When you remember your baptism, you're not recalling a ritual. You're standing under a current of divine action that has not ceased to flow since the moment those baptismal waters hit your skin.
“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness.
The women at the tomb were surprised by Easter. Amazed and filled with wonder at Jesus' Easter eucatastrophe. And so are we.

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The God who calls us to love our neighbor as ourselves will seem hopelessly out of touch with your insulated life of self-sufficiency.
We have now reached a point where many believe so strongly in individualism that nothing else matters.
A single, fifteen minute sermon that proclaims Christ and him crucified for you is more important than hundreds of hours of lectures by experts on revitalizing your ministry.
The table is full-laden; feast ye all sumptuously. The calf is fatted; let no one go hungry away.
The story did not end with Jesus' death and resurrection, or even with the Acts of the Apostles.
The preacher does not merely send out the raven. From the pulpit flies forth the dove of the Gospel.
I grew up with a great deal of guilt. It still keeps me up at night. For one reason or another, I was convinced I hadn’t done enough to be loved by God.
Hers is not a beauty of breathtaking cathedrals, stained glass, or towering arches, but of a body.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
Old Testament narratives foreshadowed the gifts that our Father gives us in baptism.
The arrangement was made with Abraham when God claimed for Himself all of his being, and put the seal of His promise upon the most personal member of his anatomy.
Can one still find a church that teaches that Christianity, and the Christian life, can be summed up as: "We are saved by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone?"