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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Gone, abolished, put away with, undone, and destroyed are any and all notions that my repentance unlocks, sets free, or earns God’s forgiveness.
Neither did Christ’s absolution “run out” nor “reach a limit” due to Judas’ sin.
In short, the life of Christ is perfect justice and perfect grace on display.
The practice of Confession in the Christian church is given to us so that I can offload my sins to He Who takes my sins to death for me—none other than Christ Jesus.
Heaven is as near as the Word proclaimed from the mouth of the preacher into the ear and heart of the sinner. It is as near as the bread and wine in your mouth. For, you see, Word and sacrament are where Jesus is.
The following is an excerpt from Chad Bird’s new book, Your God Is Too Glorious: Finding God in the Most Unexpected Places (Baker Book, 2018).
Repentance is not a call to improve. It is a call to die.
Growing up in church I did not often hear the word “grace” uttered unless it was accompanied by the word “cheap” and said in a disapproving tone with a disdainful look.
Jesus lives amidst the twisted metal and smoking ruins of lives gone bad. It’s where he does his best work. Christ is the ultimate first responder.
The pastor declares it. We receive it. The forgiveness of sins. It’s a simple thing.
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.
God knows our need. He knows how it is to raise unruly children. He is very experienced in dealing with rebellion.