Oliver was a friend, chaplain, professor, author, and loyal church reformer. This Gnesio-Lutheran giant will be missed.
We don’t need another brand. We need a people who remember who they are. And that’s us, Gen-X.

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The guys Jesus chose to be His disciples have always fascinated me. The first two who were called into His posse were Andrew and John, friends who were just following a freak in the wilderness who was dressed in camel hair while eating locusts and honey.
Whether she realized it or not, this Egyptian woman was at war with the Lord of Israel. Her will was pitted against His will. Her desires were battling God’s desires. Joseph was caught in the crossfire.
I love stories with happy endings! My husband makes fun of me, but he has been known to graciously sit through a variety of schmaltzy chick flicks because he knows how I feel.
I’m pretty sure that right about now everybody is offended about everything (including this article). At least that’s the way it seems on social media and in various news stories these days.
Our Father does not bid us to turn inward, but outward, to the Son who is himself our unending Sabbath rest.
Left to ourselves, we are like Adam and Eve; we sew together fig leaves of self-righteousness and hunker down behind trees of flimsy excuses to hide in vain from a judgment we deserve.
Over the course of her career, Madonna has demonstrated an incredible commitment to reinvention, keeping herself relevant under the critical eye that accompanies the culture of constant change in the world of music and art.
I was recently challenged to write about someone I know. A very specific someone who is extremely flawed and broken, even if they don't know it or care to admit it.
We are fond of attaching our own résumés to our spoken or unspoken prayers. “I thank you, Lord, that I am not like other men, such as that lying, pathetic, husband named Abraham.”
The world of Mixed Martial Arts, with all its controversies, is not for the faint of heart. Yet, I can’t seem to stop watching the fighting. Sometimes the bloodier the match, the more popular the sport becomes.
We harbor a clandestine doctrine in our hearts: we secretly hope there is a purgatory.
Is God the perfect loving father for whom we have all longed; or is he an angry, blood-thirsty deity who can only be appeased by the torture and death of his own child?