Wisdom and strength require bootstrap-pulling and the placing of noses to grindstones.
“If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36).
How do the words “The righteous shall live by his faith” go from a context of hope in hopelessness to the cornerstone declaration of the chief doctrine of the Christian faith?

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In A Hobbit, A Wardrobe and a Great War, Loconte meticulously analyzes both Lewis and Tolkien with one eye on their immediate historical context and the other on their works, letters, and diary entries.
Even at Lewis’ graveside, Havard was a faithful friend, and a friend full of faith in Christ, confessing his hope in the resurrection.
Attempting to escape the errors of medieval Catholic thinking, Agricola ended up making the same mistake of conflating law and gospel.
Charles V, for all his power, his lands, and his riches, was ultimately unable to hinder the spread of the precious Gospel.
Dyson demonstrated a pious persistence with Lewis, something we can emulate in our own friendships and conversations.
Thanks to Barfield’s opposition, several important things happened to C.S. Lewis.
The issue is not the existence of so-called inner rings, but our desire and willingness to spend our lives in order to gain from an inner ring what is freely promised in Christ: hope, security, and identity.
Jesus’s story in Luke 16 draws definitive attention to whom God helps — namely, God always comes close in order to help those who cannot help themselves.
Lewis takes us to the planets to satisfy our cravings for spiritual adventure, which, as he says, “sends our imaginations off the Earth,” in the first place.
While midnight might seem long, the mercy of God assures us that the morning will come.
In the tumultuous sea of information, opinions, and ideologies that break over us each day, we hold fast to the anchor of our faith—Jesus, the true prophet.
The gospel tells me that the revelation of weakness in myself, my husband, and my son is the occasion for the revelation of God’s strength.