This ancient “tale of two mothers” concerns far more than theological semantics—it is the difference between a God who sends and a God who comes.
This story points us from our unlikely heroes to the even more unlikely, and joyous, good news that Jesus’ birth for us was just as unlikely and unexpected.
Was Jesus ambitious or unambitious? We have to say that the answer is…yes.

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Walking in the light doesn't entail a spotless moral record but rather an honest appraisal of who we are.
Our comfort in this seemingly endless age of crisis after crisis is the inexhaustible hope of Jesus’s reversal.
Faith is like a horse with blinders because it only beholds God’s promise. It is obsessed with what God has already said.
Our only hope in life and death is that God loves sinners, who fail and forget constantly, with a love that is just as constant.
If you want something empty, the tomb is the way to go. The point of the manger is that Jesus was in it. The point of the cross is that Jesus was on it.
Your loving Lord is not oblivious to your pain and sadness.
The LORD vindicates His people in the midst of their misery and despair—for this He has come.
The Exodus always remains a continual and present reality for the people of Israel—it is always on their mind. It was and remained the big salvific event of the Old Testament, yet at the same time it points forward to what God will yet/continue to do to save His people.
Paul puts everything he has gained by his religious life and training (verses 4-7) onto the scales opposite life with Christ and finds a real bargain.
This living Word breaks and crushes. It comes down as crushing judgment on those who reject the Son. But it promises to heal and restore all those who fall on the Son broken, contrite, and in faith.
We cannot love first. Therefore God comes, takes hold of the heart, and says: "Learn to know me."
Lent means that we do not have to look to ourselves but can look to our neighbor in love as Christ has loved us.