do any XF folks know who is running the doodle4nf tumblr? like, is it fans? is it people actually with NF? lebeeson? youokay-mulder? myassbrokethefall? Bueller?
they just followed a blog of professional interest to me and I kind of need to know
Bruges, Belgium (by aurelian2012)
Osterbaum in Saalfeld/Saale (Thüringen)
High Altar of the Monastery Church of Saints Catherine and Barbara, Halberstadt, Sachsen-Anhalt, Germany
“Yes, Jesus died, he “descended” into the mysterious depths into which death leads. He entered into the ultimate solitude into which no one can accompany us, for “being dead” is above all loss of communication. It is isolation where love does not penetrate. In this sense Christ descended “into hell,” whose essence is precisely the loss of love, being cut of from God and man. But wherever he goes, “hell” ceases to be hell, because he himself is life and love, because he is the bridge which connects man and God and thereby also connects men among themselves. And thus the descent is at the same time also transformation. The final solitude no longer exists—except, at most, for the one who wants it, who rejects love form within and from its foundation, because he seeks only himself, wants to be from and for himself.”
Fr. Joseph Ratzinger, Meditations on Holy Week
“Martin Luther famously distinguished between a “theology of glory” and a “theology of the cross.” In the former you find yourself substituting a crown of thorns and a body of nailed flesh for a more palatable scene. But with a “theologia crucis,” you can call a spade a spade. You can look grief and loss in the face and identify them for what they are. There’s room — maybe even a literal room that you set aside in a basement — for rage and sobbing and protest and fear and horror. The great English-American poet W. H. Auden once heard a lecture in which, as Edward Mendelson recounts the scene, the speaker said that, “Jesus and Buddha were the same in effect: they were both attacked by spears, but in the Buddha’s case, the spears turned into flowers.” Auden bristled at this, shouting from the back of the lecture hall, “ON GOOD FRIDAY THE SPEARS WERE REAL.” If those spears were real, we can admit the spears we’ve felt are real, too. There’s no need to pretend we’re smelling roses when all we feel is metal piercing skin. Good Friday enables us to name the pain and face it.”Duke Divinity Call & Response Blog | Faith & Leadership | Wesley Hill: Anger room (via invisibleforeigner)
Lulley, lully, lulley, lully,
The faucon hath born my mak away.
He bare hym up, he bare hym down,
He bare hym into an orchard brown.
In that orchard ther was an hall,
That was hanged with purpill and pall.
And in that hall ther was a bede,
Hit was hangid with gold so rede.
And yn that bede ther lythe a knyght,
His wowndes bledyng day and nyght.
By that bedes side ther kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both nyght and day.
And by that bedes side ther stondith a ston,
"Corpus Christi" wretyn theron.
“There is something essential and beautiful in lamentation. It is a witness against death, and we should bear witness, because death is an abomination and an obscenity. A great perversion of the Christian faith is the transformation of funerals into celebrations. Death is a destroyer, and this is why we sing, as we celebrate the triumph of a Messiah: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death.” Death is an abomination and death is being trampled down and we who would live eternally shall bear witness against it.
Death is woven into our flesh, and so is lamentation, though we avoid it with our culture that whistles past the graveyard. Even pagans would believe in a victory over death, but if that victory matters, surely then all the blood of the ages gone stilled and black has been a tragedy—a tragedy stretching from the garden sin to brother killing brother to our own dark-hearted acts, yours and mine. To deny the tragedy is to deny our deep yearning for liberation. To refrain from lamentation is to deny, then, what is in our own hearts.”
— “Lament" at Sand in the Gears.
Ponte Carlos (Karlův most, em tcheco), Praga (via)
The Life of Jesus: An Illustrated Rosary by Mary Billingsley