In Christ, you are bound. Bound to mercy. Bound to grace. Bound to a God who won’t let you go. And because of that, you are free—gloriously, joyfully free.
The baptized do not celebrate sin—they grieve it.
When Jesus ascends, he does so, bearing gifts for you.

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Kierkegaard attempts to take us through Abraham’s mind as the patriarch prepares to sacrifice his son, his only son, his son whom he loves.
There is something odd about the definition of God as a being that than which nothing greater can be conceived.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.
Just like that, the crowd dissipated. Jesus’ words pierced like a bright light through their foggy misconceptions. The Hungry mouths that touched, chewed, and swallowed a miracle, were now brimming with grumbling.
Sometimes, I wish I was much older. Old enough to realize that my best, most influential, and productive days are behind me so that I could speak completely and openly about my life, my triumphs, and most of all, my struggles.
Last year, a friend I follow tweeted, “Calling yourself a sinner is spitting on all the work that Jesus did to make you a saint.”
According to Martin Luther, it is human nature is a little like a drunkard trying to ride a horse.
God’s Son is infinitely more than our fragile egos have flattened him out to be.
Far from being un-Christian like, the discipline and training that go into learning and practicing various martial arts can have direct application to the spiritual discipline needed for the Christian life of faith characterized by Israel.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
My eyes soaked in the midnight view. Stars crowded the sky.
Old Testament narratives foreshadowed the gifts that our Father gives us in baptism.