This is the third in a series meant to let the Christian tradition speak for itself, the way it has carried Christians through long winters, confusion, and joy for centuries.
The Lord himself comes to us to lead us out of the land of sin and death with his strong, nail-pierced hands.
Fulfillment can sound awkward as a title or name, but it is one of the most prominent proclamations concerning Christ found in the New Testament.

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Ultimately, however, I fell in love with traditions—and specifically, traditional worship—for a single, overarching reason: its components, to varying degrees, are all in the service of the Gospel.
Dead men don’t get taught. Dead men don’t get un-lost. Dead men don’t heal.
God uses our stupid as well as our best thought out plans and efforts
My husband, Phil, and I just celebrated our 40th anniversary. Forty years ago he pledged to love and care for me. Forty years ago I pledged the same things. Forty years.
A little magic goes a long way. The kingdom of God is a kingdom of magic. Magic, hidden in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ.
I didn’t know it, in fact I consciously rejected it, but the truth is that throughout those years, both in times of success and failure, God was up to something.
Whatever numbers you want to plug in, ours must be greater than zero. We’re in a partnership with God, after all. We both do our part. We’ve got to meet the Lord halfway. If only he does all the giving, and we do all the receiving, the relationship is doomed to fail.
It was by listening closely to Dr. Rosenbladt's words and watching his quiet actions that one could learn many things about being a dad.
Because I do care now, and will care even after I’m with the Lord, here are some things I hope and pray are not said at my funeral. I care about those who will be there, about what they will hear.
You think the sower sowed his seed in you because he saw such good soil, such a good, generous, noble person.
It was happening again. I sat across from my dear friend at one of our favorite restaurants. We were finishing our glass of wine and eating the end of the sushi when the waitress approached.
I’ve come to realize at the tender age of 47 that sometimes church doesn’t work.