No matter how many times we hear this good news, it never stops being good news.
Our faith is precisely where Paul puts it, namely, in the blood of Christ.
Just as trick-or-treaters arrive at doorsteps as beggars, we come to the Lord’s table with nothing to offer but our sin and need for forgiveness.

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Would you go to the church on the corner knowing that the pastor is an ex-con?
Jesus cuts right to the chase when it comes to the evil one. He calls the devil “a liar and the father of lies,”
If I were the devil, I wouldn’t just entice believers to do bad things. We’re experts at that anyway.
She was my friend, walking through marriage troubles. Her husband was unfaithful to her, with the technicalities and carefully drawn lines of “not technically sex” and justifying himself, which had wounded her deeply.
I saw a beautiful picture of grace yesterday. A real bestowing of favor on someone less deserving.
Christians have long enjoyed an absurd love affair with white-washing biblical saints.
For on the other side of the death of forgiveness is the resurrection of joy. An easter in which we emerge from the tomb in the arms of the man whose scars glow with mercy.
A father dies and leaves an inheritance to his two children, Jane and Grace. The family member handling the estate gives them each a letter containing the cheques for their inheritance.
Don’t say you’re beyond hope, for there is not one beyond God. Don’t say you’ve done too much evil, for there is no wrong bigger than God’s heart of forgiveness.
It has been three years since Allyson and I honeymooned in New Orleans. We had a great time eating our way through the French Quarter, learning to drive in a city of only ways, and forgetting that real life existed for only a few days.
We’re all familiar with the “outrage” in our culture about the trend in youth sports to award “participation trophies.”
Never has the law fallen so hard on me as in motherhood. Never before was I more aware that my best wasn’t good enough.