Every time someone is baptized, every time bread is broken and wine poured, every time a sinner hears, “Your sins are forgiven in Christ,” Pentecost happens again.
They were still praying, trusting, and hoping. Why? Because they knew who was with them and who was for them: the risen Christ.
So Christ is risen, but what now?

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The God who calls us to love our neighbor as ourselves will seem hopelessly out of touch with your insulated life of self-sufficiency.
There is something odd about the definition of God as a being that than which nothing greater can be conceived.
We have now reached a point where many believe so strongly in individualism that nothing else matters.
A single, fifteen minute sermon that proclaims Christ and him crucified for you is more important than hundreds of hours of lectures by experts on revitalizing your ministry.
The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.
Last year, a friend I follow tweeted, “Calling yourself a sinner is spitting on all the work that Jesus did to make you a saint.”
The story did not end with Jesus' death and resurrection, or even with the Acts of the Apostles.
Far from being un-Christian like, the discipline and training that go into learning and practicing various martial arts can have direct application to the spiritual discipline needed for the Christian life of faith characterized by Israel.
The preacher does not merely send out the raven. From the pulpit flies forth the dove of the Gospel.
I grew up with a great deal of guilt. It still keeps me up at night. For one reason or another, I was convinced I hadn’t done enough to be loved by God.
Hers is not a beauty of breathtaking cathedrals, stained glass, or towering arches, but of a body.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.