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.
The entire history of Protestantism is downstream of a goldsmith in Mainz figuring out how to cast identical pieces of lead type in less than a minute.
When we despair of ourselves, we repent of these self-justifying schemes and allow ourselves to be shaped by God, covered in Christ’s righteousness, and reborn with a new heart.

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When Dostoevsky died on February 9, 1881, he left behind novels that refuse to flatter the reader or simplify the human condition.
The story of your life stretches beyond the dash on the tombstone.
Merry Christmas, Christ has spoken, and his verdict stands.
Forgiveness is not ours to manufacture. It is ours to proclaim.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
The testimony of the Word assures us that God isn’t waiting for us at the top of the stairs, with arms folded and brows furrowed.
We can lay down our sledgehammers of moralistic performance, which aren’t effective anyway, and we can trust that we are his and his life is ours.
Christian spirituality is not a flight from the world, but a deep dive into its brokenness.
For those with faith in Christ, there is always a happy ending.
One might say that the first statement of the Reformation was that a saint never stops repenting.
This is the first installment in the 1517 articles series, “What Makes a Saint?”
You are a soul. Not an algorithm. Not a hashtag. A soul knit together by a God who does not mock, does not abandon, and does not lie.