When we despair of ourselves, we repent of these self-justifying schemes and allow ourselves to be shaped by God, covered in Christ’s righteousness, and reborn with a new heart.
This is the first in a series of articles entitled “Getting Over Yourself for Lent.” We’ll have a new article every week of this Lenten Season.
We can’t remove our crosses or the reality of our deaths. Only Jesus can.

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“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.” That word isn't just for Israel; it's also for you.
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.
Was Jesus ambitious or unambitious? We have to say that the answer is…yes.
It is death that deserves derision, not the disciple who reaches through sorrow for his Lord.
The unity of God’s people is grounded not in lineage nor land but in the promise of the coming Christ.
The Christian answer to death is not a disembodied app, but a bodily resurrection.
Every age has its emergencies, and the church must never ignore them. Yet, our response cannot be one of panic or propaganda.
All Saints’ Day is a war story. And in Christ crucified and risen, it’s also a victory story.
When a congregation is abused by its pastor, it loses more than a shepherd. It loses its threshold place; that fragile seam between earth and heaven.
He doesn’t consume us, even though that is what we deserve. Instead, Jesus comes down to us and consumes all our sin by taking it on himself.
This article is the first part of a two-part series. The second part will take a look at when pastors abuse their congregations.
The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.