God is not a tool in our hands. He does not exist to serve our goals, our metrics, or our platforms.
The gospel isn’t for the strong but people who know they aren’t.
One great thing about our post-denominational age is that it has opened up opportunities to make common cause with other Lutherans who, despite their differences and eccentricities, can agree on some of the most important things.

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When we say in the benediction, “The LORD make His face shine on you,” grace is what we mean.
What does it mean to be a child of God and to carry his image? This is a theological question, but it is a question necessary for our self-understanding
But I can’t evade the question. And neither can you. Because every day God puts it to us. We don’t hear his voice, but nevertheless his voice echoes within us. Asking, prying, confronting us: What do you want me to do for you?
When our mind betrays us, our body fails us, and our soul can’t be comforted, our Jesus now saves us.
In the beginning, we read about the invention of religion. It begins simply enough in Genesis 3
The Gospel is our freedom from sin. It is Christ in the mirror, Christ for me and for you.
The more I seek God on my own terms, the deeper I am gazing at my own navel.
The more that we hear the law, the more we recognize others as those who, like us, are torn and tattered by the wounds of sin and brokenness.
We take what we perceive to be freedom and turn it into a new credo, a new law, an idol to be lifted up and lived out.
We tell our children if they work hard and play by the rules, they’ll succeed in life. Jerks, cheaters, and thieves won’t. They’ll end up in the gutter. Or jail. Or worse.
The desire to go home—or to find the place where one truly belongs—is latent in every human being.
Jesus is the Word of God. God’s Word—on two legs (John 1:14). I’d read it in the first chapter of John’s Gospel many, many times.