home.social

#judas — Public Fediverse posts

Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #judas, aggregated by home.social.

  1. "I can only tip my hat to those guys" - BioShock creator Ken Levine praises Baldur's Gate 3 amid fresh talk about his ambitious plans for next game Judas

    web.brid.gy/r/https://www.euro

  2. "I can only tip my hat to those guys" - BioShock creator Ken Levine praises Baldur's Gate 3 amid fresh talk about his ambitious plans for next game Judas

    fed.brid.gy/r/https://www.euro

  3. "I can only tip my hat to those guys" - BioShock creator Ken Levine praises Baldur's Gate 3 amid fresh talk about his ambitious plans for next game Judas

    web.brid.gy/r/https://www.euro

  4. "I can only tip my hat to those guys" - BioShock creator Ken Levine praises Baldur's Gate 3 amid fresh talk about his ambitious plans for next game Judas

    web.brid.gy/r/https://www.euro

  5. 1/10 🚨 BEYOND THE BIBLE: THE LOST GNOSTIC VOICES. Ever felt like there was a missing piece to the spiritual puzzle? In 1945, a hidden jar in Egypt revealed ancient texts the early church tried to suppress. They offer a different way of seeing the divine. Let’s dive into the Gnostic Gospels and the secrets of the inner light. 🕯️✨ #History #Religion #Ancient #Secrets #Judas #Gospel #Mystery #Gnosticism #Knowledge #Truth #Research #Books #Faith #Philosophy #God #Jesus #Archive #Discovery #Spirit

  6. Maundy Night, in Fragments

    It was night already—
    and the room was close,
    low-beamed, breath-warmed,
    troubled by the nearness of departure.
    The lamp did not so much shine
    as shudder.

    There are nights
    that seem to know.

    The basin waited.
    The towel waited.
    The water, in its shallow little vessel,
    held a silence deeper than the sea.

    And He—
    O strange reversal!—
    He whose hands had lifted dust to life,
    whose fingers had written mercy
    upon the infirm flesh of the world,
    stooped.

    Stooped.

    I cannot loose myself
    from that word.

    For there are stoopings more terrible than thunder.
    There are bendings low
    that break the spine of pride
    more surely than the sword breaks bone.

    And one by one—
    sandaled, ashamed, confused—
    they drew near Him.
    The feet of fishermen,
    the feet of zealots,
    the feet that had wandered,
    the feet still crusted with the stale earth
    of empire and fatigue.

    And He washed them.

    Not as a servant washes, perhaps—
    hurriedly, dutifully, with half-averted eye—
    but with that unbearable tenderness
    which makes the beloved wish to flee.

    For who can bear
    to be known at the heel,
    at the dustiest place,
    at the place where the road clings?

    Peter recoiled, of course—
    dear violent Peter—
    as men recoil from love
    when it approaches too nearly
    the wound.

    “No—”

    Ah, but all our souls are fashioned of that syllable.
    No, not there.
    No, not this filth.
    No, not the part of me
    that has walked where I ought not.

    Yet still the water spoke
    in its soft and ruinous language.

    If I wash thee not—

    And then the air itself seemed to splinter,
    for one may resist majesty,
    but to be excluded from such sorrowful intimacy—
    that is a horror no disciple can endure.

    So the feet were given.
    So the heart, for a moment, trembled open.

    And somewhere in the room
    sat the other one.

    He too had feet.
    He too received bread.
    He too was near enough
    to hear the pulse in the Master’s throat,
    to see the shadows gather
    beneath His eyes
    like birds before a storm.

    How dreadful,
    that one may sit so near the Holy
    and yet prefer the kiss of silver.

    Thirty pieces—
    thin moons of metal,
    cold as the underside of a grave-stone,
    small little hosts of another kingdom.

    I think they rang already
    in the secret chambers of his mind.

    The bread was broken.
    No—more than broken.
    Offered.
    Which is the crueler word.

    Take, eat—

    And all the centuries leaned inward.

    The cup passed.
    Darkness trembled in it
    like an omen,
    like a red remembering,
    like the heart’s own interior
    made visible.

    Drink ye all—

    All.

    Even now the word accuses me.

    For the table was long,
    and the shadows longer,
    and love, longest of all,
    stretching even toward betrayal,
    even toward denial,
    even toward scattering.

    Outside, the city breathed
    with the heavy lungs of feast and politics.
    Inside, eternity had knelt upon the floor
    and wrapped itself in linen.

    What church can bear this memory?
    What soul can keep it
    without cracking?

    The clink of cup.
    The rustle of garment.
    A hand withdrawing too quickly.
    A glance no one could quite endure.
    And beneath all things,
    like a distant drumbeat under the earth:

    going,
    going,
    going.

    To the garden.
    To the dark.
    To the lanterns and the cudgels.
    To the mouths of false witnesses.
    To the rooster’s cry.
    To the nails.
    To the forsakenness immense and measureless.

    Yet here—
    here first—
    before the torches,
    before the thorns,
    before the torn veil and the opened side—
    here was the kingdom:

    A basin.
    A towel.
    Bread in broken hands.
    A cup not refused.
    Love stooping lower
    than any disciple could imagine,
    lower perhaps than hell itself,
    that it might fill even the lowest place
    with the rumor of God.

    And I, remembering it,
    can scarcely speak except in shards.

    A splash of water.
    A morsel of bread.
    A traitor’s mouth.
    A beloved breast leaning near.
    The night at the window, listening.
    The floorboards aching under the tread of doom.
    And Christ—
    dear Christ—
    moving among them still
    with the calm of One
    who has already entered death
    and found it, too,
    washable.

    Then out they went.

    Into olives.
    Into moon-pallor.
    Into that hour which still has not ended.

    And the towel lay folded.
    And the basin held
    the last disturbed water.
    And somewhere, perhaps,
    one drop remained upon the floor—
    bright, unnoticed,
    like a tear
    or like the first small glimmer
    of the strange and terrible mercy
    by which the world
    shall yet be undone.

    #basinAndTowel #Betrayal #breadAndCup #candlelight #ChristianSymbolism #churchArt #Communion #contemplativeFaith #FootWashing #Gethsemane #HolyThursday #holyWeek #Judas #lastSupper #LiturgicalArt #maundyThursday #passionOfChrist #sacredStillLife #servantLove #SilverCoins #symbolicPhotography #Tenebrae
  7. 2014 geht mit dem "Tons of Rock" in Oslo ein neues Festival für Heavy-Metal-Fans an den Start. Inzwischen waren dort Bands wie Iron Maiden, Guns N' Roses und Metallica zu Gast. Wer als Zuschauer 2025 dabei sein will, sollte schon mal mit der Planung seines Trips beginnen.#Metallica #Tool #Judas #Priest #Tons #Rock #Metalheads #Oslo
    Das Metal-Festival "Tons of Rock" lockt mit Metallica und Judas Priest 80.000 Fans nach Oslo
  8. Omg yessss

    RT @[email protected]

    So excited to announce my cover of JUDAS for the 10th anniversary of BORN THIS WAY!! So thrilled to be a part of the anniversary celebration of this Iconic album. Thank you @[email protected] !! Go stream JUDAS available everywhere now!!#JUDAS #Ladygaga #Bigfreedia #queendiva #bornthisway

    🐦🔗: twitter.com/bigfreedia/status/