#atonement

In this episode of Fresh Ground Theology, Nate, David, and Wes return for part two of their conversation on the Fire-Baptized Holiness Church of God of the Americas — a short-lived but deeply influential Holiness movement that helped prepare the ground for global Pentecostalism. After a coffee-fueled opening involving John the Baptist, Folgers, cowboy coffee, and Saint Drogo, the conversation…

thank you bb! i thought i should make my theme as feral as pope cody makes me 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

truly a one and done movie for me was atonement (2007)

that movie was so GUT WRENCHING… i was so physically sick and upset for every person in that movie who had their life destroyed D: 💔

“A story was a form of telepathy. By means of inking symbols onto a page, she was able to send thoughts and feelings from her mind to her reader’s. It was a magical process, so commonplace that no one stopped to wonder at it.”

Atonement, written by Ian McEwan, performs one of the more unsettling tricks in modern literary fiction: it uses the mouth of a child writer to articulate the most tender defense of storytelling, that it is a form of telepathy, a miracle so habitual we forget to marvel at it, and then spends the rest of its pages demonstrating how that same gift, in immature hands, can shatter two lives beyond repair. The novel does not resolve this tension so much as hold both truths simultaneously, the way a tuning fork holds two tones. Fiction is communion. Fiction is also the instrument Briony uses to convict an innocent man. McEwan never lets you forget that the power to send thoughts and feelings from one mind to another is morally neutral, and that what determines its character is not the act of writing itself, but the conscience, or the absence of one, behind it.