Christ’s saving work is finished, but his love is not locked away in the past.
"Every one must stand and give account before God for himself; and no one can excuse himself by the action or decision of another, whether less or more.”
God Meets is the rare cancer book (and as above, I use that term advisedly) that addresses both the judgment God places on human creatures in the Garden (death) and the hard road anyone walks toward that end (100% of us).

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The following is an excerpt from Martin Luther’s Commentary on Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians (1535), translated by Haroldo Camacho (1517 Publishing, 2018).
I have found that if I want to get people talking (especially guys), all I have to do is ask them about their father.
My Grandmother recently lost a long battle with cancer. Her name was Joy, and a name has never been more fitting.
We need a God who can heal us of true guilt and false guilt. We need a Christ who not only removes the shame we feel for what we’ve done, but who washes away the shame that others have smeared upon us.
Exemplified here are two misunderstandings about the forgiveness and graciousness of God among some Christians.
Our Father works through us to meet the needs of others and to meet our need for Savior Jesus.
Jesus is the end of religion.
We have to endure darkness before we’re ready for the light again. God is doing what he does best: he’s conforming us to his Son, to Jesus, who was buried in the darkness and rose again into the light on Easter.
What did Christians do, both when they encountered a Rome in its glory, as when Christ was born, and in it decline, as when Constantine tried to pull stuff back together?
If there is no resurrection, then we have no true hope, and the arts above all vocations would be the folly of follies.
In an age when families are already fractured beyond comprehension, are we seriously going to separate parents from children in the one service in which God himself is present to unite us to himself and one another?
Give us eyes to see the face of Jesus in that little child wriggling in front of us, tugging at his mom’s sleeve, wanting a drink of water.