In the end, your story isn’t an epic of personal glory. You aren’t the hero. Your Savior Jesus is.
Whether a Christian enjoys high church, low church, or something in between, aesthetics in the Church are not about any one individual person and their particular tastes. Aesthetics are, fundamentally, not a matter of legalism, but of edification—that the Gospel of Christ might be preached and taught to all peoples, unhindered by its medium.
Let us live by walking with Jesus, so that our Neo-Pagan neighbors, the witch, and frankly a lot of us Christians, can put down our crystals, our superstitions, our vision boards, and our bound sage in order to live out a liturgy of life, with rituals, practices, and behaviors that reflect who we are as followers of Christ.

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The following excerpt comes from Chapter 7, “When Love Repents Us,” in Chad Bird’s new book, Night Driving: Notes from a Prodigal Soul.
We just finished celebrating the 500th Anniversary of the Protestant Reformation.
Where Jesus speaks to us, takes ahold of us, and gives Himself to us.
When I was about 10, I went on a hike with a boys brigade. We were all racing down this path at lunchtime when I decided to beat everyone to the bottom by deviating from the path.
We are forgiven for Christ’s sake. Losers set free to trust in God’s promises.
My parents will be the first to tell you, I can really put my foot in my mouth. I often don’t say the right thing.
God created Israel to be the vessel into which he would place both his Law and his Son.
Jesus’ life and work is now ours through faith.
The cross presents us a radically different standard. In God’s justice executed in the cross of Christ, nobody gets what they deserve.
If you’re looking for a book of the Bible to blow apart works righteousness and justification by adherence to the Law, Galatians is the book for you.
The Sixth Sense is a suspenseful and scary movie where a little boy is born with the strange gift of seeing dead people.
The wound on my hand would not let me forget what happened. The crackled and blistered strip of skin was a memento of the searing pain I felt that day. For the remainder of that year, I was constantly reminded of what I had done.