This is the third installment in the 1517 articles series, “What Makes a Saint?”
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
I always imagined dying a faithful death for Christ would mean burning at the stake. Now, I suspect it will mean dying in my bed of natural causes.

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God is not an impassive monster who is unfamiliar with our horrendous ailments. Rather, in Christ, God familiarizes himself with our suffering and becomes particularly attuned to the fragility of fallen humanity.
The kingdom I seek is the lower-case realm ruled over by the almighty upper-case Me.
That is why we dance on graves. That is why we smile in the midst of sorrowful tears. That is why we retell old stories and share humorous memories.
Fear returns frequently in worry, but along with it comes a reminder to turn back to the Gospel. To turn anyone who will tell me the good news again.
We already know how the war will conclude. Jesus wins.
Is there anything abiding, anything long-lasting that can inspire us to hope again?
If the world could have been saved by bookkeeping, it would have been saved by Moses, not Jesus. The law was just fine.
The lordship of sin and its reign have been deposed by Jesus Christ. Nothing can stand to oppose those who are in Him.
The unrelenting truth of the Gospel is our only hope. Jesus Christ is the unshakeable, unmovable object of our faith. It is this hope in Christ that we find relief and comfort.
The enemy comes with his wounding, haunting words, and I stand behind my advocate Christ the Lord. He gives me more words, better words, truer words.
As the storm waves of life crash into us, threatening to pull us down into the undertow of sin, Jesus comes and stands between us and the furious tides.
Christ is joy and sweetness to a broken heart. Christ is a lover of poor sinners, and such a lover that He gave Himself for us.