This post really isn’t about Christmas songs. There are opinions everywhere and I have a few of my own. Surprise, right?
Let’s keep singing the carols, at church, at home, and on the sidewalks of shut-ins. If you’re in the mood to criticize, please tackle the false and silly seasonal songs.
Let’s turn a corner here. We are studying the new anabaptist history book If Anyone Would Follow Me by John Coblentz during our Sunday School time. So far it’s been thought provoking and riveting for both teacher and class. This morning after reading lesson four I can’t help but wonder about the actual sweet fate of martyrdom of fanatics. Some of them went “off the rails” and were still willing to die hideous deaths for their beliefs. Did said martyrdom count as such to Jesus? Martyrdom, itself is not the key to salvation and heaven… It isn’t an automatic pass after all, right? Or maybe we’re too much of being purists, and since they were choosing faith in Jesus and believers baptism, they were still salty. Christianity kept spreading like wildfire after all. I wonder about these things so much. It’s so amazing to me that even while people died for their faith there were differences of doctrine which they were willing to divide over.
I have another question. In this USA being killed for your faith is not a thing. Should we feel a little left out and “less than” as Christians, accordingly? I’m resistant to that, personally. Jesus is my hope and Savior for real and I know it.
And I have simpler things to consider. I have Cookie Day plans with the girls, lists for cleaning and cooking and shopping.
Little grandson Dawson is looking at a book. It’s a science book full of many diagrams and pictures. He didn’t want me to read to him this time, just wanted to look at them for himself. He’s three, a typical, naughty, intelligent, loveable miniature man boy. He’s also a grazer, as they all are, I suspect. He really doesn’t care if it’s an apple or a cookie and he’s fine with a tiny PBJ. He’s growing up with good parents, and the village of his home and church people. I wonder about our grandchildren’s world, so different from their parents, our children. I am so glad that Jesus is the same, yesterday, today, and forever.
Stone House Scribblings 