We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.
American religion did not become optional because the gospel failed. It became optional because religion slowly redefined itself around usefulness.

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Jesus offers to the anxious soul the one thing it ironically wants: certainty of the good.
Trusting in Christ’s promise of new life and deliverance pours patience and hope into the way we think and the way we experience life.
I can look at all of my failings and foolishness because I know who Christ is for me. I rest in his wisdom and life not my own.
All of my theological endeavoring will not squeeze one more ounce of grace from God.
The true liberty that Christ gives to us through the gospel is not political. It is spiritual freedom. It is freedom from fear of God's judgment and wrath.
If sin is only a matter of “doing,” then “undoing” and/or “redoing” would serve as the equivalent savior necessary to find redemption.
Undue Protestant antipathies toward Mary have muted not only her place in redemption history and its necessary connection to Christology, but also the virtue of virginity.
Though envy whispers to us that peace can only be found by “keeping up,” Jesus whispers to us a better word: “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.”
When you walk into church on Sunday, you may not notice, but there are wounded soldiers sitting in every single pew.
Trusting in Christ’s promise of new life and deliverance powers our ability to view the world with perceptive sensitivity and, therefore, to treat others fairly in the way we think and the way we experience life.
Jesus lives to intercede. So we needn’t bring him our feigned righteousness or our faux rehabilitation.
If we want to see evidence of our Father’s answer to the fifth petition, we need only to look at the cross and the empty tomb.