We can’t remove our crosses or the reality of our deaths. Only Jesus can
People everywhere, every day, feel God’s wrath—and not as merely an afterlife threat but as a present reality.
Faith, for Peter, is not suspended in religious abstraction. It is tied to something that happened in time and space.

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No matter how stringent one's "regulations" — "Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch" (Col. 2:21) — the sinful nature that resides in everyone's heart is untamable by self-effort alone.
God’s people get the warm feast of victory, while God’s meal is prepared cold.
Jesus satisfies, fills, and saves because he is the Son of God, who, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns forever.
You cannot sever the saint from the sinner. Christians remain both simultaneously.
In the upside-down wisdom of God, the place of the cross becomes the place of life, absolution, and triumph.
The addict’s condition speaks a hard truth: that we are all beggars before God, every one of us bent toward the grave.
The wrong god means love remains frail, fickle, or a fiction. The right God means love is the most reliable thing in all the world.
There is no one — not now, not ever — who cannot be included in the family of God through the efficacy of Christ’s saving power.
The gospel is best understood in terms of those two most important words: for you.
It's a new year, and you are still the same you: a sinner who is simultaneously perfect in every way because Christ declares it to be so.
The world rushes forward, lighting up screens and decking out storefronts in a mad sprint toward the next thing, but Advent pulls us back.