The Passover wasn’t just Israel’s story; it’s ours.
God makes us pure saints by planting us back in the earth we imagined we needed to escape.
Salvation is not merely to be put in “safety” but to be put into Christ.

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It wasn’t that I didn’t love. I loved deeply, but I was also aware of the much deeper reservoir of self-love that kept me from ever loving fully.
Contrary to what pop-psychology, social media memes, and your sweet grandmother told you, you are not fine just the way you are.
Mere confrontation in the form of, “What you’re doing is wrong—you need to change yourself,” can never solve the root of our problem.
My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
We are so free as Christians that we don't even have to compare ourselves to other Christians.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
It is a strange irony, but in a world drunk on violence, it is only on the cross of violence that there is hope for peace in our world.
The following is an excerpt from “Let the Bird Fly” written by Wade Johnston (1517 Publishing, 2019).
Here, we read the mystery and majesty of the incarnation of the Son of God wrapped up into a single package
Pain is our birthright, but Jesus’ resurrection is our irrevocable end.
The real problem with the way we talk about Baptism in particular, and the sacraments at all, is that we are simply afraid of letting God’s Word get us.
These treasures show us that, no matter how well we think we know this poem, there’s always more layers to uncover.