Jesus offers something infinitely better. He tells us to put down our gavel—not because sin isn't real, but because the only Judge who has the right to condemn is the very One who was condemned for us.
From creative storytelling (see any of Jesus’ parables) to hymn-singing to poetry slams, God’s revelation refuses the confines of any single genre. The world beyond the wardrobe demands some serious attention, and Christians are uniquely qualified to give it just that.
Christ does not replace or erase the history of the Old Testament. He brings it to its fullness. The historical fulfillments demonstrate God's faithfulness in their own time and also bear witness to the greater fulfillment accomplished in Jesus Christ.

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This article begins an eight-part series inspired by the Lenten themes of catechesis, prayer, and repentance found in the Lord’s Prayer as Luther taught it in his Small Catechism.
God’s will is not sparkly, flashy, exciting, extraordinary plans for your life—at least not in the Old Adam’s eyes. So, what is the will of God?
The easiest way for us to contend with our sin is to become an agent of sin. We slice and cut others to pieces for all the world to see.
In our search for absolution, human beings leave no stone unturned. We’re desperate to have our uneasy consciences soothed.
One moment, we pray for our rescue from sin and death. The next moment, we beg our Father to do unto others what we hope he will never do to us.
What then does this sequence of stories teach us? It teaches us a pertinent lesson about the Christian life.
Have you ever felt haunted by fear, shame, and guilt? Have you ever worried that Jesus couldn't love you anymore? I have.
It is the words the pastor speaks that send the dead out alive.
God will not repent. He will not repent of His promises. He will not change His mind regarding His selfless, self-sacrificing, inconceivable love for sinners.
Our brokenness cuts deeper than just the times when we recognize it needs to be fixed.
The Son of Eve disarmed Satan’s hold on humanity, not with an earthquake, atomic bomb, or brilliant essay, but with his dead body and final words, “It is finished.”
The problem is not that we are unrepentant. The problem is our contrition is too small.