The Butler Did It !

The Silent Majority

Unlucky Numbers

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Shannon † Doherty

The icon of the dying star
Slowly climbs up heaven’s vault:
`T’was there before laid eyes upon;
Though we now see it, it’s long gone...

Mihai Eminescu, To The Star

Russia's Invasion Of Ukraine

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On Hesychasm And Monasticism

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A Single Man, Practicing Stillness Of The Mind

Border Security: On The Walls We Build To Protect Ourselves

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My inquisitive, conservative readership, asking tough and deeply

uncomfortable questions, about fair, blonde, blue-eyed Ukrainians,

in light of illegal aliens abducting and attacking American citizens.

Deeply Uncomfortable Situations

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Having My Theological Credentials & Qualifications,

As An Orthodox Blogger & Apologist, Called Into Question

Republican Idols

God With US !

Exodus 15:3

The Lord is a man of war: the Lord is his name.

Genesis 1:26~27

And God said: Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.
So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him.

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Since leadership required killing people, why won't republicans arm Ukraine's leadership ?

I need ammunition, not a ride.

Vladimir Zelensky

From The Dnieper River, To The Black Sea, Ukraine Will Be Free !

Wherever the (Russian) sun doth shine,
there's always (s)laughter, and good red wine.

Hilaire Belloc

Orthodox Christianity: Mortally Wounding Its Opponents Since 363 AD

Saint Basil the Great, whose feast is celebrated on New Year's Day, once prayed before an icon of the Most Holy Theotokos, upon which Saint Mercurius was depicted as a soldier holding a spear.

He asked God not to permit the emperor Julian the Apostate to return from his war against the Persians and resume his oppression of Christians. The image of the holy Great Martyr Mercurius, depicted on the icon beside the image of the Most Holy Theotokos, became invisible. It reappeared later with a bloodied spear.

At this very moment Julian the Apostate, on his Persian campaign, was wounded by the spear of an unknown soldier, who immediately disappeared. The mortally wounded Julian, as he lay dying, cried out, “Thou hast conquered, O Galilean !”

A Life In Ruins

Beauty Will Save The World




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On God's Involvement In The Big Bang

Hypothetically speaking, of course...

Prayer For Protection Against Invaders

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Amen.


Securing Ukraine's existence, and a future for its children.

Revelation
16:6 They have shed the blood of saints and prophets, and thou hast given them blood to drink; for they are worthy.

17:6 I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus.

18:24 In her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.

Running Russia

...into the ground.

A Putrid Christmas, And A Rotten New Year !

Like a second Herod, Putin the Pious saw fit to brutally mock and viciously destroy an entire country, by drowning it in senseless bloodshed and unspeakable violence, smearing it with the stench of death and despair, defiling it with the dismembered and decomposing corpses of its defenseless women and innocent children, whose lost lives and shattered limbs, as globes and tinsel upon Christmas trees, now adorn its once beautiful landscape.

Prayer For The Ukraine

Arise, O Lord, and judge thine own cause ! Incline thine ears to our prayers !

For foxes have arisen, seeking to destroy the vineyard, whose winepress thou alone hast trod.
The wild boar from the forest seeketh to destroy it, and every wild beast feedeth upon it.

Pope Leo the Tenth, Exsurge, Domine

The One True Faith

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Saint Vladimir of the Ladder

Innocence Interrupted

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The Fine Line Between Observer And Collaborator

People like to wash their hands of the violence. But we all wash our hands in blood.

In This Sign, Conquer

Psalm 151
1 I was small among my brethren, and youngest in my father's house. 5 My brothers were great and handsome; but the Lord was not pleased with them. 6 I went forth to meet the Philistine; and he cursed me by his idols. 7 But I drew his own sword, and beheaded him, and removed reproach from the children of Israel.


Troparion of the Holy Cross
Lord, save Your people and bless Your inheritance, granting our rulers to prevail over adversaries, and protecting Your commonwealth by Your cross.

On (Dis)Honoring One's Parents

The throne of Kiev held a dominant position in Ancient Rus. This had been the custom since the late ninth century. The Tale of Bygone Years captured for posterity the words of Oleg the Prophet about Kiev: May it be the mother of all Russian cities.

Vladimir Putin,
On the Historical Unity of Russians and Ukrainians

Exodus 20:12 Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

Deuteronomy 5:16 Honour thy father and thy mother, as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee; that thy days may be prolonged, and that it may go well with thee, in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.

Deuteronomy 21:18 If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them; 19 Then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; 21 And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die; so shalt thou put evil away from among you.

Matthew 15:4 For God commanded, saying: Honour thy father and mother; and: He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death.

Mark 7:10 For Moses said: Honour thy father and thy mother; and: Whoso curseth father or mother, let him die the death.

Feeling Blue: Summertime Sadness

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The sky hung high and blue; the child was staring at it, mouth open, hand above his forehead. The bright, cool morning breeze enveloped his sunburned cheeks, and dusty feet. Somewhere far away, at the edge of the plain, muffled, faded bangs were heard at times. There was no single cloud upon the clear sky, nor any smell of rain being brought on by the wind. The child stopped on the footpath near the road, openmouthed, beholding the unencompassed blue sky. He kept dragging his feet through the dew-soaked grass, to wet them. He whistled, constantly gazing at the azure sky. His father's jacket, which he had on, reached below his knees, his hands barely visible.

The child was short in stature, blue-eyed, no older than, say, seven or eight. He was returning home, from his grandmother's neighboring village, carrying, in a twig basket he could barely hold in his hands, a fat, white goose, he named Lyla on the way. He covered her in wide burdock leaves, least someone might see her. The child was whistling, to embolden himself, even though he was not particularly shy, and there was no one nearby. He was whistling out of habit, so the goose might seem less heavy.

As he passed the middle of the road separating the two villages, he laid his basket upon the grass, and took off his garment, breathing in the warm summer breeze. The goose was honking, softly flapping her wings, and making him giggle. He admired the red cloth he tied around her neck, to ward off the evil eye. After tying her wings to a hemp rope, he let her walk freely on the path before him. She treaded slowly, pecking grass, turning, from time to time, towards the boy, with her small, round eyes. She tried flying off, a few times, but the rope kept her in place.

On the road, far ahead, the child saw a dust cloud coming his way. The dusty truck drove straight past him. He found a dried up rod, and picked it up. The goose was neither answering him, nor turning around to look at him anymore. Instead, she kept on walking idly by. The knot of the red cloth around her neck reached up to her nape, looking like a bow. The sky was clear. The child was whistling, holding the basket and the rope in one hand, and the rod in the other. He wore his father's coat upon his shoulders, like a grownup. He was biding his time.

At the turn of the road, as he was about to cross the river, he saw a car, crossways before the bridge. He stopped in front of the car, to say hello. Would you let me across the bridge ?, he asked, looking at the two young, blond men, leaning on the car wheels. The two laughed, and, one of them, handing him a piece of chocolate, asked him his name. Emil, answered the boy, and her name is Lyla. — And whereto are you going, Emil, with Lyla ? — Home, if you'd let me cross the bridge. — We'll let you, but first, tell us more about Lyla.

The child started telling them anything that crossed his mind. The men were besides themselves with laughter, and Emil was glad he'll get to go home with the goose. At some point, a man came up from underneath the bridge, all smutty, and covered in mud. You can cross now, but quickly, very quickly, said the young blonde, handing him another piece of chocolate. Emil thanked him, and went on to cross the bridge. The three got into the car, setting off towards the village the child came from.

Upon reaching the middle of the bridge, Emil stopped, and, whilst still eating his chocolate, looked behind him, seeing the car now far gone. He wanted to say something, but felt Lyla flying out of his hands, and a deafening blow hitting him hard over the ears, as if the bridge itself was being lifted up, towards the sky, and torn apart. Lylaaa ! His thoughts dissipated into thin air. Far away, within another dust cloud, the car raced. Upon the field, and upon the river, like unto a faded echo, the silence of an August morning eventually fell. The sky was clear, like the child's eyes.

Dumitru Radu Popescu, August Clear