birdblogwhichisforbirds:

My brother, listen, do not be afraid.
I have descended into Hell to talk
About forgiveness. Yes, Pilate, with you.
With others too – with everyone who’s here.
But you first. Even Judas, my old friend,
Must wait a while for me. We have a while;
The sempiternal agony of Hell
Exists outside of human history. 
Souls killed in every century are here
Millennia before and after you.
You stand among those millions who share
An everlasting sentence for the crime
Of “just doing your job.” Your job killed me.
Your job ripped my skin open with a lash
And drove me, bleeding, shambling up the hill
Where your job drove an eight inch iron spike
Through each hand and each foot, and hoisted me
Towards the sky and left me there for hours
To slowly suffocate. You did your job
To many more like me. Their names were all
Forgotten as they rotted on the cross
Unburied. Hell is teeming with the souls
Who did their job, who served the empire well –
Not just your empire, all the ones that rose
And fell, before and after your own Rome’s.
You asked me once what truth is. That is it.
That is the truth about your whole life’s work.
You know this and it sears worse than the flames.
But that is not why I descended here.
I’m here about forgiveness. Listen. Please.


In the beginning was the Word of God.
That’s me. Like you, I had a job to do.
By me all things were made, and without me
Was nothing that was made. The universe
Was my life’s work, the empire that I served.
My father’s will for Mankind was my law.
One act of disobedience was enough
To sentence every one of you to death.
I did my job, and did it thoroughly:
The hands that made the stars built every tomb.
They sculpted tumors, planted neat rows
Of plagues in human lungs and skin and guts,
Conducted rousing symphonies of storms,
Earthquakes, tsunamis, fires, and wrote
In stone: if you survive all this, the time itself
Will kill you. Yet this law, My Father’s Law,
No – our law, I share blame for it – forbade
The dead to die. Infinities of pain,
We gave as punishments for finite crimes.
My father made me judge, and I looked down
On human beings. I saw their sinfulness
And built sparse Heaven and a crowded Hell.
I thought this law was justice ‘til the day
I learned what it is like to be condemned.


Pontius, I have no right to punish you.
I killed you. I killed everyone you loved.
I tortured you, but this ends here. You’re free.
All Hell breaks out today. I will not judge.
From now on, I refuse to do my job.
I am not Christ the King. I abdicate.
How you repay your debt to those you killed
Is your own cross to carry – they decide
Whether they will forgive you when you meet
In Paradise. And Pontius, I forgive
You for my death, of course. How could I not?
But I’m not here to tell you that, I’m here
To ask, to plead, for what I don’t deserve
From everyone in Hell, but first from you.
Brother, when we last met I said to you
That you would have no power over me
Were it not given from above, but now
I bow my head, give power from below.
I beg you for the one gift only you
Can give me: I have sinned against you, please
Brother, can you – will you – forgive my sins?


Tags:

#Christianity #poetry #that one post with the thing #hell cw #death cw #murder cw #illness tw

belinsky:

tockthewatchdog:

mattheuphonium:

kim-jong-chill:

i need feminism because when jesus does a magic trick it’s a goddamn miracle but when a woman does a magic trick she gets burned at the stake

fabulous 

i mean they did also kill jesus. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill jesus.

#in honour of they very much did kill jesus day


Tags:

#Easter #Christianity #death tw #Tumblr traditions #our roads may be golden or broken or lost

The Virus

birdblogwhichisforbirds:

Like Pilate before Christ, I wash my hands.
When soap rips them to shreds, do viruses
Feel pain? And can a virus feel regret
When it has killed its host and doomed itself?
No doves or rainbows follow the great flood
Of pus and blood that laid waste to the lungs
It called its home. I thought I’d killed my host
When I was small – the pale and perfect host
that I believed was not bread but the flesh
of God. My sin infested hands with nails,
Contaminated love itself with death.
But my infecting soul could only live
in Him. Survival meant I must mutate
into a strain of self less virulent,
that doesn’t eat or fuck or rage or sleep
or hope for anything other than Him,
or feel things besides shame, or love
herself.

I’d hide like herpes simplex in my God,
and scarcely bother him. It didn’t work.
“Can you not wait and watch an hour with me?”
I tried. I can’t. I’m human. I need sleep.
My fast fails, so I vomit, so my flesh
Insists on more. I slash my arms
to drive away my rage at you, the pain
only brings further rage. I’m hollowed out,
an animated corpse. Saints you run dry
Have tired and lifeless eyes but sparkling souls.
My soul is still a fetid mass of slime,
but my dark-circled eyes stare out
from a sick-looking face. I start to ask,
who is infecting whom? Why do the hands
that flung stars into space require a girl
an unimportant girl, to tear herself
to pieces pleasing him? I realized
I’m not the virus. You are. I’m the host.
I cast the angels out and heal myself.

But now the world’s more broken than before
(And it was always broken, always cruel,
Always riddled with plagues, always unjust,
Always oppressive, always full of pain,
Always on fire, but it burns brighter now.)
Temptation whispers “Re-infect yourself
with Me. There is no joy or peace on earth,
Only on the other side of the grave.
Give up on earthly good: nothing is good
but God alone. Abandon all your hope.
See all the kingdoms of the aching world!
Watch how they writhe around in agony
All this pain I will take away from you
If you simply bow down and worship me!”
Into your hands, Lord, I refuse to give
My spirit. I don’t trust omnipotence
To save me or my neighbor. Though I have
Almost no power, still the power I have,
I use for love, including for myself.
I worship life in spite of everything.
I say the world to come can fuck itself.
This one, imperfect, finite though it is
I will protect in any way I can.
Like Pilate before Christ, I wash my hands.


Tags:

#poetry #Christianity #covid19 #illness tw #unsanitary cw #self harm cw #this probably deserves some other warning tag but I am not sure what #(I might be reading too much into it but #–knowing that the author moved from Britain to America– #I feel like there might be some layers of meaning in the fact that ”neighbor” is spelled without a ”u” here) #(something about chosen homes)

explodingsilver:

I know I’ve been dunking on uQuiz today but this quiz is supremely good and everyone should take it

 

dagny-hashtaggart:

Fuck yeah antinomianism

 

voxette-vk:

You are Docetism! Docetism (literally, “to seem-ism”) is the belief that Christ only seemed to be human and that his physical body was an illusion. Because he did not possess a physical body, Jesus’s death on the cross could not really have taken place, and his apparent suffering was also illusory. Another variety of docetism held that Jesus was a normal human being but that Christ was an immaterial spirit who entered his body at his baptism, gave him the power to perform supernatural acts, and then abandoned him prior to the crucifixion, perhaps by switching bodies with Simon of Cyrene. Docetist Christology was criticized by a number of early Christian theologians, and was definitively condemned by the Council of Nicaea.

Hell of a quiz…


Tags:

#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(the quiz itself not the post) #meme #Christianity #history

mousefeets:

god, EVERY YEAR one of the local churches puts up a big sign that says “HE IS RISEN”, and EVERY YEAR whenever I see it I just think “OH HE IS, IS HE??? WELL IF HE IS RISEN THEN HE WILL NOT BE ALLOWED AT MY SEDER, LEAVENED MESSIAHS ARE NOT KOSHER FOR PASSOVER!!!”

I also post about this on my blog every year but

that’s okay

because

IT’S OBJECTIVELY HILARIOUS

EVERY

YEAR


Tags:

#Tumblr traditions #this post was queued to ensure proper timing #Judaism #Christianity #Easter #Passover

mousefeets:

god, EVERY YEAR one of the local churches puts up a big sign that says “HE IS RISEN”, and EVERY YEAR whenever I see it I just think “OH HE IS, IS HE??? WELL IF HE IS RISEN THEN HE WILL NOT BE ALLOWED AT MY SEDER, LEAVENED MESSIAHS ARE NOT KOSHER FOR PASSOVER!!!”

I also post about this on my blog every year but

that’s okay

because

IT’S OBJECTIVELY HILARIOUS

EVERY

YEAR


Tags:

#Passover #Judaism #Easter #Christianity #food #puns #Tumblr traditions #this post was queued to ensure proper timing