Christ is your Good Shepherd, and he has given to you eternal life; no one can snatch you from his hand; your salvation is secure and unlost.
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
The danger is not destruction. It is reduction.

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We are continuing our summer series on a theology of worship through the lens of language. Before moving forward, let me highlight a few points by way of review.
A promise was made to my older brother roughly 50 years ago. He was just an infant and had no idea that this promise was being set upon him.
Why was Jesus crucified? Not to save victims, but to save sinners.
We all began by hearing the truth, and then speaking the truth and believing the truth. That truth came to us on the lips of another.
Like any language, the liturgy has syntax—a structure that provides order and intelligibly communicates meaning through all that is said.
Have you ever played hide and seek with a 2-year-old? News flash: They’re terrible at it.
Stephen Fry, the English actor, author and game show host once disparaged the “grammar Nazis” who felt it necessary to enforce all the rules of language but who had forgotten, or just didn’t care, about the joy of language.
Take away the water, words, bread and wine. Can you be a Christian without water, words, bread and wine?
Either one of those verses alone is scary; but both of them together are terrifying!
At our churches must remain focused on the deep kick, the real deal, the thing itself. I’m not the first on this site to remind us that this is Christ himself.
He has wandered away into the darkness of his doubting, got lost in his grief, confused by the pains he’s suffered. It happens. Shepherds sometimes become lost sheep as well.
The chief verb of the liturgy is the gift of God’s forgiveness for the sake of Jesus Christ.