Disused building. St. Peter's Seminary, Cardross, Glasgow.

[Image ID: Tweet by sassy seminary student, @LeahBSassy:

“One of my favorite things to do is make up random Dutch Reformed theologians that never really existed and ask my guy friends questions about them.”

Screenshot of conversation:

Sassy: Have you ever read the dutch reformed theologian Janus der Veenhouwer?

Guy friend: Yeah, not as much as I should though.

Screenshot of conversation:

Sassy: Thoughts on Dutch Reformer Hans van Coevordengroot’s refusal to fully condemn Arminius?

Guy friend: Disappointing but not surprising, to be honest.

/end image ID]

I’d like to start posting my ocs a little more because I need to work on them anyway, so here: my son, his best friend, and their spiritual director pulling up to daily mass on a hoverboard

An acquaintance of mine is joining the seminary, he is discerning priesthood, please pray for him that he end up wherever God thinks is best

Let’s pray for him now. Even if it is God’s will that he does not become a priest, he may become a deacon, and if not that then he will absolutely grow in faith and prayer by seeking God deeper. 🙏🏻

I love pretty young boys with rosary and semen I mean in seminary

I had a crush on a cute Catholic boy🥺 but Sky Daddy said no 😠 and sent him off to seminary 😔.

Did the Fellow Travelers TV writers somehow get my whole life story or are all gay seminary students the exact same person?

at Sunday school today, we were talking about different types of judgement. So I shared my story of going to a party and being the only one not in a dress and I getting the side eye from everyone there. And my seminary teacher who was in class (like this man who is the sweetest grandpa figure ever) said to me “idc what you wear I’ll always love you as will your heavenly father” and just, thank you 🥹 but I wasn’t wearing pants because I wanna be different ™ but because dresses make me dysphoric

Christian Theological Seminary (1965-66) in Indianapolis, IN, USA, by Edward Larrabee Barnes

Interior of the Grand Chapel of the Saint-Sulpice Seminary in Issy-les-Moulineaux, southwestern suburbs of Paris

French vintage postcard

The Mormon Heretic Casts a Curse

So, this is a sequel piece to The Mormon Heretic and the Leviathan. @apolloendymion requested that I write some more of the stories, and this is another one. I'm going to put a trigger warning here that the story does involve partner abuse. Not from the heretic, but just... as a detail. Also, I guess, some medical stuff that involves death. It's Old Testament shit. Take it as you will.

Mormon seminary has four separate courses about the four separate parts of their canon. It’s on a constant rotation, and my particular ordering was Old Testament, then New Testament, then Book of Mormon, then Doctrine and Covenants. 

I got the Mormon Heretic for my OT year, which is 100% the best year I could have possibly got him for. And, also, absolutely the worst, because at that time I was a very orthodox Mormon, and this guy couldn’t have fucked with my brain worse if JFK’s dad gave him an icepick and a waiver. 

At that time I had an abysmal understanding of the OT, and to call my experience with it jarring would be an understatement. I learned that Elohim is a plural word. I learned that OT God itself doesn’t deny the existence of other Gods, and in fact relished challenging them to contests. The whole experience was so insane to me that I stayed after class one day to ask the teacher how he managed to bridge the divide between the OT and the NT. They're insanely different theologies, and he really refused to mince words about it.

He listened to my concerns, and I cried a little because I was fourteen and beginning to realize that there was something fundamentally wrong with the religion I was born into, and when it was all said and done he said that tomorrow he would teach the story of how he squared away the differences between OT God and NT God. 

And he did. 

I can remember having a sense that something was strange when we arrived at the building. There was a crosswalk where the exiting teenagers would pass the entering teenagers, and normally people would discuss the lesson as they passed. The group we passed just looked shell shocked. 

I sat down. The class arrived. Heretic stood up, and went to the front of the class, and he began his tale: 

He had a little sister that got married at nineteen. She then started making visits to the hospital. 

He, like his family, assumed that she was just clumsy. He was clumsy. He’d had multiple surgeries on his shoulders and his elbows and his knees because he kept doing dumb things to himself.

She was not clumsy. Her husband was beating her. 

She got a divorce. Heretic was old when the story was being told - I think in his early sixties? - and the divorce went shockingly well for the time. Sister was not blamed, husband was ostracized from both families, and life found a way to continue in its slow way. 

Heretic was, at that point, a new teacher in the Church Education System (CES). He was trying to be a spiritual guy, and teach spiritual lessons, but he just wasn’t doing a very good job because he was really, really, murderously angry with the guy that had hurt his sister. 

Sister had moved on. Or, he thought she had, he was hardly telepathic, but he felt like she’d let go and started her life anew, and her parents had supported her, and even her in laws had supported her, and things should have been easy to let go of, but they weren’t. And every day that he tried to let go, he got more and more angry, and every day he tried to pretend he was fine he ripped the wound wider, and one day he taught a spectacularly bad lesson and came home and wanted nothing more than to kill the man that had beat his sister. He instead said a prayer. I cannot quote it verbatim, but this is very, very close to what was said. “God, I know that I must forgive to be forgiven, but I want nothing more than to see that animal choke to death on his own shit.”(I know for a fact that the choke on shit part was in it. It is not a common thing to hear a seminary teacher say “shit” in the middle of class. It is also integral to the rest of the story) If this was a book, there would’ve been an immediate result, but instead Heretic felt a strange peace, grabbed ahold of it like a lifeline, and resolved to go to therapy. Which is how he got into Jungian analysis. Finding therapy in the deep South in 1980 was pretty wild. Jump cut forward to the early 2000s. Heretic has moved on. Sister is remarried. He is at peace with the world, but he gets a call from his sisters old in-laws. 

And the in-laws say that yes, they have ostracized the abuser for the last twenty years, but they got a call from him a few hours ago to please, meet him at the hospital, because he was sick. 

And the abuser was, in fact, very sick. He’d been vomiting for days. The doctors couldn’t figure out why, but they knew that at the present rate, they were running out of time. He was going to have some kind of exploratory surgery as a hail Mary, and the guy wanted a blessing first. 

And so the family had gone to Heretic, to ask him if he would be willing to bless the man that had beat his sister. It is one thing, to feel like you have forgiven someone enough to move on, and another to wish good things upon them. But Heretic had spent years and years in therapy, and he developed on an incredibly spiritual path, and he said that yes, he would bless the man before the surgery. 

And he did. 

The surgery found that the man had a benign mass in his colon. It wasn’t spreading, but it had grown large enough to prevent food from going around it. Without an exit, things had built up back to the entrance. The man was throwing up because there was nowhere else for the shit to go. Worse, during the surgery he thrown up and some of the mix had managed to drain back into the man’s lungs. He survived the knife, but the combination of fecal matter and acid inside his lungs had created an infection that he failed to survive. He drowned in his own fluids. 

He drowned in his own shit. 

Now, at that point, the class had no idea where this was going. We were a bunch of children, hearing a story about this insane divine retribution, but the Heretic continued. 

And with tears in his eyes, he told us that God had answered his original prayer only after he had fully and truly forgiven that man. That if he’d wished death on another human being in anger, in rage, and then received it, it would have damned his soul, but that as soon as he was at peace, as soon as he could wish life and love upon the man that had wronged his kin, justice could be brought down. And be believed it, with his entire heart. He spoke about how God wants to give us what we want, but that he loves us so much that we will not give it to us until we have reached the point where it is not poison to us. We will have our revenge, but only when it is meaningless to us. When the only lesson that could be grabbed from it is that God heard us the first time, and held back out of love. Then, we will see those who had wronged us choke on their shit.  

The bell rang after that, and we left the class in a daze. When we went across the crosswalk, no one spoke a word to the students crossing the opposite way. We were all too busy thinking. 

St Peter's Seminary, with apartments on Adelaide St. visible in the background (photographer: Giles Whitaker)

One of my greatest prides is that every single seminary teacher I had left after having me as a student

Roman Catholic Diocese of Phoenix announces Arizona's first seminary program

General Theological Seminary (Fall season) - West Chelsea, New York City by Andreas Komodromos©

The General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church (GTS) in Chelsea, New York City. Founded in 1817, GTS is the oldest seminary of the Episcopal Church and a leading center of theological education in the Anglican Communion.

Aerial view of the Séminaire de philosophie and surrounding area 1939 [City of Montreal Archives]