We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
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.

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After the glory of our flesh has gone the way of wilted grass and faded flowers, and we’ve long forgotten all our efforts at self-justification, the word of the Lord remains.
Biblically speaking, we won’t find much evidence for a preordained spouse.
Christ’s death is sufficient for all, even Christians.
Jesus doesn’t talk about God’s love for us; he embodies it.
The simul makes several affirmations and rejections on the doctrines of sin/original sin, justification, and sanctification, to name a few.
We confuse our success and failures with God’s judgment of us.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love. I loved deeply, but I was also aware of the much deeper reservoir of self-love that kept me from ever loving fully.
Mere confrontation in the form of, “What you’re doing is wrong—you need to change yourself,” can never solve the root of our problem.
I don't remember a time not knowing I was a sinner. Seriously, I've always understood that Christ died for me.
Overcrowding on Mount Everest betrays what our culture worships. We bow down at the altar of the impossible to be seen as the conquerors, the champions.
My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
Stories like Onoda’s offer an interesting parallel to our life in the Gospel.