Living by faith has never been about what we bring to the table. It has always been, and always will be, about what God does for us when we can’t do anything for ourselves.
The entire history of Protestantism is downstream of a goldsmith in Mainz figuring out how to cast identical pieces of lead type in less than a minute.
When we despair of ourselves, we repent of these self-justifying schemes and allow ourselves to be shaped by God, covered in Christ’s righteousness, and reborn with a new heart.

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The Scriptures consistently speak about sanctification as a sure gift for the Christian.
Wake Up Dead Man is not ultimately a story about mystery, exposure, or even justice. It is a story about what happens when mercy speaks to death—and death listens.
Christ did not merely urge humanity to be kind. He embodied perfect kindness by giving his life for those who neither earned nor expected such a gift.
The testimony of the Word assures us that God isn’t waiting for us at the top of the stairs, with arms folded and brows furrowed.
We can lay down our sledgehammers of moralistic performance, which aren’t effective anyway, and we can trust that we are his and his life is ours.
He doesn’t consume us, even though that is what we deserve. Instead, Jesus comes down to us and consumes all our sin by taking it on himself.
The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.
We need redemption, and we receive it in our church community through God’s Word.
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
Paradoxes hold everything together, not just in Inception’s plot, but in your life and mine.
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
The doctrine of the Trinity is not so much the story of a “who-dunnit” as it is the story of the “who-is-it.”