The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.
He is the God who always is, whose Word is true, and never fails. He is a God who acts and always does what he says he’s going to do.
Election is not a riddle to solve. It’s a pillow to rest your head on at night.

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The fact is no one dies with dignity.
This is the night from when all those nights receive their light. For this is the night when Christ, the Life arose from the dead.
The story of Christ crucified has a happy ending. Jesus has conquered the grave. He beat the death rap.
Like her Lord, the Church has dirt under her nails, the smell of coffin wood on her clothes, and a hunger in her belly.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.
Sometimes, I wish I was much older. Old enough to realize that my best, most influential, and productive days are behind me so that I could speak completely and openly about my life, my triumphs, and most of all, my struggles.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
So it is with my little garden as well; dead, so it would seem. Nothing. Barren.
Over and over, generation after generation, sinners repeat the same mistake. "How is it possible that God can be a man," we ask.
Should we consider the tomb of Jesus completely empty, or just somewhat empty?
Before you ever know what happened, Satan has taught us to doubt the promise of the crucified and risen Christ.
On this night of nights, Christ arises victorious and sends the devil’s hordes running with no darkness to find cover; death’s dark shadow is gone