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.
The Passover wasn’t just Israel’s story; it’s ours.

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This rather unique human being is God grounded in our humanity. The man Jesus.
It seems like the sky is falling every other day now. From politics to culture to religion to about anything else, there’s one purported cataclysm after another on the horizon.
Forty days after His resurrection from the dead, Jesus ascended.
This is the night from when all those nights receive their light. For this is the night when Christ, the Life arose from the dead.
The story of Christ crucified has a happy ending. Jesus has conquered the grave. He beat the death rap.
Like her Lord, the Church has dirt under her nails, the smell of coffin wood on her clothes, and a hunger in her belly.
This had been a lonely year, though. She could keep herself busy for a while with friends and she could distract herself for a few weekends by leaving town, but something was definitely missing.
Who was this Jesus, who could do such things?
Looking at our dining room table most days, you might think we were running a cartoon factory out of our house. Drawings. Everywhere.
God lit within these ashes the fire of a promise: whoever they touched, that person became clean.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.