Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 182 of 447 · 20 per page

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  During the height of the violence, Rodney King went on television and uttered his now famous plea, “Guys, can't we all just get along?” One of the political victims of the 1992 Los Angeles race riots was the police chief, Daryl Gates, who was eventually forced to resign. A decade later, reflecting on the events that led to the riots, Gates defiantly concluded, “[King] got whacked a few extra times [but he] brought it on himself.”1 How can we get along when those who are placed in positions of power refuse to acknowledge that a problem exists? When the fault of police brutality is placed upon the victim, who brought the “whacking” upon himself? When no apology is given? Still, Rodney King's plea for unity continues to haunt us today. Can't we all just get along? As long as the dominant culture refuses to accept the reality that it benefits from social structures designed to enhance its power and privilege, then no, we cannot all get along. As long as the nation's sins of racism, classism, and sexism continue to remain masked, then no, we cannot get along. As long as this society avoids reconciliation through dismantling oppressive structures, then no, we cannot get along. We continue to exist as a vastly divided nation that sits on a powder keg ready to explode when the next Rodney King occurs, as most recently happened on the streets of Cincinnati when a nineteen-year-old unarmed black man was shot by the police for a traffic violation. What awaits us if we continue to insist on coexisting as two nations, segregated and unequal? Jesus says it best in Matthew: “Every government divided against itself is brought to ruin, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand” (12:25). THE DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY A dysfunctional family is usually one being torn apart by a secret everyone knows about but refuses to voice out loud. Dad has a mistress, mom is an alcoholic, sister is a drug addict, or uncle Joe is a child molester. These examples create tension within the family, even as the family pretends nothing is wrong and continues to operate under a facade of normalcy. Without expressing what no one wants to hear yet everyone knows, the family can never begin to work out its problems. Eventually, cracks develop in the family's public persona as it rushes toward disintegration. With time, the family falls apart as each member, wounded by the encounter, attempts to create a new life apart from the family. Wounds that are ignored simply fester, leading individuals toward unhealthy or destructive behavior and lifestyles. Like a dysfunctional family, this society also has its own dirty little secrets: racism, classism, and sexism. Everyone knows they exist, but seldom do we want to talk about them or take responsibility. What the dominant culture basically wants is for people who have suffered under oppressive structures to simply forgive and forget so that society can move on.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Reply to Objection 2: As the Philosopher says (Ethic. v, 11), “metaphorically speaking there is a certain justice and injustice between a man and himself,” in so far as the reason rules the irascible and concupiscible parts of the soul. And in this sense a man is said to be avenged on himself, and consequently, to be angry with himself. But properly, and in accordance with the nature of things, a man is never angry with himself. Reply to Objection 3: The Philosopher (Rhet. ii, 4) assigns as one difference between hatred and anger, that “hatred may be felt towards a class, as we hate the entire class of thieves; whereas anger is directed only towards an individual.” The reason is that hatred arises from our considering a quality as disagreeing with our disposition; and this may refer to a thing in general or in particular. Anger, on the other hand, ensues from someone having injured us by his action. Now all actions are the deeds of individuals: and consequently anger is always pointed at an individual. When the whole state hurts us, the whole state is reckoned as one individual [*Cf.[1426] Q[29], A[6]]. Whether the species of anger are suitably assigned?Objection 1: It would seem that Damascene (De Fide Orth. ii, 16) unsuitably assigns three species of anger—“wrath,” “ill-will” and “rancor.” For no genus derives its specific differences from accidents. But these three are diversified in respect of an accident: because “the beginning of the movement of anger is called wrath {cholos}, if anger continue it is called ill-will {menis}; while rancor {kotos} is anger waiting for an opportunity of vengeance.” Therefore these are not different species of anger. Objection 2: Further, Cicero says (De Quaest. Tusc. iv, 9) that “excandescentia [irascibility] is what the Greeks call {thymosis}, and is a kind of anger that arises and subsides intermittently”; while according to Damascene {thymosis}, is the same as the Greek {kotos} [rancor]. Therefore {kotos} does not bide its time for taking vengeance, but in course of time spends itself. Objection 3: Further, Gregory (Moral. xxi, 4) gives three degrees of anger, namely, “anger without utterance, anger with utterance, and anger with perfection of speech,” corresponding to the three degrees mentioned by Our Lord (Mat. 5:22): “Whosoever is angry with his brother” [thus implying “anger without utterance”], and then, “whosoever shall say to his brother, ‘Raca’” [implying “anger with utterance yet without full expression”], and lastly, “whosoever shall say ‘Thou fool’” [where we have “perfection of speech”]. Therefore Damascene’s division is imperfect, since it takes no account of utterance. On the contrary, stands the authority of Damascene (De Fide Orth. ii, 16) and Gregory of Nyssa [*Nemesius, De Nat. Hom. xxi.].

• From Cleanness (2020)

  There are grassy areas along that part of the boulevard, little gardens set back from the lights of the street, and so I didn’t see S. and his friends at first, they were gathered some distance from the pavement. A woman was standing and waving her arms above her head, that was what caught my attention, and as I approached I saw that S. was sitting on the ground, leaning into K., who had both her arms around him, and that he was holding something to his face. They had piled their signs in the grass beside them, what was left of their signs, they had all been torn to pieces. What happened, I asked the woman who had waved me over, and she answered in English, Some assholes showed up, she said, some of those assholes in masks, they grabbed our signs from us, and they hit S., she went on, when he tried to stop them they knocked him down. All these police and none of them did anything, she said, they’re assholes too, when we went to find them they said they would send someone but that was twenty minutes ago. They don’t care what happened to us, we’ve been calling them but they just keep telling us to wait. She motioned to a man standing to one side, who was gesturing with his free hand while he spoke quickly into his phone. I’m so sorry, I said, do you need anything, is there anything I can do, but she shrugged this away. Does S. need a doctor, I asked, should we take him, but he cut me off, Ne, he said loudly, not moving or lowering his hand from his eye, he was pressing a bag of ice to it, I saw now, and the woman shrugged again. The cowards, the woman said, they were here and then they were gone, in their stupid masks. And what they said to us, they told us we were spreading trash, there are children here, they said, they said we were being—and she paused, looking at the others as she said bezsramni, shameless. Indecent, K. said then, they said we were indecent, they called us dirty queers. She spoke quietly, despite the noise of the protests, she spoke without anger or any trace of emotion; I could see why her children found her such a comfort.

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  The genocide of Native Americans, the slavery of Africans, and the pauperization of Latino/as are but a few examples of how biblical interpretation has condoned oppression by the dominant culture. Additionally, the second-class citizenship of women and the brutality experienced by homosexuals have also been justified though biblical texts. As we shall see in future chapters, the Bible has been used to condemn and damn those who were different from the dominant culture. But how? While some may have maliciously forced interpretations so as to enhance their power and privilege, many, including God-fearing Christians, simply accepted oppressive interpretations as truth. The task of liberating the Bible is difficult when misreading the text has often led to an enhancement of power and privilege. This task is further complicated when those in power believe that tampering with their interpretations is tantamount to tampering with the actual word of God. Yet, if a biblical interpretation leads to the death of a segment of society, we can assume that such a reading is nonbiblical in the sense that it does not describe the will of God. If the message of Christ is one that brings abundant and eternal life, then any message that fosters death is a message from the Antichrist. To read the Bible from the margins is to read from the context of those who suffer death, literally and figuratively, because of the way society is constructed. Those with power and privilege are not cognizant of how their interpretations can foster the oppression of others. Hence, liberating the Bible from these death-imposing interpretations requires a methodical reading of the Scriptures through the eyes of the disenfranchised. In reading the text with marginalized eyes, the reader either claims a disenfranchised identity or commits to hearing the voices of those who are oppressed, diligently looking to the text from within a context of struggles in order to learn God's salvific will. Allow me to provide an example of what I mean by reading the Bible from the margins. Let us say that we are pastors preparing a Sunday morning sermon. Our text is Exodus 20:8–10: “Remember to keep the Sabbath day holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. The seventh day is a Sabbath to Yahweh your God; you shall do no work that day.” Most of us, without realizing it, approach the third commandment through the eyes of white middle-class America. This becomes obvious as we prepare the sermon. Every good sermon, of course, has three points, so we must come up with three points, three insights concerning the third commandment.

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  Of greater interest is the reaction of some members of the dominant culture to this non-Eurocentric-looking Jesus, a reaction best illustrated by newspaper columnist Kathleen Parker of the Tribune Media Services in an article titled “Jesus Falls Victim to Makeover Madness.” She bemoaned the fact that “this new Jesus looks like no one familiar. The willowy, long-haired figure who in picture books attracted children…now looks like the kind of guy who wouldn't make it through airport security.” She was specifically disgusted with the new Jesus’ jaw, which “looks likely to chomp down on a brontosaurus thigh,” and his wide nose, which she calls “a snout that snorts.” She longs for the Jesus of her “childhood Bible storybook.” In short, she voices her anger that the white Jesus she grew up with is being replaced by an ethnic-looking Jesus, a Jesus who looks more like someone from the margins of society. She concludes by blasting the tendency of academic researchers to “debunk” the Aryan Jesus, insisting “that biblical revisionists won't be satisfied until they discover that Jesus was really a bisexual, crossdressing, whale-saving, tobacco-hating, vegetarian African Queen who actually went to temple to lobby for women's rights.”1 It is understandable that some from the dominant culture, like columnist Kathleen Parker, wish to maintain an image of a Jesus who, like them, is white. Yet, for the vast majority of people on the margins, a Jesus who is white does not necessarily represent salvation. For example, James Cone states that white theology cannot be Christian theology. Rather, it becomes a theology of white oppressors that provides divine sanction for criminal acts committed upon those who are oppressed.2 As long as people on the margins bow their knees to a Christ who resembles their oppressors, people on the margins will also find themselves bowing before their oppressors. For Christ to have any power to liberate those who are disenfranchised, Jesus must be seen, perceived, and understood through the eyes of the marginalized. Such an action demands that the white Christ of the dominant culture, the Jesus of Kathleen Parker's childhood storybook Bible, be rejected by people from the margins, even though it may be an accepted image for Euroamericans. In the early 1500s, Europeans in search of God, glory, and gold participated in the systematic process of eliminating Amerindians from the land they held communally. Upon arriving in what would eventually be called the Caribbean, these Christian men raped Amerindian women, disemboweled Amerindian children, and butchered Amerindian men. A local chieftain named Hatuey chose to resist the onslaught by creating a loose confederation of Amerindians to fight the invading colonizers. For three months he carried out a kind of guerrilla warfare, but he was eventually captured and condemned to death. As Hatuey was about to be burned at the stake, a Franciscan friar attempted to convert him to Christ with the promise of heaven and the threat of hell. Hatuey is reported to have asked if Christians went to heaven.

• From Momma and the Meaning of Life (1999)

  Consider the case of John, middle-aged, paranoid, and mildly retarded. Having once been attacked in a shelter for the homeless, he thereafter avoided state-sponsored shelters and slept outside. John knew the magic hospital-opening words, and often on cold, wet nights, usually around midnight, he would scratch his wrists in front of an emergency room and threaten deeper wounds unless the state found him a safe, private sleeping space. But no agency had the authority to provide twenty dollars for a room, and since the emergency room physician could not be certain—that is, medically and legally certain—that John would not make a serious suicide attempt if he were forced to sleep in the shelter, he spent many nights a year sleeping soundly in a $700-a-day hospital room, courtesy of an inept and inhumane medical insurance system. The contemporary practice of brief psychiatric hospitalization works only if there is an adequate posthospital outpatient program. Nonetheless, in 1972 Governor Ronald Reagan with one bold, brilliant stroke abolished mental illness in California by not only closing the large state psychiatric hospitals but also eradicating most of the public aftercare programs. As a result hospital staffs were forced, day after day, to go through the charade of treating patients and discharging them back into the same noxious setting that had necessitated their hospitalization. It was like suturing up wounded soldiers and sending them back into the fray. Imagine breaking your ass taking care of patients—initial workup interviews, daily rounds, presentations to the attending psychiatrists, staff planning sessions, medical student workups, writing orders in the hospital charts, daily therapy sessions—knowing all the while that in a couple of days there would be no option but to return them to the same malignant environment that had disgorged them. Back to violent alcoholic families. Back to angry spouses who had long ago run out of love and patience. Back to rag-filled grocery carts. Back to sleeping in moldering cars. Back to the community of cocaine-crazed friends and pitiless dealers awaiting them outside the hospital gates. Question: How do we healers maintain sanity? Answer: Learn to cultivate hypocrisy. So that was how I put in my time. First I learned to muffle my caring—the very beacon that had led me to this calling. Next I mastered the canons of professional survival: avoid involvement—don’t let patients matter too much. Remember they’ll be gone tomorrow. Don’t concern yourself with their postdischarge plans. Remember that small is beautiful—settle for small goals—don’t attempt too much—don’t set yourself up for failure. If therapy group patients learn simply that talking helps, that being closer to others feels good, that they may be of use to others—that’s plenty. Gradually, after several frustrating months of leading groups with new arrivals and discharges every day, I got the hang of it and developed a method of getting the most out of these fragmented group meetings.

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  Because the words “black” and “white” as signs are arbitrarily linked to concepts constructed by a society that conveys its biases, we shouldn't be surprised that this particular nation, steeped in racism since its foundation, would link negative connotations to the word “black” and positive connotations to the word “white.” In the spring of 1997, actor Desi Arnaz Giles received numerous death threats for his starring role in a play based on the life of Jesus Christ. The Passion Play , focusing on the final days of Christ's earthly life, is performed annually and has historically attracted bus groups from the northern New Jersey region. The controversy began after the first performance, when the audience discovered that Giles was black. As word spread, several of these groups canceled.2 Why the uproar? If “black” is defined as evil, wicked, and diabolical, it would be blasphemy to define Jesus, who is pure and spotless, as black. Jesus can be no color but white. A portrait of a Christ who is black becomes offensive because it contradicts the definition our culture has assigned, normalized, and legitimized for the word “black.” IMPOSING TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY MEANINGS ON ANCIENT TEXTS What happens when we read the biblical text with eyes formed in the twenty-first century? Do we read into the words found in the ancient biblical text the meanings our present culture has taught us? Consider the example found in Numbers 12. The text states the following: Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman whom he had taken for a wife. For he had taken a Cushite woman. They said, “Has Yahweh spoken only to Moses? Has he not also spoken to us?” And Yahweh heard. Now, the man Moses was very meek, more than any man on the face of the earth…. And the anger of Yahweh glowed against them, and he left…. And behold, Miriam was leprous, white as snow. And Aaron turned toward Miriam and behold, she was a leper. Aaron said to Moses, “Oh my lord I beg you, do not lay upon us this sin which we foolishly committed and are guilty of.” (1–3, 9, 10–11) The story is about Moses marrying a black woman, placing his family in an awkward situation. The Cushites were a black ethnic group. According to the text, Moses’ marriage upset his brother Aaron and his sister Miriam. They were so upset that they chose to confront him. They challenged Moses by saying, “Has God spoken only to Moses? Has he not spoken to us?” All three of them then appeared before God, who was surprisingly upset with Moses’ family. The Bible says that God was so mad that he inflicted Miriam with leprosy, turning her skin “white as snow.” God punished Miriam by making her white! Note: Why didn't God also punish Aaron for speaking out against Moses? Why is the woman punished and the male spared? Regardless, God relented after her brothers pleaded for mercy.

• From Momma and the Meaning of Life (1999)

  Deliberately, without speaking, Dr. Lee looked over at her, all the while tossing the chalk into the air and catching it a couple of times. Finally he turned and wrote Paula’s suggestions on the board. Although I thought them not unreasonable, I knew—and knew that everyone else knew—that as Dr. Lee watched the tumbling chalk, he was thinking, Somebody, anybody, please get that old lady out of here! Later, at lunch, he referred to Paula contemptuously as an evangelist. Although Dr. Lee was an eminent oncologist whose support and referrals were essential to the project, I risked antagonizing him and defended her staunchly by emphasizing her critical importance in the formation and functioning of the groups. Though I failed to alter his impression of her, I felt proud of myself for standing by her. That evening Paula phoned me. She was furious. “All of the medical professionals at the workshop are automatons, inhumane automatons. We patients who struggle with cancer twenty-four hours a day—what are we to them? I’ll tell you: we are nothing more than ‘maladaptive coping strategies.’” I spoke with her for a long time and did all I could to mollify her. I tried to suggest gently that she not stereotype the doctors and urged her to be patient. Affirming my loyalty to the principles with which we had started the group, I concluded, “Remember, Paula, none of this makes any difference because I have my own research plan. I’m not going to be controlled by their mechanistic perspective. Trust me!” But Paula was not to be mollified, nor, as it turned out, would she trust me. The workshop festered in her mind. For weeks she ruminated about it and finally directly accused me of selling out to the bureaucracy. She submitted a minority report of one to the National Cancer Institute, and it did not lack vigor or rancor. Finally, one day Paula came into my office and announced that she had decided to leave the group. “Why?” “Well, I’m just tired of it.” “Paula, there’s more to it than that. What’s the real reason?” “I told you, I’m tired of it.” No matter how I probed, she continued to insist on that excuse, though we both knew that the real reason was that I had disappointed her. I used all my cunning (and after all my years of practice, I knew a few ways to get around people), but to no avail. Each of my attempts, including some ill-advised bantering and appeals to our long friendship, was greeted by an icy glare. I had no more rapport with her and had to endure the sorrow of a deceptive discussion. “I’m just working too hard. It’s too much for me,” she said.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  She motioned to a man standing to one side, who was gesturing with his free hand while he spoke quickly into his phone. I’m so sorry, I said, do you need anything, is there anything I can do, but she shrugged this away. Does S. need a doctor, I asked, should we take him, but he cut me off, Ne , he said loudly, not moving or lowering his hand from his eye, he was pressing a bag of ice to it, I saw now, and the woman shrugged again. The cowards, the woman said, they were here and then they were gone, in their stupid masks. And what they said to us, they told us we were spreading trash, there are children here, they said, they said we were being—and she paused, looking at the others as she said bezsramni , shameless. Indecent, K. said then, they said we were indecent, they called us dirty queers. She spoke quietly, despite the noise of the protests, she spoke without anger or any trace of emotion; I could see why her children found her such a comfort. They’re fucking liars, S. said, pulling away from K. to sit upright, though she kept one arm around him. He lowered the bag from his eye, but in the dark I couldn’t see how bad it was, whether he was really hurt. Obedineni sme , he said, quoting one of their slogans, but we’re not united, they don’t want to be united with us. It’s all the same, he said, all this work and it’s always the same. No, K. said in her calm voice, no, that’s not true, you know that’s not true, but he snapped at her, he pulled away and said angrily It is true, it is true. He had been sitting with his legs stretched out but now he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. I’m so stupid, he said, I thought it would be different here, I thought these were the good people, the better people, they say they hate the Nazis from Ataka but they’re all the same, to us they’re all the same, they hate us, he said, speaking more loudly now, they hate us, I don’t understand it but they’ll always hate us. I hate them too, he said, they’ll never change, I hate this fucking country. Mrazya vi , he said then, louder still, I hate you.

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  Nevertheless, by the time of Amos, large luxurious houses were found on one side of town while smaller and poorer houses were clustered together on the other side, similar to what can be found in any major city or community in the United States. A small segment of the population lived in complacency, blind to the marginalization of their compatriots; they enjoyed the security of wealth accumulated through a social structure designed to enrich them at the expense of others. Woe to those who are at ease in Zion, and to those who place their trust on the mountains of Samaria;…those lying on beds of ivory, and those sprawled on their couches; those eating lambs from the flock and stall-fattened veal. They howl to the harp, they invent new instruments of music like David. They drink bowls of wine, and anoint themselves with the best oils, but they do not grieve over the ruin of Joseph! (6:1, 4–6) At this point in history, during the reign of Jeroboam II, Israel was at the zenith of its power. It was militarily and economically secure and faced no immediate foreign threat, much like the United States after the Cold War. In the midst of this false security, a voice was raised from the underside of Israel, which thought itself a religious nation and took its economic success as proof of God's blessing, that judgment was about to befall it for refusing to establish justice. For this reason Amos was considered a threat to those in positions of power and, as such, had to be dismissed, a task undertaken by the priest of Bethel, Amaziah. Then Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, sent word to Jeroboam, king of Israel, saying, “Amos has conspired against you in the midst of the house of Israel. The land is unable to endure all his words!”…And to Amos Amaziah said, “Go, O seer, flee to your own land Judah, and eat there your bread and do your prophesying. Do no more prophesying at Bethel, for this is the royal city which contains the national sanctuary.” (7:10, 12–13) Amos serves as an exemplar of the mission undertaken by all of the biblical prophets. The message of Amos, along with the rest of the Hebrew prophets, denounces injustice. God reveals concern for those who are marginalized and is angered by the injustices committed against them. Thus says Yahweh, “For three transgressions of Israel, and for four, I will not withdraw from my decree: they sold for silver the just, and the poor for a pair of sandals. They trample upon the dust of the earth and the heads of the helpless, and divert the path of the humble.” (2:6–7) Consequently, God not only calls for justice but stands against the oppressors, even if they are Jews and members of the chosen people. For those who refuse to establish justice, God swears an oath not to side with them.

• From Reading the Bible from the Margins (2002)

  What Malcolm X called “the American nightmare,” which all African descendants growing up in the United States face, should not be minimized; still, it is important to expand the concept of racism to encompass other racial groups that face similar racist structures. For, in the mind of the white center, “colored” refers to anyone who is not white, that is, from European stock. While African Americans served as slaves in the antebellum South, Amerindians faced systematic genocide throughout the West, and Latino/as were brutalized throughout the Southwest. Asians also experienced everything from murder while the transcontinental railroad was being built (so as to avoid paying them wages) to concentration camps in the early 1940s during the Second World War. And Jews were always viewed with suspicion, at times becoming the targets of hate crimes and mob violence. Any discussion of racism must move beyond a black-and-white dichotomy to explore how the Bible has been read to justify the oppression of these historically oppressed groups within the United States. African Americans According to the U.S. Constitution, written in 1787, in determining political representation, nonwhites were to be counted as three-fifths of a person (Art. 1, Sec. 2.3). Legal, economic, and political mechanisms were established by the young republic to maintain a viable institution, even though many people of African descent gave their lives fighting for liberty in the Revolutionary War. Normalizing slavery as an institution also required some sort of religious legitimation. The men who penned the Constitution also held the power to make their worldview, including their reading of the Bible, normative for the entire fledgling nation. Biblical interpretations are dependent on who is doing the reading and the interpreting. For the dominant culture, as we have seen in the first chapter , black is defined as impure, a definition that “colors” how the Bible is read. This definition influences how Euroamericans interpret the role of blacks in the Bible. If black is equated with sin, then the Bible is read in a way that promotes this presupposition. For example, some still maintain that the mark of Cain was blackness. Cain, you will recall, slew his brother Abel out of jealousy. When confronted by God, Cain feared that others would take vengeance for his deed. In an effort to protect Cain from being killed, the Bible states that God placed a mark upon him. According to Genesis: “And Yahweh set a mark on Cain so that anyone who found him should not kill him” (4:15). Historically, the mark of Cain was understood as God making Cain black. Similarly, the curse of Ham was also interpreted as blackness. After the flood, Ham gazed upon his father Noah's nakedness while Noah was in a drunken stupor. According to Genesis, when Noah awoke and discovered what Ham had done, he said of Ham's son, “Cursed be Canaan; he shall be a slave of slaves to his brothers” (9:25).

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  BEDE. For He had often declared Himself to be the Christ; as when he said, l and my Father are one, (John 10:30.) and other such like things. And if I also ask you, ye will not answer me. For He had asked them how they said Christ was the Son of David, whereas David in the Spirit called Him his Lord. But they wished neither to believe His words nor to answer His questions. However, because they sought to accuse falsely the seed of David, they hear something still farther; as it follows, Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God. THEOPHYLACT. As if he said, There is no time left to you any longer for discourses and teaching, but hereafter shall be the time of judgment, when ye shall see Me, the Son of man, sitting on the right hand of the power of God. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. Whenever sitting and a throne are spoken of God, His kingly and supreme majesty is signified. For we do not imagine any judgment-seat to be placed, on which we believe the Lord of all takes His seat; nor again, that in any wise right hand or left hand appertain to the Divine nature; for figure, and place, and sitting, are the properties of bodies. But how shall the Son be seen to be of equal honour and to sit together on the same throne, if He is not the Son according to nature, having in Himself the natural property of the Father? THEOPHYLACT. When then they heard this, they ought to have been afraid, but after these words they are the more frantic; as it follows, All said, &c. BEDE. They understood that He called Himself the Son of God in these words, The Son of man shall sit on the right hand of the power of God. AMBROSE. The Lord had rather prove Himself a King than call Himself one, that they might have no excuse for condemning Him, when they confess the truth of that which they lay against Him. It follows, And he said, Ye say that I am. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. When Christ spoke this, the company of the Pharisees were very wroth, uttering shameful words; as it follows, Then said they, What need we any further witness? &c. THEOPHYLACT. Whereby it is manifest, that the disobedient reap no advantage, when the more secret mysteries are revealed to them, but rather incur the heavier punishment. Wherefore such things ought to be concealed from them. CHAPTER 23 23:1–51. And the whole multitude of them arose, and led him unto Pilate. 2. And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Cæsar, saying that he himself is Christ a King. 3. And Pilate asked him, saying, Art thou the King of the Jews? And he answered him and said, Thou sayest it.

• From In the Dream House (2019)

  Dream House as Pop Single A year before I was born, the band ’Til Tuesday, led by Aimee Mann, came out with the single “Voices Carry.” The breathy, haunting song about an abusive relationship was a top-ten hit in the United States. In the music video—which was in heavy rotation in the early days of MTV—the boyfriend is, for lack of a better word, ridiculous. A meathead in gold chains and a muscle shirt, he delivers his aggressively banal dialogue with the subtlety of an after-school special. Throughout the video, he dismantles Aimee piece by piece. At first, he compliments her music and her new hair—punky and platinum, with a rattail. Later, in a restaurant that looks like it was borrowed from a sitcom set, he removes her elaborate earpiece and replaces it with a more traditional earring before playfully chucking her under the chin. There is a shot of Mann behind a gauzy curtain, her face pressed into it with desperation, which cuts to her leaving for band practice. Here he confronts her on the steps of their brownstone; when he grabs her guitar case, she tears out of his grasp. When she returns, he scolds her for her lateness. “You know, this little hobby of yours has gone too far. Why can’t you for once do something for me?” When she speaks for the first time—“Like what?” she asks, tilting her chin upward in a challenge—he attacks her, pushing her against the stairs and forcibly kissing her. At the end of the video, they are sitting in a theater audience at Carnegie Hall. The boyfriend puts his arm around a now-polished Mann —sitting quietly, strung with pearls—before discovering her intact rattail and curling his lip in disgust. Mann begins to sing—softly at first, and then louder as she tears a stylish fascinator off her head. Then she stands up and is screaming, she is scream-singing—“He said ‘Shut up’ / He said ‘Shut up’”—and everyone is turning to look at her. This final scene, Mann said in an interview years later, was inspired by Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much, when Doris Day’s character lets loose a bloodcurdling scream during a symphony performance, to foil an assassination. Long after the video came out, in 1999 the song’s producer revealed that the initial demo of the song had used female pronouns—in the original version, Mann was singing about a woman. “The record company was predictably unhappy with such lyrics,” he wrote, “since this was a very powerful, commercial song and they would prefer as many of its components as possible to swim in the acceptable mainstream. I wasn’t certain what to think about the pressure to change the gender of the love interest, but eventually thought that it didn’t matter any to the impact of the song itself. Would a quasi-lesbian song have had any effect on the liberation of such homosexuals, then as now several difficult steps behind the gays on the path towards broad social acceptance?

• From Momma and the Meaning of Life (1999)

  And isn’t that the important thing?” “Perhaps you have many lives and don’t know it.” “You say you remember your other lives. We don’t. If we have new lives and don’t remember the old ones, then it still means that this life—this existing me, the consciousness that is here right now—is going to perish.” “The point! The point!” the beast growled. “Get on with it. God, how you talk and talk and talk.” “The point is that your revenge was wonderfully effective. It was good revenge. It ruined the rest of Klara’s one and only life. She lived in great misery. And her crime was only to take one of your nine lives. Her sole life for one of your nine lives. Seems to me the debt has been paid many times over. Your revenge is complete. The slate is clean. The wrong redressed.” Exultant at his persuasive formulation, Ernest leaned back in his chair. “No,” hissed Merges, glowering and thumping the floor with his powerful tail. “No, it is not complete! Not complete! The wrong has not been redressed! Revenge will go on and on! Besides, I like the way this life goes.” Ernest didn’t allow himself to flinch. He rested a moment or two, caught his second wind, and began again from another perspective. “You say you like the way your life goes now. Will you tell me about your life? What is your typical day like?” Ernest’s unruffled manner seemed to relax Merges, who stopped glowering, sat back on his haunches, and responded calmly. “My day? Uneventful. I don’t remember much of my life.” “What do you do all day?” “I wait. I wait until I am called by a dream.” “And between dreams?” “I told you. I wait.” “That’s it?” “I wait.” “And that’s your life, Merges? And are you satisfied?” Merges nodded. “When you consider the alternative,” he said as he gracefully rolled over and set to work grooming his belly. “The alternative? You mean not living?” “The ninth life is the last.” “And you want this last life to go on and on forever.” “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t anyone?” “Merges, I’m struck by an inconsistency in what you’re saying.” “Cats are highly logical beings. Sometimes that is not appreciated because of our ability to make lightning-quick decisions.” “Here’s the inconsistency. You say you want your ninth life to go on and on, but in fact you’re not living your ninth life. You’re merely existing in some state of suspended animation.” “Not living my ninth life?” “You said it yourself: you’re waiting. I’ll tell you what comes to my mind.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  It was a place to walk, and to do other things; there were always bottles and cans and cigarettes, people hung out there, I guess, there was nowhere else to go. Guys went there too, R. said; I didn’t know it then, we were only there in the daytime, but at night it was a cruising place, and when I got older it was where I went too, even though I hated it. It was always the same three or four married assholes, but whatever, it was something. We’d go walking there, just talking to each other, and then one day he stopped and pointed at something on the ground. It was a condom somebody had dropped by one of the walls, stretched out and dry, it was disgusting. He pointed at it with his shoe and asked me if I knew what it was for. And that’s how he started it, R. said, he put his arm around me and led me behind one of the walls where no one would see us. I didn’t want it but I let him do it, I guess, I mean I didn’t fight him and I never said anything, I let it happen. R. looked at me then, finally turning away from the glass, he looked at me where I sat immobile as he spoke, my fork still in my hand. I never said anything, he repeated, I’ve never said anything until now. Oh, I said, the single syllable, not a word but a sound, oh, and I set my fork down beside the plate I had hardly touched, that was past touching now. Skupi, I said, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but at this his anger snapped back, a fierce anger as he said See, almost snarling it, you see me differently now, I don’t want you to be sorry for me, I don’t want to be some hurt little boy, I don’t want it. On his face there was an expression I had never seen before, on his face or any other, it was a desperate, frightened face, though frightened of what I wasn’t sure. Okay, I said, leaning back, I was frightened too, okay.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  But even that was too much; on the second day a group of men barged in, they destroyed the television, they threatened anyone who came back. I mentioned this to him, saying it was terrible, outrageous, but he waved the words away. Those assholes, he said, it was just bullshit theater, the police were there the next day but they didn’t come back. He was more upset about the Pride parade in Sofia, which had been canceled; when the city had expressed concern about security during the protests, the organizers had put out a statement that they were postponing the event as an act of solidarity, that it was a time for Sofians to stand together. Obedineni sme , they said, we’re united as Bulgarians, which is total bullshit, S. said, what kind of message is that, it says we have to choose between being gay and being Bulgarian, fuck that, it’s so fucking homophobic. He winced as an air horn blew nearby. And fuck the city, he said, they can’t just decide not to protect us. If they want to be part of the EU they have to make it safe for us to march, it’s bullshit to give them permission not to try. He gestured to the rest of the group. So we’re doing Pride anyway, he said, they should know we’re here, they shouldn’t be able to ignore us. Even so, their posterboard signs were mostly discreet, one with the words NIE SME S VAS , we’re with you, with rainbows in the corner, another with TOLERANTNOST in thick black letters against the white. Only two of them carried signs that were more demonstrative: S., whose sign read NIE PROTESTIRAME BEZ HOMOFOBIYA , we’re protesting without homophobia, and K., a woman my age from Dobrich, a small city where she worked translating technical English but spent most of her time on message boards and chat rooms, often enough on the phone, counseling gay teenagers—she called them her children—sometimes talking to them through the night. This accounted for the harried look she always wore when I saw her, the dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness with which she moved. She was admirable, everything about her spoke of sacrifice, and something in me shied away from her, I didn’t doubt the good she did but I avoided her whenever I could. S. had been one of her children, years before, and he remained devoted to her; I had heard him say that she had saved his life, that she inspired the work he did. She nodded when I walked up, but didn’t offer to shake my hand.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  There was a loud sound then from a distance, an air horn, followed by a single low drum beaten very fast, the sound of a few people making as much noise as they could. Are they still at it, I asked, and Z. nodded, A few of them, they’ll be out all night. There had been huge protests weeks before, but the heart went out of them as time passed and nothing changed, the government refused to resign and the protesters melted away until only a few dozen remained, circling the city each night as they shouted slogans. Neshtastnitsi, Z. said, assholes. Why, I asked him, what do you mean, and he shrugged. What do they think will happen, he said, nothing will change here, I don’t even think they care who’s in the government, it’s just a game. And these guys, he went on, his voice bitter now, their drums, sleeping in tents, they’re just playing a game too, it doesn’t matter, they can’t find jobs so this is how they spend their time. N. groaned. Fuck, he said, that’s going to be me in a few years, and Z. laughed. It will not, I said, reaching across to put my hand on his shoulder, leaning forward too far, I had to put my other hand on the pillar again to keep my balance. You’ll be fine, I said, looking at him, do your work and don’t be scared, that’s all, it’s all you can do. He shrugged as I removed my hand, placing it beside the other on the stone. I don’t know, he said, my mom is probably right, I don’t have any idea what I’ll do after college, I’ll probably have to come back here and be a bum. Z. laughed again, picking up the carton in a kind of toast. Job security, he said, there will always be bums, and N. groaned again.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  My voice was low now, I was speaking into his ear, You know what you are, I said, you’re a whore, this is all you’re good for, I said, this is all you deserve. Maybe they had always been there, these words, maybe once you have heard such language it infects you, that was what it felt like, like something bursting free in me, corrosive and hot, without end, I had been waiting my entire life to say those words. I lifted my head and spat on his face, twice in quick succession, saying Faggot each time, you dirty faggot, and he cried out again, his eyes clenched shut. I smeared the saliva on his face and left my hand on his head, leaning on him, forcing his face into the thin mattress, against the hard wood beneath it. Please, he said again, his voice muffled, please, I’m nothing. He repeated this, I’m nothing, I’m nothing, and I echoed him, I said That’s right, I was fucking him with my whole body, lifting up and falling back on him, you’re a faggot, I said, you’re nothing, you’re a faggot, you’re nothing. I hammered into him as I felt it rise in me, that cruelty and rage, that acid grief, and when I came I felt him come beneath me, his body shaking, I heard him give a cry of joy. I hung over him, letting him grow still, then pulled out and fell onto my back beside him. Mnogo hubavo beshe , he said, that was good, speaking Bulgarian for the first time, his face turned away. When I didn’t answer he turned toward me, then lifted himself onto his side. Hey, he said, his voice solicitous, hey. I put my hand over my face, which was wet with tears. I was embarrassed, I didn’t want him to see me, when he asked what was wrong I couldn’t answer. Stop it, he said, pulling my hand away, stop it, which made me cry harder somehow, and he kissed me, my forehead and cheeks, my lips, when I tried to pull away he grabbed my head with both his hands, holding me in place. Sladurche , he said, sweet boy, stop it now, don’t be like that, and then he licked my face, quickly, playfully, like a cat, everywhere he had kissed he licked, catching my hands in his when I tried to shield myself or push him away, until I was laughing and weeping both, I stopped struggling and let him lick my face. He laughed too, rolling on top of me, still licking me, and I realized that I had been wrong before; it did have an end, what I had felt, its end was here, he had brought me here. Finally he laid his head on my chest. Don’t be like that, he said again as I put my arms around him. Do you see? You don’t have to be like that, he said.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  But even that was too much; on the second day a group of men barged in, they destroyed the television, they threatened anyone who came back. I mentioned this to him, saying it was terrible, outrageous, but he waved the words away. Those assholes, he said, it was just bullshit theater, the police were there the next day but they didn’t come back. He was more upset about the Pride parade in Sofia, which had been canceled; when the city had expressed concern about security during the protests, the organizers had put out a statement that they were postponing the event as an act of solidarity, that it was a time for Sofians to stand together. Obedineni sme , they said, we’re united as Bulgarians, which is total bullshit, S. said, what kind of message is that, it says we have to choose between being gay and being Bulgarian, fuck that, it’s so fucking homophobic. He winced as an air horn blew nearby. And fuck the city, he said, they can’t just decide not to protect us. If they want to be part of the EU they have to make it safe for us to march, it’s bullshit to give them permission not to try. He gestured to the rest of the group. So we’re doing Pride anyway, he said, they should know we’re here, they shouldn’t be able to ignore us. Even so, their posterboard signs were mostly discreet, one with the words NIE SME S VAS , we’re with you, with rainbows in the corner, another with TOLERANTNOST in thick black letters against the white. Only two of them carried signs that were more demonstrative: S., whose sign read NIE PROTESTIRAME BEZ HOMOFOBIYA , we’re protesting without homophobia, and K., a woman my age from Dobrich, a small city where she worked translating technical English but spent most of her time on message boards and chat rooms, often enough on the phone, counseling gay teenagers—she called them her children—sometimes talking to them through the night. This accounted for the harried look she always wore when I saw her, the dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness with which she moved. She was admirable, everything about her spoke of sacrifice, and something in me shied away from her, I didn’t doubt the good she did but I avoided her whenever I could. S. had been one of her children, years before, and he remained devoted to her; I had heard him say that she had saved his life, that she inspired the work he did. She nodded when I walked up, but didn’t offer to shake my hand.

• From Cleanness (2020)

  I’m so happy I saw you, she said, it was so great to do this, and then she was gone. Other people were leaving too, streaming down into the metro or dispersing on foot, the march was thinning out. Those of us who stayed turned onto Tsar Osvoboditel again, beginning the last leg of the protest, bringing us back full circle. There were still people yelling cherveni boklutsi but not many, most people were walking quietly, chatting among themselves. I would follow the march to the end, I had booked a hotel room for the night, in the luxury hotel near the statue of the tsar; after the embassy warnings travelers were staying in hotels far from the protests, the rooms were cheap enough for me to afford. I would spend the night there and take the metro to campus in the morning. I glanced at my phone and saw that D. was already waiting for me to join him for a drink at the bar. He was right, D. had texted, meaning the writer I had met and the argument they had had, what’s happening is better than I thought, I can’t wait to talk to you, hurry up. We were still a few blocks away but a new chant had started up, utre pak , tomorrow again, it gave people fresh energy, everyone was chanting it, pumping their fists in the air. Even I joined in, utre pak , I wanted to see what it was like to chant with the others, but soon I felt foolish and stopped. There are grassy areas along that part of the boulevard, little gardens set back from the lights of the street, and so I didn’t see S. and his friends at first, they were gathered some distance from the pavement. A woman was standing and waving her arms above her head, that was what caught my attention, and as I approached I saw that S. was sitting on the ground, leaning into K., who had both her arms around him, and that he was holding something to his face. They had piled their signs in the grass beside them, what was left of their signs, they had all been torn to pieces. What happened, I asked the woman who had waved me over, and she answered in English, Some assholes showed up, she said, some of those assholes in masks, they grabbed our signs from us, and they hit S., she went on, when he tried to stop them they knocked him down. All these police and none of them did anything, she said, they’re assholes too, when we went to find them they said they would send someone but that was twenty minutes ago. They don’t care what happened to us, we’ve been calling them but they just keep telling us to wait.