Wisdom and strength require bootstrap-pulling and the placing of noses to grindstones.
“If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36).
How do the words “The righteous shall live by his faith” go from a context of hope in hopelessness to the cornerstone declaration of the chief doctrine of the Christian faith?

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The thrill of God’s grace fades and the slow march toward the cross dulls the heart. At such times, the former life beckons. Temptations to return grow strong. Which makes Lent such an important annual exercise.
You can die now, you can let go, and because that is true, you can begin to live!
God is not a preoccupied parent, he’s an invested and interested tender loving Father. He values what perplexes us.
Luther recognized that in the penitential psalms, God gives us the words to cry out to Him in our distress, lament our sins, and confess trust in the promise of His righteousness in which alone is our sure and certain hope.
The vinedresser refused to give up on his unfruitful tree. He put himself between it and the judgment it deserved, serving as mediator and caretaker.
When we own up to our sin, our Father is not scandalized, and his response is not to reconsider his calling us.
Jesus' course led from death into life, as He had promised. And He promises to lead us on that same course from death to life, from lament to joy.
This is the patient love of God. He is stubborn about the salvation of sinners. He will not be rushed even if his name is mocked, and the trustworthiness of his promises are called into question.
This world of unbearable grief and accidental calamity is being renewed and, soon, will be completely bereft of every pernicious foe.
There is perhaps no better observation about the nature of anxiety and depression than its fundamental desire for avoidance.
As the greater and more faithful Son of God, Jesus did what the Israelites could not do. Neither can we.
God saves us through people. He saves us through means. He puts a voice on the gospel.