Christian faith is never a solitary possession. When the congregation confesses, the old speak for the young, the strong for the weak, and the clear-voiced for the trembling.
Living by faith has never been about what we bring to the table. It has always been, and always will be, about what God does for us when we can’t do anything for ourselves.
The entire history of Protestantism is downstream of a goldsmith in Mainz figuring out how to cast identical pieces of lead type in less than a minute.

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The love of God in Jesus is our confidence when the world seems to teeter on the brink of self-destruction.
For every child in a mother’s womb, the whole host of heaven and earth, indeed God himself, intercedes.
One of the biggest challenges to the Christian faith is sorting through our question of “Where is God in the trials of our lives?”
Heaven is not our ultimate hope. Our promise is not to live forever riding on rainbows and soaring in the clouds.
Beware the lament, dear readers, that is not soothed with the good-goods of Jesus.
Your church is not healthy. If they were healthy, they wouldn’t need someone to heal them.
Christianity is not a solo endeavor. Not a private relationship between Jesus and me.
The angriest people I meet are former Christians.
The story of Christ crucified has a happy ending. Jesus has conquered the grave. He beat the death rap.
In the twinkling of that eye the perishable will become imperishable, and our bodies will be changed and become more glorious than we ever could have imagined.
Their love story was a long time in coming. He was 82 and she 74. And this was the first, and the last, marriage for both.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.