The “further up and further in” we go, the table keeps getting bigger, the guest list keeps getting longer, and the grace keeps on flowing.
Christianity does not locate freedom in radical autonomy. It does not tell either men or women that happiness consists in escaping obligations arising from relationships we did not entirely choose.
Jesus never promised me a World Series championship. He never promised that my children would always succeed or that life would go according to plan. He promised something better.

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The crisis is not merely that people are leaving. The crisis is that we have relinquished what is uniquely Lutheran and deeply needed.
Lewis once pointed out that Christianity does not begin by telling us how to behave, but by telling us what is wrong.
Christ did not merely urge humanity to be kind. He embodied perfect kindness by giving his life for those who neither earned nor expected such a gift.
This ancient “tale of two mothers” concerns far more than theological semantics—it is the difference between a God who sends and a God who comes.
The unity of God’s people is grounded not in lineage nor land but in the promise of the coming Christ.
Caesar gets your taxes. Christ gets your heart.
While Thoreau’s Walden is seen as a central text of that most American of virtues—self-reliance—quiet ambition as envisioned by Tinetti is exactly the opposite: dependence on God.
Every age has its emergencies, and the church must never ignore them. Yet, our response cannot be one of panic or propaganda.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
Something Reformation Christians ought to do is familiarize themselves with Roman Catholic theology.
The testimony of the Word assures us that God isn’t waiting for us at the top of the stairs, with arms folded and brows furrowed.
The Protestant milieu was pervaded with the announcement that God and God alone is the active agent in the salvation of sinners.