Baptism does not promise us chocolates or flowers, but something far greater: life in Christ.
The Promised Land invites us to laugh at how relatable it is to be exhausted and exasperated by all the people, and the egos and opinions they bring with them, that come with living.
Christians can pursue projects of justice free of the burden of being the justifier of the world; that office belongs to Christ and Christ alone.

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While Thoreau’s Walden is seen as a central text of that most American of virtues—self-reliance—quiet ambition as envisioned by Tinetti is exactly the opposite: dependence on God.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
Something Reformation Christians ought to do is familiarize themselves with Roman Catholic theology.
The testimony of the Word assures us that God isn’t waiting for us at the top of the stairs, with arms folded and brows furrowed.
The acrostic psalms do not hold because of their perfect structure. Nor do our lives.
The Reformation isn’t just a chapter in church history. It’s a reminder that the gospel remains forever good news.
The Protestant milieu was pervaded with the announcement that God and God alone is the active agent in the salvation of sinners.
When faith seeks understanding—when belief is grounded in revelation and open to the light of reason—truth can travel.
We can lay down our sledgehammers of moralistic performance, which aren’t effective anyway, and we can trust that we are his and his life is ours.
Faith takes God at his word and holds his promise to be true for me because I know God would not lie to me.
Fideistic Christianity may look bold, but it is fragile.
The “mystery of faith” entails the article of faith: Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection, Ascension, and, finally, his Parousia.