This is the third installment in the 1517 articles series, “What Makes a Saint?”
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
I always imagined dying a faithful death for Christ would mean burning at the stake. Now, I suspect it will mean dying in my bed of natural causes.

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They were still praying, trusting, and hoping. Why? Because they knew who was with them and who was for them: the risen Christ.
The Church needs mystics again. Not fringe figures, but saints ablaze with love.
The women at the tomb were surprised by Easter. Amazed and filled with wonder at Jesus' Easter eucatastrophe. And so are we.
The Fourth in the fire is Jesus.
News of Kilmer's death hit me like a freight train because his Doc Holliday stirred something in me about friendship—both the earthly kind and the divine.
Sometimes the old story is the one we need to hear again and again.
Devoid of the gospel of Jesus’s death and resurrection, sufferers are left to frantically run the halls of self-salvation, turning this way and that but never getting anywhere.
You cannot sever the saint from the sinner. Christians remain both simultaneously.
In the liturgy, Christ is present, self-giving, and ever-addressing his people.
The story being told in the film is not Bonhoeffer’s story. It’s not the Confession Church’s story. Nor is it the story of the German resistance against Hitler. It is a completely fictional story of Hollywood.
There is no one — not now, not ever — who cannot be included in the family of God through the efficacy of Christ’s saving power.
Jesus, the true Bridegroom, erases that mistake by his own compassionate, saving act. Isn’t this also a picture of the gospel?