When you remember your baptism, you're not recalling a ritual. You're standing under a current of divine action that has not ceased to flow since the moment those baptismal waters hit your skin.
“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness.
The women at the tomb were surprised by Easter. Amazed and filled with wonder at Jesus' Easter eucatastrophe. And so are we.

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I don't remember a time not knowing I was a sinner. Seriously, I've always understood that Christ died for me.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
The following is an excerpt from “Let the Bird Fly” written by Wade Johnston (1517 Publishing, 2019).
The real problem with the way we talk about Baptism in particular, and the sacraments at all, is that we are simply afraid of letting God’s Word get us.
These treasures show us that, no matter how well we think we know this poem, there’s always more layers to uncover.
Where American freedom shouts for individual rights and liberties, freedom in Christ binds neighbors together because our blessings are for each other.
It’s no wonder we’re so attached to images; we are one. We are human hyphens between the celestial and the terrestrial.
In this religious Sodom, we had a Jesus with the heart of Moses whose gospel was a new and improved law.
As important as the training of your children is, much more important is handing them over to God—from the very beginning, from infancy, and beyond.
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.
We can’t all afford to travel the world, but the more we read from outside our own context, the bigger we see the world.