This is the first in a series meant to let the Christian tradition speak for itself, the way it has carried Christians through long winters, confusion, and joy for centuries.
The crisis is not merely that people are leaving. The crisis is that we have relinquished what is uniquely Lutheran and deeply needed.
The ethos of the church’s worship is found in poor, needy, and desperate sinners finding solace and relief in the God of their salvation.

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The story of your life stretches beyond the dash on the tombstone.
Lewis once pointed out that Christianity does not begin by telling us how to behave, but by telling us what is wrong.
To know the cure is not to become immune to sorrow.
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.
Resurrection does not start in sunlight. It begins in the dark.
When faith seeks understanding—when belief is grounded in revelation and open to the light of reason—truth can travel.
Fideistic Christianity may look bold, but it is fragile.
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.
Even if the Shroud were proven a medieval forgery, it would only highlight the skill of its maker. The case for Christ’s resurrection rests on eyewitness testimony.
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
The Church speaks not with the cleverness of men, but with the breath of God.
How many times in our lifetime must we sigh, floundering through this world with our sins, sorrows, struggles, frustrations, fears, and foes?