The Passover wasn’t just Israel’s story; it’s ours.
God makes us pure saints by planting us back in the earth we imagined we needed to escape.
Salvation is not merely to be put in “safety” but to be put into Christ.

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“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” That word isn't just for Israel; it's also for you.
If Psalms 1 and 2 reveal the Christ who reigns, Psalms 3 and 4 reveal the Christ who remains.
The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.
Bitterness took root when he began approaching the Word merely as a burden he was called to carry rather than a balm that his soul needed, too.
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
‘Peace’ means “I have forgiven all those sins against me.”
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
The doctrine of the Trinity is not so much the story of a “who-dunnit” as it is the story of the “who-is-it.”
Every time someone is baptized, every time bread is broken and wine poured, every time a sinner hears, “Your sins are forgiven in Christ,” Pentecost happens again.
Christ does not hide his wounds. He offers them.
In grace, God chooses to love his people.
Peace is ours, even when what seems like the end draws near, because we know who Christ is and we know what Christ has done, and we know that who he is and what he’s done is all for us.