One great thing about our post-denominational age is that it has opened up opportunities to make common cause with other Lutherans who, despite their differences and eccentricities, can agree on some of the most important things.
Pride builds identities that leave no room for grace.
We can willingly admit the fact that we're just like tax collectors and thieves.

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Who should we baptize and when? How old does the person have to be? What if we get it wrong? Will something terrible happen to us?
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.
A single, fifteen minute sermon that proclaims Christ and him crucified for you is more important than hundreds of hours of lectures by experts on revitalizing your ministry.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
Old Testament narratives foreshadowed the gifts that our Father gives us in baptism.
The arrangement was made with Abraham when God claimed for Himself all of his being, and put the seal of His promise upon the most personal member of his anatomy.
In his Gospel account, Luke challenges us to play "Where is Jesus?"
So it is with my little garden as well; dead, so it would seem. Nothing. Barren.
In those waters we are nailed to his cross and washed out the door of his tomb. Within his wounds we safely hide.
The redeemed are dressed in white robes.
Every Christian is abundantly rich through baptism.
Over and over, generation after generation, sinners repeat the same mistake. "How is it possible that God can be a man," we ask.