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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Mere confrontation in the form of, “What you’re doing is wrong—you need to change yourself,” can never solve the root of our problem.
[Luther's] Catechism is at home in the evangelical pulpit, guiding and shaping what the preacher says so faith might be created and love given direction.
Stories like Onoda’s offer an interesting parallel to our life in the Gospel.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
These new texts and manuscripts, while not altering the message of the text, can give us better insight into particular historical and grammatical issues.
The real problem with the way we talk about Baptism in particular, and the sacraments at all, is that we are simply afraid of letting God’s Word get us.
These treasures show us that, no matter how well we think we know this poem, there’s always more layers to uncover.
It’s no wonder we’re so attached to images; we are one. We are human hyphens between the celestial and the terrestrial.
The story of these faithful Christians serves to highlight the roles of both Africa and martyrdom in the early church and today.
Nothing, not pain, hurt, resentment, bitterness, or hopelessness can separate us from God’s love for us in Jesus Christ.
All God's fatherly goodness and mercy is concrete and real, born of a virgin, crucified for our trespasses, raised for our justification.