The “further up and further in” we go, the table keeps getting bigger, the guest list keeps getting longer, and the grace keeps on flowing.
Christianity does not locate freedom in radical autonomy. It does not tell either men or women that happiness consists in escaping obligations arising from relationships we did not entirely choose.
Jesus never promised me a World Series championship. He never promised that my children would always succeed or that life would go according to plan. He promised something better.

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By his initiative alone, he remakes our hearts to love him and others unselfishly.
The whole point of Church is to be in a place that hands over the gifts and promises of Jesus Christ to dirty rotten sinners who are in desperate need of them.
There is no life when one is separated from the Promised Land because that will be the place where God will send His Messiah.
Pentecost is the event which jolts the world into taking note that something entirely new is taking place.
Somedays we are simply looking for a mark, a rock at the foot of a tree, something to direct us forward, a few words to let us know we are going in the right direction.
What is it, though, that makes bedtime so fraught with anxiety?
Faith isn’t something that needs to be done. It’s something to be enjoyed because faith is a gift bestowed by God’s word through the hearing of the Gospel.
In just about every generation, there have been some who thought The End was very near. They were convinced that they were living in the last days. And they were right, though probably not in the way they thought. Likewise, if you think we are living in the last days, you too are right, but perhaps not in the way you suppose.
We confess the ascension of Christ every Sunday in the words of the both the Apostles’ and the Nicene Creed.
In Christ, we live beneath an open heaven having the definitive proof in the cross of Christ that God is outrageously for us, not against us.
"Ragged" written by Gretchen Ronnevik is now available for purchase from 1517 Publishing
Death may speak, and its voice may sound authoritative and decisive. Nonetheless, it is a mere whimper from the grave.