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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Only the poor are in need of a Savior, and only the dead need faith, hope, and love delivered to them by the hand of the Almighty.
As a new year approaches, a mawkish paranoia sets in. Looking over our shoulders, we add up our good choices, our praises, and our reasons to celebrate.
She was the kind of woman in whom I see myself, in whom thousands of us see our own reflections. So often our lives seem pointless, a vain existence in a world that worships vanity.
I’m going to begin at the beginning. But which one? Birth? Kindergarten? My first drink? The first time I had sex?
For God, the only way He acts as Judge and Justifier for us is through Christ Jesus Who dies for sinners.
Over the last few weeks it’s been painful and disappointing to hear the stories of victims that have been abused and assaulted by powerful celebrities, executives, and politicians.
You are made new by the eternal satisfaction for sin in Christ, by the precious treasure at God’s right hand.
The following excerpt comes from Chapter 7, “When Love Repents Us,” in Chad Bird’s new book, Night Driving: Notes from a Prodigal Soul.
Good preaching does something for you. It delivers to you a Good Samaritan.
This book tells of my long and brutal journey. From married to divorced. From a seminary professor and pastor to a disgraced, bitter truck driver in the oil fields of Texas. From a man at war with God to a child redeemed by grace.
In the face of all the misunderstandings on the part of the world and all the errors which have arisen within Christendom, let us make this point absolutely clear: the task of the church in the world consists uniquely and alone in the preaching of the Word of God and in administering the Sacrament.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been anxious about something. I can still feel the weight of worry from my earliest fears - believing every night I would get sucked down the pipes along with dirty, draining bath water.