One great thing about our post-denominational age is that it has opened up opportunities to make common cause with other Lutherans who, despite their differences and eccentricities, can agree on some of the most important things.
Pride builds identities that leave no room for grace.
We can willingly admit the fact that we're just like tax collectors and thieves.

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Christ’s flesh and blood is light that the darkness cannot comprehend.
Now, resurrection can only follow upon death. The good news is, it will!
“The strongest person in the room doesn't win the fight," she said, "it’s whoever's the meanest…” I was fifteen years old when my aunt taught me that.
In Adam and in us, life has been wrapped in death. But in Jesus, God has wrapped death in life.
Jesus tears down every “but” that people try to build between us and God. He died and rose for us, and—not but—He makes Himself our Lord and Savior.
“Obey God and he will bless you,” says the wind and the reed is bent over and bruised throughout. “God will never stop loving you but you can disappoint him,” says the wind and the once lit candle is now a sad smoldering wick.
We’re by nature counters. So long as we can add, subtract, multiply and divide something, anything, we have some measure of control and comparison.
If you’re looking for a book of the Bible to blow apart works righteousness and justification by adherence to the Law, Galatians is the book for you.
Death is never natural. Death is abnormal. Death is not human. Death is the enemy.
I hear voices in my head accusing me, telling me these sins will be there on the Day of Judgment unless I make atonement.
This is why a Christian must keep learning to forget himself so long as he lives.
The only churches that live are churches that have died. That still die. And that rise to newness of life in Christ’s life alone.