In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is.
Whether a Christian enjoys high church, low church, or something in between, aesthetics in the Church are not about any one individual person and their particular tastes. Aesthetics are, fundamentally, not a matter of legalism, but of edification—that the Gospel of Christ might be preached and taught to all peoples, unhindered by its medium.
Let us live by walking with Jesus, so that our Neo-Pagan neighbors, the witch, and frankly a lot of us Christians, can put down our crystals, our superstitions, our vision boards, and our bound sage in order to live out a liturgy of life, with rituals, practices, and behaviors that reflect who we are as followers of Christ.

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On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
When faith seeks understanding—when belief is grounded in revelation and open to the light of reason—truth can travel.
This is the fourth installment in our article series, “An Introduction to the Bondage of the Will,” written to commemorate the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther’s Bondage of the Will.
Fideistic Christianity may look bold, but it is fragile.
Even if the Shroud were proven a medieval forgery, it would only highlight the skill of its maker. The case for Christ’s resurrection rests on eyewitness testimony.
The reason Christians argue so much about the sacraments is because, deep down, they matter.
The “mystery of faith” entails the article of faith: Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection, Ascension, and, finally, his Parousia.
Protestants, in my view, don’t suffer from a Goldilocks problem. They have an arrogance problem.
We don’t need another brand. We need a people who remember who they are. And that’s us, Gen-X.
When you step into the Lord’s house, he gives you a liturgical imagination to see with eyes of faith all of his goodness and grace.
‘Peace’ means “I have forgiven all those sins against me.”
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.