Creedence Killsin said:

I'm glad you ask Riley! I can't speak for all Disciples, but I can tell you what our congregation's tradition is as a distinctly rural congregation even among DoC. Walking through our bulletin a typical service goes like this:

Our service starts at 9:15 with a prelude of lighting candles at the altar where we've prepared the Eucharist elements. The chalice, pitcher, cup, and bread remain there the whole service.
An elder asks for announcements before worship begins. This is a time for anyone in the congregation to share important information relevant to church proceedings, such as last minute schedule changes or miscellaneous information of note.
After announcements we begin with a call to worship. This is written by the pastor or whoever is speaking from the lectern that day, and printed in the bulletin so everyone may follow along. Here is the one I wrote for the Pentecost that just passed:

One (the speaking elder) : From Heaven the dove has come. Yes, the Holy Spirit is in me!

Many (the congregation) : Yes, the dove has come, and the Spirit empowers our church!

All (everyone) : Rejoice with us, Holy Ghost, fill your house with praise!

Amen.


We then sing an opening hymn, typically from the Chalice Hymnal, and recite an opening prayer together in unison.
If we have the blessing of kiddos in the congregation that morning, we have a children's moment.

An elder reads from Scripture, and we thank God for the Word. Afterwords, the sermon is given, which centers around the scripture we read. We call this the: "Sacred Story".
After the sermon we sing a hymn of invitation, which is meant to respond to the Word.
Then comes one of the things which, to my mind, is the beating heart of our worship. We share joys, concerns, and celebrations. Anyone can raise their hand to speak to the congregation about what God has done for them that week, what blessings they've received, who needs prayers, so on. Once everyone who wants a chance has had one, we take it all to the Lord and lift up our thanks and praise for our joys and pray for those in need. We call this the "Pastoral Prayer", which always concludes with the Lord's prayer.

Then comes collecting offerings and attendance sheets, they all go in the same envelope. We do this with the offering plate left in front of the altar.
Once all offerings are given, we sing doxology to give thanks and a pray for God to bless and use the offerings. We call this the Prayer of Dedication.

Now comes the Eucharist. We are seated for our Hymn of Communion, and that tends to confuse some people. We enjoy a lot of old, wise Christians in our congregation, so all of our Hymns are 'stand as you're able', but for the Hymn of Communion we are to be seated. This reminds us that we are welcome at the table with Christ, and we sit with Him together. During the Hymn two elders rise to walk to the alter, where the pastor waits with the elements, chalice, bread, and pitcher. The pastor invites all present to Communion. The elders pray over the elements, the pastor says the Words of Institution, and the elders distribute the bread and cup. (It's the "evangelical special", oyster cracker and juice).
Our musician plays an instrumental hymn as the elements are distributed. During this time we pray individually over our element and take the body individually. We take the cup in unison, say a Prayer of Thanksgiving, receive a benediction from the pastor, and finish with a Closing Hymn.

That's how the proceedings go, but that doesn't give the whole picture. What's special and different about the DoC is how often we laugh on Sunday morning. How often we find new fellowship and appreciation for one another, how often we find common ground and grow together. It's a church where everyone feels and ACTS equal. Nobody is above anybody because we're all under God's roof once we step inside. Also, fellowship doesn't stop with the Closing Hymn. We're always out the lunch together or having a brunch pitch-in in the narthex afterwards. We cultivate a congregation of friends and neighbors to the fullest. Sunday morning are full of joy for us, and I think that's what makes worship feel right. It certainly brings me peace, at least.

Hope that helps, and thank you for your curiosity! If there's anything else I can answer please let me know, I'm happy to talk about how our weird little village in Christendom works.

Click to expand...

Thank you for sharing! I appreciate it!

God bless!

Douggg said:

In identifying who that person may be, the first criteria is that he must be a Jew.

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Next, applying gematria to the person's name to see if the numbers of his name total 666, may or may not work.

And even if a person's name, gematria speaking, is 666, that in itself does not make a person the future beast person. I use the Gematria Calculator site to plug in different suspect's name to see if it adds to 666.

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The person who becomes the beast must initially be over ten kings - i.e. leaders. Who, those ten leaders, near the middle of the 7 years will hand their kingdom over to the beast person, Revelation 17:17.

So that becoming over the ten leaders, along with being a Jew, is one of the first activities to look for.

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Another thing to look for is - does the suspect have military expertise, as that is one of the things that the Jews (Judaism) are looking for in their messiah (who will turn out to be the Antichrist and latter the beast).

And the Jews (Judaism) are expecting the person to have political ability.

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None of us know for sure at this stage in time who that person is. But let's stay alert, because eventually things are going to come together.

(I hope my post came across as friendly, because I not intending to be argumentative.)

Click to expand...

I have a different, more historicist reading of Revelation and interpret it a little differently than you do, but even though that is the case, I still agree with you that we need to be alert today. And I'm not offended if you have your own viewpoint on Eschatology. We all try our hand at it as best we can and some of what you say may turn out to be true.

The Supreme Court has refused to intervene in a lawsuit regarding allegations that the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops misled donors about the purposes of an annual donation.

In an order list issued Tuesday morning, the high court declined a petition for a writ of certiorari in the case of USCCB v. David O’Connell, with the order noting that Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson did not take part in the proceedings.

The decline of the petition allows a lower court ruling against USCCB’s effort to use the church autonomy legal argument to dismiss the class action lawsuit to stand.

In January 2020, O’Connell filed a lawsuit against the USCCB over Peter’s Pence, an annual donation that officially goes to the pope to support various charitable endeavors.

O’Connell accused the USCCB of misleading parishioners over the purpose of the donation, claiming that the funds were used for lavish expenses rather than philanthropic projects.

Continued below.

NASHVILLE, Tenn. — The Bronze Halo Award-winning musical “Mendel’s Messiah” is headed to streaming platforms worldwide, bringing gospel music, Jewish storytelling and spiritual themes to audiences through a new cinematic adaptation directed by Emmy Award-winning filmmaker Bradford May.

Executive produced, written and composed by husband and wife duo Jeremiah and Wendy Ginsberg, the film follows Mendel Moskowitz, a Jewish candy store owner in Brooklyn whose life is shattered after an antisemitic mob destroys his shop. After crying out to God in despair, Mendel embarks on a supernatural journey guided by the Angel Gabriel that leads him to discover Yeshua, or Jesus, as the promised Messiah.

A former Broadway attorney who once represented major theatrical figures and institutions, Jeremiah Ginsberg told The Christian Post earlier this year that the roots of “Mendel’s Messiah” trace back decades to a spiritual encounter that changed the course of his life.

Continued below.

Amid ongoing negotiations for a permanent ceasefire, U.S. forces launched “self-defense” strikes in southern Iran on Monday evening, U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) said.

“U.S. forces conducted self-defense strikes in southern Iran today to protect our troops from threats posed by Iranian forces,” CENTCOM spokesperson Col. Tim Hawkins said in a statement.

“Targets included missile launch sites and Iranian boats attempting to emplace mines. U.S. Central Command continues to defend our forces while using restraint during the ongoing ceasefire,” he continued.

According to The Wall Street Journal, the incident began when the U.S. sank two Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps ships attempting to lay mines in the Strait of Hormuz, to which Iranian forces responded by launching surface-to-air missiles at U.S. planes, which triggered the strikes on missile launch sites near Bandar Abbas.

“U.S. Central Command continues to defend our forces while using restraint during the ongoing ceasefire,” Col. Hawkins stressed.

Continued below.

More than 400 Jewish leaders have lobbied Congress to invest a historic $1 billion into a federal program that helps houses of worship at high risk of terrorist or extremist attacks, including churches, to enhance their physical security and cybersecurity.

The program, known as the Nonprofit Security Grant Program, was launched in 2005 and is administered by FEMAand funded by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. It provides funding to tax-exempt, 501(c)(3) nonprofit organizations, including churches.

Last Tuesday, U.S. Senators Jacky Rosen D-Nev., and James Lankford R-Okla., who are co-founders and co-chairs of the Senate Bipartisan Task Force for Combating Antisemitism, introduced the bipartisan Jewish American Security Act, which calls for increased funding for the NSGP.

The bill would require the Department of Education to develop and implement a comprehensive Title VI framework to combat antisemitism on college campuses, invest $1 billion in security resources for at-risk houses of worship and other nonprofit institutions, and hold large social media platforms accountable by requiring transparency regarding their handling of antisemitic content online, the senators announced in a release.

Continued below.

Chapter 4

*****
Gideon and the steward were inspecting the vineyard, and the grapes were luscious, ripe, and abundant—yet Thomas lingered in the pasture with Mary and Sahara lounged with his friends under the olive grove, rolling dice on a plank of cedar wood.

“Today we harvest, my faithful steward. The grapes are heavy with promise”, Gideon said, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve already darkened by grape juice. “Go inform my sons to come and help with the harvesting.”

“But Master Gideon, I’m afraid the boys are already gone”, the steward murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“If my guesses are correct, Sahara’s likely lounging under the olive grove again and Thomas is in the pasture with that girl, showing her the sheep.”

Gideon sighed. “I’m grateful for you, Steward, and for the servants, for I am getting older and weak to do it myself. But if my sons don’t help, then we’ll lose everything—and what will Sahara inherit if the vineyard fails?”

“Do you want me to go find them?”

“Oh, no, steward. You and the servants get started—I’ll find them myself.”

The steward nodded, and he and the servants began harvesting the grapes. Gideon walked through the vineyard, his sandals kicking up dust as he searched for his sons. In the distance, he saw Sahara lounging beneath the olive tree with his friends, tossing dice and laughing loudly. Gideon sighed, shaking his head, then turned toward the sheepfold.

****
Thomas and Mary sat on the soft green pasture with the sheep and lambs grazing peacefully around them. Mary laughed as the little lambs frolicked and skipped in the sunshine. She gently stroked the head of a lamb that had settled beside her, marveling at the softness of its wool.

“What did I tell you, Mary? The lambs are playful”, Thomas murmured, as one particularly adventurous lamb butted its woolly head against Mary’s knee before scampering off. Mary giggled—a sound like water trickling over stones—and wiped her hands on her tunic, the lanolin from the lamb’s fleece leaving her palms shiny.

Just then, Gideon approached from between the vines, his shadow stretching long across the pasture as midday sun haloed his graying hair. Thomas stiffened—his father rarely came to the sheepfold himself—but Mary didn’t notice, too absorbed in the way the smallest lamb kept nudging her elbow with its damp nose.

"I see you've found our best lambs," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who measured words like grain—careful, never wasted.

"Father, Mary's never seen sheep up close before," Thomas said, his fingers pausing where they'd been combing burrs from a ewe's fleece.

Gideon studied Mary—her sunburnt cheeks, the way her fingers trembled slightly against the lamb's wool—before crouching to pluck a sprig of wild oregano crushed underfoot. He rolled the fragrant leaves between his fingers. "You've a gentle touch with them," he observed, watching the lamb press its forehead into Mary's palm.

“Thomas said I could have a lamb of my own someday,” Mary said suddenly, her fingers stilling in the lamb’s wool as she glanced up at Gideon—her eyes flickering between hope and wariness.

Gideon smiled—a rare, slow unfurling like sun-warmed parchment—as he watched Mary’s fingers knead the lamb’s wool with unconscious rhythm. “Did he now?” he murmured, plucking a burr from the ewe’s flank and flicking it into the wind. “Thomas always did have an eye for the ones needing extra care.”

Jacov cleared his throat, shifting his stance so his staff cast a thin shadow over the lamb’s crooked ear. "Master Gideon, the flock’s grown since last season—thirty more lambs at least. Strong ones, too." His fingers flicked toward the far pasture where the new ewes grazed, their coats still thick from winter.

“Nice! Well, Thomas, I need your help with the vineyard. It’s harvest day today!”

“Oh, Father, do I have to?”, Thomas groaned, his fingers lingering in the lamb’s fleece as Mary’s hopeful expression dimmed.

Gideon sighed, rubbing a grape-stained thumb along his palm—the callouses there thick from years of pruning. “The harvest won’t wait, son. The steward and the servants are already getting a head start. But if you don’t help, we’ll lose half the harvest before sunset.”

“I’m staying here with Mary and the sheep!”

“Say that again?”

“The vineyard is all I ever do, Father! And Sahara just lounges with his friends, bragging about inheritance like a Roman counting coins! Well, he can have the vineyard, and I’ll take the sheep!”

Gideon’s hand twitched—not quite reaching for his belt, but close—as a vein pulsed near his temple. A cicada shrilled in the sudden silence, its buzz sawing through the air between them. Mary shrank back, her fingers tightening in the lamb’s wool until it bleated. Gideon sighed and walked away without another word, his sandals kicking up small puffs of dust that settled on the grapevines like a thin layer of ash. Thomas watched his father's retreating back—the slump of shoulders that had once carried him piggyback through these same vines—and felt something harden in his chest, like sap turning to amber.

****
Under the olive tree, Sahara and his friends, as they rolled the dice on the worn wooden board—each clatter sounding like distant hail—didn't notice Gideon’s approach until his shadow fell across their game.

“Father?” Sahara asked, his dice frozen mid-toss as Gideon’s shadow swallowed the gaming board.

“Sahara, it’s harvest day”, Gideon said, his voice low—not angry, but heavy like the olive press beams after the season’s first pressing.

“Oh, Father, I didn’t know.”

“Sahara, I need your help with the vineyard.”

“I’ll come right away, Father.”

“See that you do or we’ll lose half the harvest,” Gideon murmured, flicking grape pulp from his fingers.

“You’re not going?”, one of Sahara’s friends asked, nudging the abandoned dice with his sandal.

“My father gets excited sometimes, but the job always get done whether I go or not,” Sahara said, plucking another grape from the cluster and rolling it between his fingers before crushing it against the olive tree’s trunk.

***
Gideon returned to where the steward and servants were already harvesting, their curved knives flashing in the sunlight as they worked through the vines. The steward glanced up at Gideon’s approach, his forehead glistening with sweat, and shook his head slightly—a silent question about the absent sons. Gideon sighed and rolled up his sleeves, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he reached for a cluster of grapes heavy with juice.

"We'll manage without them," he said quietly, snapping a grape from its stem with more force than necessary—the juice trickling down his wrist like a thin purple vein.

“I honestly don’t know what has happened, Master Gideon”, the steward said, wiping grape juice from his hands onto his tunic as he glanced toward the empty path where neither son had appeared. “Sahara and Thomas were good boys, even inseparable—but now, Sahara lounges while Thomas frolicks with sheep and an orphan.”

Gideon’s fingers tightened around a cluster of grapes, their skins splitting under the pressure—the juice running down his wrist like spilled wine. “They’ll learn,” he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction. A bee, drawn by the sweetness, landed on his stained sleeve before buzzing away toward the hives.

****
Thomas looked over from the pasture, watching his father bend among the vines—shoulders slumped beneath the sun’s weight—while the steward and servants worked double-time to compensate. Dust clung to Gideon’s sandals as he moved between rows, his fingers lingering on unharvested clusters like a man counting losses.

“Mary, have you ever pick grapes?” Thomas suddenly asked, watching his father disappear between the vines—the old man’s silhouette bent like a hook under the sun’s weight.

“No”, Mary asked, her fingers still buried in the lamb’s wool, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Well, how about you come with me and help Father, the steward, and the servants pick grapes?”, Thomas asked, watching Mary’s fingers twitch against the lamb’s wool—her hesitation mirroring his own reluctance.

Mary frowned, her fingers pausing mid-stroke against the lamb’s flank. “But won’t Sahara be there?” The lamb nuzzled her wrist, its wet nose leaving a cool spot on her sun-warmed skin.

“Sahara could probably care less. Come on.”

Mary gently placed the lamb back onto the grass, her fingers lingering as the creature scampered off to join the flock. She wiped her palms on her tunic—streaked now with dirt and lanolin—and stood, the hesitation in her stance mirroring Thomas’s own conflicted posture. Dust motes swirled between them as Thomas reached for her hand, his callouses rough against her smaller fingers, yet his grip was careful—the way one might hold a bird’s egg plucked from a precarious nest.

*****
Gideon sighed as he worked his fingers under the grapevine's twisted cordon, lifting a heavy cluster with his palm—the fruit's weight pressing into his skin like a silent rebuke. The steward hesitated nearby, his pruning knife hovering over a tangled shoot before murmuring, "We could send for Mistress Helene. She always—"

Just then, Thomas and Mary approached the vineyard, their footsteps muffled by the thick dust of the path. “Father, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Thomas murmured, his fingers twisting nervously around a scrap of wool still clinging to his tunic.

“Well, then, Thomas, I’m glad you came,” Gideon said, pressing his grape-stained fingers into the boy’s shoulder—not squeezing, just holding—as if testing whether the bones beneath were still soft enough to bend.

“Do you still need help, Father?”

“Yes, of course I do. And I see you brought help,” Gideon said, nodding toward Mary, who hovered a step behind Thomas—her fingers twisting the hem of her tunic into knots. A grape leaf drifted between them, landing in the dust near her bare feet.

Thomas nudged her gently—his elbow brushing her shoulder like a sparrow alighting—and her hesitant nod sent Gideon’s smile deepening into the creases of his sun-weathered face.

The steward handed Mary a small willow basket, its weave loose enough for grape juice to seep through. “Here, child—gather the fallen fruit,” he murmured, guiding her fingers to grip the handle properly. Mary’s palms, still rough from scavenging, tightened around the smooth wood as if it might dissolve like morning mist.

The work on the harvest began—slowly at first, with Thomas awkwardly adjusting his grip on the pruning knife until Gideon corrected his hold with a murmured word. Mary darted between vines, her small basket already brimming with fallen grapes that had split open in the heat, their juice staining her fingertips purple.

The harvest work lasted until sundown—Thomas's knife strokes growing steadier with each cluster cut, Mary's basket dipping lower with each trip to the press where grapes split underfoot in sticky bursts. At one point, Gideon paused mid-row, watching Thomas adjust Mary's grip on a cluster too high for her reach—his fingers guiding hers to twist rather than tear, their shadows braiding together in the slanting light.

“I guess your brother never came to help”, Mary whispered to Thomas as she deposited another basket of grapes at the press.

"He actually said he would, but he never came", Gideon said softly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”

They approached the main house as dusk settled—Gideon’s shoulders sagging deeper with each step, his sandals scuffing grooves in the dust. Through the open courtyard gate, the scent of charred bread and simmering lentils curled into the twilight, undercut by the sharp tang of spilled wine.

“Sahara, where you’ve been?”, Thomas asked, watching his brother lounging at the courtyard table—his fingers sticky with honeyed dates, his sandals still dusty from the olive grove.

“Just hanging around with my friends,” Sahara muttered, flicking a grape pit toward the courtyard wall where it pinged off the stones.

“You’ve told Father you would come and help work the vineyard, but you never came!”

“You know how excited Father gets about harvest, but the job always gets done whether I help or not,” Sahara said, flicking another grape pit toward the courtyard wall—this one bouncing off Thomas’s sandal with a dull *tock*. The scent of cooling lentils wafted between them, mingling with the sour tang of fermenting grape must clinging to Thomas’s tunic.

Mary flinched as Sahara’s gaze slid over her like a blade being tested for sharpness. “Still playing nursemaid to strays?” he murmured, plucking a date from the bowl and rolling it between his fingers until the honey oozed over his knuckles. “Careful, brother. Even lambs grow teeth.”

Thomas stepped between them, his shadow swallowing Mary’s smaller frame. “She gathered more grapes today than you ever have.”

“If you prefer sheep to grapes, why don’t you sleep in the pasture tonight?”

“But it will be cold tonight, Sahara! Why would you even say that?”

“Boys, please,” Helene interjected, emerging from the house with a clay pitcher that trembled slightly in her hands. “Haven’t your father and I taught you better than to quarrel like jackals over carrion?”

“Yes, Mother”, Sahara said, “but I don’t see why Thomas keeps favoring a peasant girl over his own brother.”

“You know that’s not true, Sahara. You and Thomas used to be inseparable. Why can’t you at least treat each other with kindness, and this girl like a sister?”

“And I’ve been doing so, Mother”, Thomas said, his voice quieter than Sahara’s—not weak, but deliberate—as he brushed grape pulp from his tunic sleeve.

Mary's fingers tightened around Thomas's sleeve—her grip hesitant but insistent—as Sahara's laughter curled through the courtyard like smoke from a dying fire. The honeyed dates on the table gleamed in the lamplight, their sticky surfaces catching the glow like small amber warnings.

Thomas picked up a honeyed fig from the bowl, turning it slowly between his fingers before pressing it into Mary's palm. “Here, eat,” he murmured—a quiet defiance against Sahara’s sneer. The fruit’s stickiness clung to Mary’s skin like a second set of fingerprints, its sweetness sharp against the bitterness still hanging in the air.

Mary pressed the honeyed fig to her lips, its sweetness clashing with the salt of Sahara’s scorn still sharp in the air. The courtyard’s lone lamp flickered as a night breeze stirred, casting shadows that stretched Thomas’s silhouette taller—almost shielding—while Sahara lounged back, his fingers drumming the table like a judge awaiting confession.

The steward observed Thomas handing Mary a honeyed fig—his fingers lingering just long enough to ensure her grip before withdrawing—and noted how her posture softened as she nibbled its sweetness, her wary eyes darting to Sahara only once before settling again. Gideon sighed, pressing his thumbs into the hollows of his temples where the day’s heat had settled like a stubborn fog, while Helene’s fingers tightened around the pitcher’s neck, its clay surface still warm from the hearth.

Later that night, as the last embers of the hearth dimmed to ash, Mary traced the grape stains on her fingertips—purple half-moons like fading bruises. Thomas sat beside her on the courtyard's edge, his knees drawn up as he picked at the frayed hem of his tunic where Sahara's disdain had snagged it earlier.

“Thomas, why doesn’t your brother like me?” Mary whispered, her fingers hovering over the grape stains on her knees.

“I think he’s just forgotten how to be kind,” Thomas murmured, plucking a fig leaf and shredding it between his fingers. “Our tutor, Rabbi Samuel, used to say anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

A nightingale called from the olive grove—two sharp notes followed by a liquid warble—as Mary studied the grape stains on her knees, darker where the juice had dried in the creases of her tunic. Thomas noticed it was getting late, and Mary was getting sleepy, her eyelids fluttering like moth wings against lamplight.

“Come on,” Thomas murmured, nudging Mary’s shoulder with his own as he stood—his shadow stretching long across the courtyard’s worn stones. “Let’s get you settled before the dew sets in.”

Mary nodded, and Thomas led her to her room where Drusilla was patiently waiting with an oil lamp and a fresh linen tunic folded neatly beside her. The woman’s hands hovered near Mary's shoulders as if unsure whether to embrace or simply guide her to the pallet. Thomas lingered in the doorway, watching Mary’s fingers trace the hem of the new tunic—its fibers rough but clean, smelling faintly of thyme and sunlight. Thomas stepped in and adjusted the blanket over Mary's shoulders, his fingers lingering just long enough to smooth a wrinkle near her collarbone before withdrawing.

Thomas went out into the hall, his sandals whispering against the stone floor as the night’s chill crept through the cracks in the walls. Then he went to his own room, where the scent of cedar from his childhood bed still lingered faintly beneath newer layers of sheep’s wool and vineyard dust. He sat on the edge of the pallet, staring at the darkened window—the moonlight casting faint silver streaks across the uneven surface. He laid on his back, fingers interlaced behind his head, and listened to the distant bleating of the sheep—the sound carrying clearly in the still night air.

NxNW said:

How many convictions does he have?

How many does Trump have?

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So, far way less than Trump. It looks like the wrong person is being deported or detained behind bars. .

So, as the guy who was in charge of the IT backend that handled these types of functions for a city government, I wonder what the specific instructions are as far as phones are concerned. This, depending on the directive, could be either "this is dumb but we will get it done" or "are you an utter lunatic? This will result in people dying!". It all depends on scope and classification.

Due process. Due process. Due process. It's the EU, not sure how or if they have the kind of due process we have in the US.
I am not sure if they are lying to their courts, ignoring their judges, detaining their own citizens, which are the Trump admin tactics. Btw, speaking of Trump tactics. Are they taking in South Afrikaners as they kick everyone out who doesn't look like South Afrikaners?

Hans Blaster said:

What's next is the Supreme Court is going to get another shot at this...

The SC ruling was taken to the federal District Court for Northern Alabama to undo the injunction on the Alabama redistricting and well...

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www.politico.com

To quote the 3 judge panel
“Ultimately, we cannot see our way clear to requiring Alabamians to cast their votes in the 2026 elections under a districting plan tainted by intentional race-based discrimination,”

Full ruling:

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storage.courtlistener.com

Two of the judges were appointed by Donald Trump (45).

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Perhaps this ruling will be upheld by SCOTUS, perhaps not.

If SCOTUS upholds this decision, Republicans will be careful to more clearly redistrict based on reducing the power of the part in the minority.

I think that Democrats will win the House in 2026. Much, much more importantly, the 2028 and 2020 elections will be based on more and more partisan districts.

It is just noise.

Everyone at this point in life knows their church may have issues.
Its up to the individual who's place it is, to uncover such scandals.

Our night sky is getting brighter and brighter – not because of the moon, but because of artificial lighting.

While outdoor lighting is a necessary part of modern society, its widespread use has reshaped natural darkness, affected human and animal health and made the night sky harder to see.

According to a new study that analyzed a combination of satellite images, artificial nighttime lights have brightened Earth by 16% between 2014 and 2022. Researchers from University of Connecticut found that nights are gradually becoming brighter worldwide, though trends vary by region, particularly in areas affected by war or natural disasters. The findings were published in Nature.

In 2022, the United States had by far the highest total luminosity of any country, followed by China, India, Canada and Brazil.

Continued below.

I only feel I can get a great grasp on what was revealed with something like the Blue Letter Bible online being available, which shows writing from the early manuscripts from which there are the translations and different versions.

Poetrob, you sound like you are in a good place with knowing you need to put away things in your life that you wanted to. Is there is anyway to give any input into your support resource.. Is it online or in person? The church that I attend once a month they host an autistic group which I attended once. I myself crea6ed a blog for my faith and autism, there is no need for members though.

Landon Caeli said:

Is he even sorry? If not, does he then pose a danger to other inmates?

...These are the kinds of questions that should determine death sentencing IMO.

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No defendant with a "Not Guilty" plea on the books is going to express remorse for what they did since that would be an admission of guilt. If he wanted to admit guilt he would change his plea.

Michie said:

People seem to use it as a weapon. I like the convenience of it but do not care for the dishonesty and obsessive hatred that spreads like wildfire on the internet. And the weird AI stuff. People are pretty gullible.

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when young and vulnerable people started to take their lives with a FB live stream, it just broke me.

I cannot and will not have anything to do with FB and I am trying to do what others have posted in that I'm trying to use my time more wisely with things like Bible study and praying.

We climbed Half Dome when I was Boy Scout. Exciting ascent up that wall-ramp with the cable rail.. Far less busy than recently, as I understand.

Michie said:

Higher education’s collapsing credibility may be doing more to slow the decline of American religion than any revival, awakening, or demographic shift.

One of the most unexpected cultural developments in the U.S. has been the recent stabilization of religious affiliation. From 1972 until 2020, the percentage of American adults identifying as Christian dropped steadily from 90 percent to 63 percent, while those saying they did not belong to any faith tradition went from 5 percent to 29 percent. But in February of 2025, it suddenly became clear that this decades-long decline had actually been flat for some time.

That was when the Pew Research Center published its most recent Religious Landscape Study, the largest of the foundation’s ongoing surveys. Based on answers from more than 35,000 respondents, Pew had discovered that over the previous five years, from 2019 to 2024, the Christian share of the U.S. population had been “relatively stable, hovering between 60 percent and 64 percent” for both Catholics and Protestants, while the percentage of unaffiliated had also leveled off. (Mainline Protestants continued their decline, but other Protestant denominations balanced them out.)

With the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI) and the U.S. Religious Census recently confirming the Pew findings, a number of religious podcasters, social media influencers, and otherwise reliable news outlets have taken to exaggerating the data, declaring a modern Great Awakening, especially among young men. But even a “mere leveling” of religious affiliation is a dramatic enough development for more serious observers to try and explain it.

Continued below.

Are More People Going To Church Because Fewer Are Going To College?

Higher education's collapse may be doing more to slow the decline of American religion than any revival, awakening, or demographic shift.

thefederalist.com

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This article is completely short-sighted and hypocritical. The writer wants us to believe that higher education has lost its cultural authority, yet he turns around and relies on Ivy League professors and academic data to build his entire case. It makes no sense. You simply can't prove an argument by using the very proof you are trying to dispute, and doing so completely destroys the logic of his whole piece!

Thanks for sharing!
Be blessed.

Pray by saying,"In Jesus Christ's Name & By The Power & Grace Of The Holy Spirit, we declare that oil, gas,fuel&energy prices will immediately drastically go down for the sake of the common man":

Probably has to do with the Biden administration awarding TPS status to illegals on the Mexican side of the
border, who could just apply and be granted asylum through their cell phones. It was a way the Biden administration
made illegal immigrants legal before crossing into the country.

Catholics are called to care for creation without compromising the truth about the human person. The answer isn't secular activism, it's a Christ-centered approach.

As we reflect in the Easter and Pentecost seasons on the glory in Christ’s resurrection and ascension, we remember that His redemption reconciled us not only to God and to our fellow men, but to all of creation. Many Catholics ignore or forget that third reconciliation.

Today, we must reclaim it.

It is not that faithful Catholics lack zeal for God's creation. We rightly pour our energy into defending life from abortion and IVF, and into recognizing the dignity of the poor. But on ecological teaching, many have gone silent — and the secular left has rushed to fill the void.

Those who shout loudest about the Earth often treat humanity with contempt, parroting anti-natalist rhetoric that frames human life as the enemy of nature. The absence of action has come at a cost.

We need a theologically grounded, pro-human, thoroughly Catholic approach to the environment—one that recognizes the dangers of left-wing environmentalism while still upholding our God-given mission to care for the Earth.

This is personal for me. A few months ago, I started a Catholic organization called Vita et Terra, Latin for “Life and Earth,” to help awaken authentic environmental consciousness among Catholics so that, together, we can become true stewards of God’s creation.

Ultimately, our duty to creation as Catholics is grounded in three principles: life, stewardship, and conservation.​

1) Life​

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ROME — The researchers in Ireland looked at their computer screen, marveling at a medieval book tracked down in a Roman library. They flipped through its digitized pages and found their sought-after treasure: The oldest surviving English poem.

“We were extremely surprised. We were speechless. We couldn’t believe our eyes when we first saw that,” Elisabetta Magnanti, a visiting research fellow at Trinity College Dublin’s school of English, told The Associated Press.



What’s more, she said, the poem was within the main body of Latin text: “It was extraordinary.”

Composed in Old English by a Northumbrian agricultural worker in the 7th century, “Caedmon’s Hymn” appears within some copies of the “Ecclesiastical History of the English People,” written in Latin by a monk and saint known as the Venerable Bede. His history is one of the most widely reproduced texts from the Middle Ages, with almost 200 manuscripts, according to Magnanti’s colleague Mark Faulkner, an associate professor of medieval literature at Trinity.

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