This is the third installment in the 1517 articles series, “What Makes a Saint?”
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
I always imagined dying a faithful death for Christ would mean burning at the stake. Now, I suspect it will mean dying in my bed of natural causes.

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On second thought: Keep Lent, but sacrifice your concept of it.
The Psalm now is this: as Christ suffered and then was exalted, so we are also in him.
Devoid of the gospel of Jesus’s death and resurrection, sufferers are left to frantically run the halls of self-salvation, turning this way and that but never getting anywhere.
The great lie of addiction is that suffering must be fled, must be numbed, must be drowned out by any means necessary.
You cannot sever the saint from the sinner. Christians remain both simultaneously.
God is a judge, but unlike you, God is just!
Despite the mathematical incongruity, the church confesses that Christ is one hundred percent human and one hundred percent divine.
In the upside-down wisdom of God, the place of the cross becomes the place of life, absolution, and triumph.
The addict’s condition speaks a hard truth: that we are all beggars before God, every one of us bent toward the grave.
There is no one — not now, not ever — who cannot be included in the family of God through the efficacy of Christ’s saving power.
Wisdom lurks in the outer places. Rich gratitude sprouts from the impoverished and forgotten.
By the end of this prayer of wrestling, David finally has the strength to claim victory over his lying enemies.