When faith seeks understanding—when belief is grounded in revelation and open to the light of reason—truth can travel.
Curiosity, while it might kill the cat, just might be one of the most needed virtues of our time.
On October 19, 1512, Martin Luther formally graduated with his doctorate in theology.

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The following conversation occurred between one of 1517's readers/listeners and Dr. Rosenbladt via email in February of 2016.
To whatever extent we follow God’s perfect commands we will benefit from following them.
Your sins do not exist because He who called heaven and earth into existence, has called your sins out of existence. He who made everything from nothing unmakes your sins into nothing.
“Why now,” I said to no one, or to myself, or to God. Whoever. I was drunk, strung out, mostly dead, hopeless in the darkness. I knew I’d done it all to myself. I didn’t need God to drive the point home.
We spend the first nine months of our lives in utter darkness. There are no tiny fluorescent bulbs beaming from the ceiling of the womb, no fetal flashlights, not even a pinprick of illumination.
Don’t get me wrong, I always read the comments on my own posts, but otherwise I try to avoid them like the plague.
The term Gospel came to mean a new kind of proclamation so that the Law and the new doctrine [Gospel] are distinguished in such a way that the new doctrine gains primary influence.
We hang on to our sins not despite the fact that they hurt, but precisely because they do hurt. We need to hurt, to fret over them, to cry over them, to make amends over them, because by doing so, we will grease the wheels of God’s forgiveness.
I looked up at the cross and saw what God had become to bring me home. He had become what I was.
Our faith is not a mountain but a grain of sand, not pure gold but gilded plaster. And all it takes is a few nicks and scratches to reveal its shallowness.
Grace is easier to tweet about than extend. When we are talking about my sin and the impact it has on others, I want grace.
Warning, Remember, O man, that thou art dust… And lust, he mocks in mute self-condemnation.