Surveying Scripture, it is an immense comfort to know we’re not alone in our sinfulness.
Christian faith is never a solitary possession. When the congregation confesses, the old speak for the young, the strong for the weak, and the clear-voiced for the trembling.
Living by faith has never been about what we bring to the table. It has always been, and always will be, about what God does for us when we can’t do anything for ourselves.

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We can’t remove our crosses or the reality of our deaths. Only Jesus can.
When Dostoevsky died on February 9, 1881, he left behind novels that refuse to flatter the reader or simplify the human condition.
This is the third in a series meant to let the Christian tradition speak for itself, the way it has carried Christians through long winters, confusion, and joy for centuries.
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
The Passover wasn’t just Israel’s story; it’s ours.
The story of your life stretches beyond the dash on the tombstone.
To know the cure is not to become immune to sorrow.
Thanksgiving, then, is not just about plenty. It is about redemption.
Forgiveness is not ours to manufacture. It is ours to proclaim.
Resurrection does not start in sunlight. It begins in the dark.
Just like Peter, you don’t need to do anything to earn God’s forgiveness for your soul wounds.
The world takes notice when Christians forgive because such forgiveness seems impossible.