It's one thing to hope for a new reality; it's quite another to stand before it, no matter how wonderful.
If Jesus rose from the dead, then his claims about himself and his promises to humanity warrant serious attention and response.
It’s easy to understand the allure of the shroud. In a skeptical age, a physical relic that appears to bear the imprint of the risen Christ seems like proof positive of the faith.

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Today the Spirit whom unfaithful David prayed the Lord would not take from him Pours himself into sinners that they might sing of the faithful love of their Husband.
To the Pastors and Preachers whose only word for me and others seem to be, "make sure you’re right with God!"
Hus was burned at the stake in his early 40s, Luther lived to a fairly ripe, old age, but why?
The reason that anyone would choose a heaven without Jesus, or happiness without Jesus, or healing without Jesus, is because he doesn’t mean that much to them to begin with.
I came across a "deep commentary" in the form of a Facebook meme, extolling the frustrations of the natural man's inability to understand the things of God.
You are free to love your children without any expectations because you have been loved immeasurably.
Israel’s priests were ordained with the blood of a sacrifice applied to their ear, their thumb, and their toe, for they were to hear God’s word, handle His holy things, and walk in His ways. But none was perfect, all were flawed.
What Jesus did and gives on these two Thursdays encapsulates his whole life and mission.
“We humans are an evil, untrustworthy bunch.” I said to a friend recently, by way of explanation/cold comfort, after he had been cut to the core by fellow Christians who were uncomfortable with his vulnerability.
This I know: hate sucks you dry. It’s the worst high-maintenance companion ever. Always demanding more of your time, more of your energy, more of your emotion.
I started writing this article about a friend, her struggles through cancer, and the pain of an unfortunate and severe fall that landed her in a hospital, requiring months of rehabilitation.
Burdened within and without, we cross the threshold into church. We don't leave behind our earthiness, our tragedies, our white-knuckled grip on the last vestige of dignity in our sad lives.