We don’t flinch at sin. We speak Christ into it.
One might say that the first statement of the Reformation was that a saint never stops repenting.
Wisdom and strength require bootstrap-pulling and the placing of noses to grindstones.

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Overcrowding on Mount Everest betrays what our culture worships. We bow down at the altar of the impossible to be seen as the conquerors, the champions.
My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
Everything was perfectly teed up to move the needle on the baptism metric, but I just couldn’t do it. I told her she shouldn't get baptized.
In truth, forgetting transgressions has little to do with forgiving others who wrong us.
My ego just couldn't accept that I preached the Christian and him improved and not Christ and Him crucified.
All God's fatherly goodness and mercy is concrete and real, born of a virgin, crucified for our trespasses, raised for our justification.
“I love you” is great, as long as whatever commitment I may or may not be intimating is mutually beneficial and causes the least amount of emotional strain to me.
Our righteousness and the righteousness of our neighbor have nothing to do with what we eat or do not eat.
It was during one of these garbage burns, however, that I was bathed in a fresh remembrance of grace.
Naturally each individual forgets the beam in his own eye and perceives only the mote in his neighbor’s. One will not bear with the faults of the other; each requires perfection of his fellow.