Easter Preaching


Bishop Will Willimon on Easter Preaching

The call of Paul the apostle was his experience of finding himself living in a whole new world. He changed because of his realization that, in Jesus Christ, the world had changed. It was not merely that he discovered a new way of describing the world but rather that his citizenship had been moved to a radically transformed world. Paul’s key testimonial to this recreation is in his Second Letter to the Corinthians:

So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation. (2 Cor. 5:17-18)

Verse 17, in the Greek, lacks both subject and verb so it is best rendered by the exclamatory, “If anyone is in Christ – new creation!”

Certainly, old habits die hard. There are still, as Paul acknowledges so eloquently in Romans 8, “the sufferings of the present time.” The resistance and outright rejection that preachers suffer is evidence that the church has not yet fully appreciated the eschatological, end of the age, transformed arrangements that ought to characterize the church. We always preach between the times and rejection is often a sign that the old age and the principalities and powers still run rampant.

That many of us preachers still preach using essentially secular (i.e. godless) means of persuasion borrowed uncritically from the world is yet another testimony to our failure to believe that God raised Jesus Christ from the dead, thus radically changing everything. In so doing we act as if Jesus were still sealed securely in the tomb, as if he did not come back to us, did not speak to us and cannot, will not speak to us today, as if preaching is something that we do through our strategies rather than through the speaking of the risen Christ.

Resurrection is not only the content of gospel preaching but also its miraculous means. Where two are three of us are gathered in his name, daring to talk about him, he is there, talking to us (Matt. 18:20). All the way to the end of the age, in every part of the world, in our baptism and proclamation, he is with us (Matt. 28:20).

I once heard a church growth expert declare, “Any church that doesn’t have a pull down video screen will be dead in ten years.” But I believe that better technology does not make sermons work. Lack of technology cannot kill a church. Only God can kill a church. Only a living Christ can make our sermons speak to a new generation.

Christian preaching can never rest on my human experience, or even the experience of the oppressed, as some forms of Liberation Theology attempt to do, because human experience tends to be limited by the world’s deadly, deathly means of interpretation. The world keeps telling Christians to “get real,” to “face facts,” but we have – after the cross and resurrection – a very particular opinion of what is real. I don't preach Jesus' story in the light of my experience, as some sort of helpful symbol or myth which is helpfully illumined by my own story of struggle and triumph. Rather, I am invited by Easter to interpret my story in the light of God's triumph in the resurrection. I really don’t have a story, I don’t know the significance of my little life, until I read my story and view my life through the lens of cross and resurrection. One of the things that occurs in the weekly preaching of the gospel is to lay the gospel story over our stories and reread our lives in the light of what is real now that crucified Jesus has been raised from the dead.

Will Willimon

The Cross


Why Jesus on the Cross Is No Mere Symbol

A God who allows suffering is a mystery, but so is a God who suffered.

By Peter Wehner Contributing Opinion Writer for The New York Times

During a Christmas break while I was a student at the University of Washington, I tuned in to a show that influenced the trajectory of my faith, quite by accident. It was a broadcast of an hourlong “Firing Line” interview in 1980 between William F. Buckley Jr. and Malcolm Muggeridge, the British journalist who late in life converted to Christianity.

In the course of the interview, Mr. Muggeridge used a parable. Imagine that the Apostle Paul, after his Damascus Road conversion, starts off on his journey, Mr. Muggeridge said, and consults with an eminent public relations man. “I’ve got this campaign and I want to promote this gospel,” Paul tells this individual, who responds, “Well, you’ve got to have some sort of symbol.” To which Paul would reply: “Well, I have got one. I’ve got this cross.”

“The public relations man would have laughed his head off,” Mr. Muggeridge said, with the P.R. man insisting: “You can’t popularize a thing like that. It’s absolutely mad.”

The reaction of Mr. Muggeridge’s imaginary P.R. person is understandable. The Episcopal priest Fleming Rutledge has written that until the accounts of Jesus’ death burst upon the Mediterranean world, “no one in the history of human imagination had conceived of such a thing as the worship of a crucified man.” And yet the crucifixion — an emblem of agony and one of the cruelest methods of execution ever practiced — became a historical pivot point and eventually the most compelling symbol of the most popular faith on earth.

As a non-Christian friend of mine put it to me recently, the idea that people would worship a God who is compassionate toward us is one thing, but to worship a God who suffers and dies — as a condemned criminal, no less — is distinct to Christianity. In my friend’s understated words, “When you think about it, it is a little strange.”

Perhaps the aspect of the crucifixion that is easiest to understand is that according to Christian theology, atonement is the means through which human beings — broken, fallen, sinful — are reconciled to God. The ideal needed to be sacrificed for the non-ideal, the worthy for the unworthy.

But the cross is more than simply a gateway to the City of God. “I could never myself believe in God, if it were not for the cross,” John Stott, one of the most important Christian evangelists of the last century, wrote in “The Cross of Christ.” “The only God I believe in is the One Nietzsche ridiculed as ‘God on the cross.’ In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it?” From the perspective of Christianity, one can question why God allows suffering, but one cannot say God doesn’t understand it. He is not remote, indifferent, untouched or unscarred.

Scott Dudley, the senior pastor at Bellevue Presbyterian Church in Bellevue, Wash., and a lifelong friend, pointed out to me that on the cross God was reconciling the world to himself — but God was also, perhaps, reconciling himself to the world. The cross is not only God’s way of saying we are not alone in our suffering, but also that God has entered into our suffering through his own suffering.

Scott readily concedes that there’s no good answer to the question, “Why is there suffering?” Jesus never answers that question, and even if we had the theological answer, it would not ease our burdens in any significant way. What God offers instead is the promise that he is with us in our suffering; that he can bring good out of it (life out of death, forgiveness out of sin); and that one day he will put a stop to it and redeem it. God, Revelation tells us, will make “all things new.” For now, though, we are part of a drama unfolding in a broken world, one in which God chose to become a protagonist.

One other significant consequence the crucifixion had was to “introduce a new plot to history: The victim became a hero by offering himself as a willing victim,” in the words of the Christian author Philip Yancey. Citing the works of the French philosopher René Girard and Mr. Girard’s student Gil Bailie, Mr. Yancey argues that a radiating effect of the cross was to undermine abusive power and injustice; that care for the disenfranchised and those living in the shadows of society came about as a direct result of Jesus’ crucifixion.

Edward Shillito, a minister in England who watched waves of badly wounded soldiers return from World War I, wrote a poem, “Jesus of the Scars,” in which he said, “The heavens frighten us; they are too calm; In all the universe we have no place. Our wounds are hurting us; where is the balm? Lord Jesus, by thy scars we know thy grace.” Mr. Shillito ended his poem with this stanza, which beautifully captures what makes the cross unique:

The other gods were strong; but thou wast weak;

They rode, but thou didst stumble to a throne;

But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak,

And not a god has wounds, but thou alone.

Worshiping a God of wounds is a little strange, as my friend said. For some, it is grotesque and contemptible, a bizarre myth, an offense. But for others of us, what happened to Jesus on the cross is profoundly moving and life-altering — not just a historical inflection point, but something that won and keeps winning our hearts. As individuals with wounds, flawed and fallen, we cannot help but return to the foot of the cross.

The most important moment in my faith pilgrimage was when the cross became my interpretive prism. What I mean by this is that I was and remain a person with a skeptical mind and countless questions. There are parts of the Bible I still find puzzling, difficult and troubling. (That is true of many more Christians than you might imagine, and of many more Christians than are willing to admit.)

But I did arrive at a settled belief that whatever the answer to those questions were — answers I’m unlikely to ever discover — I would understand them in the context of the cross, where God showed his enduring love for people in every circumstance and in every season of life. I came to treasure a line from an 18th-century hymn by Isaac Watts that I have replayed in my mind more often than I can count: “Did e’re such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown?”

In response to his fictional P.R. person’s claim that using the cross as a symbol for faith would be mad, Malcolm Muggeridge replied: “But it wasn’t mad. It worked for centuries and centuries, bringing out all the creativity in people, all the love and disinterestedness in people, this symbol of suffering. And I think that’s the heart of the thing.”

It is the heart of the thing. Where some see the cross as superstitious foolery or a stumbling block, others see grace and sublime love. For us, the glory and joy of Easter Sunday is only made possible by the anguish of Good Friday.

Peter Wehner a senior fellow at the Ethics and Public Policy Center, served in the previous three Republican administrations and is a contributing opinion writer, as well as the author of the forthcoming book, “The Death of Politics: How to Heal Our Frayed Republic After Trump.”

Good Friday


Jesus’ Death - Jesus’ Passion - Good Friday

By Fr. Richard Rohr

Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan continue reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ death:

Jesus was not simply an unfortunate victim of a domination system’s brutality. He was also a protagonist filled with passion. His passion, his message, was about the kingdom of God. He spoke to peasants as a voice of peasant religious protest against the central economic and political institutions of his day. He attracted a following and took his movement to Jerusalem at the season of Passover. There he challenged the authorities with public acts and public debates. All of this was his passion, what he was passionate about: God and the kingdom of God, God and God’s passion for justice.

Jesus’s passion got him killed…Jesus’s passion for the kingdom of God led to what is often called his passion, namely his suffering and death. But to restrict Jesus’s passion to his suffering and death is to ignore the passion that brought him to Jerusalem. To think of Jesus’s passion as simply what happened on Good Friday is to separate his death from the passion that animated his life…

According to Mark, Jesus did not die for the sins of the world. The language of substitutionary sacrifice for sin is absent from his story. But in an important sense, he was killed because of the sin of the world. It was the injustice of domination systems that killed him, injustice so routine that it is part of the normalcy of civilization. Though sin means more than this, it includes this. And thus Jesus was crucified because of the sin of the world…

Was Jesus guilty or innocent? Because language familiar to Christians speaks of Jesus as sinless, perfect, righteous, spotless, and without blemish, the question will seem surprising to some. But it is worth reflecting about.

As Mark tells the story, Jesus was not only executed by the method used to execute violent insurrectionists; he was physically executed between two insurrectionists. Was Jesus guilty of advocating violent revolution against the empire and its local collaborators? No.

As Mark tells the story, was Jesus guilty of claiming to be the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed? Perhaps. Why perhaps and not a simple yes? Mark does not report that Jesus taught this, and his account of Jesus’s response to the high priest’s question about this is at least a bit ambiguous. [Pilate asked Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus replies, “You say so” (Mark 15:2).]

As Mark tells the story, was Jesus guilty of nonviolent resistance to imperial Roman oppression and local Jewish collaboration? Oh, yes. Mark’s story of Jesus’s final week is a sequence of public demonstrations against and confrontations with the domination system. And, as all know, it killed him.

Why Did Jesus Die?


Why Did Jesus Die? Atonement and reconciliation - BBC Religions

The events leading up to the arrest and crucifixion of Jesus are well-told by the Gospel writers, as are stories of the Resurrection. But why did Jesus die?

In the end the Roman authorities and the Jewish council wanted Jesus dead. He was a political and social trouble-maker. But what made the death of Jesus more significant than the countless other crucifixions carried out by the Romans and witnessed outside the city walls by the people of Jerusalem?

Christians believe that Jesus was far more than a political radical. For them the death of Jesus was part of a divine plan to save humanity.

The death and resurrection of this one man is at the very heart of the Christian faith. For Christians it is through Jesus's death that people's broken relationship with God is restored. This is known as the Atonement.

What is the atonement?

The word atonement is used in Christian theology to describe what is achieved by the death of Jesus. William Tyndale introduced the word in 1526, when he was working on his popular translation of the Bible, to translate the Latin word reconciliatio.

In the Revised Standard Version the word reconciliation replaces the word atonement. Atonement (at-one-ment) is the reconciliation of men and women to God through the death of Jesus.

But why was reconciliation needed? Christian theology suggests that although God's creation was perfect, the Devil tempted the first man Adam and sin was brought into the world. Everybody carries this original sin with them which separates them from God, just as Adam and Eve were separated from God when they were cast out of the Garden of Eden.

So it is a basic idea in Christian theology that God and humankind need to be reconciled. However, what is more hotly debated is how the death of Jesus achieved this reconciliation.

There is no single doctrine of the atonement in the New Testament. In fact, perhaps more surprisingly, there is no official Church definition either. But first, what does the New Testament have to say?

New Testament images

The New Testament uses a range of images to describe how God achieved reconciliation to the world through the death of Jesus. The most common is the image of sacrifice.

For example, John the Baptist describes Jesus as "the lamb of God that takes away the sins of the world". (John 1:29)

Here are some other images used to describe the atonement:

•a judge and prisoner in a law court

•a payment of ransom for a slave's freedom

•a king establishing his power

•a military victory

And here are some examples of how the New Testament explains the death of Jesus:

'For the Son of Man himself did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many'.

Words attributed to Jesus in Mark 10:45

'Drink all of you from this', he said. 'For this is my blood, the blood of the covenant, which is to be poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'

Words attributed to Jesus in Matthew 26:28

Well then, in the first place, I taught you what I had been taught myself, namely that Christ died for our sins, in accordance with the scriptures...

Written by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:3

How have later writers and theologians interpreted the Biblical accounts and theologies? In varied, and sometimes conflicting, ways.

Theories of the Atonement

Theologians have grouped together theories of the atonement into different types. For example, in Christus Victor (1931) Gustaf Aulén suggested three types: classical, Latin and subjective.

More recently in his book Christian Theology: An Introduction Alister E. McGrath groups his discussion into four central themes but stresses that these themes are not mutually exclusive. His four themes are:

•The cross as sacrifice

•The cross as a victory

•The cross and forgiveness

•The cross as a moral example

The cross as sacrifice

The image of Jesus' death as a sacrifice is the most popular in the New Testament. The New Testament uses the Old Testament image of the Suffering Servant (Isaiah 53:5) and applies it to Christ.

The theme of Jesus's death as a sacrifice is most drawn out in the Letter to the Hebrews. The sacrifice of Christ is seen as the perfect sacrifice.

In the biblical tradition sacrifice was a common practice or ritual. In making an offering to God or a spirit, the person making the sacrifice hopes to make or mend a relationship with God.

St Augustine too wrote on the theme of sacrifice:

By his death, which is indeed the one and most true sacrifice offered for us, he purged, abolished and extinguished whatever guilt there was by which the principalities and powers lawfully detained us to pay the penalty.

He offered sacrifice for our sins. And where did he find that offering, the pure victim that he would offer? He offered himself, in that he could find no other.

The cross as a victory

The New Testament frequently describes Jesus's death and resurrection as a victory over evil and sin as represented by the Devil. How was the victory achieved?

For many writers the victory was achieved because Jesus was used as a ransom or a "bait". In Mark 10:45 Jesus describes himself as "a ransom for many". This word "ransom" was debated by later writers. The Greek writer Origen suggested Jesus's death was a ransom paid to the Devil.

Gregory the Great used the idea of a baited hook to explain how the Devil was tricked into giving up his hold over sinful humanity:

The bait tempts in order that the hook may wound. Our Lord therefore, when coming for the redemption of humanity, made a kind of hook of himself for the death of the devil.

Although the victory approach became less popular in the eighteenth century amongst Enlightenment thinkers - when the idea of a personal Devil and forces of evil was thrown into question - the idea was popularized again by Gustaf Aulén with the publication in 1931 of Christus Victor.

Aulén wrote of the idea Christus Victor:

Its central theme is the idea of the Atonement as a Divine conflict and victory; Christ - Christus Victor - fights against and triumphs over the evil powers of the world, the 'tyrants' under which mankind is in bondage and suffering, and in Him God reconciles the world to Himself. - Gustaf Aulén

The cross and forgiveness

Anselm of Canterbury writing in the eleventh century rejected the idea that God deceived the Devil through the cross of Christ. Instead he presented an alternative view which is often called the satisfaction theory of the atonement.

In this theory Jesus pays the penalty for each individual's sin in order to right the relationship between God and humanity, a relationship damaged by sin.

Jesus's death is the penalty or "satisfaction" for sin.

Satisfaction was an idea used in the early church to describe the public actions - pilgrimage, charity - that a christian would undertake to show that he was grateful for forgiveness.

Only Jesus can make satisfaction because he is without sin. He is sinless because in the Incarnation God became man. The theory is thought out by Anselm in his work Cur Deus Homo or Why God became Man.

The cross as a moral example

Moral influence theories or exemplary theories comprise a fourth category used to explain the atonement. They emphasize God's love expressed through the life and death of Jesus.

Christ accepted a difficult and undeserved death. This demonstration of love in turn moves us to repent and re-unites us with God. Peter Abelard (1079-1142) is associated with this theory. He wrote:

The Son of God took our nature, and in it took upon himself to teach us by both word and example even to the point of death, thus binding us to himself through love.

Abelard's theory and the call to the individual to respond to Christ's death with love continues to have popular appeal today.

Our redemption through the suffering of Christ is that deeper love within us which not only frees us from slavery to sin, but also secures for us the true liberty of the children of God, in order that we might do all things out of love rather than out of fear - love for him that has shown us such grace that no greater can be found. - Peter Abelard

What perfection lacks - authenticity


Why Perfect is the enemy of Good in Public Speaking

It’s about authenticity      

By Ginger Public Speaking

On the face of it, perfectionism can seem like a good thing in public speaking. Having high standards and a strong need for achievement can lead to outstanding work. Who wouldn't want to be a perfect public speaker? But when you look a little closer, you'll see that perfectionism is a curse, not a blessing in public speaking…

"Perfect is the enemy of good" - Voltaire

One of the biggest mistakes I see in aspiring public speakers isn't that they make mistakes, far from it. It's actually that they just see those mistakes negatively and insist on trying to be perfect at all times.

Being Perfect isn't Perfect

Perfectionism goes a little something like this:

I'm speaking.

I'm suppose to be good at this, even if I've never done this before.


Everything I do and say, therefore MUST BE PERFECT.

Ok. There a few problems with this very common thought patter...

1. You can't possibly be perfect in public speaking. It's like saying 'I want to have a perfect conversation'. There are simply too many factors to take into account. Public Speaking is an interaction, not a 1-way monologue.

2. Perfect is exhausting to even aspire towards and will drag life out of your speaking.

3. Who said that the audience even want perfection anyway? Some of the most inspiring moments in public speaking come from going off-piste. Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech wasn't perfectly on script; in fact the most famous part of it came from him ad-libbing as he talked.

All this was a big revelation for me, as a recovering perfectionist. It hit home for me when I was working with one of my clients and screwed up with a piece of speaking. Her reaction was, "Oh, thank God Sarah, you're not perfect!" In fact, every time I screwed up (which was quite a lot), she told me that it helped her connect with me and my message more and more.

These days I don't worry about mistakes. And my audiences prefer it that way. Public speaking is not about perfection. It's about communicating. As long as you can communicate your ideas, you can reach your speaking goals. If you are afraid of making even the smallest of mistakes, public speaking will never be pleasurable for you, or for your audience.

The Lesson of Failure


Failure Is Good To err is human—lucky for us

By Agustín Fuentes Ph.D. for Psychology Today 

It took the swimmer Diana Nyad five tries to swim from Cuba to Florida. Alfred Nobel blew up his laboratory (and his brother) in his eventually successful quest to develop dynamite (and went on to fund the Nobel Prize). On a recent National Geographic google+ hangout, a group of scientists and adventurers mused about our failures. In each case, no matter how depressing or frustrating the events were, failures taught a lesson, and enabled forward movement even if on a different path.  Being human means failing often.

The majority of scientists are wrong most of the time and nearly all athletes fail most times they attempt a goal, a hit, or a basket. The rate of failure and the heartbreak associated with it is part and parcel of our everyday lives. So why then, do we take failure so hard?  Because we forget that success is achieved through trying, and trying most often ends in failure.  

One might even argue that it is our ability to deal with failure in novel ways that enabled the first humans to navigate around and out of Africa hundreds of thousands of years ago. Think of how many times small groups of human ancestors tried to make a functional stone tool, a wooden spear, or communicate a complex topic to one another—and failed ad nauseum.  It took these same ancestors nearly a million years to be able to control fire, to hunt large game and then another three quarters of million more to figure out how to paint their stories on cave walls.  Human history is characterized by more failures than successes…and this is a good thing.

Achieving resilience in the face of failure, perseverance in the face of adversity is a central part of any ultimate success, and part of our own evolution. As Hannah Bloch wrote for National Geographic recently “…without the sting of failure to spur us to reassess and rethink, progress would be impossible.” Hope, dreams, and an active imagination, despite serious challenges, is part of why our species has done so well. Failing at something acts to demonstrate limitations, to force us to rethink or reevaluate how we do things, and to learn how to do them better. It adds a road block, ups the ante, and makes us use our brain, cooperate and get creative with the world. This is what humans do best. Unfortunately, all too often in our society trying and failing is seen as a flaw, as a failure of character, and this is a problem. 

Think about the practice of science itself: the most common outcome from any experiment is failure.  Most successful science is generated by refuting our hypotheses, by demonstrating we were wrong and that our earlier attempts were failures. It is the examination of the details of the failures, the reconstituting of our approaches that gets us closer to success.  Think about the development of electric lights, antibiotics, the internet… all great successes whose antecedents were rife with failures.

Not all failures turn into successes and many are indeed insurmountable. But that is not the point. It is the human ability to imagine, to hope, and to work towards seemingly impossible or improbable goals that plays such a core role in why we are here on the planet. Having hope and acting on that hope, and having the ability to retain that hope even after a setback, is central to human innovation...and to our future.

So next time you fail remember that you are in great company, do the human thing and go back out there and try again.

Giving and Receiving Support



Given that I have thinking on hard times as we enter Holy Week, with many funerals to plan and reaching out to families, and with a sermon on Palm Sunday that focused on the attraction of a Savior who offered less power and prestige and more accessibility and healing I have been focused on support. What is support and where do we find it, how do we nurture it and celebrate it.

In my many, many conversations with people on how they find and name support “loyalty” and “unconditional” are two words I hear frequently cited. I must say neither word has much resonance for me. I have been in hard times and like many I remember well the quality and quantity of support I received. On those occasions it was neither loyalty nor unconditional support that I valued. In hindsight what I needed then was honesty, humility and hope. From those who said, “you did nothing wrong, you are not at fault here, it is all them” I could tell they were disappointed I did not express more gratitude. Frankly these words sounded more like “taking sides”, people were lining up and those who told me they were with me said less about how I was and what the issue was than which side they had chosen.

I never want people to take sides. I never take sides. I believe people should be consistent, see the truth, side with the truth, support the truth and tell our friends and family the truth. Obviously we love our family and friends and we want them to see hope. I tell people challenged by issues and situations I am with them, here to support them no matter what. But when asked to share with them what I see I speak my truth, I tell them where I see the truth. But first I tell them a story of my own struggles, of my own shortcomings, of how I fall short and how I try to live into the truth. There are no lies or liars, only flawed people trying to live the truth as imperfectly as we are. I am 100% with the other but I also am with the truth, as least as I see it.

That’s what I want from my friends and family. Those people who spoke to me with love and truth in those hard times have my deep gratitude. I knew I was not perfect in those situations and I knew I was also being blamed for things that were not my fault. Those who offered me wisdom could affirm my mistakes and my virtues. They were no “yes people” or “mean people”, they neither told me what I wanted to hear, nor were they people who kicked me when I was down. There were plenty of them!

But the advice, counsel and support I valued the most came from a place of care, honesty and humility, people who had also screwed up (isn’t that all of us?), people who loved me and people who knew how to tell me what I might not have wanted to hear. I could hear them, in large part because I knew they cared about me, because of their humility and because they had some track record in my experience with being truthful about reality.

I also don’t think people who choose sides, whose loyalty colours their opinions, who tell the people they love what they want to hear, are doing their friend any favours. In the end there the patterns of behavior that get us in trouble will eventually take their toll unless those who love us get there first. The only thing that can save us from ourselves are those who love us when they are being honest with us.

I don’t use truthful as the opposite of lie, I use truthful as the opposite of speaking from and for one’s own. Loyalty is often a layer we use to speak something other than the truth, loyalty is often a way of shading the truth to make it come out as “we” over “them”. I don’t see the world as “we” and “them”, I see the world as one large collection of flawed people trying to stumble into the truth with the aid of wise mentors.

I honour and affirm support that has come to me in this fashion, I have learned from it and I am a better person/Christian because of it/them. Thank you.

Two Processionals

Palm Sunday by Marcus Borg

I wish that all Christians knew the story of Holy Week. Indeed, I wish everybody, Christian or not, did. But Christians especially. It is the story that should shape our understanding of Jesus and thus our understanding of what it means to be Christian...


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Look Who Is Showing Up At Church These Days

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Likeminded Coffee Mates

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