Surveying Scripture, it is an immense comfort to know we’re not alone in our sinfulness.
Christian faith is never a solitary possession. When the congregation confesses, the old speak for the young, the strong for the weak, and the clear-voiced for the trembling.
Living by faith has never been about what we bring to the table. It has always been, and always will be, about what God does for us when we can’t do anything for ourselves.

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The Fourth in the fire is Jesus.
News of Kilmer's death hit me like a freight train because his Doc Holliday stirred something in me about friendship—both the earthly kind and the divine.
The Psalm now is this: as Christ suffered and then was exalted, so we are also in him.
How intentional will we be about utilizing gospel spaces that already inescapably communicate?
Devoid of the gospel of Jesus’s death and resurrection, sufferers are left to frantically run the halls of self-salvation, turning this way and that but never getting anywhere.
You cannot sever the saint from the sinner. Christians remain both simultaneously.
The gospel is best understood in terms of those two most important words: for you.
The grain of God’s goodness and grace is made known by many trees throughout the Bible.
Ambrose's preaching continues to ring out in churches around the world, especially during Advent when we sing his magnificent, proclamatory hymn, "Savior of the Nations, Come."
While Christmas may or may not have pagan roots, it will certainly have a pagan future if Christians lose sight of what it is all about.
Longstanding tradition must be bolstered by something outside of ourselves that also lies outside of the traditions of men.
In Scripture, laments are raw expressions of grief, but they always point to hope. What if our culture’s obsession with holiday lights is an unconscious way of crying out, “We need good news, and we need it now”?