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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This is the first in a series of articles entitled “Getting Over Yourself for Lent.” We’ll have a new article every week of this Lenten Season.
When Dostoevsky died on February 9, 1881, he left behind novels that refuse to flatter the reader or simplify the human condition.
This is the third 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.
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.
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.
The story of your life stretches beyond the dash on the tombstone.
Merry Christmas, Christ has spoken, and his verdict stands.
To know the cure is not to become immune to sorrow.
Forgiveness is not ours to manufacture. It is ours to proclaim.
When we fail, our first impulse is the same as that of our spiritual ancestors: to sprint headlong into the bushes.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.