Thank you for subscribing!
You can always change your preferences for what you want to hear about.
Have you seen some of our recent posts?
Practical Christian living is built on the foundation of theological truth. Because we know that Jesus was raised from the dead, our identification with Him becomes real.
Compromise is everywhere. It’s a potential pitfall even for the most well-intentioned Christian. No wonder Paul reminds the Colossians to remember who they are in Christ.
As we survey our current surroundings, we find a wealth of perspectives on “how the world works.” Which of these ideas we embrace will determine how we act and behave.
I have also always been musically inclined. I’ve played many instruments, sang in various choruses and with friends who are in the music industry. I’m drawn to music. I think part of that is the certainty I experience when I hear it. I know that God exists when I hear music. Everything stills in my brain. It’s almost as if a ship comes out of a raging hurricane instantly into calm waters. There are no thoughts about bills, no worries about a family member or loved one’s health, and no irrational thoughts of what others think of me being single and childless at 41. My mind doesn’t wander, and everything seems to melt away.
Four years old. Convinced she didn’t want to wear that sweater and not yet developed the skills needed to process the big emotions she was having over it. She was bringing me those big emotions so that we could handle them together. That’s what a parent does. They serve as the safe place to bring the things we can’t yet handle alone.
So if God is our Father, wouldn’t that also make Him our safe place? Doesn’t He want us to take our pain to Him?
Growing up, the front of our refrigerator was covered with scripture, prayer lists, photos, poems, quotes, and music lyrics. Unbeknownst to me, as I haphazardly grabbed the juice, I was committing these powerful words to memory. I can STILL recite the poem, “The Test of the Heart,” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. “The test of the heart is trouble, and it always comes with the years, the smile that is worth all the praises of the earth is the smile that shines through tears…”
I imagine the crucifixion scene from the vantage of a mother. To witness the brutalizing public display of degradation and horror must have felt more than any mother could ever possibly bear in a lifetime. Jesus’s mother, Mary, remained by her child’s side, helpless to stop the horror, but a faithful presence of love in the midst of so much hatred. How could she let her son go, even in death?
A man named Joseph of Arimathea learned this when he played a major role in the burial of Jesus. Joseph appeared to be an upstanding citizen and a decent human being, but there was nothing special or extraordinary about him.
What is considered to be an uneventful portion of the narrative of Jesus’ crucifixion was actually a stepping stone to the greatness and impact of the resurrection.
He’d lost count of how many crucifixions he’d witnessed. Too many. It wasn’t something a person ever got used to – the visceral brutality of the Roman death penalty ensured it left an impression – but after participating in so many over the years, he’d gotten numb. Numbness was preferable to flinching at every stroke of the whip during a scourging, gagging at the feel of the nails piercing flesh or pitying the criminals as they spent hours suffocating to death while hanging on the cross.