The hearer rides the rhythm, floats upon the feeling of what is good, what is sorrowful, what is lost, what is found.
Formed in the womb, elected for words to the nations, the preacher is not a man of his own word.
Jesus’ love is the white flame that burns away our self-destruction, leaving only the brilliance of his own burning.
Coming to the altar with hatred toward your neighbor? Go home.
Christ is the key, the center, the end of all human history.
Discomfort with judgment is the sting of truth. God sees. The God of all-seeing truth is not, however, without loving-kindness.
God unfolds in bursting buds, pushes up a bluing heaven, asks questions with obvious answers, and paints pictures clear even to dim eyes.
Christ is the fulfillment of the law; he is not a false and cheap freedom that excuses crime and license.
A rejoicing and pure heart knows nothing of its inherent strength and competence.
We are vested for movement; a pilgrim Church in the eschatological age packs only the essentials, preferring titanium lightness.