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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“Obey God and he will bless you,” says the wind and the reed is bent over and bruised throughout. “God will never stop loving you but you can disappoint him,” says the wind and the once lit candle is now a sad smoldering wick.
What happens when our children are taught to read the Scriptures as evidence that God is a heavenly Santa Claus? When happens when they think God rewards or punishes them depending on whether they've been naughty or nice?
We just finished celebrating the 500th Anniversary of the Protestant Reformation.
Whether we realize it or not, all these online, self-editing actions are nothing more than our admission that we believe that we are so deeply flawed that no one will love us just as we are.
When I was about 10, I went on a hike with a boys brigade. We were all racing down this path at lunchtime when I decided to beat everyone to the bottom by deviating from the path.
I’ve always been a very passionate person. Adventure is my favorite thing.
My parents will be the first to tell you, I can really put my foot in my mouth. I often don’t say the right thing.
This book tells of my long and brutal journey. From married to divorced. From a seminary professor and pastor to a disgraced, bitter truck driver in the oil fields of Texas. From a man at war with God to a child redeemed by grace.
In the face of all the misunderstandings on the part of the world and all the errors which have arisen within Christendom, let us make this point absolutely clear: the task of the church in the world consists uniquely and alone in the preaching of the Word of God and in administering the Sacrament.
Samson knew what he wanted when he saw it, and most of the time, living by sight, he walked like a blind man straight into an ambush.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been anxious about something. I can still feel the weight of worry from my earliest fears - believing every night I would get sucked down the pipes along with dirty, draining bath water.
The wound on my hand would not let me forget what happened. The crackled and blistered strip of skin was a memento of the searing pain I felt that day. For the remainder of that year, I was constantly reminded of what I had done.