The IRS says churches can endorse candidates from the pulpit. But just because they can doesn’t mean they should.
Chapter 3 of Habakkuk, which is often referred to as “the Psalm of Habakkuk,” is a song of catharsis, relief, faith, and profound emotion.
God doesn’t just simply give you all the things. He does so because his very own Son came down and earned all the things for you.

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“My Old Man” is the story of a single father, a grossly flawed character, told through the eyes of his son who can’t help but love him.
You can see it far off, looming on the horizon, a thick fog menacing off the coast and swirling in the distance. You know the signs.
In Christ we are already dead to sin and the eternal consequences of sin. “There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus,” writes Paul (Romans 8:1).
The real Jesus isn’t trapped inside a church’s ATM. He’s smack dab in front of you, grinning from ear to ear, laughing and loving you with a crazy grace that already filled your bank account with millions.
Those clinging to God in Christ can be assured that it’s all clean.
Abraham didn’t understand God very well (at least not early on). I don’t say that as a dig against the Patriarch. I don’t think any of us understand God very well either.
If God is God, He doesn’t need anyone to defend Him. Nor does He need anyone to march for Him.
As long as we hold tight to a life that was never ours to possess in the first place, so long as we refuse to lay down our life so others can live, Jesus can't do a thing for us.
I’ve seen many Christians attempt to wear the world’s hatred as a badge of honor. They count it a huge win if they can get some atheist to rip them up on Twitter or in the comments on Facebook, blogs, or on YouTube.
As Wonder Woman hit theatres earlier this month and the reviews poured in, many of them carried the same sentiment: she’s the only hero in the DCEU thus far who hasn’t induced mixed feelings from the fans of the genre but instead has received near universal applause for getting the character right.
The only recourse we have is to die before we die. To give up on a fake-life. To acknowledge that this stupid, selfish game we’re playing with our immortality projects has zero success.
I recently began seeing a chiropractor for what turned out to be a compressed disc. He took routine x-rays to facilitate his diagnosis, and on the day he was to go over the results with me, I was placed in a conference room to wait for our consultation.