Wade Johnston, Life Under the Cross: A Biography of the Reformer Matthias Flacius Illyricus, Concordia Publishing House, St. Louis: MO, 2025.
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.

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The creation of this word reminds us that the Magnificat, like Christmas itself, is charged from the start with joy and praise.
The thought of losing even one of those for whom his Son died pains God beyond belief, and the angels rejoice when even one of his children repents.
Sometimes it is the unnamed characters in the Bible who can most help present-day readers find their own place in the biblical story.
Like Isaiah and John, we look forward to that great and glorious day, trusting the resurrected One will return as He promised.
The oddness of this moment, at the beginning of Advent, is God’s way of saying, “The reason I’m here...”
Trust in the midst of trouble. That is what our Lord calls us to experience today.
Fourteen years ago, drowning in the muck of dark despair, in the middle of a life gone terribly wrong, I wrote in my journal, "I wonder how, once this is all over, how I’ll be, how I’ll turn out…” Now I know.
Everywhere we look, there is suffering. But Jesus is not calling us to look. He is calling us to listen.
Grace and mercy are a powerful act of the Almighty God. God alone can grant forgiveness and restoration, salvation from the sorrow of this world.
In his death, Jesus has done the ultimate act of charity. He has given his life for all.
The tragedy of the incidental Christ I was raised with is that he was really no Savior at all.
One could reason that God might, at least, give the church a little worldly power.