Spy Wednesday asks us to look inward. It's the day the liturgical calendar acknowledges what we already know: we are not the best version of ourselves.
“Save us!” or “Deliver us!” That’s what “Hosanna” means. And that is exactly what Jesus did in the ER that dark Thanksgiving Day and every day for me.
Indeed, Jesus is our Father's answer to our Hosanna.

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God wired us to be storytellers. God made man in his own image and that image includes a rational mind that communicates in large part through stories.
That all being said, come to think of it, I’ve never gone 24 seconds without sinning.
Okay, okay... before everyone gets up in arms about my lack of care for helping people with ALS or breast cancer or... let me clearly state this isn't a blog against helping people suffering with these terrible diseases.
“You shall have no other gods,” God says, and we, spurred on by the prohibition, roll up our sleeves and get to work fashioning gods like there’s no tomorrow.
This chorus digs below the surface to reveal that beneath our chosen self-medications, be they alcohol or drugs or overeating or smoking or bed-hopping, you’ll unearth the real killer. And “it ain’t the whiskey.”
Barth's ideas resulted in a movement known as neo-orthodoxy, sometimes called dialectical theology, theology of crisis, or simply Barthianism.
Imagine a world in which it is always winter but never Christmas. Imagine a place where Deep Magic from the dawn of time requires the blood of the innocent be shed to save the guilty.
By the time we pulled off the side of the road, they had spilled out and surrounded our vehicle.
Today I have a hankering to talk about beavers. Who doesn’t love beavers? The binomial nomenclature reads Castor canadensis.
Whatever numbers you want to plug in, ours must be greater than zero. We’re in a partnership with God, after all. We both do our part. We’ve got to meet the Lord halfway. If only he does all the giving, and we do all the receiving, the relationship is doomed to fail.
The psalmist writes that our earthly lives last “seventy years, or eighty, if we have the strength.” As if proving the poet right, and showing the world that she did have that kind of strength, Alvena fought on to her eightieth year.
It was by listening closely to Dr. Rosenbladt's words and watching his quiet actions that one could learn many things about being a dad.