spiritual belief

Santa Christ – Faith, Fantasy, and Tradition: Do Churchgoers Believe in Santa Claus?

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

Faith, Fantasy, and Tradition: Do Churchgoers Believe in Santa Claus?

Faith is often regarded as the cornerstone of religious belief, encompassing elements of the unseen, the unknowable, and the divine. Yet, the figure of Santa Claus gets nestled within the realm of modern Christian culture. Most believe Santa Claus is a mythical character who, though secular, occupies a sacred space in many homes during Christmas. This essay examines the relationship between faith and fantasy in a critical manner. It asks a provocative question:

Do churchgoers who actively engage in Christian religious services also believe in Santa Claus?

The Coexistence of Faith and Fantasy

With his roots in the historical St. Nicholas, Santa Claus has evolved into a cultural icon who embodies generosity, joy, and the season’s magic. Churchgoers, particularly those steeped in Christian tradition, often embrace Santa alongside their religious celebrations. But does this blending of faith and fantasy dilute the essence of religious belief, or does it complement it?

For many, Santa symbolizes the wonder and innocence of childhood. He exists not as a deity but as a symbol of kindness and giving, traits consistent with Christian teachings. Yet, the theological implications of believing—or perpetuating belief—in Santa Claus among devout churchgoers raise critical questions. Is it contradictory to teach children to believe in an omniscient God? Is teaching about a jolly figure who rewards good behavior with material gifts also contradictory?

Theological Tensions and Cultural Adaptation

Theologically, the Santa narrative can be seen as problematic. Santa’s omniscience—knowing when children are ‘naughty or nice’—mimics divine qualities attributed to God. For devout Christians, this parallel is viewed as trivializing the sacred attributes of their deity. Additionally, Santa’s rewards depend on behavior. This conditional nature starkly contrasts with the Christian doctrine of grace, which emphasizes unconditional love and forgiveness. These tensions stem from God and the principles of the Christian faith. They raise questions about the compatibility of Santa Claus with religious beliefs.

On the other hand, the inclusion of Santa in Christmas traditions reflects a broader cultural adaptation. Churchgoers, like the wider society, are products of their environment. Santa Claus’s commercial and cultural saturation makes him almost inescapable. For many Christians, incorporating Santa into holiday traditions helps bridge the secular and the sacred. This creates a more inclusive celebration and resonates across different belief systems.

The Role of Myth in Faith Development

Belief in Santa Claus can also be seen as an early form of faith training. Santa embodies the power of belief for children—trusting in something unseen and expecting its fruition. In this way, Santa serves as a precursor to more mature forms of faith. The eventual realization that Santa is a myth does not necessarily undermine belief in God. Instead, it can reinforce the idea of a deeper, more profound belief in the divine. Transitioning from belief in a myth to belief in a higher power can be crucial for a child’s faith. It shapes their understanding of the unseen. It also builds their ability to trust the divine.

Critics argue, nonetheless, that perpetuating the Santa myth risks fostering cynicism. When children discover Santa isn’t real, they question the truth of other intangible beliefs, including God. This potential disillusionment challenges religious parents, raising concerns about the impact on their children’s faith. They must carefully navigate the transition from childhood fantasy to mature faith.

Reclaiming the Meaning of Christmas

The integration of Santa Claus into Christian homes invites churchgoers to consider the true meaning of Christmas. Is it about celebrating the birth of Christ and the message of salvation? Or has it become overshadowed by consumerism and secular traditions? For many churchgoers, the challenge is to reclaim the sacred aspects of the holiday. They also want to allow room for the cultural joy Santa brings.

Balancing these elements requires intentionality. Churchgoers are crucial in emphasizing Santa’s values—generosity, kindness, and joy—while grounding these traits in their faith. By framing Santa as a symbol, Christians can preserve the integrity of their beliefs. They can still enjoy the cultural richness of the holiday. This underscores the importance of their role in this balance.

Conclusion

Whether churchgoers believe in Santa Claus touches on more significant themes of faith, tradition, and cultural adaptation. Santa initially appears to conflict with Christian doctrine. Yet, he also offers an opportunity to engage with the season’s spirit of giving and wonder. Churchgoers need to discover how to integrate this cultural icon into their faith practices. They must achieve this without compromising their beliefs.

The coexistence of Santa Claus and churchgoers shows how people can balance faith and fantasy. Each aspect contributes to our understanding of the world. They also shape our place within it. Santa Claus does not need to diminish the sacredness of Christmas. Instead, he can symbolize the joy and generosity central to the season. Yet, some find it difficult to reconcile a fictional figure with their spiritual beliefs. This tension arises when they apply the same evaluative framework to religious doctrine, revealing a deeper reliance on external authority. For many, this dependence stems from an unwillingness to embrace personal accountability fully. They seek a Santa-like figure year-round—someone or something to guide their choices and confirm their actions. They continue to believe in Santa Claus, though under a different guise.

How Western Movies Perpetuate Harmful Stereotypes of Indigenous Peoples

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes

I was watching an old Western on television this past weekend. You know, the kind—cowboys and Indians. Or, as we might say today, American Ranchers and Indigenous Peoples.

The film, likely made in the 1950s, had the signature gloss of that era’s post-war cinema. Still, something about it suggested it was possibly shot even earlier, maybe in the 1940s. It was only later spliced, refitted, and packaged for the screen. The costumes, dialogue, and scenery all hinted at a time when the stereotypes were deeply ingrained in the script. They weren’t even questioned.

I probably watched that movie as a kid. I was sitting next to my father, not giving it a second thought. Back then, it was just another Western. But this time around, with a different set of eyes, what I saw was jarring.

It followed the predictable narrative: the cavalry riding in to tame the West and keep the “Indians” under control. Two delicately dressed white heroines were caught in the middle of a brewing conflict. A white doctor stood out as the lone character who dared to see Native people as human beings. He was mocked and ostracized for his compassion. This was especially true when a malaria outbreak swept through the tribe. He insisted they deserved treatment.

At one point, he stood in a room full of fellow whites. He asked,

“Do you think Indians are not human beings? Human beings like you and me, who deserve to live and be healthy?”

And one of the prim ladies, her hair perfect and her face untouched by empathy replied:

“I don’t know… how could they be?”

To which others in the room nodded and added, 

“That’s right.”

“Of course, they’re not!”

“No way, in God’s name.”

I sat there stunned, wondering:

“How did a line like that ever make it into a movie script?”

Even more troubling:

“How did it get past editors, producers, censors—only to be broadcast, repeated, and absorbed by generations?”

It wasn’t just offensive. It was abusive. And it made me sad.

Is there a historical context to such language? Possibly. But what would a young Native American child feel sitting in front of that screen? Would they see their life reflected as something lesser—something not worthy of protection or dignity? Listening to the white characters, it certainly felt that way.

And it took me back to where I grew up.

I’m from the Kiowa and Comanche Counties area in Oklahoma—Caddo County, specifically. I was raised alongside Native American children, many of whom I called friends.

Later in life, I worked in law enforcement and came to know tribal members through both personal and professional relationships. I learned a great deal from them—about their culture, their pride, their pain.

When I started in law enforcement, the department had an initiation ritual. It involved arresting a man nicknamed Fifteen Thousand. He was a Native man, around 50 years old, who’d been detained countless times—hence the name. His real name was Thomas Kamaulty Sr.

He was the first person I ever arrested as an officer. 

And, in time, Thomas became the first person I ever saw get sober. That meant something.

Ira Hayes

I also think about people like Ira Hayes. He was a Pima Indian from Arizona. Ira helped raise the flag at Iwo Jima during World War II. A hero by every standard. And yet, like Thomas, Ira suffered. Both carried the scars of discrimination and trauma. Both turned to alcohol as a way to numb the soul-deep wounds this country handed them.

We often ask why these cycles exist—but we rarely admit the truth: it’s because we’ve designed them to. We’ve placed people like Thomas, like Ira, into roles and systems. Their suffering can be managed. Their voices are diminished. Their lives are controlled. That was always the plan. And until we stop pretending it wasn’t, the script will keep playing—over and over again.

The Broken and the Blessed: Understanding the Depth of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

The True Meaning of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah

Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah has become one of the most widely recognized and performed songs in modern music history. It’s played at weddings, funerals, church services, and talent shows. But in all the repetition and repurposing, something essential has been lost.

Cohen never intended Hallelujah to be simply beautiful. He intended it to be raw. Complex. Human.

The song is not a hymn of praise in the traditional sense. Instead, it’s a poem set to music, a confession wrapped in biblical language and erotic undertones. It’s about a man watching a woman undress from a rooftop. He watches not in an act of love, but of longing and helpless craving. He stands in his kitchen, overwhelmed and isolated. The “hallelujah” he utters is not holy—at least not in the religious sense. It is a broken hallelujah. It is born from the ache of wanting and not having. It is the result of touching something divine through deeply human hunger.

Cohen interweaves the sacred and the sensual because, for him, they were never far apart. Verses reference King David, Bathsheba, Samson and Delilah—figures whose passions brought them into both ecstatic heights and tragic ruin. Cohen wanted to explore this contradiction. He wanted to understand how love, lust, faith, betrayal, and surrender all live side by side in the human soul.

“There’s a blaze of light in every word. It doesn’t matter which you heard. It could be the holy or the broken hallelujah.”

The tension in Hallelujah is not just between sacred and profane, but between understanding and mystery. Why do we feel what we feel? Why do we cry out “hallelujah” even when we are lost or ashamed?

Later in life, Cohen was said to feel some regret. He was unhappy over how the song had been turned into a feel-good anthem. It was stripped of its edge and stripped of its truth. Many of the popular covers—Jeff Buckley’s, John Cale’s, even k.d. lang’s—choose only a few of the verses, removing the darker or more explicitly sexual lines. What’s left is haunting, but incomplete.

Cohen reportedly wrote over 80 verses for Hallelujah. The versions we know today are fragments—reflections of reflections. But they carry within them that strange, shimmering truth: that pain and praise can live in the same breath.

In one interview, Cohen said:

“This world is full of conflicts and full of things that can’t be reconciled. But there are moments when we can… and the song ‘Hallelujah’ is about those moments.”

Those moments—the mingling of joy and sorrow, flesh and spirit, light and shadow—are what make Hallelujah more than a song. They make it a mirror.

We don’t all shout our hallelujahs from rooftops. Some of us whisper them from the corners of our kitchens, alone, longing, and unsure. But that doesn’t make them any less true.

That’s the Hallelujah Leonard Cohen wrote.

What the world needs now? Is Love Sweet Love! It isn’t too late for the United States?

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

2–3 minutes

The most significant cultural threat to occur in my lifetime is occurring as I write today. It deals with our nations stability. The threat to our democracy doesn’t come from a single event—it happens every day. It happens when we ignore what’s unfolding in our city councils, our state legislatures, and in the halls of Congress. It happens when we assume that honorable people are safeguarding our federal institutions.

That complacency is how we arrived at the crisis point we face in 2025.


In the early 1970s, President Richard Nixon was implicated in one of the greatest political scandals in U.S. history: Watergate. His aides admitted to orchestrating a break-in at the Democratic National Committee headquarters. They attempted to steal information to sabotage a political opponent. The House of Representatives held impeachment hearings. Nixon was on the brink of being impeached. He resigned before the Senate took up the case. He was never prosecuted—pardoned instead by his successor, Gerald Ford. That decision set a precedent: presidents commit crimes without real consequence.


Had Nixon faced justice, we wouldn’t be watching the unraveling of the United States today. In 2025, we are witnessing a troubling surge of pro-white nationalist influence within our government. Supremacist ideologies are fueling misinformation campaigns and choking the truth that help heal and unite our country. This is one of the most perilous chapters in our nation’s history. It spells the end of the United States as we have known it.

Ulrich Groff I.


Ironically, the Groff family once fled an oppressive regime in the 1850s, seeking liberty and justice in America. Now, in a cruel twist of history, a direct descendant of Ulrich Groff I —faces a difficult consideration. Will he see himself returning to the very region his ancestors left in search of freedom. Or hope for a miracle. We must not allow the hard-won promises of our democracy to slip away through silence and inaction.

What the world—and especially the United States—needs now is love, sweet love. Not the kind that’s fleeting or sentimental. It should be the steady, courageous kind that listens more than it lectures. It seeks understanding over dominance. Our nation was once bound together by a shared belief in the promise of unity. Now, it is splintered by division. Mistrust and fear further divide us. Political rage, social distrust, and cultural isolation have made enemies of neighbors and strangers of friends.

But love, in its truest form, has the power to mend what anger tears apart. It begins with kindness in daily life—treating others with respect, even when they disagree with us. It grows in empathy—stepping into anothers shoes rather than judging them from afar. If we can choose love over fear, we can start to heal this fractured country. Hope must prevail over hate. Connection should be preferred over separation. This healing won’t happen overnight. It will occur heart by heart, one act at a time.

Small Acts of Kindness: A Legacy of Compassion

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By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

3–4 minutes
Francis
Pope Francis

Today, the world said goodbye to Pope Francis. I was reminded of the man who called for compassion among the masses. He urged us to find understanding and acceptance in whatever ways we can. He believed that small steps lead to greater paths. Simple, quiet acts of goodness build a better world.

Altruism was instilled in me from an early age. Through my personal experiences, I’ve come to understand its true meaning. I instinctively understood the Pope’s message and often wished more people worldwide would embrace it as profoundly as I had.

For me, kindness has always been second nature, a lesson I learned from my father. I knew from childhood that even the smallest gestures mattered. It is holding a door open for someone. It is offering a word of acknowledgment or helping a stranger in need. My father, a man of few words but profound actions, taught me this.

Each Sunday morning, the sun rose. He and I would then load our truck with fresh produce from our farm. This was done before the first car appeared on Main Street. We would quietly deliver baskets of food to low-income families across town. It was a ritual performed with no expectation of thanks, no wish for recognition. My father made it clear: this was our shared mission, something sacred, something we did simply because it was right. The smiles on the faces of those families showed the impact of our small acts of kindness. The relief in their eyes was a testament to the difference we made.

Altruism can take on many faces—kindness, decency, a willingness to see others’ needs. Years ago, we visited Las Vegas with my better half and two fellow law enforcement officers. We stopped for a quick meal at a small pizza shop. I noticed an older man lying beneath a tree across the parking lot as we ate. He looked frail and vulnerable—homeless, clearly unwell.

Throughout the meal, I couldn’t shake the image of him. When we finished, I gathered our untouched slices into a to-go box. I told the others I would offer it to him. It didn’t feel right to leave that food behind, not when someone nearby desperately needs it.

As I approached, I saw fear and uncertainty in his eyes. But when I gently asked how he was doing and whether he had eaten, his expression softened. I handed him the pizza and a bottle of water. His hands trembled as he accepted them, tears welling in his eyes.

We spoke briefly. He told me it had been days since he last ate. He had been surviving on whatever water he found. He hadn’t asked for anything—but his gratitude was overwhelming.

Then, quietly, we went our separate ways.
That moment has stayed with me, just as those early Sunday mornings with my father have stayed with me. Compassion doesn’t have to be loud. Kindness doesn’t always wait to be invited. Sometimes, it’s simply about noticing—and acting.

I never saw that man again. I like to believe that the small act of kindness I showed him helped him feel seen and valued. It made him feel stronger for the journey ahead. It’s a testament to the power of small acts of kindness. It gives me hope for a more compassionate world.

As Pope Francis often reminded us, the world doesn’t change through grand gestures alone. It changes one small act of love at a time. And so, in his memory, I urge you, the reader. Please continue noticing. Keep caring and acting—quietly, humbly, and with open hearts. Each of us has the power to make a difference.

A Fellow Post To Share With You!

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Groff Media is sharing this piece unedited from Foxes Den. The next is the introduction to the piece. The link to the writers’ pages is posted near the end so you can go to the original site’s writing.

FROM THE FOXES DEN – (unedited)

If you could un-invent something, what would it be? 

I’ve browsed around some of the replies to this prompt and I must say I’m quite surprised. Surprised to see so many people wishing that social media could be un-invented. Now I am with these people 100%, I agree it’s a breeding ground for hatred and vitriol, however as so many are already mentioning social media I feel I should suggest something else because to not do so would make this post quite repetitive and boring. 

Well it will probably still be boring but here goes. 

Addiction. If only there wasn’t such a thing. Again it’s one of those things that is good to have in certain scenarios but an absolute nightmare to have in others. Let’s talk about the nightmare scenarios.

Click here to read the entire piece.

Finding Peace in a Day of Upset

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GROFF MEDIA 2024© TRUTH ENDURES IMDBPRO

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

Maggie sat on her porch swing. The soft creak of the old chains was the only sound in the still afternoon air. The sun hung low, casting golden hues across her small Arizona town, but inside her chest, a storm raged. The day had been a whirlwind of mishaps. She missed deadlines at work. She had an argument with her sister. She also nagged worry about her aging father’s health. Each problem was stacked like bricks on her shoulders, weighing her with unresolved concern. She was in the midst of a battle for her Peace.

She sipped her tea. She hoped the warmth would soothe the ache. Yet, peace felt distant, like a mirage on the desert horizon. Her mind churned with “what-ifs” and “should-haves,” a relentless cycle that robbed her of the quiet she desperately craved.

Maggie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She listened to the distant rustling of mesquite trees. Occasionally, she heard the bark of a neighbor’s dog. The natural sounds around her conveyed a message of resilience and adaptability. Slowly, she exhaled, reminding herself of her grandmother’s words: “You can’t stop the wind, but you can learn to bend.”

She stood and walked to the edge of her yard. Her fingers brushed over the delicate petals of the wildflowers. They had sprung up after last month’s rare rain. Their resilience struck her—fragile yet persistent, thriving even in the harsh desert soil.

Realizing she couldn’t control everything, Maggie focused on the now. She let the day’s stress settle, acknowledging it but not giving it power. She watched the sky darken into twilight. The first stars peeked through. She felt a little lighter with each breath. It was the power of being here, of living in the moment, that brought her Peace.

She realized Peace wasn’t about escaping the chaos but finding a quiet place. And tonight, as the desert cooled and the cicadas began their evening song, she finally let herself rest. The relief was palpable, like a weight lifted from her shoulders, as she surrendered to the tranquility of the night.

The Guitar from Jimmy Carter’s Grove

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Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

3–4 minutes

Long after leaving the White House, Jimmy Carter found solace in the quiet rhythms of nature. On a sunny morning in Plains, Georgia, Jimmy stood at the edge of a grove. He had planted these trees decades ago. These trees—mahogany, maple, and spruce—weren’t native to the region. Carter had brought their seeds home from his travels. He envisioned them growing tall and strong in the fertile Georgian soil.

Jimmy called what others saw as an unusual hobby his “living legacy.” Each tree had a purpose, and he dreamed of turning their wood into something meaningful. One day, while strumming his old guitar on the porch, the idea struck him: 

What if I made a guitar from the trees I grew with my own hands?

The Craft

Years passed before the time was right. Jimmy carefully chose a mahogany tree for the body. He selected a maple tree for the neck. He also picked spruce for the soundboard. He contacted a local luthier, Sam Wainwright, who had a reputation for crafting instruments with heart and precision.

Sam, skeptical at first, raised an eyebrow when Jimmy proposed the project.

“You’re telling me you’ve been growing trees for years just for this?”

Jimmy chuckled.

“A good guitar starts with good wood. I figured, why not grow my own?”

Sam couldn’t argue with the sentiment. They spent hours examining the wood, carefully cutting it, and shaping it to perfection. Jimmy insisted on being part of every step, from sanding the pieces to carving the intricate rosette around the soundhole.

As they worked, Jimmy shared stories—about his childhood in the rural South, his presidency, and his humanitarian efforts. Sam listened intently, realizing the guitar wasn’t just an instrument but a symbol of patience, purpose, and creativity.

The First Song

Months later, the guitar was finished. Its finish glowed like amber honey. Its tone was warm and resonant. It carried the richness of the wood’s decades-long journey. Jimmy held it in his hands. He marveled at how the trees he had nurtured now sang harmoniously. They created a sound that was not just music. It was a testament to the beauty of nature.

During a warm summer evening, friends and family gathered. Jimmy sat on his porch with the guitar resting comfortably in his lap. He strummed the first chords, their notes floating into the peach-scented air.

The song he played was one he had written himself. It was a simple tune about the roots—both in the ground and in life. It spoke of time, care, and the beauty of watching something grow. The crowd swayed to the music. Their faces lit with admiration for the man who had turned trees into tunes. They felt a sense of nostalgia for the simple, yet profound, message of the song.

A Lasting Legacy

In the years that followed, the guitar became more than an instrument. Jimmy used it to teach music to children, play for visitors, and raise funds for Habitat for Humanity. Each time its strings vibrated, it told a story of persistence and hope.

When asked why he had gone to such lengths to make the guitar, Jimmy would smile and say,

“It reminds us that good things take time. The simplest gifts, like a tree or a song, can bring the most joy.”

The guitar from Jimmy Carter’s Grove wasn’t just a piece of wood strung together. It was a testament to a life rooted in purpose and patience. It symbolized the belief that even the smallest seeds can create something extraordinary.

An original report exists in Guitar World, which you can find here!

The Sunday School President – THAT THE RELIGIOUS RIGHT WASTED AND IGNORED.

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Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

A warm Sunday morning in Plains, Georgia seemed tailor-made for reflection. At the Maranatha Baptist Church, a small congregation gathered in quiet anticipation. This wasn’t an ordinary Sunday service—it was one led by Jimmy Carter, the 39th President of the United States.

Even decades after leaving the White House, Carter stayed true to the values that shaped his life. These values were faith, humility, and service. Carter taught Sunday School to anyone who wanted to listen every Sunday that he was capable. Visitors from all over the world made the pilgrimage to Plains. Some traveled thousands of miles to hear wisdom. This wisdom was not shared in a grand hall. Instead, it was delivered in a modest church that held no more than a couple hundred people.

Jimmy Carter, then in his 90s, shuffled to the front of the sanctuary, a quiet determination in his step. He greeted the crowd with a humble smile, his voice steady and welcoming. His lesson was simple yet profound: loving your neighbor, no matter their background or beliefs.

“When Jesus said to love your neighbor,”

Carter explained, his blue eyes twinkling,

“He didn’t put any conditions on it. He didn’t say only if they look like you or vote like you. He meant everyone.”

The audience was a mix of locals and travelers. They hung on his every word. Their hearts and minds were stirred by the profound simplicity of his message. The room was filled with a palpable sense of awe. This was not due to the titles Carter once held. Instead, it was because of his unwavering commitment to living the values he taught.

When the lesson ended, Carter didn’t rush off. Instead, he stayed to shake hands, take photos, and share stories. These personal moments hold the most significant importance for him. He listened as much as he spoke. This is especially meaningful for a man who had once navigated the complexities of global politics.

One visitor, a young man from Chicago, nervously approached.

“President Carter, what made you keep teaching Sunday School after everything you’ve accomplished?”

Carter smiled warmly.

“I’ve been a farmer, a naval officer, a governor, and a president. But teaching Sunday School reminds me of who I truly am—a servant of God. Titles come and go, but the love we share with others lasts forever.”

That was Jimmy Carter. He believed that service didn’t end with a term in office. He thought that humility wasn’t weakness. Even the simplest acts of kindness can ripple through the world. For Carter, life’s most outstanding achievement wasn’t in power or prestige. It was in the quiet and steady work of lifting others up. He demonstrated this belief through his work with Habitat for Humanity. He also promoted peace and human rights. Additionally, he was committed to public service long after his presidency.

As the church emptied, a sense of peace lingered in the air. This was a testament to the legacy of a man who lived his faith with every breath.

Sunday school class with Jimmy Carter: What it was like

Moving Forward: Finding Stability in a Changing World

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Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures IMDbPro

Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

As the sun rises on another day, many Americans face questions about navigating a future that feels uncertain and, at times, challenging. With new policies, social shifts, and changes in government practices, it’s natural to wonder: How can we make peace with what tomorrow might bring?

Embracing Life as It Is

The journey forward begins by accepting life as it is. This acceptance isn’t about resigning ourselves to every challenge but acknowledging what is beyond our control. By shifting our focus inward, we can cultivate a balanced and manageable life, regardless of external circumstances.

This approach involves creating a routine—a set of daily habits and practices that we control and are structured to ensure Stability. When we establish a routine that aligns with our values and goals, we take ownership of our lives, making our days feel fulfilling and predictable, even when the world around us may feel anything but. This sense of control and predictability can empower us to face the uncertainties of the future with confidence.

Designing a Routine that Works for you. Focusing on what matters most to us individually will be essential to develop this routine. By centering our lives around personal choices and needs, we shape a daily rhythm whose influences aren’t getting pushed by the ever-shifting demands of society or government policies. Here are vital aspects to consider:

  1. Personal Autonomy: Build a day-to-day lifestyle that allows for independence. This involves selecting tasks, schedules, and activities that feel true to who you are and are within your control.
  2. Stability Through Simplicity: Keep routines simple and consistent. External events can derail complex plans; simplicity provides a foundation for adaptability and peace of mind.
  3. Harmony with Society: While focusing on our lives, aligning our activities with society’s laws and norms is essential. By following guidelines and remaining respectful of others, we minimize the risk of disruption and interference.

Living Without Unnecessary Interference

By developing a sustainable, uncontroversial, and law-abiding routine, we create space for ourselves to live relatively unaffected by the broader tides of political or social change. This sense of security and peace of mind allows us to focus on our personal growth and well-being, even in the face of external uncertainties.

Moving Forward Together

Ultimately, as individuals adopt this mindset, communities also benefit. When people find Stability within themselves, they become pillars of support to others, fostering collective resilience. In times of uncertainty, this shared calm, mutual respect, and individual responsibility can carry Americans forward together, one day at a time. This sense of community and shared responsibility can provide a strong support system in times of uncertainty.

In this approach, tomorrow’s challenges become more manageable, and with a foundation of self-guided routine, we discover that moving forward is not only possible but peaceful.

THE GOOD OLE DAYS – When Liquor And Smoking Was Looked Down On In The Church!

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A Report By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

Back When It Was Wrong to Drink Alcohol if You Attended Church Regularly**

There was a time in America when attending church wasn’t just a Sunday ritual—it was a statement about your character and standing in the community. The church was not just a place of worship, but a social hub, a moral compass, and a powerful institution that dictated the norms of the society. If you were a regular churchgoer, there were unspoken rules about living outside church walls. Drinking alcohol or smoking cigarettes were two vices that could quickly bring judgment upon you, even if they were as commonplace as breathing for others.

In small towns, everyone knew each other, and word traveled fast. It wasn’t uncommon for whispers to start over something as innocent as being seen at a local diner that served alcohol. If you planned to go out on a Saturday night, you’d carefully choose your venue. Establishments that served soft drinks and burgers were safe zones. But heaven forbid you step into a place with a liquor license, even if you ordered only iced tea. The fear of being seen holding a bottle or sitting too close to someone who did would make you check the room every few minutes, scanning for familiar faces.

If someone from the church spotted you and word got back, there would be consequences. Churchgoers who believed themselves to be the guardians of morality would meet in hushed tones after Sunday service. By the following week, it wasn’t just an isolated incident but a full-blown scandal. Being blackballed from the church community was as much a social exile as a spiritual one. It meant being shunned by your friends, ignored by your neighbors, and excluded from community events. It was a scarlet letter that you wore for all to see.

For many, life revolved around the church. From social gatherings to community support, it was the center of life. If you fell out of favor, you might as well have packed your bags and left town. People would stop coming by your house. Your family would feel isolated, and worse yet, your reputation could be tarnished, so you’d be forever known as “the one who didn’t live right.”

What made it even harder was that many people did drink or smoke, just not publicly. Behind closed doors, whiskey bottles would appear, and cigarettes would be lit, but it was all secret. There was a fine line between private indulgence and public condemnation; walking that line required skill. Even the most upstanding churchgoers knew when to bend the rules to avoid exposure, but there was no forgiveness once caught.

This wasn’t just a rule enforced by the church leaders. It was ingrained in the fabric of the town. Even those who didn’t care much for the church often aligned themselves with its standards because the social costs of defying them were too high. Businesses knew to close down on Sundays, and local events were always planned around the church calendar. People were always watching, and it was the judgment of your peers that carried the actual weight.

But it wasn’t all rigid. A seismic shift was underway. The younger generation, starting in the 1960s and into the ’70s, began to question why the church had such control over their personal lives. They saw the church’s influence as oppressive, and they were determined to break free. Some moved away from the towns, hoping to escape the ever-present watchful eyes. Others rebelled quietly, choosing to live their lives in contrast to the expectations but always careful to avoid getting caught. Those who stayed and fought for change were few and far between, and the weight of tradition bore down on them heavily.

As time went on, the grip loosened, but for those who lived through it, the fear of social disgrace for drinking or smoking stayed with them long after the rules faded.

Bluegrass Legend – AND LEader of -Warrior River Boys – David Davis Dies

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David Davis, leader of the Warrior River Boys since 1984. David tragically lost his life due to injuries sustained in an automobile accident yesterday near Snead, AL, close to his home in Cullman. He was 63 years old.

David’s musical journey was a lifelong testament to his unwavering devotion to bluegrass, a genre that shaped his life from a young age. Born into a family steeped in musical tradition, David became influenced by his father, Leddell, a mandolin player and singer, and his uncle, Cleo, an early member of Bill Monroe’s iconic Blue Grass Boys. His maternal grandfather, J.H. Bailey, an old-time fiddler and banjo player, also played a significant role in his upbringing, filling their home with the rich sounds of traditional music.

David’s love for bluegrass deepened as a child, learning harmony in church and attending a life-changing performance by Bill Monroe at the age of 12. Which set him on a path of musical dedication, mastering the mandolin in Monroe’s style. In his early twenties, David began working with guitarist Gary Thurmond’s Warrior River Boys, eventually taking over the band in 1984 when Gary could no longer tour due to health issues.

Under David’s leadership, the Warrior River Boys toured extensively across the U.S. and signed with Rounder Records in 1989. Over the years, they recorded for Wango and Rebel Records, and in 2018, David returned to Rounder for a tribute album to Charlie Poole, Didn’t He Ramble. His contributions to bluegrass left an indelible mark on the genre, and his music, a source of inspiration for many, will continue to shape and influence future generations.

Our thoughts and prayers are with David’s wife, Cindy, who was also injured in the accident and is currently receiving treatment at a local hospital. We wish her a speedy recovery.

The loss of David Davis is a profound blow to the bluegrass community in Alabama and beyond. His absence, felt deeply, leaves a void that cannot be filled. His presence, leadership, and friendship touched countless lives, and family, friends, and fans will remember Davis not only as a brilliant musician and bandleader but also as a kind and generous spirit. In addition to his musical achievements, David also served his community by driving a school bus for Brewer High School, further exemplifying his commitment to those around him.

The passing of David Davis leaves a void in the hearts of all who knew him. His legacy, however, will continue to resonate through the music he loved and the many lives he touched. He will be deeply missed by the bluegrass community and beyond.

For more information on David Davis Death Click Here.

Bishop Basil Harry Losten, a revered figure in the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church

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Posted By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

Basil Harry Losten (May 11, 1930 – September 15, 2024)

Bishop Basil Harry Losten, a revered figure in the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, passed away peacefully on September 15, 2024, in Stamford, Connecticut, after a brief illness. He was 94 years old. At the time of his passing, he was Bishop Emeritus of the Ukrainian Catholic Diocese of Stamford, a role he held with grace and devotion until his final days. Bishop Paul Patrick Chomnycky succeeds him.

Born in Chesapeake City, Maryland, on May 11, 1930, Basil Losten embarked on a life of faith and service that began with his early education at St. Basil School in Philadelphia. His journey into the priesthood was marked by years of dedicated study, first at the Ukrainian Catholic Seminary in Stamford and later at St. Basil College, where he earned a bachelor of arts in philosophy. His theological education culminated in a graduate degree from the Catholic University of America in 1957.

Basil Losten was ordained to the priesthood on June 10, 1957, by Bishop Constantine Bohachevsky. His initial assignments saw him serve the Philadelphia Archdiocese as chancery secretary and in various parishes across the city. In 1962, his leadership and loyalty were acknowledged when he was appointed personal secretary to Archbishop-Metropolitan Ambrose Senyshyn.

In 1968, Pope Paul VI recognized his contributions by elevating him to the rank of papal chamberlain. On March 23, 1971, he was nominated to the episcopacy, and on May 25 of that year, he was consecrated as auxiliary bishop of the Ukrainian Archdiocese of Philadelphia. He continued to serve with distinction, later being appointed apostolic administrator of the diocese in 1976 during the declining health of Archbishop-Metropolitan Senyshyn.

Bishop Losten was admired throughout his career for his unwavering dedication to his faith, leadership, and tireless service to the Ukrainian Catholic community. Losten’s impact on clergy and laity alike will be remembered for generations.

Bishop Losten is being mourned by his many parishioners, colleagues, and the communities he served. Funeral services will be held at Stamford’s Ukrainian Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. May his memory be eternal.

Happy 240th Birthday To Marie Laveau

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Posted by Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

One has undoubtedly heard the story about the great voodoo queen Marie Laveau from down in Louisiana. Bobby Bare sang about her in his hit song from 1973. The Lyrics were –––

  • The most famous of the voodoo queens that ever existed
  • Is Marie Laveau, down in Louisiana
  • There’s a lot of weird ungodly tales about Marie
  • She’s supposed to have a lot of magic potions, spells and curses
  • Down in Louisiana, where the black trees grow
  • Lives a voodoo lady named Marie Laveau
  • She got a black cat’s tooth and a Mojo bone
  • And anyone who wouldn’t leave her alone
  • She’d go-, another man done gone
  • She lives in a swamp in a hollow log
  • With a one-eyed snake and a three-legged dog
  • She’s got a bent, bony body and stringy hair
  • And if she ever seen why y’all messing ’round there
  • She’d go-, another man done gone
  • And then one night when the moon was black
  • Into the swamp come handsome Jack
  • A no good man like you all know
  • He was looking around for Marie Laveau
  • He said, “Marie Laveau, you handsome witch
  • Give me a little a little charm that’ll make me rich
  • Give me a million dollars and I tell you what I’ll do
  • This very night, I’m gonna marry you”
  • Then it’ll be, hmm, another man done gone
  • So Marie done some magic, and she shook a little sand
  • Made a million dollars and she put it in his hand
  • Then she giggled and she wiggled, and she said, “Hey, Hey
  • I’m getting ready for my wedding day”
  • But old handsome Jack, he said, “Goodbye Marie
  • You’re too damned ugly for a rich man like me”
  • Then Marie started mumbling, her fangs started gnashing
  • Her body started trembling and her eyes started flashing
  • And she went-, another man done gone
  • Oh, if you ever get down where the black trees grow
  • And meet a voodoo lady named Marie Laveau
  • If she ever asks you to make her your wife. Man, you better stay with her for the rest of your life
  • Alternatively, it will be another man done and gone.
  • Writer/s: Baxter Taylor, Shel Silverstein 
  • Publisher: T.R.O. INC.
  • Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

Hell! Bobby Bare is taking off on his 1973 Hit Marie Laveau, courtesy of a YouTube posting. Following this sing-a-long, learn the factual story about the real Marie Laveau. As close as what people have been able to trace.

THE STORY ABOUT THE SONG ORIGINS – Supposedly…

On September 10, 2024, her 240th birthday is recognized, and while this will get published the day after it is getting done, so with the notion that it will get a presented avoiding any voo doo spells that could be associated with the partaking of celebrating a late witches birthday. There is more to the story than the song. The lyrics had a backstory that contained information about a man who was about to go on trial in New Orleans for murder. He was a wealthy business owner and had the means to buy the best attorney. However, the case appeared airtight, and his life looked to be going to the gallow. He visited a witch named Marie Laveau, who was known to cast spells on people and could control them. He told her he would give her his earnings for a year and even agreed to marry her if she could sway the jury to find him innocent. She collected items like a black cat’s tooth, a Mojo bone, and other questionable items from around the woods, placed them into a tobacco pouch, buried them beneath a tree for three nights, and then dug them up and gave them to the man. She told them not to go to court without them, and he would be found innocent. Sure enough, when the trial was over, despite the eyewitness’s murder weapon and even the man’s confession, the jury returned an innocent verdict. The man refused to pay Marie Laveau and refused to marry her and laughed at her when she told him he would die by the end of the week if he did not change his mind. It was Monday. On Friday, the man had not returned to pay Marie and was in a local tavern, bragging about his innocent verdict and how he got away with not paying the old lady. As he left his table to go to the bar for a drink, a chandelier fell from the ceiling and hit him, killing him instantly. 
Whether or not that story is true is still being determined. However, history has recorded Marie Laveau in other areas, has a lengthy record, and she appears to have had a healthy marital life. Bobby Bare has told a similar story during interviews. There have been similar accounts from people in New Orleans. However, fact-finders looked for records, and this is what they found for Ms. Laveau.

Marie Laveau

An Article by Frank Schneider

The enigmatic Marie Laveau (September 10, 1794 – June 15, 1881), the most famous voodoo queen in the South, has a background that still seems to be vastly under-researched. Her story of resilience begins with her grandmother, Catherine Henry, who, after a long procession of different owners, was finally emancipated by her last one, a free woman of color. Catherine’s original master was the white Creole Henry Roche Belaire, whom Catherine later took his name as her surname. Catherine’s daughter and Marie’s mother, Marguerite, remained with Roche until his death and was sold to another owner who then gave her freedom. After gaining independence, Marguerite became the placée of the Frenchman Henri D’Arcantel. The exact date that marks Marguerite’s relationship with Charles Laveaux is unknown, but the result of this couple was the birth of a daughter, Marie. On September 10, 1801, Marie was born as a ‘free mulatto.’ Her father, Charles Laveaux, is sometimes referred to as a wealthy white planter, but leaders had discovered he was a free person of color (gen de couleur libre) whose mother’s name was also Marie Laveaux. Nothing is certain of Marie’s childhood, but she may have lived in the St. Ann Street cottage with her maternal grandmother, Catherine Henry.

Marie was a striking figure dressed like a gypsy with a bandana on her head, flashy rings on her fingers and ear, and gold bracelets on her wrists. Her dress was always dark, long, and complete, hanging gracefully from her shoulders. Her eyes, which were large and hazel, sparked like emeralds against her dark skin. This unique appearance, along with her charming personality, contributed to her mystique and influence in New Orleans.

Archival records show that Marie Laveau entered into a marriage contract with Jacques Paris on July 27, 1819. They were married on August 4, 1819. It is widely believed and affirmed that no children came to the marriage. However, some discoveries suggest that two daughters were born of this union; these claims lack concrete verification. The fate of Jacques Paris remains unknown, and his death was never documented. Whatever truly happened to her husband, Marie was still officially known as the “widow Paris.” The marriage mass was performed by Father Antonio De Sadella, the Capuchin priest known as Pere Antonio. After becoming a widow, Laveau became a hairdresser who catered to wealthy white families.

After Jacques Paris, Marie began a relationship with Louis Christophe Dominic Duminy de Glapion that lasted until he died in 1885. All credible records indicate that he was born in Louisiana as the legitimate son of white parents and the descendant of an aristocratic French family. Christophe Glapion was a veteran of the Battle of New Orleans, which occurred below the city at Chalmette on January 8, 1815. It is unclear when or how these two met. Christophe Glapion died on June 26, 1855, and the cause of his death is unknown. Marie Laveau and Christophe Glapion were a together for nearly thirty years. Marie lived for another twenty-six years and is not known to have taken another partner. It is widely thought that fifteen children came from this union, but there is only records to confirm that there were seven. Marie and Christophe’s first child, Marie Heloise, was born on February 2, 1827. She is the daughter who became known as Marie II. At a young age, Marie II entered a relationship with Pierre Crokere, a free man of color. Pierre was a commission broker, builder, and architect. Pierre was twenty-four years older than Marie and died in 1857 at fifty-six. 

Voodoo thrived in Haiti and Louisiana, and over the years, it absorbed influences from French and Spanish Catholicism, American Indian spiritual practices, and even Masonic tradition. Voodoo is not just a religion. It is about finding ways to survive conflict and has yet to be verified. Voodoo involved singing, dancing, chanting, and drumming. Voodoo comes from enslaved people who brought it to the Americas from West Africa. Marie began her Voodoo (sometimes spelled Voudou) career sometime in the 1820s, and she is sometimes said to be a descendant of a long line of Voodoo priestesses, all named Marie Laveau. Marie is said to have given private consultations and made and sold gris-gris. Later in life, Marie turned away from her Voodoo practices to dedicate her life to the Church and charitable works, a decision that commands respect. However, it is affirmed by the scholarly community that Marie Laveau was a devout Catholic her entire life.

Marie continued her charitable work during her final years and surrounded herself with her family. One was her youngest daughter, Marie Philomene Glapion, and her children. Philomene entered a relationship with a white man, Emile Alexandre Legendre, who was thirty-two years older than her and married. Philomene and Emile had seven children together, all classified as “colored,” they remained a couple until he died in 1872. Marie died at home in her sleep on June 15, 1881, in her cottage on St. Ann Street, where she had spent more than half a century. Marie’s daughter Philomene made funeral arrangements for the following evening. Her funeral performance provided guidelines to the dignified structure of the Catholic Church without sign of any voodooist demonstration.