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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When I was a boy, I wanted to be a trashman. Little did I know that I would grow up to need a God who was a trashman.
Yes, but. It's a phrase I find myself repeating often in life. When my husband asks for forgiveness, I too often respond, "I forgive you, but…” and then continue with a list of my grievances.
Only the poor are in need of a Savior, and only the dead need faith, hope, and love delivered to them by the hand of the Almighty.
Jesus tears down every “but” that people try to build between us and God. He died and rose for us, and—not but—He makes Himself our Lord and Savior.
Even now we sing as we live in His gifts, and await His second Advent—His second-coming.
In an age when the phrase “new and improved” applies to everything from phones to marriages, when we as a nation mimic juveniles, lustily pursuing the next new thing, the worst decision a church can make is to cater to this weakness.
Above all, Luther understood the importance of the Biblical narrative as the story of God’s love and man’s salvation revealed in Christ Crucified.
You are made new by the eternal satisfaction for sin in Christ, by the precious treasure at God’s right hand.
I’ve always been a very passionate person. Adventure is my favorite thing.
The Reformation handed over the crystal-clear Gospel of Jesus Christ on to the next generation.
As I came to read the Reformers, I found their words comforting. I started to hope again.
This book tells of my long and brutal journey. From married to divorced. From a seminary professor and pastor to a disgraced, bitter truck driver in the oil fields of Texas. From a man at war with God to a child redeemed by grace.