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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We confuse our success and failures with God’s judgment of us.
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.
I don't remember a time not knowing I was a sinner. Seriously, I've always understood that Christ died for me.
[Luther's] Catechism is at home in the evangelical pulpit, guiding and shaping what the preacher says so faith might be created and love given direction.
Jesus is still in the business of dividing. He has come to divide us from our sinful thoughts and habits. He has come to divide us from false views of the world and distortions of His Word.
Overcrowding on Mount Everest betrays what our culture worships. We bow down at the altar of the impossible to be seen as the conquerors, the champions.
The Father knows our needs because he knows everything. This is a comforting thought, but only if He is gracious.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
The following is an excerpt from “Let the Bird Fly” written by Wade Johnston (1517 Publishing, 2019).
The gelded Gospel is shiny and attractive and compelling, and we can perform the procedure in any number of ways.