Christianity does not ultimately rest on the assertion that God delivered a perfectly dictated text whose divine origin can be demonstrated by claims of flawless transmission.
I pray my children see God’s faithfulness not in the riches of this world, but in the riches of grace through Christ Jesus.
Calling oneself a “Bible-believing Christian” fails to account for the fact that every belief system, knowingly or unknowingly, arises out of a particular history.

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Old Testament narratives foreshadowed the gifts that our Father gives us in baptism.
The arrangement was made with Abraham when God claimed for Himself all of his being, and put the seal of His promise upon the most personal member of his anatomy.
In his Gospel account, Luke challenges us to play "Where is Jesus?"
The devil is effective with this attack because it calls out all the things a Christian sinner experiences as simultaneous sinner and saint.
Read your life like a Hebrew, from the end to the beginning, and you will see that the last is first. The dead are alive, the cursed are blessed, the humble are exalted.
We who fall within the Protestant camp of Christianity have longstanding issues with ritual. I get that. Ritual is often abused. Idolatrized. It can easily devolve into a hollow act of religious farce.
To forget ourselves is to remember another, that is, to act in such a way that benefits them. That’s the problem: we don’t.
He lavishly pours out His rest in the waters of Baptism, in the spoken words of absolution from the pastor’s lips, in the preaching of the cross and resurrection, in the consumption of heavenly cuisine from the table at which He is host and meal.
No, when the Lord is ready for battle, of all creatures, he commissions Mary’s little lamb.
I became like God’s child David, whom the Lord pardoned of his adultery and murder. I became like Noah, Abraham, Judah, Aaron, Gideon, and so many more wayward children.
What Jesus did and gives on these two Thursdays encapsulates his whole life and mission.
Burdened within and without, we cross the threshold into church. We don't leave behind our earthiness, our tragedies, our white-knuckled grip on the last vestige of dignity in our sad lives.