Gally Quotes

Quit voting me down before you even think about what I'm saying.

Thomas kept his focus on Gally. He saw a sadness in the boy’s eyes that made his heart break. And he also saw something he’d never seen there before: trust. Genuine trust.

God's love for us is uncoerced and so freely given that it does not demand a response. But so freely is it given that it creates freedom in the recipient, so that our response is not one of obligation or duty, nor the returning of a favor, but uncoerced love.

Though something told him there was a better chance of Gally bringing him flowers than of passing a day in the Glade with nothing strange happening.

I know you,” Gally added without looking back. “I saw you in the Changing, and I’m gonna figure out who you are.

Look at the Greenbean,” a scratchy voice said; Thomas couldn’t see who it came from. “Gonna break his shuck neck checkin’ out the new digs.” Several boys laughed. “Shut your hole, Gally,” a deeper voice responded.

Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.

Her voice sounded like a symphony after years of being denied any music

Even the name, Celt, is not from their own Indo-European language but from Greek. Keltoi, the name given to them by Greek historians, among them Herodotus, means “one who lives in hiding or under cover.” The Romans, finding them less mysterious, called them Galli or Gauls, also coming from a Greek word, used by Egyptians as well, hal, meaning “salt.” They were the salt people.

If the church is the body of Christ [who was disguised in servant form], why would we think the world would be able to pick us out of a crowd of other well-meaning organizations?

To paraphrase Paul, God often uses the cheesy to confound the sophisticated. He regularly honors those who are confused about his leading as if they have nailed it.

I sometimes wonder whether our churches--living as we do in American death-denying culture, relentlessly smiling through our praise choruses--are inadvertently helping people live not as much in hope as in denial.

[denial] is an attempt to bring order to our lives.

As is typical of this God [of Israel], he calls his people into freedom in the most unlikely place.

They had to go back to Gally.

Glad you came,” Gally said in his raspy voice. “Because the end of the world is upon us.

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom," says Paul. And we are most in line with the Spirit, most faithfully obedient, when instead of trying to manipulate people into faith, we simply live in that freedom and let the Spirit do the work of transformation.

The Christian life does not just evolve. It also requires specific decisions and public commitments to deepen our faith and obedience.

For his own unfathomable reasons, God chooses to disguise himself when he comes to this planet, and there have been few disguises better than the church.

All that we fear from all the kinds of adversity, severally, is collected together in the life of a soldier on active service. Like sickness, it threatens pain and death. Like poverty, it threatens ill lodging, cold, heat, thirst, and hunger. Like slavery, it threatens toil, humiliation, injustice, and arbitrary rule. Like exile, it separates you from all you love. Like the gallies, it imprisons you at close quarters with uncongenial companions. It threatens every temporal evil—every evil except dishonour and final perdition, and those who bear it like it no better than you would like it.

Io so cosa vuol dire essere felice nella vita e la bontà dell'esistenza, il gusto dell'ora che passa e delle cose che si hanno intorno, pur senza muoversi, la bontà di amarle, le cose, fumando, e una donna in esse. Conosco la gioia di un pomeriggio d'estate a leggere un libro d'avventure cannibalesche seminudo in una chaiselongue davanti a una casa di collina che guardi il mare. E molte altre gioie insieme; di stare in un giardino in agguato e ascoltare che il vento muove le foglie appena (le più alte) di un albero; o in una sabbia sentirsi screpolate e crollare infinita esistenza di sabbia; o nel mondo popolato di galli levarsi prima dell'alba e nuotare, solo in tutta l'acqua del mondo, presso a una spiaggia rosa. E io non so cosa passa sul mio volto in quelle mie felicità, quando sento che si sta così bene a vivere: non so se una dolcezza assonnata o piuttosto sorriso. Ma quanto desiderio d'avere cose! Non soltanto mare o soltanto sole e non soltanto una donna e il cuore di lei sotto le labbra. Terre anche! Isole! Ecco: io posso trovarmi nella mia calma, al sicuro, nella mia stanza dove la finestra è rimasta tutta la notte spalancata e d'improvviso svegliarmi al rumore del primo tram mattutino; è nulla un tram: un carrozzone che rotola, ma il mondo è deserto attorno e in quell'aria creata appena, tutto è diverso da ieri, ignoto a me, e una nuova terra m'assale.

But the resurrection without the crucifixion is empty optimism, an optimism that gives credence to Freud's notion that wishful thinking is the sum and substance of our faith. Include the crucifixion--and our role in that bloody moment--and the whole picture changes.

The wealthy, Jesus says, can only get into heaven through the eye of a needle; the same applies to churches wealthy in numbers and programs.

Gally,

You can call me Captain Gally if you want.

Minho was the first to him, pulling him into a bear hug as Gally watched awkwardly from the side.

Of course we care,” Thomas answered. “But what do you want us to do about it?” “Hey, all I know is that WICKED has one directive – to find a cure. And it’s pretty obvious that’s never gonna happen. If we had their money, their resources, we could use it to really help. To protect the healthy. I thought you’d want that.” Thomas did, of course. Desperately. Gally shrugged when no one responded.

Egyre-másra halljuk a nemzetektől: "Vissza a dicső múlthoz!" "Térjünk vissza atyáinkhoz!" (...) Ez a nosztalgia a gyenge pillanatokra jellemző. Előremenjünk tán? Mi vár ott? A jövőben nincs egyetlen szilárd pont, egyetlen biztos érték, talán már minden lehetőség kimerült, csak csalódás vár ránk, és már magunkban sem bízunk. Ó, inkább térjünk vissza a kétségbevonhatatlan, örök értékekhez, jobb visszatérni, mint tétován botorkálni a bizonytalan jövő felé. Vissza a gyökerekhez! Csakhogy (ha már a gyökereknél tartunk) ha nem mint élősködő férgek akarunk a gyökerekhez férni, akkor mit akarunk velük? Visszatér a virág, vagy a gally a gyökerekhez?

Sam Vimes, I’ve dreamed of visiting Koom Valley all my life, so don’t you think for one moment you’re gallivanting off to see it and leave me at home!” “I don’t gallivant! I’ve never gallivanted. I don’t know how to vant! I don’t even have a galli! But there’s going to be a war there soon!” “Then I shall tell them we’re not involved!” said Sybil calmly. “That won’t work!” “Then it won’t work in Ankh-Morpork, either,” said Sybil,

Witness, too, all human beings, how when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre's pit, they will, at the slightest alarm of fire, rush helter-skelter for the outlets, crowding, trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death. Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.

Gally,” Minho said in a calmer voice, “you’re nothing but a sissy who has never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out for it. You don’t have the right to talk about things you don’t understand. So shut your mouth.

To love with expectations is, in the end, an oppressive, driven thing, and people know it when they receive it. To love as God loves us--in freedom and with no strings attached--is a way to grant others a liberating gift.

The fantastical idea of virtue and the public good being a sufficient security to the state against the commission of crimes...was never mine. It is only the sanguinary hue of our penal laws which I meant to object to. Punishments I know are necessary, and I would provide them strict and inflexible, but proportioned to the crime. Death might be inflicted for murder and perhaps for treason, [but I] would take out of the description of treason all crimes which are not such in their nature. Rape, buggery, etc., punish by castration. All other crimes by working on high roads, rivers, gallies, etc., a certain time proportioned to the offence... Laws thus proportionate and mild should never be dispensed with. Let mercy be the character of the lawgiver, but let the judge be a mere machine. The mercies of the law will be dispensed equally and impartially to every description of men; those of the judge or of the executive power will be the eccentric impulses of whimsical, capricious designing man.

But Thomas didn’t have time to finish his thought. Gally reached behind himself, pulled something long and shiny from his back pocket. The lights of the chamber flashed off the silvery surface—a wicked-looking dagger, gripped tightly in his fingers. With unexpected speed, he reared back and threw the knife at Thomas. As he did so, Thomas heard a shout to his right, sensed movement. Toward him. The blade windmilled, its every turn visible to Thomas, as if the world had turned to slow motion. As if it did so for the sole purpose of allowing him to feel the terror of seeing such a thing. On the knife came, flipping over and over, straight at him. A strangled cry was forming in his throat; he urged himself to move but he couldn’t. Then, inexplicably, Chuck was there, diving in front of him. Thomas felt as if his feet had been frozen in blocks of ice; he could only stare at the scene of horror unfolding before him, completely helpless.

Only unconditional grace can transform a hardened heart into a grateful heart. Only a free gift can demolish any notion of quid pro quo. Only an utterly merciful act of love can fashion a new creation capable of love. As theologian Karl Barth puts it, 'As the beloved of God, we have no alternative but to love him in return.

By participating in the liturgy, we’re doing more than “attending a service.” We are entering a story—a story in which we also play a role. We are the people who have indeed been gathered. We are the people who share in God’s very life. We are the people sent forth to proclaim God’s story and to invite people into the grand story.

He returned his gaze to the spotlight, focusing on the person to the right of it. That was his best guess at who’d been doing the talking. “My name is Thomas. This is Brenda. We know Gally—we were with him at WICKED and he told us about the Right Arm and what you guys are doing a few days ago. We were on board to help, but not like this. We just want to know what you’re planning, why you’re kidnapping immune people and locking them up. I thought that was WICKED kind of stuff.” Thomas didn’t know what he’d expected, but the guy started to chuckle. “I think I’ll let you see the boss just so you get the damn idea out of your head that we’d ever do anything like WICKED.

I sometimes wonder if God calls us into the church because it represents not the people of God at their best but us at our worst. I wonder if he calls us to become embedded in this wretched institution precisely because it is wretched. And calls us to be a part of it not to reform it or save it or control it in any way, but to simply love it.

As Wade Clark Roof noted in his study, "the 'weightlessness' of contemporary belief in God is a reality...for religious liberals and many evangelicals.

To live [in the church] at the beck and call of marketing logic is to live in slavery.

The Good News does not hinge on words like do or change but on the powerless, irrelevant, and frightening words like belief and faith.

Gally replaced the receiver, and stood dazed and numbed. He was thinking hard thoughts of George Cyril Wellbeloved and wondering a little that such men were permitted to roam at large in a civilized country. If at that moment he had learned that George Cyril Wellbeloved had tripped over a hole in the Beetle and Wedge’s linoleum and broken his neck, he would, like Pollyanna, been glad, glad, glad.

Had these Leviathans been but a flock of simple sheep, pursued over the pasture by three fierce wolves, they could not possibly have evinced such excessive dismay. But this occasional timidity is characteristic of almost all herding creatures. Though banding together in tens of thousands, the lion-maned buffaloes of the West have fled before a solitary horseman. Witness, too, all human beings, how when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre's pit, they will, at the slightest alarm of fire, rush helter-skelter for the outlets, crowding, trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death. Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.

Minho laughed, then raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. Thomas half stood as he watched the Glader crash down into his chair, tipping it over backward, cracking it in two pieces. Gally sprawled across the floor, then scrambled to stand up, struggling to get his hands and feet under him. Minho stepped closer and stomped the bottom of his foot down on Gally’s back, driving his body flat to the ground.

We say we long for intimacy with God and others, and yet we structure our lives so that this becomes impossible. One might think we are avoiding intimacy, that maybe we really like our finely managed lives just the way they are.

What we feel and how we feel is far more important than what we think and how we think. Feeling is the stuff of which our consciousness is made, the atmosphere in which all our thinking and all our conduct is bathed. All the motives which govern and drive our lives are emotional. Love and hate, anger and fear, curiosity and joy are the springs of all that is most noble and most detestable in the history of men and nations. The opening sentence of a sermon is an opportunity. A good introduction arrests me. It handcuffs me and drags me before the sermon, where I stand and hear a Word that makes me both tremble and rejoice. The best sermon introductions also engage the listener immediately. It’s a rare sermon, however, that suffers because of a good introduction. Mysteries beg for answers. People’s natural curiosity will entice them to stay tuned until the puzzle is solved. Any sentence that points out incongruity, contradiction, paradox, or irony will do. Talk about what people care about. Begin writing an introduction by asking, “Will my listeners care about this?” (Not, “Why should they care about this?”) Stepping into the pulpit calmly and scanning the congregation to the count of five can have a remarkable effect on preacher and congregation alike. It is as if you are saying, “I’m about to preach the Word of God. I want all of you settled. I’m not going to begin, in fact, until I have your complete attention.” No sermon is ready for preaching, not ready for writing out, until we can express its theme in a short, pregnant sentence as clear as crystal. The getting of that sentence is the hardest, most exacting, and most fruitful labor of study. We tend to use generalities for compelling reasons. Specifics often take research and extra thought, precious commodities to a pastor. Generalities are safe. We can’t help but use generalities when we can’t remember details of a story or when we want anonymity for someone. Still, the more specific their language, the better speakers communicate. I used to balk at spending a large amount of time on a story, because I wanted to get to the point. Now I realize the story gets the point across better than my declarative statements. Omit needless words. Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell. Limits—that is, form—challenge the mind, forcing creativity. Needless words weaken our offense. Listening to some speakers, you have to sift hundreds of gallons of water to get one speck of gold. If the sermon is so complicated that it needs a summary, its problems run deeper than the conclusion. The last sentence of a sermon already has authority; when the last sentence is Scripture, this is even more true. No matter what our tone or approach, we are wise to craft the conclusion carefully. In fact, given the crisis and opportunity that the conclusion presents—remember, it will likely be people’s lasting memory of the message—it’s probably a good practice to write out the conclusion, regardless of how much of the rest of the sermon is written. It is you who preaches Christ. And you will preach Christ a little differently than any other preacher. Not to do so is to deny your God-given uniqueness. Aim for clarity first. Beauty and eloquence should be added to make things even more clear, not more impressive. I’ll have not praise nor time for those who suppose that writing comes by some divine gift, some madness, some overflow of feeling. I’m especially grim on Christians who enter the field blithely unprepared and literarily innocent of any hard work—as though the substance of their message forgives the failure of its form.

Amanece en México. Millones de ciudadanos se preparan para otra ardua jornada laboral. Un controlados aéreo de la torre del Aeropuerto Internacional Benito Juárez de la Ciudad de México entrega su turno después de una noche más de eficaz trabajo cumplido. Un agricultor del valle de Culiacán, granero de México, prepara su sistema de riego con tecnología de punta. Una ingeniera atómica controla impolutamente los desechos de uranio altamente enriquecidos de la central nuclear de Laguna Verde. Un empresario de Monterrey termina una conference call con sus socios del Lejano Oriente. En un hotel del Caribe, la recepcionista despierta puntualmente a los turistas de las habitaciones que así se lo han pedido. Los hospitales trabajan. Las escuelas inician labores. La basura se recoge. El agua corre por las cañerías. La luz se enciende. Los teatros dan la tercera llamada. En el campo, millones de manos ya están sobre el surco y los empleados de la periferia de las grandes ciudades se desplazan hacia sus centros de trabajo. Una monumental energía humana echa a andar un día más la undécima potencia económica del planeta.

But this occasional timidity is characteristic of almost all herding creatures. Though banding together in tens of thousands, the lion-maned buffaloes of the West have fled before a solitary horseman. Witness, too, all human beings, how when herded together in the sheepfold of a theatre's pit, they will, at the slightest alarm of fire, rush helter-skelter for the outlets, crowding, trampling, jamming, and remorselessly dashing each other to death. Best, therefore, withhold any amazement at the strangely gallied whales before us, for there is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.

Soy sencillamente, o tal vez debo escribir que fui, un hombre solitario. Puedo pasarme la noche entera frente a un pocillo de café, y si a veces condesciendo a pedir una copita de caña de durazno o un cognac es para no despreciar a mis ocasionales compañeros de mesa. Para que no desconfíen de mí; para que me hablen. He conversado en esos bares con los personajes más extraordinarios de Buenos Aires. Actores fracasados, ex presidiarios, viejas putas en decadencia, infantiles putas en ascenso, poetas que se creían, o quizá eran, genios incomprendidos, tristes homosexuales que venían de una paliza descomunal, violeteras que juraban haber cantado con la Galli Curci o haber sido amantes de Perón.

Thomas waited for Chuck to laugh or smile, thinking it had to be a joke—who ever heard of someone being cut in half? But it never came. “You’re serious?” Chuck just stared back at him. “I don’t lie, Gree—uh, Thomas. Come on, let’s go over and see who’s coming up. I can’t believe you only have to be the Greenbean for one day. Klunkhead.” As they walked over, Thomas asked the one question he hadn’t posed yet. “How do you know it’s not just supplies or whatever?” “The alarm doesn’t go off when that happens,” Chuck answered, simply. “The supplies come up at the same time every week. Hey, look.” Chuck stopped and pointed to someone in the crowd. It was Gally, staring dead at them. “Shuck it,” Chuck said. “He does not like

The church is a political body in that it is interested in the common good and not in the sense that it is a political party with members to represent. After evangelical flagship magazine Christianity Today published an op-ed by editor-in-chief Mark Galli supporting President Trump’s impeachment, the president tweeted that the magazine was looking for Democrats “to guard their religion” and that “no President has ever done what I have done for Evangelicals, or religion itself!”7 It not only revealed the president’s view of his relationship with evangelicals but highlighted the attitude many evangelicals share: Christians make political decisions based on what will protect them and their interests. But the church is commissioned to seek the flourishing of our communities, not special privileges for ourselves.

Mary Lincoln was already in the audience. Before leaving the house that morning she had vigorously brushed Lincoln's coat, had laid out a fresh collar and carefully ironed his best tie. She was anxious to have him appear to advantage. But the day was hot, and Lincoln knew the air in the hall would be oppressive. So he strode onto the platform without a coat, without a vest, without a collar, without a tie. His long, brown, skinny neck rose out of the shirt that hung loosely on his gaunt frame. His hair was disordered, his boots rusty and unkempt. One single knitted "gallis" held up his short, ill-fitting trousers. At the first sight of him, Mary Lincoln flushed with anger and embarrassment. She could have wept in her disappointment and despair. No one dreamed of it at the time, but we know now that this homely man, whose wife was ashamed of him, was starting out that hot October afternoon on a career that was to give him a place among the immortals.

In our desire to be real we start thinking that authenticity is another word for spontaneity, as if everything we say at the spur of the moment is more true, more sincere than words we craft carefully. For many, the Freudian slip is considered more authentic than the measured reply. Indeed, sometimes what we blurt out thoughtlessly is actually what we mean and feel. But more often than not, what we blurt out is ill-considered and something we either need to qualify or apologize for

The most carefully crafted language in our culture tends to be poetry. And poetry at its finest moments subverts our best attempts at hiding from reality... The poetry of liturgy has just this power. The liturgy contains words that have been shaped and crafted over the centuries. It is formal speech. It is public poetry. As such it reaches into us to reveal not only the unnamed reality of our lives but the God who created us... But even when the words of the liturgy are not literally biblical words, the words, like all truthful words, work on us over time, like a steady, unrelenting stream slowly reshapes the banks of a river. The words do something to us even when we're not paying attention.

The liturgy is the place where we wait for Jesus to show up. We don't have to do much. The liturgy is not an act of will. It is not a series of activities designed to attain a spiritual mental state. We do not have to apply will pressure. To be sure, like basketball or football, it is something that requires a lot of practice--its rhythms do not come naturally except to those who have been rehearsing them for years. On some Sundays the soul will indeed battle to even pay attention. In the normal course of worship, we do not have to conjure up feelings or a devotional mood; we are not required to perform the liturgy flawlessly. Such anxious effort... blind us to what is really going on. We do have to show up, and we cannot leave early. But if we will dwell there, remain in place, wait patiently, Jesus will show up.

To love with expectations is, in the end, an oppressive, driven thing, and people know it when they receive it.

Prominent among the Hettite priests were the Galli or eunuchs, who on the days of festival cut their arms and scourged themselves in honour of their deities. Such actions remind us of those priests of Baal who 'cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them.

All’uomo che cavalca lungamente per terreni selvatici viene desiderio d’una città. Finalmente giunge a Isidora, città dove i palazzi hanno scale a chiocciola incrostate di chiocciole marine, dove si fabbricano a regola d’arte cannocchiali e violini, dove quando il forestiero è incerto tra due donne ne incontra sempre una terza, dove le lotte dei galli degenerano in risse sanguinose tra gli scommettitori. A tutte queste cose egli pensava quando desiderava una città.Isidora è dunque la città dei suoi sogni: con una differenza. La città sognata conteneva lui giovane; a Isidora arriva in tarda età. Nella piazza c’è il muretto dei vecchi che guardano passare la gioventù; lui è seduto in fila con loro. I desideri sono già ricordi.

I'm not sexist, I'd f**k both sexes equally if I was gay - John Blu

he shoots higher that threatens the moon, than he that aims at a tree.

Affliction is able to drown out every earthly voice…but the voice of eternity within a man it cannot drown. When by the aid of affliction all irrelevant voices are brought to silence, it can be heard, this voice within.

You're the only man I know willing to jump from the top floor of a skyscraper, naked with an axe just to get the bad guy - Selena

Karl Barth was the most significant theologian in the twentieth century, at least in western Christianity. His defence of the doctrines of the Holy Trinity, the incarnation of God’s eternal Son and his virginal conception in Mary’s womb, stunned the liberalism that had captured Protestantism in Europe. For this we can be thankful. But orthodox confession of foundational truths, if not allied to a whole hearted submission to the sufficiency and absolute authority of God’s inscripturated revelation, the proclamation of Jesus Christ as the only Saviour of sinners, the necessity of the new birth, and personal repentance and faith, is not biblical Christianity. Hamilton, Ian. "False Friend?" review of Karl Barth: An Introductory Biography for Evangelicals, by Mark Galli, Banner of Truth, 682: 29.

insignificant is beautiful

hipster fashion of the moment. And he wore an earring, as if to say, “I have a position, but I’m not a conformist.” The men in the audience were slumped in their seats, legs crossed, arms condescendingly folded over their chests. Laura was taking notes, accompanying every word by nodding her head of thick, curly hair. What was his trick? His face revealed few expressions; from time to time he smiled briefly, the only movement on his tanned face. Still, those smiles lit it up, and this was probably not planned. Or maybe it was, because at regular intervals he would imperceptibly lean toward the audience, and the middle-aged women with Botoxed lips clung to their seats. He talked about a recent trip in a Ford Fiesta. “We’d meet at the bar in the piazza, Giovanni and Gabriele and I, and hold impromptu discussions inspired by Malvasia.” He gave us time to marvel over the fact that he did not have an Audi. “Giovanni Ascolti and Gabriele Galli, the founders of the publishing house Marea,” Laura whispered in my ear. “Oh.” Silence floated through the room when he closed his mouth. The seconds hung suspended between us and him, in midair, as if surprised to be there. But then Vittorio took off his glasses, smiled, said, “Thank you,” and time obeyed that smile and began to flow again. The audience applauded, and the seconds too returned to their place, in the ticking of the clocks. Well

Are you sure? It’s not too late to step away from this.” Something in her thoughtful tone wasn’t entirely convincing. Lifting my gaze to look into those captivating blue eyes, I spoke clearly. “All I know for sure is that when I first met you, I felt my heart beat again. That hasn’t happened in a very long time. I was almost convinced I no longer had one.” I felt her hand slide down to my heart where the pounding grew more insistent. “You did that for me, angel. It’s way too late for me to step away from this. "“Are you sure? It’s not too late to step away from this.” Something in her thoughtful tone wasn’t entirely convincing. Lifting my gaze to look into those captivating blue eyes, I spoke clearly. “All I know for sure is that when I first met you, I felt my heart beat again. That hasn’t happened in a very long time. I was almost convinced I no longer had one.” I felt her hand slide down to my heart where the pounding grew more insistent. “You did that for me, angel. It’s way too late for me to step away from this.

Are you sure? It’s not too late to step away from this.” Something in her thoughtful tone wasn’t entirely convincing. Lifting my gaze to look into those captivating blue eyes, I spoke clearly. “All I know for sure is that when I first met you, I felt my heart beat again. That hasn’t happened in a very long time. I was almost convinced I no longer had one.” I felt her hand slide down to my heart where the pounding grew more insistent. “You did that for me, angel. It’s way too late for me to step away from this.

The Cubists’ belief in progress was by no means complacent. They saw the new products, the new inventions, the new forms of energy, as weapons with which to demolish the old order. Yet at the same time their interest was profound and not simply declamatory. In this they differed fundamentally from the Futurists. The Futurists saw the machine as a savage god with which they identified themselves. Ideologically they were precursors of fascism: artistically they produced a vulgar form of animated naturalism, which was itself only a gloss on what had already been done in films. 35 Carlo Carra. The Funeral of the Anarchist Galli. 1911 The Cubists felt their way, picture by picture, towards a new synthesis which, in terms of painting, was the philosophical equivalent of the revolution that was taking place in scientific thinking: a revolution which was also dependent on the new materials and the new means of production.

The preached Word is an event that creates hearers; through preaching, the Word comes alive in hearers’ lives. When this happens, the Word can truly be said to be not merely a human word of a human preacher but a divine Word in which the very presence and power of Christ are mediated to us.

el programador no se tiene que preocupar de los problemas ocasionados por intercalaciones o competencia. Pero cuando se trata de procesos concurrentes, el núcleo y hardware ya no pueden asegurar esa consistencia.

Fascinated by the utter ignorance of history here, esp regarding Trump & Hitler, or as I say "Hitler killed 40 million people, Trump hurt your feelings

For example, in the pre-Christian Roman Empire, the cult of the Phrygian deity Cybele was widespread. Her priestesses, called the Galli, were usually people who were assigned male at birth and presented in a feminine manner.

Thereafter Erasmus devoted himself to the Greek language, in which the New Testament was written. “I cannot tell you, dear Colet, how I hurry on, with all sails set, to holy literature,” he soon wrote to his new friend. “How I dislike everything that keeps me back, or retards

Finney stated that unbelief was a “will not,” instead of a “cannot,” and could be remedied if a person willed to become a Christian. Such rigid Calvinism, he said, “had not been born again, was insufficient, and altogether an abomination to God.

Mai nessuno riuscirà a mettere e a tenere insieme tanti galli nello stesso pollaio.

Siamo scheletri, nudi, l'uno di fronte all'altro. E tutto il resto è nebbia

Mark Galli has said, “The strength of the evangelical movement is its activism; the weakness of the evangelical movement is its activism.”11 Evangelicalism’s energetic history has produced genuine and needed changes in society: the progress of women’s rights, the protection of children, and antislavery legislation, among many others. But it can also foster attitudes that depreciate sustainability and rest. When our zealous activism is coupled with a culture of frenzy and grandiosity, the aim of our Christian life can become a list of goals, initiatives, meetings, conferences, and activities that leave us exhausted.

This statement seems to me to be overdrawn. Nothing of the kind was learned by me at the sun dance of the Sioux which I noted in 1881, and in any event the remark would scarcely apply to the medicine-men of the Apache, who have nothing clearly identifiable with the sun dance, and who do not cut, gash, or in any manner mutilate themselves, as did the principal participants in the sun dance, or as was done in still earlier ages by the galli (the priests of Cybele) or the priests of Mexico. Herodotus tells us that the priests of Egypt, or rather the doctors, who were at one time identified with them, were separated into classes; some cured the eyes, some the ears, others the head or the belly.

The castration of the galli, or priests of Cybele, is described by Dupuis.

The cult was supervised (like that of Ceres) by foreign priests (a Phrygian man and woman), as well as by galli (priests of Cybele) castrated like Attis, the companion who was both lover and son to the goddess. They emerged from the sanctuary only on procession days, notably when they went to bathe the idol in the waters of the Almo, on 27 March.

As the law ruled out castration, a procedure had to be provided that would confer an equivalent 'sacrament' on those who wished to remain Roman citizens. It was a special problem for the archgallus, who was officially in charge of the galli but, as a Roman priest, could not be castrated.

How many children could say their home hosted the humblest and highest at the same time, on any given evening invaded by expatriates their father never hesitated to invite in? Through the back door he welcomed a bookseller, organ grinder, biscuit maker, vagrant macaroni man, and one called Galli who thought he was Christ. Through the front, disgraced Italian counts and generals made as officious entrances as a small house on Charlotte Street afforded.

The words of the liturgy, of course, are more than a beautiful tablecloth and flowers. They constitute even the meal itself. This is the feast to which we are invited in the Gathering, at which the host speaks to us in his Word, during which we are sustained by the Eucharist, from which we are sent forth in the Dismissal to gather others into the community of the Trinity and the Church, who now together anticipate the great forever feast in the kingdom that comes.

Salisbury

As one liturgical theologian put it, “The primary purpose of the Church’s liturgical worship is not to express our feelings toward God, but to express and impress the Personality of Christ upon us.” And therefore the personality of the Trinity upon us.

There is, however, another possibility, namely, the ritual around the Great Idaean Mother of Gods differed at first from that of Cybele, whose cult featured eunuch-attendants. In Greece, the transplanted mother goddess lost her various Phrygian names related to locations and mountains. Even her name, Cybele, was substituted by the title Great Mother (Mētēr Megalē). This reflected the Hellenization of Cybele, whose cult was thoroughly “de-orientalized.”67 Despite this, the galli of Cybele did not disappear. Cultic rituals scarcely changed, since a change meant a tampering with what had proved to be effective and thus invited a breach in the mankind-deities alignment.

It pleases me that you teach sacred theology to the brothers, as long as—in the words of the Rule—you 'do not extinguish the Spirit of prayer and devotion' with study of this kind.” —Francis of Assisi

For me, this was the first hint that the liturgy might be the cure for spiritual loneliness. Though I felt inadequate and alone during my prayer crisis, I was not alone. Much of American spiritual life trudges through the muck of solitary spirituality. Twenty years ago, Robert Bellah described this phenomenon in Habits of the Heart, with his now famous description of one woman: Sheila Larson is a young nurse who has received a good deal of therapy and describes her faith as “Sheilaism.” This suggests the logical possibility of more than 235 million American religions, one for each of us. “I believe in God,” Sheila says. “I am not a religious fanatic. I can’t remember the last time I went to church. My faith has carried me a long way. It’s Sheilaism. Just my own little voice.” “My little voice” guides many lonely people to and through New Age, wicca, Buddhism, labyrinths, Scientology, yoga, meditation, and various fads in Christianity—and then creates a new Sheilaism from the fragments that have not been discarded along the way. I love Sheila Larson precisely because she articulates nearly perfectly my lifelong struggle: “I believe in God. I am not a religious fanatic…. My faith has carried me a long way. It’s Sheilism. Just my own little voice.” The difference between Sheila and me is that she has the courage of her convictions: she knows her faith is very personal and so hasn’t bothered with the church. I like to pretend that my faith is grounded in community, but I struggle to believe in anything but Markism. Fortunately God loves us so much he has made it a “spiritual law” that Sheilism or Markism become boring after awhile. The gift of the liturgy—and it is precisely why I need the liturgy—is that it helps me hear not so much “my little voice” but instead the still, small voice (Psalm 46). It leads away from the self and points me toward the community of God.

Reconstructing a Soviet life is often difficult. Many of the details of Shostakovich’s youth we know only because his aunt Nadejda Galli-Shohat collaborated on a biography years later, against his wishes. She is not an entirely reliable source; an American interviewer called her “one of those wonderfully frank Russians who can drop into fantasy as easily as most of us find our way into the subway.

THE LITURGY LIVES OUT A STORY IN A STORY-DEPRIVED WORLD. Liturgy is not a once-upon-a-time story we merely watch others perform. We are the characters in this story, actors in the divine drama whose opening and closing has been written by Jesus Christ himself.

È una responsabilità che riguarda, per l’appunto, l’incapacità dell’Urbe di svolgere realmente il suo ruolo. Una vera capitale accentratrice, infatti, è tale se è in grado di nazionalizzare e statalizzare gli impulsi ed i fermenti fecondi della periferia, se è in grado di rendere generale tutto ciò che di particolare arriva al centro dalla periferia, e dunque anche le culture politiche di questa.

Ma per svolgere un compito del genere la capitale deve essere attrezzata in tal senso, per esempio deve essere una capitale linguistica e culturale: ciò che invece Roma non era, né è mai stata, rivelando anche in questo, agli occhi sconsolati di Manzoni, la sua «artificialità».

Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand

disguised as the true God.