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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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.
The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.
Last year, a friend I follow tweeted, “Calling yourself a sinner is spitting on all the work that Jesus did to make you a saint.”
According to Martin Luther, it is human nature is a little like a drunkard trying to ride a horse.
Among the things that perturb me about modern Christianity is our residual clinging to a sort of “Christian-karma.”
The preacher does not merely send out the raven. From the pulpit flies forth the dove of the Gospel.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
In his Gospel account, Luke challenges us to play "Where is Jesus?"
On the television show Portlandia—a satirical comedy centered on hipster culture in Portland, Oregon—one episode highlights a conversation between the characters as Carrie and Alexandra look through Fred’s endless photo album of the places he’s traveled.
God coming to us at Christmas encapsulates the essence of Christian faith: we don't make ourselves strong and then work our way up to a strong God.
Have you ever grown despondent from trying so hard to stop behaving in certain destructive ways, but always failing?
Sometimes we try be the bad god, sometimes the good god, oftentimes a freaky hybrid of both. The result is the same: Jesus the savior just gets in our way.