A maxim in law has more weight in the world than an article of faith.
We are not spared death, but the power of death has been defeated. The grip of sin has been loosed. We are invited to share the victory, to follow the path of God back to life.
We millennials have been advertised to our entire lives, and we can tell when somebody is just trying to sell us something. I think church is the last place I want to go to be sold another product.
This is what God's kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there's always room for more.
Christianity isn't meant to simply be believed; it's meant to be lived, shared, eaten, spoken, and enacted in the presence of other people.
But the gospel doesn't need a coalition devoted to keeping the wrong people out. It needs a family of sinners, saved by grace, committed to tearing down the walls, throwing open the doors, and shouting, "Welcome! There's bread and wine. Come eat with us and talk. " This isn't a kingdom for the worthy; it's a kingdom for the hungry.
One of the most destructive mistakes we Christians make is to prioritize shared beliefs over shared relationship, which is deeply ironic considering we worship a God who would rather die than lose relationship with us.
The most magnificent creature in the entire world, the tiger is.
We are contaminated with the idea of "winning" and defeating others. Indoctrinated by parents, schools, and our ubiquitous media, hammered with a lie: The only way to be truly triumphant is if we are dominant before supposed "competitors" rather than beautiful before ourselves.
I don't believe in misconceptions in art and films. There are always so many different ways to relate to or understand a film. I love films that give a great amount of space to the audience to explore or be active with what the film is saying.
Dream golf is simply golf played on another course. We chip from glass tables onto moving stairways; we swing in a straightjacket, through masses of cobweb, and awaken not with any sense of unjust hazard but only with a regret that the round can never be completed, and that one of our phantasmal companions has kept the scorecard.