When you remember your baptism, you're not recalling a ritual. You're standing under a current of divine action that has not ceased to flow since the moment those baptismal waters hit your skin.
“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness.
The women at the tomb were surprised by Easter. Amazed and filled with wonder at Jesus' Easter eucatastrophe. And so are we.

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The oddness of this moment, at the beginning of Advent, is God’s way of saying, “The reason I’m here...”
Look the judge in the eye and pin your sin on Jesus, the divine judge’s son. Jesus knows you can’t do it, so he trades places with you and pits himself against God’s righteous demands.
Trust in the midst of trouble. That is what our Lord calls us to experience today.
We won’t use the right words, but the Holy Spirit is interceding with and for us, as we pray.
Fourteen years ago, drowning in the muck of dark despair, in the middle of a life gone terribly wrong, I wrote in my journal, "I wonder how, once this is all over, how I’ll be, how I’ll turn out…” Now I know.
Everywhere we look, there is suffering. But Jesus is not calling us to look. He is calling us to listen.
Our experience with good fathers – even when they are not our own – can point us to God the Father.
Jesus meets us in our life of lies, in our falsehoods, in the untruth of our being, and in the company, we create to cover up our nakedness.
Grace and mercy are a powerful act of the Almighty God. God alone can grant forgiveness and restoration, salvation from the sorrow of this world.
In his death, Jesus has done the ultimate act of charity. He has given his life for all.
The tragedy of the incidental Christ I was raised with is that he was really no Savior at all.
One could reason that God might, at least, give the church a little worldly power.