As you step into the days ahead, remember this: no matter how lost you may feel, you have a God who seeks you out, celebrates your return, and rejoices over you.
Be relieved, whatever has had you anxious. He is with us and about his Father’s business, which is your salvation.
We now are the magi: we worship Christ because of who he is, but also because of what he has done for us and what he continues to do in his gift-giving to us.

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In Advent we wait, in Christmas we rejoice over the coming of Christ in the fulfillment of the promises, and in Epiphany we celebrate the surprise, the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.
In Genesis 1-2, the Lord reveals—or, at a bare minimum, starts dropping some big hints—that he will be quite comfortable becoming a human being himself someday.
In the Lord’s Thanksgiving Supper, we are not served turkey, green bean casserole, and cornbread. We are served Christ.
That's how true faith talks. It doesn't talk about itself. It says "Thank you!" to the one who gives healing and salvation.
Thanksgiving utters a confession of dependence, an acknowledgement of the gift of something not earned or deserved.
The youths that mock Elisha are representative of Israel’s collective contempt and disregard for all things relating to their One True God.
Look the judge in the eye and pin your sin on Jesus, the divine judge’s son. Jesus knows you can’t do it, so he trades places with you and pits himself against God’s righteous demands.
The church is the only place God promises to lift us out of ourselves not in order to become more like God but so that we may finally be freed from our obsession with becoming little gods.
The Reformation was yet another era of history when God’s people were faced with the question that Jesus asked his disciples: “Who do you say that I am?”
We won’t use the right words, but the Holy Spirit is interceding with and for us, as we pray.
Without the sacraments, God’s grace is simply an artifact behind a glass-case in a museum. We might be able to describe and even admire it, but we never get firsthand access to it.
A Sermon on Psalm 130:3–6.