This is the first in a series meant to let the Christian tradition speak for itself, the way it has carried Christians through long winters, confusion, and joy for centuries.
The crisis is not merely that people are leaving. The crisis is that we have relinquished what is uniquely Lutheran and deeply needed.
The ethos of the church’s worship is found in poor, needy, and desperate sinners finding solace and relief in the God of their salvation.

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The Lord sees the blood of the Lamb upon us, but does not merely pass over us in mercy. He passes into us by grace.
The image on Palm Sunday is about something so primordial, so powerful and ancient, so deep, that it would shatter any kind of limits. It would break through any attempt to restrain it.
All human wisdom, righteousness, and holiness are made futile in that which belongs to God’s kingdom.
Who we are buried with matters. But there is no need to go out and find a dead prophet so you can join him six feet under.
What grace is this? It’s grace from Christ, who often seizes us when we least expect it, even through the hands of His enemies.
The promise here is that God is present with us in our troubles, issuing commands to save us before we ask. God does not ignore our suffering and cries.
When you are stripped down to nothing, desperate, lowly, you will again know what she knows: the crumbs are enough, Jesus is enough, for you.
This living Word breaks and crushes. It comes down as crushing judgment on those who reject the Son. But it promises to heal and restore all those who fall on the Son broken, contrite, and in faith.
If there were ever any doubt about God's commitment to humanity, the incarnation removed that doubt. God became a man forever. And thus he is our brother, our kinsman redeemer, the God who would move heaven and earth to save us.
The Word of the Lord is sure. The enemy is defeated. Salvation is waiting for you.
God is often hidden in history, even as we make it now, but He is always manifest where He has promised to be.
“Come join the murder,” the black ravens of his heart cried. “Come join it again, old friend.” And so he did. The prodigal relapsed. Re-sinned. Re-destroyed his life. Would his father welcome him home this time?