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Saints&Reading: Monday, April 8, 2024

march 26_April 8

Synaxis of the Archangel Gabriel

Troparion

Gabriel, commander of the heavenly hosts, / we who are unworthy beseech you, / by your prayers encompass us beneath the wings of your immaterial glory, / and faithfully preserve us who fall down and cry to you: / “Deliver us from all harm, for you are the commander of the powers on high!”

The Lord chose the Archangel Gabriel to announce to the Virgin Mary the Incarnation of the Son of God from Her to the great rejoicing of all mankind. Therefore, on the day after the Feast of the Annunciation, the day the All-Pure Virgin is glorified, we give thanks to the Lord and venerate His messenger Gabriel, who contributed to the mystery of our salvation.

Gabriel, the holy Archistrategos (Leader of the Heavenly Hosts), is a faithful servant of the Almighty God. He announced the future Incarnation of the Son of God to those of the Old Testament; he inspired the Prophet Moses to write the Pentateuch (first five books of the Old Testament), he announced the coming tribulations of the Chosen People to the Prophet Daniel (Dan. 8:16, 9:21-24); he appeared to Saint Anna (July 25) with the news that she would give birth to the Virgin Mary.

The holy Archangel Gabriel remained with the Holy Virgin Mary when She was a child in the Temple of Jerusalem, and watched over Her throughout Her earthly life. He appeared to the Priest Zachariah, foretelling the birth of the Forerunner of the Lord, Saint John the Baptist.

The Lord sent him to Saint Joseph the Betrothed in a dream, to reveal to him the mystery of the Incarnation of the Son of God from the All-Pure Virgin Mary, and warned him of the wicked intentions of Herod, ordering him to flee into Egypt with the divine Infant and His Mother.

When the Lord prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane before His Passion, the Archangel Gabriel, whose very name signifies “Man of God” (Luke. 22:43), was sent from Heaven to strengthen Him.

The Myrrh-Bearing Women heard from the Archangel the joyous news of Christ’s Resurrection (Mt.28:1-7, Mark 16:1-8).

Mindful of the holy Archangel Gabriel's manifold appearances and his zealous fulfillment of God’s will and confessing his intercession for Christians before the Lord, the Orthodox Church calls upon its children to pray to the great Archangel with faith and love.

The Synaxis of the Holy Archangel Gabriel is also celebrated on July 13. All the angels are commemorated on November 8.

VENERABLE MALCUS OF CHALCIS , MONK IN SYRIA (4th c.)

The Life of Saint Malchus, the Captive Monk, was written by St. Jerome in his monastery in Bethlehem. The composition is original in that St. Jerome reports the solitary man telling his own life story to him.

I was an only child and tenant of a small farm at Nisibis. When my parents were coercing me to marry because I was the last descendant of the family and their sole heir, I told them that I preferred to be a monk. With what threats my father assailed me, with what coaxing my mother pursued me to betray my chastity, you can judge by the fact that I left both home and my parents.

In Bethlehem, St. Jerome writes the story Malchus told him since I could not go to the East because of the proximity of Persia and the Roman guard, I turned to the West, taking very few provisions, merely enough to keep me alive. To be brief, I finally reached the desert of Chalcis. There, having found a community of monks, I placed myself under their guidance, earning my living by the toil of my hands and curbing the lust of the flesh with fasting.

After many years, the thought occurred to me that I should return to my native land while my mother was still alive (I had heard of my father’s death) to comfort her in her widowhood. After her death, I could sell our possessions, give part of the proceeds to the poor, erect a monastery with another part, and (why should I blush to confess my infidelity) reserve the rest to take care of my own needs.

My Abbot protested that my desire to return home was a temptation from the Devil and that under a virtuous pretext lay concealed the snares of our ancient enemy; in other words, the dog was returning to its vomit.

Many monks, he said, had been deceived in this way, for the Devil never comes without disguises. When persuasion failed, he begged me on his knees not to desert him, not to ruin myself, not to look back having put my hand to the plough.

Alas, miserable creature that I am, I did not relent. He escorted me from the monastery as if he were attending a corpse in a funeral procession. Bidding me a last farewell, he said: “I see, my son, that you are marked by the brand of Satan. I do not seek the causes nor do I accept excuses. The sheep that leaves the sheepfold straightway exposes itself to the teeth of the wolf.”

I decided to travel in company to decrease the danger of surprise attack by nomad Saracens, always wandering back and forth on the road. There were about 70 in my company, men women and children. Suddenly, Ishmaelites, riding upon horses and camels, descended upon us in a startling attack. We were seized, scattered and carried off in different directions. A woman of the company and I fell by lot into the hands of the same master.

The slave Malchus is content tending sheep in solitude and prayerWe were lifted up onto camels and traveled through the vast desert until we arrived at its heart, where the master’s household was. There I was assigned the task of pasturing the sheep and, in contrast to the evils I might have been subjected to, I enjoyed the comfort of rarely seeing my master and fellow slaves.

Alone in the desert, I lived on cheese and milk; I prayed continually; I sang the psalms I had learned in the monastery. In fact, I was delighted with my captivity and I thanked God for his judgment, for the monk whom I had nearly lost in my own country I had found again in the desert.

But nothing is ever safe from the Devil. How multiple and unspeakable are his deceits. My master, seeing his herd increase and finding in me nothing of fraud – for I obeyed the Apostle’s injunction that masters were to be served as faithfully as God himself – desired to reward me to better insure my fidelity. So he offered me in marriage the woman slave who had been taken captive with me.

When I refused and said that I was a Christian and it was not lawful for me to have for wife one whose husband was living (her husband had been captured with us and carried off by another master), my implacable master was seized with fury. Drawing his sword he started to attack me. If I had not made haste to throw my arm about the woman, he would have shed my blood then and there.

All too soon for me, night came on, darker than usual. I led my new bride into a ruined cave nearby. Realizing the full force of my captivity and, throwing myself down on the ground, I began to lament and sob for the monk I was on the point of losing. “Of what avail to have renounced parents, country, property for the Lord, if I now do the very thing that I would not do when I renounced them. What shall I do, my soul, perish or conquer?”

Prepared to turn the blade of my sword against myself rather than suffer the death of the soul, I told the woman, “Farewell, unhappy woman. I am yours to have as a martyr rather than a husband.”

Then to my surprise, the woman threw herself at my feet and beseeched me not shed my blood, for she said, even if her husband would return to her, she would preserve the chastity that captivity had taught her and would rather die than lose it.

“Take me, therefore, as a spouse in chastity,” she said, “and love the bond of the soul rather than that of the body. Let our master believe you a husband; Christ will know the brother.”

I confess that I was amazed and, admiring the virtue of that woman, I loved her more than if she were my spouse. Never, however, did I look upon her nude body; never did I touch her flesh, fearing to lose in peace what I had preserved in conflict.

Many days passed in wedlock of this kind. Our marriage rendered us more pleasing to our master; there was no suspicion of flight. Sometimes I was absent for a whole month, all alone, the trusted shepherd of the flock...to be continued

ISAIAH 14:24-32

24 The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, “Surely, as I have thought, so it shall come to pass, And as I have purposed, so it shall stand: 25 That I will break the Assyrian in My land, And on My mountains tread him underfoot. Then his yoke shall be removed from them, And his burden removed from their shoulders. 26 This is the purpose that is purposed against the whole earth, And this is the hand that is stretched out over all the nations. 27 For the Lord of hosts has purposed, And who will annul it? His hand is stretched out, And who will turn it back?” 28 This is the burden that came in the year that King Ahaz died. 29 “Do not rejoice, all you of Philistia, Because the rod that struck you is broken; For out of the serpent’s roots will come forth a viper, And its offspring will be a fiery flying serpent. 30 The firstborn of the poor will feed, And the needy will lie down in safety; I will kill your roots with famine, And it will slay your remnant. 31 Wail, O gate! Cry, O city! All you of Philistia are dissolved; For smoke will come from the north, And no one will be alone in his appointed times.” 32 What will they answer the messengers of the nation? That the Lord has founded Zion, And the poor of His people shall take refuge in it.

GENESIS 8:21-9:7

21 And the Lord smelled a soothing aroma. Then the Lord said in His heart, “I will never again curse the ground for man’s sake, although the imagination of man’s heart is evil from his youth; nor will I again destroy every living thing as I have done. 22 “While the earth remains, Seedtime and harvest, Cold and heat, Winter and summer, And day and night Shall not cease.”

1 So God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them: “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. 2 “And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be on every beast of the earth, on every bird of the air, on all that move on the earth, and on all the fish of the sea. They are given into your hand. 3 “Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. I have given you all things, even as the green herbs. 4 “But you shall not eat flesh with its life, that is, its blood. 5 “Surely for your lifeblood I will demand a reckoning; from the hand of every beast I will require it, and from the hand of man. From the hand of every man’s brother I will require man's life. 6 “Whoever sheds man’s blood, By man his blood shall be shed; For in the image of God He made man. 7 And as for you, be fruitful and multiply; Bring forth abundantly in the earth And multiply in it.”

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #bible #wisdom #saints

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nancygillianmvp · 1 year

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if there are tears to weep

3,330 words. rated t. summary: TK and Carlos attempt to find solace in the aftermath of 4.04.

As soon as the ambulance doors close, Carlos softens his posture and allows himself to sink into the stretcher bed he’d insisted wasn’t necessary only moments earlier. As the paramedic buzzes around Carlos taking vitals, placing an oxygen mask over his mouth and starting a line to run fluids, TK adjusts his grip on his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

They have so much to talk about, but for now, all TK wants to do is wrap his hand around Carlos’, holding on tightly—if it were up to him, he’d never let go again.

Carlos pushes the oxygen mask off his face to talk, “I didn’t think,” he pauses, his breath hitching and tears flowing, “I was ever going to see you again.”

TK reaches out and gently replaces the mask, brushes a blood-stained curl off his forehead, kissing him gently, “Shh. Breathe, just breathe. You’re safe now, baby. You’re safe now. ”

When they arrive at the hospital, one of the paramedics turns to TK, looking at him with a sympathetic expression he’s all too familiar with. This is the ‘family has to wait in the waiting room, no exceptions’ conversation he has with his own patient’s loved ones every shift.

“This is as far as you can come. I’m sorry, man. Someone will come to update you as soon as they can.”

And then they wheel Carlos through the double doors, and he’s alone. His hand feels strangely empty as he stumbles to the waiting room where Andrea, Gabriel and the 126 are waiting; everyone is there. Everyone except the one person he needs right now. Everyone except his dad.

keep reading on ao3 or under the cut

Gabriel holds his wife close in a set of chairs across the room, she’s clutching her rosary close to her chest and praying quietly, and TK knows if they were to see him or he was to go over there, Andrea would be on her feet with her arms open to embrace him. But as Gabriel said earlier, he’s not the only one who loves Carlos; they’re hurting too, so he sinks into an empty chair around the corner, alone.

But he’s not alone for long. Soon Nancy takes a seat on his right, taking his hand, “Whatever happens, dude, we’re here.”

And Captain Vega sits down on his left, “Whatever you need, we’re here.”

Paul, Marjan, Mateo, Judd and Grace sit opposite him, offering to get him food, tea, coffee, a change of clothes, or anything else he might need.

As supported as he feels, he can’t help but feel something—someone—is missing.

“Can someone find my dad? He’s not answering calls, his voicemail is full, and he’s not here.” He asks.

Judd stands up and takes out his phone, “I think I have an idea where he might be. Hang in there, kid.”

“Do you need anything else?” Paul asks, and TK nods.

“Could somebody go by the apartment and get us some clothes, toothbrushes, that sort of thing, please?”

He sinks into the chair while his friends—his family—buzz around him, offering support in every way they know how, though there’s nothing they can do. He feels a pit in his stomach, every worst-case scenario runs through his brain at a million miles an hour and being a paramedic, he has so many more worse-case scenarios to ponder than the average person.

Worse still, he can’t help but wonder how it felt for Carlos every time he’s been in the hospital. He starts to think of how alone Carlos must have felt when Nancy called him to the hospital while they were broken up, but before he can dwell on it further, the doctor comes out with an update.

The 126 and Andrea and Gabriel gather around with him to hear the update, with Nancy and Paul on either side of him, holding his hands, and he suspects, ready to catch him if the news is bad and his knees give out. But the doctor has good news, well, as good as the news can be given the circumstances.

She runs through a list of injuries Carlos has sustained, including cracked ribs and an intracranial hemorrhage. But none of that matters when she says, “So far, he’s stable and being transferred to the neuro ward for monitoring. Would you like to see him? He’s been asking for his fiancé; that’s always a good sign.”

TK follows Gabriel and Andrea to the ward. Gabriel wastes no time going to his son’s bedtime, but TK hesitates in the doorway, pressing his nails into his palms and anxiously bouncing from foot to foot. Noticing TK’s hesitation, Andrea hovers beside him.

The sight of his fiancé laying in that bed looking so small and vulnerable, hooked up to half a dozen machines and monitors and IV medications, with an oxygen cannula in his nose and a mess of blood still staining his hair, is enough to make TK’s stomach heave. He doesn’t want this to be their reality. He’s not used to being the one by the bedside rather than in the bed, and he’d trade places with his fiancé in a heartbeat.

“What can I do for you, mijo? I’m here.” Andrea says, turning to face him, forcing a smile across her tear-stained cheeks and squeezing his hand. He blinks away tears of his own, and his soon-to-be father-in-law’s words stick in his mind; ‘if there are tears to weep, we do it when the time comes, not before.’

“It’s okay to cry, mijo.” She says, “It’s okay.” And that’s when he finally lets himself cry. The tears come slowly at first. His nose burns and a few tears roll down his cheeks, but then he starts to sob with his entire body as the weight of all that’s happened finally hits him.

Andrea puts an arm around his shoulder and hands him a tissue from a pack in her purse, “Let it out; it’ll be okay; our boy is strong.”

“Thank you, Andrea.”

“No, thanking me is not necessary,” She says, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “He’s lucky to have you, and we are too. Gabriel and I always wanted another son, and now we have one. We have you. You’re as much a part of this family as Carlitos is. Even if it won’t be official until you stand up at that altar in eight weeks and become a Reyes, you’re already one in my heart.”

“I am?”

“You have no idea how much you’ve changed my boy’s life, TK. He was a shell of the man you know now when you first met. You saved him. I won’t pretend we’ve been perfect parents; Gabriel and I have made mistakes, unforgivable mistakes, and I can never make up for the hurt I’ve caused him, but somehow you put him back together, and you brought us back together. I can’t ever thank you enough for that, mijo.”

“I don’t know what to say. I—I can’t let Carlos see me like this, not after everything…”

“Shh, you don’t need to say anything,” She says, dabbing at the tears on his cheek’s with a tissue and leading him to the small waiting area by the nurse's station and sitting before pulling a takeaway container and a fork from her tote bag, “Now, when was the last time you ate something?”

TK reluctantly sits in the chair beside her, “Is this fried rice? From the place near the loft?”

“Carlos said it was one of your favourites,” She replies with a motherly smile.

“When did you have time to stop for takeout?”

“I didn’t. I asked Paul if he could pick it up as he was already going to the loft to get clothes; you need to eat, mijo.” She opens the lid and gently pushes the fork into TK’s hand.

TK pushes the food around the container with the fork absentmindedly, still too anxious to eat. “He was so mad at me,”

“Why would he be mad at you, TK?”

“I went to see Iris without him. I just wanted to show her I was enough for him so she could sign the papers, but then she went missing—again—and he was so mad that I’d gone to see her at all,”

“Oh mijo, I don’t think it was you he was mad at; not really. I think he was mad at himself and at the system for letting Iris down again. You can get past this; just talk to him, TK,” She assures him with a smile. “Are you ready to go see our boy?”

TK nods and follows her into the small hospital room, to Carlos’ side. Carlos is still partially sedated, and there are a couple of nurses in the room adjusting his medications and oxygen, but the energy changes when Carlos finally spots his fiancé.

“Hi baby,” He says with a sleepy smile as he reaches for TK, clutching his hand tightly and pulling him close, “I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, Carlos.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, TK.”

“I do, but now isn’t the time.” TK sinks into the plastic chair at his fiancé’s bedside. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Can I get you anything? Ice chips? Juice? Tea? Jello? Do you need anything from the apartment? Or what abou—”

“Take a breath, TK. I have everything I need right here in my hand,” Carlos says, smiling down at their interlaced fingers and squeezing TK’s hand gently. “Everything I need but sleep. I know you all just got here, but I’m just so tired. Will you stay with me, TK? I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Get some rest. I love you.” TK says, stroking Carlos’ hand gently as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Love you,” Carlos mumbles sleepily.

Andrea presses a kiss to his forehead as she and Gabriel go to step out, “Sleep tight, mijo. We’ll be right out there when you wake up.”

Later, early in the evening, around 7 o’clock, the beep of an IV pump startles Carlos awake, but TK is already silencing the alarm and pressing the call bell for a nurse to come and fix it, all without loosening the vice-like grip he’s had on his fiancé’s hand every possible moment since he was found.

“You can go home; it’s okay,” Carlos whispers. His voice is hoarse, so at first, TK thinks he must have misheard. Carlos did not just tell him to go home, not after everything they’ve been through today. “I’m okay, TK. I’m okay . You can go home away from the beeping and the smell of sanitiser—”

TK doesn’t mean for it to happen, but he’s been holding in so many emotions all day, and Carlos’ refusal to accept what’s happened is the final straw that breaks him. “God, Carlos, you’re not okay. None of this is okay. I’m not okay, and I know it’s selfish because you need me to be okay for you right now, but I’m not okay. I can’t be okay because you were dead, Carlos. Do you get that? You died in my arms, and I didn’t think I’d get you back, and I felt your ribs breaking under my hands while I was giving you CPR and I—“

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says sleepily, his brown eyes wide and brimming with tears as he looks up at TK.

“Why don’t you try and get some more sleep? We’ll talk more in the morning.” TK says, pressing a gentle kiss to Carlos’ cheek and adjusting the askew oxygen cannula on his face, carefully tucking it behind his ear.

“M’kay,” Carlos mumbles as his eyelids flutter shut, and soon his face relaxes into the most peaceful expression as he drifts off to sleep. TK can’t help but close his own eyes, it’s only early in the evening, and he’s vaguely aware that Andrea, Gabriel, Paul, Marjan, Nancy and Mateo are still in the waiting room, but after the day that unfolded, TK is bone tired—so tired he doesn’t even care that he’s shivering cold and his stomach is growling.

TK dreams of his mother wrapping him in a blanket and stroking his hair and is surprised to wake up a couple of hours later, carefully draped in his favourite throw blanket. Andrea smiles at him from across the bed, where she sits stroking Carlos’ hair.

“You’re awake, TK,” She says, speaking softly enough that Carlos doesn’t stir in his sleep. She produces a thermos from the giant tote bag at her feet, “How about some dinner?”

“You brought dinner?”

“It’s just soup; you have to eat something, mijo. Otherwise, you’ll end up in a hospital room of your own, and I think we can both agree you’ve spent enough time in these beds for a lifetime. And at my age, I’m too tired to be visiting both of my boys.”

She stands and brings the thermos over to TK with a spoon, “Thank you,” he says as he accepts the soup with one shaky hand while his other hand still wraps tightly over his fiancé’s.

“This should warm you up,” Andrea says, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“What time is it?” TK asks as he sips the warm soup.

She glances at her watch, “It’s ten-eighteen,”

“You’re still here this late?” TK asks, surprised. He’s spent more time in the hospital than most over the years, and his father has never stayed so late—his mom, on the other hand, would have been by his side all hours if he’d allowed her to be, or more accurately if visiting hours had allowed her to be. All day he’s wanted nothing more than to call her and hear she’ll be on the next plane out to be there for him, but at least he has Andrea here with Carlos, and to his surprise, with him.

It’s not like he hasn’t become close with Carlos’ parents—Andrea in particular over the past few months especially. TK’s been comfortable enough to pop around for lunch or afternoon tea with them when Carlos is on shift, or even just to bake with Andrea and hear stories about Carlos’s childhood and look at old photo albums with Gabriel, but for them to be more of a support system for him than his dad while dealing with their own fear and grief will always stay with him.

“My boys need me, so I am here,” She says simply as she adjusts the blanket around TK’s shoulders, “I will be here as long as you need me, mijo, either of you.”

“It means the world that you’re here. Thank you for all of this ,” TK motions to the soup and the blanket, “Thank you for caring.”

“Always, TK. The mother in me can’t help but worry and fuss, but please tell me if I ever overstep, okay? I would never dream of replacing your mom or trying to take her place, but if you ever need me, I’m here,”

In lieu of a response, TK reaches out to envelope her in a one-armed hug, and for a while, they sit in comfortable silence while TK finishes the soup. And when Andrea can’t stop yawning in the chair across from him, TK turns to her, “Are you sure you don’t need to get home? Carlos assures me these chairs are terrible to sleep on. Not that I’m not grateful you’re here, but we shouldn’t both have a sleepless night. I’ll keep him safe until morning. Thank you again for everything.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? I’m only a phone call away, no matter what time it is, okay, mijo. Why don’t you let me sit with him for five minutes while you get a change of clothes and brush your teeth, and then I’ll head home.”

The way she offers is so motherly, so TK relents and digs out a change of clothes—his comfiest sweatpants and one of Carlos’ t-shirts that’s perfectly oversized—from the duffle Paul brought over, along with a toiletries bag with his toothbrush.

When he returns from the tiny bathroom attached to Carlos’ room, Andrea kisses him on the forehead on her way out the door, “Goodnight, call me if you need absolutely anything, okay?”

“Goodnight,” TK says, settling back at Carlos’ bedside before deciding hospital air conditioning was much too cold for just a t-shirt and heading back to the duffle bag in search of a hoodie.

As TK unzips the duffle, he remembers something Paul said earlier when he dropped it off, “I picked up a copy of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe off the bookshelf, too. Carlos keeps his books so pristine, but this one has become pretty worn over the years, so clearly, it’s somebody’s favourite. I don’t know if it’s yours or Carlos’, but it’s the kind of book you need when things are like this.”

TK finds a soft, well-worn, pink hoodie that’s always comforting to wear, pulls it on over his t-shirt, and then settles back in the chair at Carlos’ bedside with the book.

There’s a bookplate inside the cover with ‘this book belongs to Carlos Reyes’ written in neat child’s handwriting with a marker. He runs his fingers over the words, trying to imagine how old Carlos was when he wrote them and remembering a photo atop the Reyes’ mantle of a mop of brown curls and reading glasses popping up over the top of this very same paperback when Carlos was maybe seven or eight years old.

Carlos startles awake just after four am, shouting and flailing his arms against an invisible assailant. The fear in his widened eyes breaks TK’s heart as he rushes to his feet to comfort his fiancé.

“Carlos, you’re safe. It’s me. It’s TK. You’re safe. You’re safe with me, baby. Breathe. Just breathe.”

“I thought I was back there—I thought he was—I'm sorry,” Carlos stutters, and TK can feel his pulse pounding in his wrist, but as Carlos reaches out and pulls him closer, pressing his face into his neck, the rapid heart rate normalises. “Hold me?”

TK positions himself carefully on the edge of the narrow hospital bed beside Carlos, there isn’t really enough room, but he makes it work as best as he can. He reaches his arm around Carlos’s shoulders, gently pulling him close and feeling the tension melt away as he softens, leans in and rests his head against his chest.

TK eyes the book on the chair beside him, remembering how Carlos would climb into bed and hold him close while reading him poetry while he recovered from hypothermia and how safe and comforting it felt, so he reaches for the book and opens it to the first chapter.

“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.”

“Is that my copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe ? Where did you get that?”

“Paul brought it. He stopped by the loft to pick up some clothes and toothbrushes and stuff for us and said it looked like one of our favourites,”

“Looked like?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one with the Sherlockian powers of deduction,” TK responds with a shrug, “Was he right, though?”

“He was. I read this easily a dozen times as a kid. I loved the escapism of it. Looking back now, there’s a certain irony of a closeted kid finding solace in a book about a magical world in the back of a wardrobe,” He says with a small laugh, and it’s music to TK’s ears.

TK stays curled around Carlos reading aloud to him until the morning when the warmth of first light first breaks through the slated hospital blinds. As he reads, the beeping machines, IV lines, and the reality of the situation slip away, making room for magic, adventures and Narnia, even if only for a few hours.

#9-1-1 Lone Star #911 lone star #911ls #tarlos #fanfiction #9-1-1 lone star fanfiction #my writing #my fic #ao3 #carlos reyes #tk strand #cross posted #read on ao3 #hurt/comfort #soft hurt/comfort #andrea reyes #epiosde coda #9-1-1 lone star s04e04 #4x04

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angeltreasure · 4 months

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Hey it's meeeeeeeeeee. Please pray for my team- we have someone who needs emergency transport but the ambulance won't be here until 8 in the morning, and one of us has to go with them for monitoring. We're trying to figure out how to continue providing services to the community and ensuring we're all rested enough to provide safe care

Just saw this, sending prayers up right away! Have you tried calling another town for backup, or nearby police for helping with transport? There must be helpers somewhere. Stay safe!

Mother of Mercy, pray for us!

St. Gabriel, pray for us.

St. Michael, pray for us.

St. Raphael, pray for us.

All you angels and saints, pray for us!

#prayer request #asks

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tinyshe · 6 months

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The Knights of John Paul II (TM) were founded on May 1, 2020 at the outdoor shrine to St. Joseph at the National Shrine of the Divine Mercy in Stockbridge, MA. Founding members were five laymen and one Deacon who consecrated the Knights to Our Lady of Guadalupe, St. Joseph Terror of Demons, The Archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, and of course, St. John Paul II. One week later, requiring a priest or bishop, priest Father Paul officially consecrated the Knights. Father Paul asked to be our chaplain. After May 1, we started assembling on the streets every Saturday morning. We meet at a church parking lot, do an opening prayer to summon The Heavenly Army, then intercessory prayers and the Rosary. We then break up into pairs like Our Lord sent out the 72 disciples praying the Rosary, the most powerful weapon we have been given from Heaven. In our opening prayer, we claim the town we are in by name for our King and Queen, Jesus and Mary, and we entrust that town to our King and Queen. We call upon St. Joseph, St. Michael, and all the Angels, Saints, and souls in purgatory, not to pray for us, but to join us at that moment to drive all the demons and evil out of that town or city. As St. Paul says, “our battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the Powers and Principalities.” Our Lord: “I have given you the power to tread upon serpents and scorpions and the full force of the enemy, and no harm shall befall you.” Luke 10:19. The demons have had a free reign in our towns, schools, governments, and society for too long. It is time to fight back!

[join in Canada, USA or Australia or start a new chapter, please follow hot link above for more information; have questions? there is telephone number and email address on their web page]

#catholic #catholic men #knightsofsaintpaulii

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ave-immaculata · 2 years

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Tinycatholic, I am fighting hard against demons of lust. Do you know any prayers I could say before going to bed so that the good Lord may aid me? This is an addiction I struggle with. I feel so disgusting and ashamed. May you also keep me in your prayers?

I'm sorry I didn't answer this last night!! praying for you; these are some of my favourites.

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Into thy hands, Mary, I commend my body and my soul. I ask thee to provide for them and to protect them. I ask thee to protect them from the evil one. I ask thee enlighten my mind, strengthen my will, and refrain my appetites by grace. Our Lady and St. Michael, call down from Heaven the legions of angels under your command to protect me; I ask of thee all the things I ask of my Guardian Angel. My guardian angel, under thy intellectual and volitional protection I place my body. I ask thee to illumine my mind and refrain my appetites. I ask thee to strengthen my cogitative power, my memory and my imagination. Help me to remember the things I should and not remember the things I should not. Help me to associate the things I should and not to associate the things I should not. Give me good clear images in my imagination. I ask thee to drive away all the demons that might affect me while I sleep (or throughout the course of the day). (Help me to sleep and, if thou should deem it prudent, direct my dreams. Help me to arise refreshed). Amen.

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Holy Father, omnipotent and merciful God, in the name of Jesus Christ and through the intercession of the Virgin Mary, send Your Holy Spirit upon me; may the Spirit of the Lord descend upon me, mold me, form me, fill me, hear me, use me, heal me, cast out from me all the forces of evil, annihilate them, destroy them, so that I may be well and do good. Cast out from me all the spells, sorcery, black magic, black masses, evil eye, ties, curses, diabolical infestation, diabolical possession, diabolical obsession, all that is evil; sin, envy, jealousy, perfidy, discord, impurity, infatuation; physical, psychic, moral, spiritual, and diabolic illnesses. Burn all of these evils in hell, so that they will never again touch me or any other creature in the world. In the name of Jesus Christ our Savior, through the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, I order and command all unclean spirits, all the presences that molest me, to leave me immediately, to leave me definitely, and, chained by St. Michael the Archangel, by St. Gabriel, by St. Raphael, by my guardian angel, crushed under the heel of the Most Holy Immaculate Virgin, to go into the eternal abyss. Give me, O Father, much faith, joy, health, peace, and all the graces that I need. Lord Jesus, may Your most Precious Blood be upon me. Amen.

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Lord Jesus Christ let your Precious Blood flowing from Thy wounded Heart cover me, my cogitative power, memory, imagination, common sense power, sensitive appetites, my sight, hearing, taste, touch and smell, (and any part of your body they are affecting) driving the demons to the foot of thy Cross where they may be judged by Thee. In the name of the Father, the Son + and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

#❤️❤️ YOU are not shameful or disgusting #never tire of resting in the mercy of God #youre His beloved child ❣️

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adventism-atheism-orthodoxy-me · 1 year

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The Bloggers over at Ancient Faith Outdid Themselves Today

Fr. Barnabas Powell - A Good Wife Is More Precious Than Jewels "We look at the description of this virtuous woman and we only see how much we aren’t like that. And, at this moment, we have two choices: We can throw up our hands and fall into the trap and lie of despondency and condemnation OR we can run to the Father Who loves us more than we, ourselves, know how to love and cry out the prayer the Church teaches us to pray every moment: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”"

Fr. Stephen Freeman - The Frightful Path of Judas "We are Judas and we are the Thief. If Holy Week and Pascha teach us anything, it is to measure and view the world and ourselves in the framework of the story of Christ’s Pascha."

Hieromonk Gabriel - The Words of Our Mother It is only these words that can make sense of all the senseless history of humankind. It is only these words that can give any true meaning or purpose to our lives. Everyone, everywhere asks: “What does it all mean? What is this all for?” The truth of our lives is that each and every one of us was born into this world for one reason, and one reason only: so that after a lifetime of pain and joy, of sin and repentance, of suffering and fellowship and loss, we too might finally learn to say to God: “be it unto me according to Thy word.”

Fr. Basil - God is a Consuming Fire “What of our lives and ourselves will the firestorm of the Lord’s passion touch? St. John goes on, “So does it happen with a man, and everything depends on what he brings to the divine Fire – in what state he touches God. If he keeps himself like iron, the power of the iron becomes steel. If he lets himself go to the point of the weakness of chaff – he will burn up.” St John the Wonderworker of Shanghai and San Francisco. “God Is a Consuming Fire.” St. Nicholas Orthodox Church. https://www.orthodox.net/articles/god-is-consuming-fire-john-maximovich.html

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The Words of Our Mother hit me the hardest though.

I know a pastor friend who, as part of a team, always ends up with the annunciation Sermon around Christmas. The time when Protestants think about such things. She has lamented the fact that she has to go over the same material year after year.

Yet, this particular blog post really highlights the importance of Mary's role in human history, and within the incarnation. And is way beyond anything I have heard within a Protestant setting.

When Salvation is nothing more than a Morality Play, Legal Maneuvering, or an outright Legal Fiction - what role would the mother of Christ play?

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myremnantarmy · 10 days

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"𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴..."

#jesus #catholic #my remnant army #jesus christ #virgin mary #faithoverfear #saints #jesusisgod #endtimes #artwork #Jesus is coming #come holy spirit #angel gabriel #St. Gabriel the archangel #pray for us #angel gabriel speaks #rosary #pray the rosary

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helloparkerrose · 7 months

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#roman catholic #catholicism #catholic #catholic church #feast of the archangels #saints michael gabriel & raphael #st. raphael #st. gabriel #st. michael #pray for us

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portraitsofsaints · 2 years

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Happy Feast Day

St. Michael St. Gabriel & St. Raphael pray for us!

Archangels are messengers of God sent to direct, guide, defend, & protect us. {website}

#St Michael #St Gabriel #St Raphael #Angels #artist on tumblr

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anamedblog · 11 months

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Experiencing Istanbul Through Photography

Maréva U, GABAM-ANAMED Post-Doctoral Fellow (2022–2023)

Fig. 1. Istanbul, street leading up to the Galata Tower (photo by Albert Kahn, 1913, No. A2307S, Albert Kahn Museum). Fig. 2. Istanbul, Hagia Sophia, bronze door (photo by Gabriel Millet, Photo Archives, EPHE).

Photography is a technical and mechanical means of preserving a graphic representation of places, monuments, objects, people, and moments. It can be used as a historical testimony—an approach taken, for example, by the French banker and philanthropist Albert Kahn in his attempt to create the Archives of the Planet between 1908 and 1931[1]—or as a research and documentation tool—an approach we adopt in the humanities and social sciences, as evidenced by the photographs of monuments taken by the Byzantinist Gabriel Millet in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.[2] Photography is also a means of expression that bears the signature of its author and whose objectivity is equal to any artistic work.

However, for several decades, photography has become, in the words of the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, a “popular art.”[3] Film cameras and the slow and complex process of developing photographs have given way to digital cameras and smartphones capable of capturing, in high definition, fixed images of our private lives and our travels. These digital tools allow for easy and instantaneous snapshots. They lead us, in a consumerist way, to take an unlimited number of images, most of which are stored indefinitely in our smartphones or computers, without much consideration.

Photography is today overexploited and tends to be conditioned by the dominant visual discourses conveyed by the vast media landscape. These discourses construct cultural codes that define the value of a place, transforming a specific site into an appreciable, visitable, or unmissable and “instagrammable” place. The same places and monuments of Istanbul, as in any tourist city, become the subject of countless photographs, or rather the background in front of which people pose in their best light. These stereotypical photographs, whose colors are often oversaturated by smartphone filters that alter our perception of reality, flood the internet and social media. Unconsciously, these discourses and images influence the way we perceive, experience, and photograph places.

Since my arrival at ANAMED, I have wanted to build my own experience and perception of Istanbul, trying to detach myself from these visual dictates (the choice of black and white photography is partly a result of this intention). My research on the experience of the architectural space of Byzantine monuments has undoubtedly influenced my relationship to the city and to photography. Of course, the architecture of the Byzantine buildings attracted most of my attention.

Fig. 3. Vefa Kilise Camii, western façade (photo by the author). Fig. 4: Küçük Ayasofya Camii (St. Sergius and Bacchus), columns and capitals (photo by the author).

Beyond photographic documentation, it is possible to look at and photograph the monuments we visit and study in a different way, especially by examining how they are integrated into the modern cityscape and how people use their spaces today. In doing so, details such as the contrast between the recently restored Tekfur Sarayı and the nearby pile of rubble, the calmness of a man praying in Fenari Isa Camii (Constantine Lips Monastery), or the movement of a child playing ball in front of Zeyrek Camii (Pantokrator Monastery) can attract our attention.

Fig. 5. Tekfur Sarayı (photo by the author).

Fig. 6. Man in Fenari Isa Camii (Constantine Lips Monastery) (photo by the author). Fig. 7. Child in front of Zeyrek Camii (Pantokrator Monastery) (photo by the author).

Besides Byzantine and Ottoman architectural heritage, Istanbul’s vibrant and colorful urban space deserves more attention. Istiklal Caddesi, which is difficult to avoid if you live in ANAMED, is passed by thousands of people every day. Many of them take selfies and pictures of each other or walk around with their smartphones in hand, continuously filming the hustle and bustle of the street, probably without really paying attention to the urban space. To experience it and to photograph it, it is necessary to slow down, to stop, to turn around, and to look up above the sometimes-oppressive crowd to observe and capture, for example, some architectural details or a man discreetly watching urban life from his window.

Fig. 8. Istiklal Caddesi (photo by the author). Fig. 9. Istiklal Caddesi (photo by the author).

Fig. 10. Sıraselviler Caddesi (photo by the author).

To experience Istanbul through photography, it is necessary to voluntarily lose oneself in the city and to be open to possibilities, opportunities, unexpected events, and encounters. In this way, it is possible to observe space, architecture, scenes of everyday life, people’s attitudes, spontaneous movements, effects of light and shadow. In short, the practice of photography allows us to see what is attractive and visible but also to pay attention to what is ordinary and sometimes hidden or invisible. Such an approach to the city can sometimes be uncomfortable, as it puts us in a contradictory position: between a voyeur, eager for aesthetic visuals, and a detached onlooker, aware of the various aspects of a place and its atmosphere. By unknowingly photographing children playing in the street, a man painfully carrying a washing machine, or a woman sitting on a bench focused on her phone, I experienced this ambivalent situation myself. Photography can thus lead us to question our relationships with others and sometimes to overcome our fears of rejection when we ask permission to take someone’s picture.

Fig. 11. Tünel, Istiklal Caddesi (photo by the author). Fig. 12. Children, Balat (photo by the author).

Fig. 13. House, Fatih (photo by the author). Fig. 14. House, Fatih (photo by the author).

Fig. 15. Man, Fatih (photo by the author).

The act of photography, in my opinion, has other effects on the person who practices it. It teaches us patience in order to capture the desired image, a quality we often lack in our productivity-driven society. Experiencing urban space through photography can allow us to take a break from the frenetic pace of our academic lives, as it leads us to develop an alternative conception of space and time.

Fig. 16. Cat, Fatih (photo by the author). Fig. 17. Woman, Taksim (photo by the author).

Therefore, photography is not just a matter of pressing a button to mechanically fix a part of the urban space and its inhabitants in an image. By walking around, looking for photographable objects and framing them, we appropriate the space and try to give a meaning to what we see. Photography can then be used by anyone (with a camera or a smartphone) to record their own experience of space, to visualize their perceptions and engagements with the place, or to explore their aesthetic and expressive capacities.

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[1] https://albert-kahn.hauts-de-seine.fr/en/collections/presentation/a-documentation-project-for-the-world/the-archives-de-la-planete.

[2] https://explore.psl.eu/fr/ressources-et-savoirs-psl/projets-psl-explore/la-phototheque-gabriel-millet-ecole-pratique-des.

[3] Bourdieu, Pierre, ed., Un art moyen : essai sur les usages sociaux de la photographie (Paris: Les Editions de Minuit, 1965).

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