One great thing about our post-denominational age is that it has opened up opportunities to make common cause with other Lutherans who, despite their differences and eccentricities, can agree on some of the most important things.
Pride builds identities that leave no room for grace.
We can willingly admit the fact that we're just like tax collectors and thieves.

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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.
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.
Our experience with good fathers – even when they are not our own – can point us to God the Father.
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.
The tragedy of the incidental Christ I was raised with is that he was really no Savior at all.
One could reason that God might, at least, give the church a little worldly power.
While the insights in each chapter are uniquely personal to the individual writers, the overarching theme is one of the sufficiency of Christ.