In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is.
Whether a Christian enjoys high church, low church, or something in between, aesthetics in the Church are not about any one individual person and their particular tastes. Aesthetics are, fundamentally, not a matter of legalism, but of edification—that the Gospel of Christ might be preached and taught to all peoples, unhindered by its medium.
Let us live by walking with Jesus, so that our Neo-Pagan neighbors, the witch, and frankly a lot of us Christians, can put down our crystals, our superstitions, our vision boards, and our bound sage in order to live out a liturgy of life, with rituals, practices, and behaviors that reflect who we are as followers of Christ.

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To lose a leader like this is always too soon!
Babies need to be baptized for the same reason that all Christians need to be absolved: All of us are born into and contribute to this sin-wrecked show of a life.
When I was a kid, punchdrunk in church by all the legalistic blows to my head, I stumbled into a warped state of mind about what’s going to happen when Jesus crashes the world’s party at the end of time.
We aggrandize time. It certainly possesses power over us. It irreversibly moves us in one direction and can’t be replayed to different ends.
Blessedness comes to us camouflaged as simple earthly words, water, bread and wine.
Christ rose from the grave so that the eternal Light of Christ would be your forever identity.
I’m going to begin at the beginning. But which one? Birth? Kindergarten? My first drink? The first time I had sex?
Jesus loves His church. He cleans her up. He takes her as His own. And He leads her.
Our little congregation is part of a much larger church—the body of Christ, both here on earth as well as in heaven. And that church worships 24/7, never ceasing in its adoration of Jesus our Savior.
“Christ is pretty ok doing all the redeeming that needs doing Himself—and He has redeemed you, and redeemed me.
We strive, in short, to master the art of swatting mosquitoes. And all the while, we remain blind to the fact that in pulpit after pulpit, the Gospel of Jesus Christ is as rare as Merry Christmas inside a synagogue.
Growing up, I dreaded the first Sunday of each quarter. Every time during the evening service, we would have Lord’s Supper after the sermon.