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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I cannot recall how many times I sang along to this theme song, punching and kicking as a kid in the 80s. But much of my desire to join the Marine Corps had its genesis in the 80s cartoon “G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero.”
Jesus’ sacrificial death is the perfect sacrifice because He is sinless, the spotless Lamb, and it is for you.
Let us preach Christ and Him crucified to the masses.
God has given us a way out of our plight of “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” It is the way of the cross.
“The strongest person in the room doesn't win the fight," she said, "it’s whoever's the meanest…” I was fifteen years old when my aunt taught me that.
Jesus is our food and drink, our home and property, our all in all.
Jesus is our food and drink, our home and property, our all in all.
For many years, I read this as a “salvation” verse. Jesus is knocking on the door of the hearts of the unsaved, asking to come in.
In the world of martial arts, which I am the first to admit I am no expert in, there is a concept, particularly in Jujutsu and Judo, called seiryoku zen’yo or, “maximum efficiency, minimum effort.”
In short, the life of Christ is perfect justice and perfect grace on display.
No matter how great our efforts or how righteous our intent, we will go from troubled to scared, and scared to terrified, unless we are sprinkled with the blood of the Lamb.
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.