God makes us pure saints by planting us back in the earth we imagined we needed to escape.
Salvation is not merely to be put in “safety” but to be put into Christ.
Bringing your family to church to receive “the one thing needful” (Luke 10:42) in Word and Sacrament honors and pleases God.

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Easter must be seen in light of the cross. It must never overshadow Good Friday. They are a packaged deal!
Great things are contained in these seemingly unimportant words: "Behold, your king." Such boundless gifts are brought by this poor and despised king.
My one hope of not only entering a right relationship with God but also stepping into glory is the same: it’s Christ. It’s always Christ.
“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?
Luther recognized that in the penitential psalms, God gives us the words to cry out to Him in our distress, lament our sins, and confess trust in the promise of His righteousness in which alone is our sure and certain hope.
When we own up to our sin, our Father is not scandalized, and his response is not to reconsider his calling us.
The language of faith speaks promise and persecution, hope and trial, victory and pain. The language of the world may well speak the former, but rarely the latter.
You might not know it, but every Christian hopes for the day when their faith will die. Really. I promise. Faith’s death is our celebration.
Even for idolatrous sellouts like you and me, God’s position has not changed. Even though we may have forgotten him, he never forgets us.
Our children are not our own, but even more, our children are born in need. They are sinful, from conception and from birth.
I write this as someone who’s genuinely concerned that American congregants are getting bamboozled by preachers who are giving them less than what they need Sunday after Sunday.
At its heart, this is what Deacon King Kong is all about: the paradox of Jesus carving his victory out of the last thing we expect, not our triumphs but our defeats.