We can’t remove our crosses or the reality of our deaths. Only Jesus can.
People everywhere, every day, feel God’s wrath—and not as merely an afterlife threat but as a present reality.
Faith, for Peter, is not suspended in religious abstraction. It is tied to something that happened in time and space.

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Like Isaiah and John, we look forward to that great and glorious day, trusting the resurrected One will return as He promised.
God is in control, and we are actively engaged in God’s work of saving the world.
In Genesis 1-2, the Lord reveals—or, at a bare minimum, starts dropping some big hints—that he will be quite comfortable becoming a human being himself someday.
In Christ, all things are new. This is also true in so far as His three-fold office of prophet, priest, and king.
Preaching on this text isnan invitation to express love and longing in your relationship with your hearers.
The oddness of this moment, at the beginning of Advent, is God’s way of saying, “The reason I’m here...”
Trust in the midst of trouble. That is what our Lord calls us to experience today.
The church is the only place God promises to lift us out of ourselves not in order to become more like God but so that we may finally be freed from our obsession with becoming little gods.
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.
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.