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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If Jesus is indeed the same yesterday, today, and forever, everything his enfleshment brings is already assured: life, salvation, and forgiveness.
In Advent we wait, in Christmas we rejoice over the coming of Christ in the fulfillment of the promises, and in Epiphany we celebrate the surprise, the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.
Like Isaiah and John, we look forward to that great and glorious day, trusting the resurrected One will return as He promised.
Is it possible to celebrate Thanksgiving every time we come together as God’s people as well?
In Genesis 1-2, the Lord reveals—or, at a bare minimum, starts dropping some big hints—that he will be quite comfortable becoming a human being himself someday.
We give thanks to the Father who has made a way for us to sit at his table.
In the Lord’s Thanksgiving Supper, we are not served turkey, green bean casserole, and cornbread. We are served Christ.
The Word of Yahweh is not a trifling thing that can be visited only when it’s convenient. It’s a book of life, for all of life, that imparts life to those who believe in it and the God of it.
Throughout the Scriptures, God puts "signs" or "seals" upon people. Often these are placed upon the forehead. How do all these connected stories take us from the mark of Cain, to the Exodus, to the cross, and finally to baptism?
That's how true faith talks. It doesn't talk about itself. It says "Thank you!" to the one who gives healing and salvation.
Thanksgiving utters a confession of dependence, an acknowledgement of the gift of something not earned or deserved.
The oddness of this moment, at the beginning of Advent, is God’s way of saying, “The reason I’m here...”