advance as they have !

Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage ...

Clinton sold out his country for Chinese “donations” ...

#BJB oldgayjew

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

William Blake died on this day in 1827, to be buried in an unmarked grave at a pauper's funeral, having given us some of humanity's most transcendent art and poetry.

[...]

Those who knew William Blake (November 28, 1757–August 12, 1827) cherished his overwhelming kindness, his capacity for delight even during his frequent and fathomless depressions, his “expression of great sweetness, but bordering on weakness — except when his features are animated by expression, and then he has an air of inspiration about him.” He was remembered for the strange, koan-like things he said about Jesus (He is the only God. And so am I and so are you.), about the prosperous artists who held his poverty as proof of his failure (I possess my visions and peace. They have bartered their birthright for a mess of pottage.), about the nature of creativity (The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way… As a man is, so he sees.)

[The Marginalian]

#William Blake #The Marginalian #poetry #about art #theology

[bir0me]

After God had finished the rattlesnake, the toad, and the vampire, He had some awful substance left with which He made a scab. A scab is a two-legged animal with a corkscrew soul, a waterlogged brain, and a combination backbone made of jelly and glue. Where others have hearts, he carries a tumor of rotten principles.

When a scab comes down the street, men turn their backs and angels weep in heaven, and the devil shuts the gates of hell to keep him out. No man has a right to scab as long as there is a pool of water deep enough to drown his body in, or a rope long enough to hang his carcass with. Judas Iscariot was a gentleman compared with a scab. For betraying his Master, he had character enough to hang himself. A scab hasn't.

Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. Judas Iscariot sold his savior for thirty pieces of silver. Benedict Arnold sold his country for a promise of a commission in the British Army. The modern strikebreaker sells his birthright, his country, his wife, his children, and his fellow men for an unfulfilled promise from his employer, trust, or corporation.

—Ode To A Scab, by Jack London

#202420 #y gritemos todos unidos ¡viva la internacional!

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.3

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

4800 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Get excited. A large portion of this is Slate's POV. And by the Gods please don't let me edit this a third time. I'm done. If I left any filler words or random parts bolded for later fixing, no I didn't.

Slate is gone when Adalyn wakes. She’s sensing a pattern and wonders how he manages to wake and leave before she does, despite her baker instincts to be up before sunrise. 

Not in any rush, Adalyn fortifies herself with a cup of tea out on the balcony, snacking on some old biscuits. She cooks jam on toast over the fire, frowning at the mess cluttering the hearth. She takes a moment to straighten the equipment and jars – she's keen to get cooking, but with Slate’s explicit permission to organise his belongings, part of her is tempted to spend the morning rearranging.  

Still, they’d purchased a week’s worth of groceries yesterday, and she plans to experiment. After she’s fed and dressed, she heads down to the kitchen, lighting the room once she arrives. They’d visited Northpoint, the main trade hub of the valley, and Adalyn had managed to procure some sugar. Slate had smiled at her excitement at seeing the ware, and purchased the merchant’s whole stock.  

She spends half the morning baking, experimenting with recipes that exist only as scraps in her family journal, or as fragments in her memory. The shortcrust biscuits are a little sweet and the pastries don’t keep the shape she wants, but the sweet rolls turn out beautifully, and she makes note of the recipe she’d used. 

When the dining area begins to lighten, Adalyn starts to prepare lunch. She packs a basket, and is off towards the main-way, excited to showcase her food for the day. 

Slate is working on the same passage as last time, and she waits expectantly by the stream bank as he washes off and joins her on the blanket she’d laid out.  

“Potato and leek pottage. Bread of the day. Wine,” she gestures to each in turn. 

He smiles. “You’re an absolute blessing, Adalyn.” 

She blushes and stares at her food. “There’s like three breads of the day, but this one turned out best.” 

Slate lets out an appreciative groan when tears into the loaf and raises it to his nose. “I believe you.” 

They eat in silence for a few minutes, before Adalyn tries to start a conversation.   

“What are you working on today?” 

 Slate grins at the inquiry. “I’ve pretty much dug to the right spot. Now it’s time to start hollowing out a living space.” 

“What do you do with all the stone?” 

He shrugs. “I set it aside. Most of it is good for sculpting. I can use it for furnishing, or steps, or block facades. Though some of it is as good as slag by the time I’m through.” 

Adalyn nods contemplatively. Realises that they’re sitting in a makeshift limestone quarry. She’s musing about the other uses of the stone, wondering if there’s any further use, or if Slate would sell the material when he interrupts. 

“Have you given any thought to what you’ll call your wing?” 

She starts from her thoughts. Raises a brow. “Can’t I just call it my wing? My chambers. My tower?” 

“You can. But where’s the fun? It’ll be big enough to be its own fort, at least.” 

A pang of unease goes through Adalyn. If she were self-reliant in her quarters, wouldn’t that mean less reason to visit Slate and the Tower? 

She shrugs, pushing the feeling down. “From the valley they look like they’re in a row. Sometimes we number them. The Tower is fifth...” 

Slate hits his knee with a fist, excited. “I like the way you think. That’d make your mountain the fourth?” 

“Yes.” 

“We could call it Fourth Spire? Fothspire? Fourth Peak?” 

Adalyn busies herself with her food. Watching the enthusiasm in Slate’s demeanour stings, just a little. “Fourth Spire is fitting.” 

There’s a silence while they eat. Slate shoots Adalyn some careful stares, sensing something amiss. “What are your plans for the day?” 

Adalyn glances to the sky. The sun is high overhead, stretching into the afternoon. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll clean your desk.” She means it as a joke, but considers with some seriousness. 

Slate purses his lips. “If it makes you happy, dearest.” 

She takes pity on him and huffs a laugh. Some of her tension seeps away. “Did you have a system you’d like me to adhere to?” 

He pouts down at his food. “Not presently.” 

“And the books you’ve left out. They’re quite numerous...” 

He fidgets. “I might be referencing some of them.” 

“Even the ones left on the floor?” 

“Well, maybe not those.” 

Adalyn teases him with a smile. “I also meant to inquire about your book-marking system.” 

He meets her eyes, despairing. “... What book-marking system?” 

“The one where you leave books open or close them on a variety of... strange things. Feathers. Receipts. Fabrics. Unidentified plant matter.” 

He shifts. “Well, you know dog earring is terrible for parchment.” 

  “So is staining the pages with potion ingredients, dearest.” She pushes back with the new endearment. 

He covers his silence by scraping the bottom of his bowl. 

Adalyn relents. “If they’re not an elaborate bookmarking system I’ll just remove them then? At least from the books not currently in use?” 

He relaxes a bit. “I should be grateful for your care, Adalyn. I admit the treatment of my hoard is not always delicate.” 

She permits another soft smile. “Would that I knew how to care for your belongings. I’ve never cleaned armour or weapons, and I fear to touch half of your possessions for worry of mistreating them.” 

He stretches. Gives her a sheepish look. “I’ll show you then. If you’ll remain patient. I’m not fond of cleaning but you’ve my permission to wrest the best methods out of me.” 

She raises her brows. Considers the chance to spend more time with her husband, under the guise of learning and cleaning. 

Weary at her interest, Slate stands and dances back. “Later, though. You’ll not have me that easily.” 

She scowls at him. “Tease.” 

--- 

By sunset Adalyn has cleared the walkways significantly. She doesn’t know how so many tomes found their way onto the floor when they’d tidied less than a week prior. Slate exudes a special kind of chaos. Despite his list and his priorities, it seems the wyvern can’t help but start other projects on a whim, falling victim to tangents and rabbit holes much too easily. 

She doesn’t even know what half his side projects pertain to. Just that their shopping trip in the valley had resulted in them visiting all three major settlements and stopping to speak with every experienced tradesperson they crossed. 

He’d been so enthused by the time they got home – evening, despite their morning start – that he’d raced off to work on something that night and had completely missed dinner. 

He’d eaten at least – the food was gone when she woke this morning. Along with her husband. And with Slate dismissing her at lunch – albeit playfully – and now running late for dinner again, Adalyn feels the itch of rejection chafing at her once more. 

She knows it was foolish to assume that it’d be a perfect transition. That things between them would stay simple and easy. They've been married... five days now. Complications are to be expected.  

But she still wonders if Slate even notices her disconnect. If he feels as estranged as she does. She doesn’t know if he’s rushing the construction of her quarters because he wants her gone, or if he’s being dutiful and kind, or if he’s just hyper-fixating on his next big project. She doesn’t know, because he hasn’t given her any indication. Hasn’t spoken to her about anything serious. Has barely spent any alone time with her. 

She finishes her dinner and covers Slates before standing to pace, restless. She scours the room for something else to do before flopping into the desk chair and scowling at Slate’s desk. Blueprints and plans are scattered around.  

Part of her feels small and dumb. Because each night after dinner, if he remembers to attend, Slate spends hours poring over these papers, drafting out his plans and thumbing through his reference books. Small and dumb because of the jealousy she feels towards some parchment. She wants to resent the paperwork. Envies the attention Slate gives it.  

But she relaxes incrementally and lets out a sigh. She doesn’t hate his work. Listening to him talk about engineering and different types of construction, watching him get so animated; she feels guilty for being so angry over something that obviously brings him so much joy.  

And it’s not as if Slate had promised her romance.  

He’d married out of self-interest. To discourage his family. An act of pettiness, or rebellion, she’d thought when he’d first revealed the plan.  

It only hurts because she likes him. 

Her fingers brush the scale that she keeps in her pocket. She grits her teeth at the acknowledgement. Then pushes the thought away. Her feelings for the wyvern aren’t something she wants to contemplate yet, even as she skirts around the truth of them. 

Adalyn lets out a sigh and chides herself. There’s no point dwelling on it. Especially if she refuses to act. And tonight, she doesn’t feel like doing either. 

--- 

The following morning, Slate stirs from his spot on the chaise as the room, barely perceptibly, begins to lighten. He groans, stretches, and nearly falls onto the floor. His cheeks darken, despite the lack of audience to his mishap.  

Slipping back into autonomy, Slate makes his way to the partitioned wash area and fills the basin with fresh water. He splashes his face and dresses for the day. The sun’s not up yet, but rays of red light – probably imperceptible to the human eye – are filtering into the room. Enough to let Slate know it’s time for him to start the day. 

He makes himself coffee. Adalyn had tried the bitter drink once and nearly spat it out, to his great amusement. He supposes that it’s an acquired taste, and as remote as they are, it’s not like any of the locals would have the chance to get used to it. 

He scarfs down a handful of Adalyn’s biscuits, puts another log on the fire, and lingers by the bed. He adjusts the blankets on his wife before leaving in a rush, not allowing himself to stare for too long. 

It’s a bad habit. 

He shouldn’t have started it. Shouldn’t keep indulging it. If she knew how he fussed, how often he touches her without permission... He hates to think of what she’d do if she found out he’d been pushing the boundaries like that. Especially with how touch sensitive humans supposedly are. 

Slate flies to the main entrance before shifting into his demi form and going on foot to Fourth Spire. The ground floor is gradually opening up, and he’s paying close attention to the central column. 

It’s thick, acting as both a support within the tower, and a centralised route up and down the floors once he hollows it out into a large spiral staircase. He hopes Adalyn likes it. Still, part of his mind ticks away at the design, wondering if there’s anything he can add, anything he can do to make carrying things up and down the Spire any easier for his human wife.  

Ready to begin, he lets shadows gather at his fingertips. Feels the weight of keratin form into large claws. In his demi form his muscles are already prepared for the weight the transformation brings. More scales appear across his forearms, the dense patches protecting him from any loose debris that might go airborne. 

Then he begins carving. 

Taking breaks only to sip at a skin of water, he loses himself in the sounds of the earth and the rhythm of his work, pausing occasionally to check that the angles and measurements aren’t out of order. It has to be perfect. Sure, it’s only the first shaping of the stairs. He’d go over it with his chisels once the basic shape had been found. But he moves carefully, not willing to make any mistakes with Adalyn’s quarters.  

She’d been... withdrawn last night. Pale and wan once she’d fallen asleep. There’d been a strange undercurrent in the air when he’d landed on the balcony and found her reading in the back corner.  

Seeing his covered dinner plate had shamed him. Once more he’d been late for dinner. Once more he’d promised himself he’d do better. He’d check the sky. He’d stop work early. But deep beneath the surface it’s hard to keep track of the time. Even if his eyes can cut through the dark with perfect clarity, he has no way of knowing what time it is. Especially as he gets lost in his work. (Especially as he can’t find anyone to fix that blasted timepiece). 

There’s the crunch of footsteps and he pauses in his work. Turns to regard Adalyn, waiting by the entrance with a torch. 

Controlling his delight, Slate wipes his hands on his pants and banishes his claws, trying to appear somewhat collected. Somewhat normal. Human. Palatable, he thinks. 

He gives her a polite smile. “What brings you today?” 

Her brief lunch visits are perhaps the only time she seems open. Relaxed. He looks forward to their little appointments, even if half the time he doesn’t know what to say or how to act.  

She crinkles her nose as she looks around the space. For a moment his heart skips a beat. Is something wrong with it? 

“I don’t know how you breathe through all this dust. If a human worked in these conditions they’d probably get black lung.” 

Relief floods him at the comment. Then embarrassment. Ancestors, he cares too much about her opinion.  

“Black lung is caused by scarring to the lung tissue. Most dracanoids are resistant to minor scarring and damages.” 

“Resistant,” Adalyn corrects, “but not immune.” 

Her concern is sweet enough, endearing enough, that his smile softens. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Her ears turn pink, and she turns away. “Did you want some lunch?” 

He follows her out into the mainway, sheds his footwear, and steps into the stream. The water is icy and he grits his teeth before dunking himself and rubbing the grey dust away.  

Curiously, Adalyn doesn’t watch, instead unpacking their blanket and lunch with careful movements, barely sparing him a glance. It’s his second clue that something is up, as most afternoons she can’t keep her eyes off of him, much to his pleasure.  

Dripping, but clean, Slate joins her at the makeshift picnic, sitting cross legged across from her. He eats the food with gusto, hoping the sounds and motions can convey what he struggles to do so with words. When Adalyn produces a flask of coffee, still hot, he almost swoons. 

“A female after my own heart,” he mutters, sipping at the brew. He misses the way she stills at his words. “So what are your plans for the day?” 

She shrugs before drinking from her own flask of tea. “I was just going to explore. Maybe experiment in the kitchen later. Do something different for dinner.” 

Something in his chest warms. “I’ll look forward to trying it.” 

She huffs. “Don’t be so enthused. I could end up poisoning us if I go too wild.” 

“I’m not worried.” 

Adalyn is silent for a moment, a strange expression flitting across her face. When she speaks next, her words still roll with the same cadence and volume, but Slate can’t help but feel that there’s something missing in her tone; some of the warmth behind her eyes has waned. 

“Is there anything I can eat that you can’t?” 

Grateful for the change in topic, Slate takes a moment to consider. “Not really. I think some red dragons can’t eat ice. But otherwise, we’re pretty good at digesting things, even if they’re not particularly nutritious.” 

“What do you like to eat?” 

Slate bites back a smile. He enjoys Adalyn’s curiosity. Her willingness to learn, and to hear him talk about the things she likes. She never makes it seem like he’s being boring. Even if there’s the occasional moment when he wonders if her mind is elsewhere, or she’s veiling some display of emotion. 

“I like all kinds of foods. One of the benefits of living so long and so richly is that I can travel around and try different things. I adore coffee. Though that might be because it’s mildly addictive. I like fish when it’s simple and game when it’s extravagant. I’m not very experienced at cooking many of these things, but I like different spice blends from Shad and the different grains they cook with. I like fruit and berry pastries. Cocoa from the Isles. I prefer my eggs cooked through, and I like the texture of toast when it’s a bit too crispy. But mostly I like variety. Being surprised by my food, or changing things up occasionally.” 

He reigns it in when Adalyn stares. There’s an indecipherable look on her face once more, and he pauses, suddenly self-conscious.  

“I’m not boring you, am I?” 

Her look softens. “I asked.”  

Slate drops his eyes. Suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and touch her, to cup her face, to lean in and taste her breath; he schools his features into neutrality before pulling out another practiced smile. She’s just being friendly. Polite. 

“Lunch was wonderful. Thank you, Adalyn.”  

She smiles back, soft, but with that shadow of emotion from earlier, the one he can’t quite place.  

It’s enough that he finally frowns. Reaches out and touches her hand. “Is something wrong?” 

She hesitates, and he waits, giving her the time she needs to find her words. She seems to be thinking hard, conflicted. Eventually she lifts her eyes to his. Bites on her lip.  

“It’s silly.” 

“I won’t laugh.” 

She looks away again. “Will you... show me how to take apart and clean your armour tomorrow?” 

He tries not to frown. He has to wonder if she’d changed her mind about what she was going to say. Why look so torn over such a simple request? 

“Of course. Is that all?” 

She struggles to meet his gaze again. Shrugs. “Yes. I just... I like spending time with you.” 

Something in his chest warms. His face too.  

“I like spending time with you too, dearest.” 

She rolls her eyes at the endearment, but the tension is barely diffused. She still looks uncomfortable. 

He’s not sure what to say to make it better. Instead waits, hoping that she’ll break the silence. 

After a while, she does. “I’m just- worried.” 

He tilts his head.  

She shrugs again, trying to downplay the moment. “When you finish the Spire and I move out, what if I don’t get to spend any more time with you?” 

He blinks. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. At least, not as something to worry about. He’d been toiling away in the keep, eager to gift Adalyn with her own space and not considering how she might feel about it. Does she want her own quarters? Will she like living by herself? He hadn’t even thought to ask. 

Looking at her now, vulnerable, hardly able to meet his eye, the previous warmth in his chest dissipates, and fractures. He’d messed up.  

He flounders for the right words to fix his mistake. To reassure Adalyn, and make that doleful expression go away. 

“I- uh. Of course you’ll spend time with me. You have a knack for tracking me down. And I really enjoy our lunches together.” 

Her expression barely changes. She just nods, and looks away, before making to stand. 

Slate winces and grabs her hand. Stands with her. Blurts the first thought to pop into his head. “I could build a bridge? One from the tower to your Spire? That way you can visit me whenever, and won’t even have to walk the whole keep.” 

Her face is blank for a moment. Then he watches as she goes through the effort tilting up the edges of her lips. Summons a spark to her eyes. “Sounds difficult.”  

He agrees. “A secret tunnel would probably be easier.”  

The smile twitches. “Probably more romantic too.” 

He blinks again. Latches onto that train of thought with clawed hands. “Do you like romance?” 

She looks away. “I don’t know. I haven’t really tried it.” 

There’s a precipice in front of him. A vulnerability he’d yet to show Adalyn. Yet to show anyone really. And while he hesitates to step over it, looking at the cracks in his wife’s composure, and their linked hands, his decision to speak is easily made. 

“Neither have I.” 

She turns to regard him, face still mostly blank. “You... haven’t?” 

“Nope.” 

He watches her weigh her words. Shift her weight. Consider the implications.  

“I see.” 

Adalyn no longer looks quite so melancholy, and it’s a balm on his nerves. But now that the desperate grab for reassurances and comforts is done, he shifts uncomfortably. The silence grates on him, and he wonders what next he should say. 

Adalyn saves him the trouble when she floors him with her next question. 

“Would you like to? 

Slate blinks. Looks sharply at the woman only to find her staring at her feet again, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Uh,” his heart is beating too hard, “I hadn’t considered it.” There’s another tense silence. “Would you?” 

Despite asking the first question, Adalyn still has the gall to look surprised. She meets his stare, eyes wide for a moment, before looking away. She packs the picnic blanket. Puts their dishes away, slowly, while she deliberates on her answer.  

Finally when she stands, she holds her basket in hand, almost as if she’s ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She makes herself meet Slate’s eyes. Composes her expression into one of neutrality again. 

“Yes. I think I would.” 

His mind blanks.  

He doesn’t have it in him to consider the implication of her words while she still stands before him. To consider the surge of... something... in his chest. To get a grip on his emotions and form a coherent response.  

But she stands there, waiting for him to reply.  

In his panic, he settles on an abrupt change in topic. “Tomorrow then, I’ll show you the armour.” He smiles. Starts backing away, before giving a little wave and turning. His steps back towards the Spire aren’t measured. He practically flees the scene, head reeling.  

When he’s out of sight he pauses to lean against the wall and lets himself just marinate in the mix of adrenaline and surprise.  

He can hear her still, lingering in the main-way. After a moment he listens to her footsteps fade into the distance, and he lets himself breathe again. 

Adalyn wants romance.  

Even thinking the words surprises him. Makes him haunted and hopeful. She might be open to advances. She might want somebody else. She might have been speaking on an entirely hypothetical level. And because he ran like a coward he’ll never know, unless he can muster up the nerve to pry further. 

Slate abandons the central column and starts working on one of the outer walls. They still need to be taken out, and there’s not many mistakes he can make while doing that. He resummons his claws, still in a daze, and resumes his work, though not grounded in the slightest. 

With enough monotony of motion he’s able to push the emotions down and focus on his work. Thought’s still swirl but he’s able to get lost in it, until he is sore and stiff and thirsty. He goes to take a drink and finds his skin empty. He lets out a long breath as the echoes of his labour fade away. It has probably been a while, and he resolves to take a break. To head to the main-way and refill his skin.  

When he makes it to the cavern, he catches sight of the sky and curses. The moon is high, and he bemoans how late it must be. Time just keeps getting away from him.  

He shifts and takes flight, making a direct beeline to the Tower. He lands on the balcony, trading his wings for his human form. 

He’d missed dinner again. Not only that, but Adalyn is already in bed, and her breath indicates that she’s sleeping deeply.  

Damn it.  

Grinding his teeth at his latest mistake, he fills the bathtub and sheds his clothes. When he’s no longer the colour of chalk or tasting grit in his mouth he dries and dresses, and empties the tub. 

Spying dinner on the table, he’s hit with a slew of emotions. Gratitude and adoration. Guilt and sadness. He needs to fix his timepiece. Or pull his head out of his ass and start making time for his wife. If he doesn’t, the next few decades are going to be incredibly stilted, and it would probably be his fault. 

Walking past his desk, he pauses when he sees Adalyn’s binder sitting open, a handful of papers poking out. He’s sure she didn’t have nearly as many when she first moved in and unpacked. Curious, he examines one. It almost looks like a blueprint. It’s a birds-eye-view of a room. Or perhaps not a room, judging by the lack of walls or doors. Those are... garden beds. Pots. Plant names. Has Adalyn been planning a garden? 

Unable to dampen his curiosity, he slides the other sheets into view. There’re recipes, to do lists, shopping lists, more blueprints. He skims the to do list, written in Adalyn’s tidy print: garden supplies, write Rin, meet with G&G, see jeweller. On the other side is another list, self explanatory: 20x small pots, 10x large pots, 5x crates soil, old garden cuttings, 1x load fertiliser, spade, watering can, water barrel... The list trails off, instead devolving into loose sketches of a rudimentary irrigation system. Slate is impressed.  

He puzzles over the next page. Adalyn had drafted a blueprint – two blueprints, of similar design. It’s not up to industry standard, but it’s legible. Slate doesn’t know what to make of the design. Apparently half of the building is to be hewn from the mountain, and a protruding half to be built from wood? He decides to ask about it later. 

He sits down for dinner, considering her plans and altering his own. Glass. Wardrobe. Rail. Timepiece. Pots. Soil. Fertilizer. His list is growing. The trip he’s been putting off is starting to look more and more needed, and Slate sighs, wondering if he should just get it over with. It could certainly be a pleasant surprise for Adalyn. 

When he finishes cleaning up for the night he hesitates at the foot of the bed. He should just go and lay down on the chaise. Sleep off the fatigue that is starting to cloud his mind.  

Instead, he finds himself laying down beside Adalyn and watching her for a moment. He almost immediately wishes he hadn’t as he sinks into the mattress and muffles a sigh. It’d be the only perk, giving Adalyn her own quarters. He’d missed sleeping in the bed.  

It seems kind of dumb to him. That humans reserve sex for the bedroom. It makes him self-conscious whenever he enters the space. Is he bothering Adalyn by being here? Is he pushing her boundaries too much? It’s not like she’d say much if he did. Fuck, she’d even offered to share the bed with him, that first night. He’d declined, if only to make sure she wasn’t rushing into things. And she hadn’t asked him back since.  

Adalyn rolls. Her back slots against Slate’s chest. Her head rests on his arm. Slate freezes. Scarcely breathing, he waits for her to wake. To jerk away. To do something. Anything.  

She doesn’t wake. As the minutes tick by, Slate relaxes fractionally. Lulled by her warmth and lured by her gentle breathing into lowering his guard, Slate lets his eyes close. Inhales deeply. 

Just a few more minutes. Then he’d leave. He’d go and sleep on the chaise. Would stop smelling her hair like a depraved pervert. Would pull away from her touch. 

Just a few more minutes. 

--- 

“Dearest Adalyn 

I need to pick up some supplies from Cheywyn. Unfortunately, I won’t return until tomorrow morning, if things go according to schedule. I’m saddened that I’ll be missing our midday meal, but look forward to returning to you. 

Fondest regards 

Slate” 

She’d woken from a pleasant dream this morning. Warmth against her back, and a hand entwined in her hair. Slate’s absence was not unusual. She’d stoked the fire, started breakfast, and had sat at the table, relaxed and looking forward to the day. Then she’d seen the note. 

Adalyn sips her tea on the balcony, eyes trained on the horizon. The letter is clenched in her fist.

Next

#the wyvern's bride #vaya writes #monster romance #wyverns #dragons #tetaro #exophilia #my writing #oh my god this was so long because i wanted to put his pov in this chapter #fuckkkkkkk #fun fact the pov is largely unchanged from the draft #but i had to rework much of the prior conversations and interactions #please validate me #this writing is top notch and the best thing you'll ever read and im so incredible i already know yuo'll love it but also tell me #so i can hear it #pls

[lostfunzones]

"Coming of age in a fascist police state will not be a barrel of fun for anybody, much less for people like me, who are not inclined to suffer Nazis gladly and feel only contempt for the cowardly flag-suckers who would gladly give up their outdated freedom to live for the mess of pottage they have been conned into believing will be freedom from fear."

Hunter S Thompson

[jays911]

The Touch of the Master's Hand

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer

Thought it scarcely worth his while

To waste much time on the old violin,

But held it up with a smile.

"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,

"Who'll start the bidding for me?"

"A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?

Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"

"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;

Going for three…" But no,

From the room, far back, a grey-haired man

Came forward and picked up the bow;

Then wiping the dust from the old violin,

And tightening the loosened strings,

He played a melody pure and sweet,

As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,

With a voice that was quiet and low,

Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"

And he held it up with the bow.

"A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?

Two thousand! And who'll make it three?

Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,

And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,

"We do not quite understand.

What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:

"The touch of the Master's hand."

And many a man with life out of tune,

And battered and scarred with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd

Much like the old violin.

A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,

A game — and he travels on.

He is "going" once, and "going" twice,

He's "going" and almost "gone."

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd

Never can quite understand

The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought

By the touch of the Master's hand.

Myra Welch would say that she heard a speaker address a group of students on the power of God to bring out the best in people. She said she herself became filled with light and that “Touch of the Master’s Hand” was written in 30 minutes!.

The finished poem was sent anonymously to the editor of her local church news bulletin. She felt it was a gift from God and didn’t need her name on it.

[antiwaradvocates]

What Is A Scab? 

Attributed to Jack London

After God had finished the rattlesnake, the toad, and the vampire, he had some awful substance left with which he made a scab. A scab is a two-legged animal with a corkscrew soul, a water logged brain, a combination back bone of jelly and glue. Where others have hearts, the scab carries a tumor of rotten principles.

When a scab comes down the street, people turn their backs and angels weep in heaven, and the devil shuts the gates of hell. Judas Iscariot was a gentleman compared with a scab. For betraying his master, he had character enough to hang himself- a scab hasn’t.

Esau sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. Judas Iscariot sold his savior for thirty pieces of silver. Benedict Arnold sold his country for a promise of a commission in the British army. The modern strike breaker sells birthright, country, spouse, children and co-workers for an unfulfilled promise from an employer, trust, or corporation.

Esau was a traitor to himself; Judas Iscariot was a traitor to his God; Benedict Arnold was a traitor to his country; a strike breaker is a traitor to himself, a traitor to his family, and a traitor to his class.

There is nothing lower than a scab.

#union #union strong #solidarity forever #scabs #strike #jack london

[cbjustmusic]

"The Touch of the Master's Hand", a poem by Myra Brooks Welch, has been set to music, but I prefer this straight recitation by J. D. Sumner. _____________________________ The Touch of the Master's Hand Written by Myra Welch

Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer       Thought it scarcely worth his while To waste much time on the old violin,       But held it up with a smile. "What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,     "Who'll start the bidding for me?" "A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?       Two dollars, and who'll make it three?"

"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;       Going for three…" But no, From the room, far back, a grey-haired man       Came forward and picked up the bow; Then wiping the dust from the old violin,       And tightening the loosened strings, He played a melody pure and sweet,       As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,       With a voice that was quiet and low, Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"       And he held it up with the bow. "A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?       Two thousand! And who'll make it three? Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,     And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,     "We do not quite understand. What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:     "The touch of the Master's hand." And many a man with life out of tune,       And battered and scarred with sin, Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd       Much like the old violin.

A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,     A game — and he travels on. He is "going" once, and "going" twice,     He's "going" and almost "gone." But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd     Never can quite understand The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought     By the touch of the Master's hand.

#j d sumner #myra welch

[wordwovencackle]

"Think how easy it would be for me... to do as other women do... to be false to my sex, a traitor to my convictions; to sell my kind for a mess of pottage... I know what marriage is... by what unholy sacrifices it is sustained and made possible... and I can’t embrace it."

Herminia Barton to Alan Merrick, in Grant Allen's The Woman Who Did (1895)

[jrhughes]

Jacob is Sent to Find a Wife

December 31, 2023  

Genesis 28:1-22  

Golden Text:       Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of the LORD. Proverbs 18:22  

Although Jacob is sent to find a wife, when we last looked in on the family, we find that Isaac has decided to bless Esau in spite of the fact that God had told him through his wife that the older (Esau) would serve the younger (Jacob).In short, Isaac wanted to rebel against God. In Chapter 27, Isaac proclaims that he is going to die and he wants to bless his son Esau so he tells Esau to go get savory meat (venison) that Isaac may eat that meat and give the blessing that was now to be that of Jacob back to Esau.  

Remember that Esau had sold his birthright to Jacob when he came out of the field hungry and traded his birthright for a mess of pottage. Esau has despised his birthright but now Isaac has thought he was going to go against the will of God and bless Esau with a blessing that was supposed to be Jacob’s.  

Rebecca the mother of Jacob and Esau, heard what Isaac was saying to Esau and she worked with her son Jacob to deceive Isaac to think Jacob was Esau and so, because of the deception, the blessing went to Jacob as God has intended.  

Shortly after Jacob left, having received the blessing of Isaac, Esau arrived and wanted the blessing from his father. Isaac trembled and admitted to Esau he had been deceived by Jacob and that he had blessed Jacob and Isaac said,”Yea and he shall be blessed.” Esau was bitter and that bitterness led to anger and the anger led to his plan for murder.  

The Bible says “And Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father had blessed him and Esau said in his heart, The days of mourning for my father are at hand; then will I slay my brother Jacob.” It is not clear whether Rebecca heard these words uttered by him or if it was revealed to her by God, but she knew the plan and purpose of Esau to kill Jacob. And she wanted to send her son Jacob away to be with her brother Laban in Haran , hopefully until the anger of Esau turned away.  

But at the same time, Esau had married again a Canaanite woman and Rebecca used that to convince Isaac that he should send away Jacob to be with her brother Laban and there find a wife other than of the Canaanite women.  

Message Text: Genesis 28:1-22  

1 And Isaac called Jacob, and blessed him, and charged him, and said unto him, Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan . 2 Arise, go to Padanaram, to the house of Bethuel thy mother's father; and take thee a wife from thence of the daughters of Laban thy mother's brother.  

Apparently by now, Isaac was settled in the fact that the blessing would go to Jacob. I’m sure Isaac must have been aware of the fact of the death threat by Esau toward his brother, however, he seemed to encourage Jacob to go to Padan-Aram and take a wife of the daughters of Laban, Rebekah’s brother, not mentioning the death threat. God had not yet revealed to Jacob or Isaac or Rebekah the full plan He had for Jacob. As we read we will learn that God was preparing through Jacob for the 12 tribes of Israel .  

Adam Clarke (1762– 1832) says:  

It appears, from Genesis 28:11, that he lodged in the open air, with a stone for his pillow; and from Genesis 32:10, that he went on foot with his staff in his hand; nor is there even the most indirect mention of any attendants, nor is it probable there were any. He no doubt took provisions with him sufficient to carry him to the nearest encampment or village on the way, where he would naturally replenish his bread and water to carry him to the next stage, and so on.  

3 And God Almighty bless thee, and make thee fruitful, and multiply thee, that thou mayest be a multitude of people; 4 And give thee the blessing of Abraham, to thee, and to thy seed with thee; that thou mayest inherit the land wherein thou art a stranger, which God gave unto Abraham.  

And Isaac here passes on the blessing of God made first to Abraham and then to Isaac. Isaac tells Jacob to be fruitful and multiply and that he and his seed (children) will be prepared one day to inherit the land wherein Isaac is now living, which Isaac tells Jacob God gave unto Abraham and here Isaac passes the promise on to Jacob.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) states: 

Give thee the blessing of Abraham - But, according to St. Paul, much more than this is certainly intended here, for it appears, from Galatians 3:6-14, that the blessing of Abraham, which is to come upon the Gentiles through Jesus Christ, comprises the whole doctrine ... redemption from the curse of the law, remission of sins, and the promise of the Holy Spirit, including the constitution and establishment of the Christian Church.  

5 And Isaac sent away Jacob: and he went to Padanaram unto Laban, son of Bethuel the Syrian, the brother of Rebekah, Jacob's and Esau's mother.  

We notice that Isaac sent Jacob away. He did not want Jacob to take a wife of the Canaanite women. That was no longer his plan nor was it God’s plan but instead he was to go on to Laban, Rebekah’s brother. (Rebekah of course was the mother of Jacob and Esau.)  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says: 

Bethuel the Syrian - so called ... because he dwelt in that country which had been formerly possessed by the descendants of Aram .  

6 When Esau saw that Isaac had blessed Jacob, and sent him away to Padanaram, to take him a wife from thence; and that as he blessed him he gave him a charge, saying, Thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of Canaan; 7 And that Jacob obeyed his father and his mother, and was gone to Padanaram; 8 And Esau seeing that the daughters of Canaan pleased not Isaac his father; 9 Then went Esau unto Ishmael, and took unto the wives which he had Mahalath the daughter of Ishmael Abraham's son, the sister of Nebajoth, to be his wife.  

Esau was a keen observer. Not only had they blessed Jacob but had forbidden him to take a wife from the daughters of Canaan . Up to that point, Esau’s wives were from Canaan . Esau noted that Jacob had obeyed his parents and was gone to the home of Laban to find a non-Canaanite wife. Esau realized that his wives, the Canaanite wives, were displeasing to both his father Isaac and his mother Rebekah. Rather than pray and seek God or talk to his father, Esau went unto Ishmael. Ishmael was the son of Abraham. Surely a daughter of Ishmael would be acceptable to Isaac and Rebekah. But we will later learn that was not true either.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:

Then went Esau unto Ishmael - Esau did this with a sincere desire to obey and please his parents. Having heard the pious advice which Isaac gave to Jacob, he therefore went and took a wife from the family of his grandfather Abraham ... Esau married his father's niece; Jacob married his mother's niece. It was therefore most obviously to please his parents that Esau took this additional wife.  

10 And Jacob went out from Beersheba , and went toward Haran. 11 And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep. 12 And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.  

Jacob went out from Beersheba toward Haran and the home of Laban, apparently all alone. No camels, no entourage, and as he traveled, the sun set. He decided to lie down for the night. The Bible tells us he took stones for his pillows. That doesn’t sound too comfortable but apparently it sufficed Jacob.  

As Jacob went to sleep, he had a dream, an unusual dream. He saw a ladder that set on the earth and the top of it, why it reached to Heaven! Then as he watched, he saw the angels of God going up and down on it. We don’t know if it was a moving or a stationary ladder. We are only told it was a ladder and the angels went up and down on it.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:

A certain place and tarried there - From Genesis 28:19, we find this certain place was Luz, or some part of its vicinity. ... Or the gates might be shut by the time he reached it, which would prevent his admission.  

He took of the stones - He took one of the stones ...  Genesis 28:18  

He dreamed, and behold a ladder - It is very likely that its primary design was to point out the providence of God, by which He watches over and regulates all terrestrial things ...  In his present circumstances it was highly necessary that Jacob should have a clear and distinct view of this subject ... It might be intended also to point out the intercourse between heaven and earth, and the connection of both worlds by the means of angelic ministry. ...  It was probably a type of CHRIST ... for GOD was manifested in the FLESH, and in Him dwelt all the fulness of the Godhead bodily. ... By Him God comes down to man; through Him man ascends to God.  

13 And, behold, the LORD stood above it, and said, I Am the LORD God of Abraham thy father, and the God of Isaac: the land whereon thou liest, to thee will I give it, and to thy seed; 14 And thy seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and thou shalt spread abroad to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south: and in thee and in thy seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed. 15 And, behold, I Am with thee, and will keep thee in all places whither thou goest, and will bring thee again into this land; for I will not leave thee, until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of.  

Suddenly, the LORD stood above the ladder and spoke to Jacob, proclaiming Himself to be the LORD GOD of Abraham and Isaac and told Jacob, The very spot you are lying in, I will give it to you and your children.  

And God said, his children would be numerous (as the dust of the earth). He would occupy the entire land to the east west north and south. Then He said, to his children, the children of Jacob, all of the families of the earth be blessed, of course referring to the Messiah of Israel and the Saviour of all mankind to come through the line of Jacob.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:  

 I Am the Lord God of Abraham — Here God confirms to him the blessing of Abraham, for which Isaac had prayed, Genesis 28:3-4.  

Thy seed shall be as the dust — The people that shall descend from thee shall be extremely numerous, and in thee and thy seed-the Lord JESUS descending from thee, according to the flesh, shall all the families of the earth - not only all of thy race, but all the other families or tribes of mankind ... be blessed; for Jesus Christ by the grace of God tasted death FOR EVERY MAN, Hebrews 2:9.  

And, behold, I Am with thee — For I fill the heavens and the earth. ... Thy descendants also shall be My peculiar people, whom I shall continue to preserve as such until I have done that which I have spoken to thee of-until the Messiah shall be born of thy race, and all the families of the earth - the Gentiles, be blessed through thee;  

16 And Jacob awaked out of his sleep, and he said, Surely the LORD is in this place; and I knew it not. 17 And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.  

After Jacob awoke from the conversation in dream with the LORD, he was awestruck. He realized the LORD was in this place. And he was fearful, he was frightened, just to have been in the Presence of God. He came to the conclusion that this was the gate of Heaven.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:  

How dreadful is this place! — The appearance of the ladder, the angels, and the Divine glory at the top of the ladder, must have left deep, solemn, and even awful impressions on the mind of Jacob  

18 And Jacob rose up early in the morning, and took the stone that he had put for his pillows, and set it up for a pillar, and poured oil upon the top of it. 19 And he called the name of that place Bethel : but the name of that city was called Luz at the first.  

These verses merely tell us that Jacob arose early in the morning, took the stone he had used for a pillow, set it up for a pillar and poured oil upon the top of it. He named the place Bethel (House of God). He knew he was in the presence of Almighty God but he didn’t fully understand how God was preparing him.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:  

And Jacob-took the stone - and set it up for a pillar — He placed the stone in an erect posture, that it might stand as a monument of the extraordinary vision which he had in this place; and he poured oil upon it, thereby consecrating it to God.  

And poured oil upon the top of it. — Stones, images, and altars, dedicated to Divine worship, were always anointed with oil.  

He called the name of that place Beth-El — That is, the house of God; for in consequence of his having anointed the stone, and thus consecrated it to God ... This word should be always pronounced as two distinct syllables, each strongly accented, Beth-El.  

20 And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, 21 So that I come again to my father's house in peace; then shall the LORD be my God: 22 And this stone, which I have set for a pillar, shall be God's house: and of all that Thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto Thee.  

Jacob made a vow which was a promise to God. We are told in the Bible we are better off not to make a vow than to make a vow and not keep it. But Jacob’s vow was sort of self centered. It started off with, IF God will be with me and will keep me... Then Jacob asked for bread and clothing and said that if Jacob comes again and is able to go back to his father Isaac’s house in peace - then he is ready to make the LORD his God. And the stone which he set for a pillow would be one of the foundation stones for God’s house. There he promises God that he will keep the tithe, or give one tenth to God.  

Adam Clarke (1762 – 1832) says:  

         Vowed a vow — A vow is a solemn, holy promise, by which a man bound himself to do certain things in a particular way, time, c., and for power to accomplish which he depended on God hence all vows were made with prayer.  

If God will be with me, -- Jacob seems to make this vow rather for his posterity than for himself, as we may learn from Genesis 28:13-15 for he particularly refers to the promises which God had made to him, which concerned the multiplication of his offspring, and their establishment in that land. ... but as his taking refuge with Laban was probably typical of the sojourning of his descendants in Egypt, his persecution, so as to be obliged to depart from Laban, the bad treatment of his posterity by the Egyptians ... were all typical of the exodus of his descendants, their travels in the desert, and establishment in the promised land  

I shall worship God in this place. And this purpose he fulfilled, for there he built an altar. ...  

On the teaching of tithes ... as a whole tribe, that of Levi, was devoted to the public service of God; and when the land was divided, this tribe received no inheritance among their brethren. Hence, for their support, the law of tithes was enacted ...  If the ministers of God give up their whole time, talents, and strength, to watch over, labor for, and instruct the people in spiritual things, justice requires that they shall receive their support from the work.  

Next week we will see how Jacob and Laban work one against another for an advantage. When Jacob comes to the land of Laban , he has nothing, when he leaves God has indeed blessed him with two wives, two concubines, twelve sons and one daughter and thousands of livestock.  

PRAYER: Heavenly Father, I know that You love me and have a wonderful plan for my life that includes heaven with You forever in the next life. Here we see God has a plan for Jacob and the line to Messiah and the Saviour of all mankind. We need a Saviour because all have sinned. We have earned for ourselves death in the lake of fire. But Jesus died on the cross to pay that death penalty so that all who believe He is Lord and accept His death to pay for their sins can be in heaven with Him one day for ever and ever. In this lesson and the one to come we see the hand of God, that He is in charge of everything. Thank You Father, thank You Jesus, thank You God the Holy Spirit. Come in to my life in a bigger way and make me a fit vessel for Your use here on earth. This I pray in Jesus’ Name - Amen.       

May God bless you in all that you do for Him, Brother J.R. Soul winner, Bible teacher, Defender of the Faith

#bible study #genesis #Jacob

[five-sparrows-two-pennies]

14 December 2023

Genesis 25

“History shows that men prefer illusions to realities, choose time rather than eternity, and the pleasures of sin for a season rather than the joys of God forever. Men will read trash rather than the Word of God, and adhere to a system of priorities that leaves God out of their lives. Multitudes of men spend more time shaving than on their souls; and multitudes of women give more minutes to their makeup than to the life of the eternal spirit. Men still sell their birthright for a mess of pottage.” (Barnhouse)

#quotes #chronicle #faith #christian #writing #Bible #God

[exexcatholic]

The Truth About Catholicism

(1) Only the Catholic Church can trace its roots back to Christ Himself.

Within a few short years of the Resurrection, the followers of Jesus began calling themselves “Christians” (cf. Acts 11: 26), and by the end of the first century, the word “catholic”—meaning “universal” —was applied to the Church. The idea of different (and sometimes competing) Christian denominations would have been unthinkable to the early Christians, especially in light of Christ’s pronouncement on one shepherd and one flock (John 10:15) and his prayer that his disciples remain one (John 17:22). It was only human weakness and sinfulness that brought about the religious divisions that afflict Christianity today. The Orthodox church drew apart from Rome off and on over several hundred years, finally separating in the fifteenth century, and the various Protestant denominations date back no earlier than the sixteenth century. These churches can trace their roots back to Christ only through the Catholic Church. To put the matter rather bluntly: Why should anyone settle for an imitation when the original is available—especially when it comes to knowing and living the truths necessary for salvation?

(2) The Eucharist—the Real Presence of Christ—is not found in Protestant churches.

Jesus described himself as the bread of life, stating that whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood will have life eternal (John 6:54). At the Last Supper he gave the apostles and their successors, the bishops (and through them, validly ordained priests), the power and authority to continue his sacrifice when he said, “Do this in memory of me” (Luke 22:19). The Catholic Church has been obeying Christ’s command for almost two thousand years, and whereas many Christian denominations see the Eucharist mainly in symbolic terms, the Church has consistently taught that it is truly the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ. Moreover, only Catholic and non-Catholic Eastern priests—because of their ordinations—have the sacramental power to consecrate the Eucharist. (Anglican or Episcopalian priests sometimes claim to possess this power, but Pope Leo XIII, after carefully examining this issue some one hundred years ago, concluded that the link of apostolic succession had not been preserved by the Church of England.)

Catholics are privileged to be able to receive the treasure beyond all price—Jesus himself—each time they attend Mass. It may be true that many Protestant and Evangelical congregations at times seem to offer a greater sense of fellowship and community, more dynamic preaching, and various activities and programs than the average Catholic parish. These things are all valuable and praiseworthy—but for a Catholic to give them a higher priority than the Eucharist is akin to Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage (cf. Gen. 25:29–34). If we truly understood what a wondrous gift the Eucharist is, none of us would even consider ever leaving the Church, and our example would attract many other persons to Catholicism.

(3) Unlike other Christians, Catholics have a fully sacramental understanding of God’s saving activity.

The word “sacramental” is here used in three different senses. First we have the incarnational sense, which means that God can be known and experienced in and through what he has created. Catholicism has always remembered that God looked upon his creation and pronounced it “good” (cf. Gen. 1:31). So instead of being suspicious of human activity and the material world, the Church has often encouraged people to develop and use their abilities and to do all things for the greater glory of God. It’s no surprise that some of humanity’s greatest art, architecture, and music has been commissioned and preserved by the Church.

The second sense of “sacramental” (used here as an adjective) refers to the Eucharist and the other six sacraments, which are visible signs and sources of God’s grace active in the world. God, as our Creator, is fully aware of our human limitations. Because human beings are both body and spirit, the Lord relates to us not only in an invisible, spiritual way but also through the use of human gestures and material items we can see and hear and touch and taste: bread, wine, water, oil, words, and so forth. Most Christians agree on the essential requirement of water for baptism, but Protestants are not consistent in treating as sacraments the other sacred actions Jesus gave to the Church.

Thirdly, the noun “sacramental” refers to a blessed item or gesture that, for those who have faith, can be an experience or source of God’s grace. Sacramentals of this sort include holy water, scapulars, crucifixes, medals, rosaries, ashes on Ash Wednesday, the Sign of the Cross, and so on. Sacraments, by God’s promise and power, are effective in and of themselves, whereas sacramentals depend on the disposition of the believer. Though much less important than sacraments, sacramentals can be a valuable source of grace and spiritual favor.

If Jesus was willing to humble himself by becoming human (Phil. 2:6–7), it’s logical to assume God would continue working in and through human beings and the material order he himself created. Catholicism, with its sacramental emphasis, has carried this truth through to its logical conclusion.

(4) Because of the Church’s magisterium, Catholics have the assurance that their beliefs are divinely revealed truths, not human interpretations and opinions.

Other than questioning the apostles on what they and other people believed regarding his identity (cf. Mark 8:27–29), Jesus never conducted a vote or an opinion poll, or said to his followers, “This is what I personally think, but you decide for yourselves what to believe.” Rather, he came to proclaim God’s truth (John 18:37), and he entrusted this same teaching authority, or magisterium, to his Church (Luke 10:16). It is illogical to believe that Jesus, the eternal Word of God, would go to the trouble of becoming human, establishing the Church, and dying on the cross to save us from our sins, without providing a guarantee that the Church would continue to preserve and proclaim his teachings faithfully. Jesus followed his own advice by building his Church on the solid foundation of fidelity and truth (Matt. 7:24–25) and on the rock of Peter’s faith (Matt. 16:18–19). Not only does this divinely given teaching authority assure the Church’s pronouncements on faith and morals will be free of error, it also serves as a source and measure of unity. This is something all Protestant denominations lack, and the results are a matter of historical record. Once Luther and his colleagues established the precedent of protesting and rejecting the Church’s teaching authority, there was nothing to prevent later protests against their own self-proclaimed authority. The process of continually reinterpreting Scripture has reached the point where now, according to Oxford’s World Christian Encyclopedia, there are well over 20,000 Protestant denominations with their own—often contradictory—interpretations of the Gospel, each claiming to possess the true understanding of divine revelation.

(5) The Catholic Church, more than any other, gives fitting honor to the Mother of God.

A story about a small town’s efforts to create an ecumenical outdoor nativity scene illustrates this point. A Protestant minister said to the local Catholic priest, “We can include all the characters mentioned in the Bible, except we should leave Mary out. Otherwise, the scene will appear to be too Catholic.” The priest responded, “I’ll agree to that—on the condition that you explain to everyone how the infant Jesus was born without a mother.”

Catholics are indeed known for the honor they give to the Virgin Mary, and she plays an irreplaceable role in God’s plan of salvation. It is only right that we honor her (not worship her), for one of the Commandments says, “Honor your father and mother” (Ex. 20:12). If God wants us to honor our parents, how much more must he desire us to honor his Mother. The angel Gabriel declared Mary to be “full of grace” (Luke 1:28), making her worthy of our highest respect. Moreover, Mary herself stated that “all ages will call me blessed” (Luke 1:48). The Catholic Church is virtually unique in obeying and fulfilling this scriptural prophecy.

(6) More than any other Christian religion, Catholicism takes Scripture seriously.

This assertion will surprise those who assume that Catholics are ignorant of Scripture and that the Protestant belief in sola scriptura (accepting “the Bible only” as a source of religious teaching) makes them the only true “Bible Christians.” However, history and logic are again on the side of the Catholic Church. It was the Church that, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, created the Bible as we know it (compiling the books of the Old Testament, and willing the books of the New Testament). And it was the Church that decided which of the many early Christian writings were canonical, or worthy of acceptance as scriptural. (Ironically, Protestant Bibles contain the same twenty-seven New Testament books as Catholics Bibles—a list decided upon by the Council of Rome in 382. Thus, the Protestant New Testament ultimately rests upon the authority of the Catholic Church.)

Moreover, none of the teachings of Catholicism contradict Scripture, and the Bible—at least implicitly but normally explicitly—supports all of the Church’s doctrines. Protestants reject many Catholic beliefs, but in doing so they must ignore or reinterpret what Scripture clearly says. For instance, the widespread Protestant understanding that the Eucharist is merely symbolic flatly contradicts our Lord’s words in John 6 (“My flesh is true food and My blood is true drink”) and also the accounts of the Last Supper (“This is my Body . . . this is my Blood” [Mark 14:22–24]). Rejecting the authority of the pope is also a rejection of Christ’s words to Peter, by which he gave him the keys to the kingdom of heaven and the authority to bind and loose (Matt. 16:18–19).

To deny the reality of the forgiveness of sins through confession, or the sacrament of reconciliation, is also a denial of the words of the resurrected Jesus to the apostles (John 20:22–23), in which he gave them the power to forgive sins in his name. Disbelief in the teaching authority of the Church is also disbelief in our Lord’s command to teach and baptize all nations, and in his promise to remain with the Church always (Matt. 28:19–20). A further weakness of the Protestant position lies in the idea of sola scriptura itself. Nowhere does the Bible say that Scripture alone is the only source of divine revelation, but there are numerous references to Tradition and the teaching authority of the Church (Matt. 18:15–18; John 14:16, 14:25–26, 21:25; 1 Cor. 11:21; Eph. 3:10–11; 2 Thess. 2:15; 2 Tim. 2:2; 2 Pet. 3:16). Many Protestants are very good at quoting the Bible, but, in terms of its entire message, it is the Catholic Church that lives by it.

(7) The Church has survived and even thrived for almost two thousand years, in spite of every form of persecution, opposition, and difficulty.

Jesus promised that the gates of hell would not prevail against the Church (Matt. 16:18), and history records many examples of Satan’s vicious but unsuccessful assaults on the Body of Christ. The Church has withstood numerous heresies and schisms, along with fierce persecutions stretching from the days of Nero and Diocletian down to our own bloody twentieth century. Catholicism has weathered false prophets and antipopes, wars, civil disturbances, plagues, natural disasters, barbarian invasions, and societal collapse. The Body of Christ, though often wounded, has renewed itself after the attacks of Rationalism and the Enlightenment, the political intrigues of kings and princes, the brute force of mobs and dictators, the meddling of emperors, and even the disastrous rule of sinful or incompetent popes and bishops. No less a persecutor of the Church than Napoleon Bonaparte noted, “The nations of the earth pass away, and thrones fall to the ground; the Church alone remains.”

The only parallel in history is that of the Jewish people—a people often singled out for persecution, scorned, oppressed, and exiled, yet miraculously preserved over thousands of years. Because the Jews are God’s chosen people, divine providence has worked in powerful ways in their behalf. Only this fact explains their miraculous ongoing existence. As the “new Israel” (cf. Rom. 11:17), the Church is also the beneficiary of God’s constant guidance and protection and will remain so until the end of time.

The four marks of the true Church are that it is one, holy, catholic, and apostolic. I would humbly and unofficially suggest a “fifth” mark: the true Church is also opposed. Just as Jesus was a sign of contradiction and a stumbling block (1 Cor. 1:23), so his Church is a lightning rod for hatred, calumny, misunderstanding, suspicion, and opposition. Christ told his followers to expect the world’s enmity, since they were not of the world (John 15:18–19), and he warned them that some people would even claim to serve God by persecuting them (John 16:2). A present-day example of this is those Fundamentalists who attack the Church by identifying it as the “whore of Babylon.”

As the great bishop and martyr Ignatius of Antioch noted, “Christianity shows its greatness when it is hated by the world.” Anti-Catholicism has arguably had a stronger role in human history than any other prejudice save anti-Semitism, even in the United States. Catholics have suffered discrimination as immigrants along the Eastern seaboard; Catholics have been isolated and unwelcome in the Bible Belt and have been victims of the “No Nothing” movement and other organized opposition to the Church, including the Ku Klux Klan; and today certain political and social movements—such as the proponents of abortion—often appeal to anti-Catholic sentiments.

This is not to deny the historical fact that Catholics have themselves been guilty of grave sins against charity but to point out that the Church—precisely when it follows its Master most faithfully—is subject to some of the same hatred he encountered. Satan, possessing a cunning and intelligence far beyond human reason, sees his true enemy very clearly. His unrelenting attacks against the Church are a powerful indication of its vital importance in human history.

(8) Of all Christian religions, Catholicism has the most accurate and complete understanding of human nature.

This truth pertains to three areas in particular: reconciliation, ritual, and role models.

Reconciliation here refers to the fact that we are sinners in need of redemption, and that this process is an ongoing one. It is not enough to ask, as many Evangelical Protestants do, “Have you been saved?” This suggests that if we’ve been “born again,” and have “accepted Jesus as our Lord and Savior,” salvation is guaranteed, and little if anything further is required of us. Such an understanding not only contradicts Scripture, which speaks of the possibility of losing one’s salvation (cf. 1 Cor. 9:27; Phil.2:12–13, 3:10–12), but also human nature. We are imperfect human beings, never completely free of sin. As Scripture says, even the just man falls seven times a day (Prov. 24:16). We are constantly in need of forgiveness, and this is why Jesus established as a sacrament not only baptism, but also reconciliation. Other important spiritual practices promoted by the Catholic Church—prayer, fasting, devotions to the saints, acts of penance, and so on—are designed to aid us in our ongoing efforts to grow in holiness and to cooperate with divine grace in overcoming our faults.

Ritual refers to human customs and behaviors designed to facilitate social interactions and celebrations. These rituals include such everyday actions as shaking hands, saying “God bless you” when someone sneezes, and blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. Examples of Catholic rituals include blessing oneself with holy water, genuflecting before the tabernacle, and making the Sign of the Cross. Calvin and other Reformers were determined to “purify” their churches of everything they considered human traditions and accretions to the Gospel. They radically simplified worship and church architecture. But sociologists have come to realize that ritual is an inherent part of human culture and an important part of human life and social interaction. A society’s “rites of passage”—in which young people are given the chance to demonstrate their maturity and be accepted as adults—are just one example of this. Even most non-Christian religions recognize and respond to this basic human need. Catholicism—unlike many Protestant denominations—has never ceased doing so.

Role models are also a fundamental human need. Human beings are social by nature, and much personal growth and development results from imitating, consciously or otherwise, certain influential persons. The Catholic Church offers the saints as models worthy of imitation. The cult of the saints began when early Christians celebrated the anniversaries of martyrs’ dates of death as their “birthday” into eternal life. Local custom, and eventually official policy, gradually recognized and celebrated still other holy men and women as heroic examples of righteousness. Saints are not worshiped, but they are esteemed and honored, for they are part of the “great cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1) whose lives testify to the truth of the Gospel and inspire those Christians still on earth to persevere in taking up their cross each day. Human beings, especially young people, require role models, and in opposition to self-centered movie stars, overpaid athletes, or promoters of cultural degeneration and violence the Church presents as examples those men, women, and children who can truly show us the way to eternal life and happiness.

(9) Catholicism reflects the nature of heaven more accurately than any other religion.

This can be seen in three different ways. First of all, the Church has a hierarchical structure; so does heaven. There are nine different choirs of angels, each with a different function and rank. Also, while all the persons in God’s kingdom are saints, some are even greater in holiness than others. The Virgin Mary, of course, is the most perfect illustration of this. Moreover, our Lord’s words about the least in the kingdom of heaven being greater than John the Baptist during his earthly life (Matt. 11:11) suggests that some of the saints are indeed ranked higher. At the same time, all are equal in the sense of fully sharing in the Beatific Vision (the joyous, all-encompassing contemplation of God) and in being perfectly happy.

Second, the Church is universal. More than any other religion, Catholicism is to be found in virtually every nation and culture, with members from every background and social status (as noted earlier, the word “catholic” means “universal”). Catholicism’s missionary outreach has covered the entire earth. In this, the Church imitates heaven, whose citizenship consists of “a great multitude, which no one could count, of every nation, race, people, and tongue” (Rev. 7:9).

A third characteristic of the Church that reflects the kingdom of God is that, in both cases, all the members are united as one while preserving their individuality. Each resident of heaven is completely absorbed in the contemplation of God, perfectly united with all the angels and saints in worshiping and praising the divine Majesty, while at the same time more fully alive and unique than ever before. In a mystical way, the Church’s worship on earth—most particularly, the Mass—shares in this ongoing heavenly liturgy. Furthermore, Catholicism has one central form of worship (the Mass and the sacraments) yet provides many different religious devotions, spiritualities, religious orders, and other opportunities to serve for those who are called to such a vocation. In this context, “one size” most definitely does not fit all, and Catholicism recognizes this truth even as it provides a sense of unity and purpose linking this world and the next.

(10) Because it is rooted in, but also transcends, time and history, the Church is able to help its members discover and live by God’s unchanging truth.

Other Christian religions have made significant changes in their moral and religious teachings—for example, ending their prohibition of artificial contraception. (Luther and the other Reformers echoed the Catholic teaching that birth control is gravely sinful, and this remained the Protestant position for 400 years. In 1930, the Anglican Church allowed certain “exceptions,” setting in motion a process in which all Protestant denominations have come to regard contraception as morally acceptable. The Catholic Church, in contrast, has maintained its teaching on this issue for almost two thousand years.) Catholicism is well suited to be “behind the times” and counter-cultural. This is an important sign of its authenticity, for objective truth is often unpopular or considered irrelevant or outdated—and yet the genuine Church of Christ must proclaim it nonetheless. Moreover, the Church—because of its international presence and prestige—is a powerful political force in its own right, as demonstrated by Pope John Paul II’s role in the collapse of the Soviet empire and the liberation of Eastern Europe. Church officials are often able to work behind the scenes in mediating conflicts and defending the rights of the oppressed while remaining true to the Church’s otherworldly mission. Jesus prayed that his disciples would be consecrated in truth, for they are in this world, but not of the world (John 17:11–18). Through the Catholic Church, his prayer has been and continues to be fulfilled.

These, then, are ten important reasons not to settle merely for being Christian, but to seek the fullness of God’s revelation through the Catholic Church, the only true Church of Christ. These reasons do not imply that Catholics as individuals are perfect or sinless, or that they have always followed the teachings and spirit of our Lord. No, the Church freely admits the sinful and unchristian behavior of many of its leaders and members throughout history.

Neither are the ten reasons listed above a denial of the importance of working closely with our Protestant brothers and sisters, or of the truth that we have many important lessons to learn from them, especially in the areas of preaching and a personal commitment to evangelization. Members of the Church are sinful and holy, earthly and heavenly, and imperfect and incomplete—yet undergoing the process of sanctification. This process is one that must include each individual Catholic and one in which all other people must be invited to share.

Like the soldier in the story at the beginning of this article, it seems that many Catholics have gotten used to “sleeping in” and not taking their faith seriously. Now, however, the “Chaplain” has appeared, and he is calling each one of us personally. It is our duty not only to belong to and believe in the Church but to defend and promote it. As Jesus noted, much is expected of those to whom much is given (Luke 12:48). We as Catholics can alone rightly claim to have the fullness of God’s revelation and guidance. This is reason for us to rejoice and to renew our commitment to living and sharing the Gospel.

Source: Christian Yes but Why be Catholic? (Catholic Answers article) by Fr. Joseph Esper

#catholic #religion

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Barry Blitt, Kvetchbook.  ::  [Scott Horton]

* * * *

To defend Trump’s decision to put nuclear secrets IN A STOREROOM BY THE POOL OF A SOCIAL CLUB on a legal technicality, you need to admit that you’re okay with risking “exceptionally grave damage” to the national security. You have to be okay with a violation of law so grave that it might cause war, compromise our national defense, or disclose military technology where we often have a twenty-year advantage over hostile foreign actors. You have to be okay with all of this just to serve Donald Trump.

Is that REALLY who you are?

If it is, then you’re really proving the point we’ve been making for years about how your troop of amoral maggots has long since given up fidelity to our nation. You’re just proving our point that you would sacrifice our ideals, our freedom, and our whole civilization to pay allegiance to this semi-human mess of pottage.

I suspect you are, and while I’ll hope from some midnight conversions before the ax falls, I won’t expect it.

You are who you are.

One final point.

John Milton, in Paradise Lost, wrote about the day Lucifer called all the devils to a meeting but booked the small room at The Trump Hotel in Gehenna. Still, he was their Lord and commanded their presence, so they arrived at the door and started forcing their way inside. When only half of them had entered, there was no more room at all, so each minor devil in creation made themselves smaller to please their Lord of Lies. That meeting, called “the Pandæmonium” by Milton, is as good a metaphor as any for your final stand.

Please, pack yourselves tightly together, and someone, please pass me the popcorn.

The forces of light are coming, and they’re carrying the law.

Hallelujah.

(Michael J. Tallon)

#Barry Blitt #Kvetchbook #Scott Horton #Michael J. Tallon #Paradise Lost #Con Man #Confidential Information #Criminal Activity #Criminal Conspiracy