Let us live by walking with Jesus, so that our Neo-Pagan neighbors, the witch, and frankly a lot of us Christians, can put down our crystals, our superstitions, our vision boards, and our bound sage in order to live out a liturgy of life, with rituals, practices, and behaviors that reflect who we are as followers of Christ.
As Jesus hung on the cross there would be no last second escape. No Greek goddess would swoop in to rescue him. He suffered alone. And yet even in that suffering he declared his victory on the spiritual battlefield to be your victory.
God can handle grief, rage, and cries for justice. God can handle the victim who cannot yet forgive. God can handle the prayer that comes out jagged and wounded. The good news is that God is holy and merciful enough to handle all our prayers.

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Christ's death for us is how and why God declares us righteous. Christ's righteousness is imputed to us as free gift.
Whatever level of sin you're rummaging around in, forgiveness and grace is yours.
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.
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.
But one key theme that kept surfacing again and again was love: Jesus loved people, the Church showed me genuine love, and above all, God’s love in Christianity is unconditional.
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.
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.
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.