The “further up and further in” we go, the table keeps getting bigger, the guest list keeps getting longer, and the grace keeps on flowing.
Christianity does not locate freedom in radical autonomy. It does not tell either men or women that happiness consists in escaping obligations arising from relationships we did not entirely choose.
Jesus never promised me a World Series championship. He never promised that my children would always succeed or that life would go according to plan. He promised something better.

All Articles

Isn’t it strange how the Jesus we end up with bears such a striking resemblance to ourselves? Our Jesus thinks as we do, acts as we act, speaks as we speak.
O bloody town of Bethlehem, How shrill we hear thee cry. Your mothers shriek while fathers weep The graveyard lullaby.
We all love a good story when the underdog comes out on top. We love Rocky winning the title round, Hoosiers taking the championship, Luke Skywalker blowing up the Death Star, and yes, even Rudolph guiding Santa’s sleigh in the fog.
Every time I place my trust in something smaller than God to give me the peace that only God can give, or prefer myself over my neighbor in thought, word or deed - I demonstrate that my lack of faith is disturbing.
Please... don’t say any variation of, “cheer up.” or “look on the bright side.” Don’t invalidate what someone is going through because you may not understand.
What every heresy does, in one way or another, is ungods God, unchristens Christ, uncrucifies the Crucified. It strikes through the good of Good News.
There is truly only one commandment and only one sin. That one commandment is “You shall have no other gods,” and that one sin is idolatry.
But I remember that that’s how it ended. Words. Wine. Blood. A sudden halt to the conversation.
With but a donkey's jawbone He whacked a thousand men And iced yet even more
We shouldn’t be surprised when the worldviews of the sub-creators (or their characters) show up in movies, television, books, theater, music, and other works of art.
As I remember these stories of the other side of Christmas—where it’s not a wonderful life, where there’s no joy to the world, where silent nights are interrupted by screams and sobs and cursing and gunshots—I remember that this other side of Christmas is precisely why there is a Christmas in the first place.
We are like the spoiled children of kings who spit in the face of paupers on the street. We have been given so much, yet we treasure so little.