Pic of the Day

Roaring Lions and Silent Faith

Discipline yourselves, keep alert. Like a roaring lion your adversary the devil prowls around, looking for someone to devour. Resist him, steadfast in your faith, for you know that your brothers and sisters in all the world are undergoing the same kinds of suffering.

—1 Peter 5:8–9

Across the world today, the roar of the lion grows louder. We hear it in angry speeches, in cruel legislation, and in the deliberate turning away from compassion. In many nations, political movements have wrapped themselves in the language of faith, but have abandoned the teachings of Christ. They claim to defend “Christian values,” yet their actions betray them—stripping away healthcare, rejecting immigrants, targeting transgender people, and punishing the poor.

The recent government shutdown in the United States is just one example. Those responsible profess to follow Christ, yet their decisions starve children and deprive families of basic needs. They wield faith as a weapon while ignoring Jesus’s words in Matthew 25:40–45: “Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” The true test of faith is not in the power we hold, but in the mercy we show.

Peter’s warning calls us to be watchful—not only for spiritual temptation but for moral corruption disguised as righteousness. The lion prowling in our world today takes many forms: greed, indifference, cruelty, and arrogance. These are the forces that devour empathy and seek to silence compassion. Isaiah spoke against such hypocrisy when he declared, “For my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isaiah 56:7).

In the face of all this, we are reminded of a simple but profound story—Aesop’s fable of The Lion and the Mouse. In it, a mighty lion spares a tiny mouse, and later, when the lion is trapped in a hunter’s net, the mouse returns to gnaw through the ropes and set him free. Strength and power meant nothing without mercy, and the smallest act of kindness became the source of salvation. The story endures because it teaches a truth we so often forget: compassion is never weakness. Mercy, not might, is what ultimately redeems us.

Christ showed us that same truth. He healed the sick without judgment, fed the hungry without question, and embraced those whom society cast aside. True Christianity does not roar; it listens. It does not dominate; it serves. It remembers that every person—rich or poor, gay or straight, cisgender or transgender—is a beloved creation of God.

We must therefore remain vigilant—not against one another, but against the false prophets who twist the Gospel to justify harm. The adversary still prowls, but we resist by standing firm in faith, by loving as Christ loved, and by living with humility and courage. We resist through kindness, justice, and inclusion. The lion may roar, but it is the quiet courage of the mouse—the compassion of Christ within us—that sets the world free.

So let us stay alert and steadfast, answering every roar of hatred with an act of love. Let our faith be steady, our mercy unshaken, and our hearts open to all whom God calls beloved. For in every gentle deed, every word of kindness, and every act of justice, we proclaim that Christ’s love is stronger than fear—and that no roaring lion can ever silence it.

Pic of the Day

Moment of Zen: Cooking

Pic of the Day: Costume Edition

Which is you favorite costume?

Trick 👆🎃 or Treat👇🍬

Glitter, Ghouls, and Freedom

 

Halloween has long been a favorite holiday among the LGBTQ+ community — and not just because we throw some of the best parties. There’s something deeper in the way Halloween gives us permission to express, to transform, and to celebrate authenticity through disguise.

For many queer people, Halloween was the first time we felt truly free to explore our identities without judgment. A night when gender norms loosen, when costumes become art, and when imagination takes precedence over expectation. A boy could be a witch, a girl could be a pirate, and everyone could sparkle. For one glorious evening, the rigid rules of “should” and “shouldn’t” fall away.

For some, it’s also the first night they ever try drag. Halloween has long been a socially acceptable opportunity for a man to dress as a woman — or vice versa — without fear of ridicule or punishment. I remember one fraternity member at a university in southern Louisiana wearing a tight red dress one Halloween. He looked stunning as a woman, though it was obvious he was a man. The outfit was completed with red high heels that matched his dress, and even drunk, he managed to walk surprisingly well in them. Maybe he’d lost a bet or was doing it for laughs, as frat guys often do — but maybe, just maybe, he was testing what it felt like to be someone completely different. For many in the queer community, that first night in drag isn’t just a costume; it’s a spark of recognition.

It’s also about visibility. Before Pride parades became mainstream, Halloween was one of the few times queer people could appear in public dressed how they wanted, holding hands with whom they wanted, and not face immediate suspicion. The costumes and masks offered protection — and in that protection came liberation.

And of course, there’s the theatrical side. LGBTQ+ culture has always celebrated performance, wit, and style. Drag, camp, and creativity are natural extensions of Halloween’s spirit. We don’t just wear costumes — we embody characters. We turn the night into an act of joyful self-expression and defiance.

One city that takes this to dazzling extremes is New Orleans, where Halloween and queer culture intertwine like nowhere else. The French Quarter becomes a spectacle of light, music, and unapologetic queerness. I’ve been there on Halloween, and it can be gloriously wild. I once sat in a restaurant when a woman dressed as Lady Godiva rode by on an actual horse, covered only by her long blonde wig. Some Lady Godivas wear flesh-colored bodysuits. This one did not. The crowd cheered, laughed, and applauded — it was outrageous, beautiful, and perfectly New Orleans.

In a world that too often tells us to tone it down, Halloween tells us to turn it up. Glitter isn’t just decoration; it’s declaration. The holiday invites us to celebrate who we are — or who we dream of being — without apology.

So when you see a queer Halloween party filled with drag queens dressed as vampires, muscle boys in angel wings, and lesbians in matching superhero capes, remember: it’s not just fun. It’s freedom.

Queer Halloween celebrations — from the French Quarter to Fire Island — transform the night into a glittering stage of self-expression and pride.

🎃 Happy Halloween, everyone! Be safe, be fabulous, and let your true self shine — costume or not.

🌈 And remember — in many ways, Halloween walked so Pride could run.

Pic of the Day

St. Sebastian: The Beautiful Martyr

Image: Jusepe de Ribera, St. Sebastian, 1651, Museo del Prado, Madrid — rendered in dramatic chiaroscuro, Ribera’s Sebastian is muscular and mortal, his suffering grounded in flesh rather than idealized beauty.

Few figures in Christian art have captivated artists — and viewers — quite like St. Sebastian. The story is simple enough: a Roman soldier and secret Christian, Sebastian was condemned to death for his faith and tied to a post, shot through with arrows by his fellow soldiers. He miraculously survived, only to be executed later by beating. Yet, through centuries of retelling, the tragedy of his martyrdom has transformed into something far more layered — even sensual.

From the Renaissance onward, artists rendered Sebastian’s suffering with remarkable beauty. Painters like Andrea Mantegna, Perugino, and Botticelli turned him into an icon of idealized male youth — strong, nearly nude, his body pierced yet luminous. In later depictions by Guido Reni and El Greco, that same body seems to glow with a kind of erotic spirituality. The saint’s expression — serene, even enraptured — blurs the line between agony and ecstasy.

Image: El Greco, St. Sebastian, c. 1577–79, Cathedral of San Sebastián, Illescas — the saint’s elongated form and upward gaze merge suffering with divine transcendence.

Image: Guido Reni, St. Sebastian, c. 1615, Palazzo Rosso, Genoa — the most famous of Reni’s versions, his Sebastian glows with serene sensuality.

It’s no wonder that Sebastian became, over time, a queer icon — often called the “gay saint.” His imagery offered something radical: a male body displayed with vulnerability, sensuality, and beauty in a religious context. For centuries when expressions of same-sex desire were forbidden, these paintings became coded images of longing. The male form, sanctified through martyrdom, became a vessel for hidden desire.

Twentieth-century artists and writers reclaimed him openly. Yukio Mishima, Derek Jarman, and photographers like Robert Mapplethorpe saw in Sebastian not just the suffering of faith, but the suffering — and resilience — of queer existence itself. His arrows became metaphors for persecution and for the piercing, transformative power of desire.

Image: Kishin Shinoyama, Yukio Mishima as St. Sebastian, 1968 — the novelist and playwright reimagines the saint’s agony through a homoerotic lens of beauty, discipline, and death.

Image: Robert Mapplethorpe, St. Sebastian, 1979 — a modern photographic interpretation that turns suffering into defiant beauty.

Image: Derek Jarman’s film Sebastiane (1976) — the first feature-length film entirely in Latin, reimagining the saint’s story through an overtly homoerotic lens.

There is, after all, a kind of paradoxical holiness in his image: a man struck down yet made radiant; punished yet beautiful; vulnerable yet defiant. Whether we read him as a symbol of endurance, forbidden beauty, or queer faith, St. Sebastian endures as the saint who invites us to see the divine not in denial of the body, but through it.

About St. Sebastian

Feast Day: January 20

Patron of: Soldiers, athletes, archers, and plague victims

Symbol: Arrows, tied tree or post, youthful male figure

St. Sebastian was a Roman officer in the Praetorian Guard who secretly practiced Christianity. When discovered, he was condemned by Emperor Diocletian to be shot with arrows and left for dead. Nursed back to health by the widow Irene, he later confronted the emperor and was beaten to death for his defiance. His legend spread quickly, and his image became a symbol of endurance, courage, and—through art—a timeless meditation on the beauty and vulnerability of the human form.

Pic of the Day

Wednesday Musings

My office work week is officially halfway over—two down, two to go. This morning should be a busy one with a few school groups visiting the museum. If I didn’t have tours scheduled, I might have been tempted to crawl back into bed for a few extra hours of rest.

Yesterday’s migraine really took it out of me. I fell asleep around 8 p.m., woke up briefly at 9:30 to get ready for bed and take my nightly medicine, then slept straight through until 5 a.m. Isabella tried to rouse me earlier, but it was halfhearted. She seems to know when I truly need the sleep. This morning she was patient and let me wake up on my own—such a sweet girl most of the time, even if she can be a bit impatient and demanding. She’s a cat, after all.

Well, that’s about all I have for today. Here’s hoping the rest of the week goes smoothly!