Illness is not romantic. It is not a test, a metaphor, nor a blessing in disguise.
The unity of God’s people is grounded not in lineage nor land but in the promise of the coming Christ.
I find myself returning to the Nicene Creed this Advent season

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Forgiveness is not ours to manufacture. It is ours to proclaim.
When we fail, our first impulse is the same as that of our spiritual ancestors: to sprint headlong into the bushes.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
Resurrection does not start in sunlight. It begins in the dark.
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.
Just like Peter, you don’t need to do anything to earn God’s forgiveness for your soul wounds.
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.
The world takes notice when Christians forgive because such forgiveness seems impossible.
God leads us to green pastures. He comforts us with his grace in our darkest valleys.
Christian spirituality is not a flight from the world, but a deep dive into its brokenness.
Treweek points us to the happy ending to come in eternity, when the entire church will be married to her Redeemer.
For those with faith in Christ, there is always a happy ending.