Matthew

If people can approach the faith without thinking they already know what it is, they might hear the good news for themselves.

I am grateful for John the Baptist's indictment.

What troubles me about the holy family's flight to Egypt is that God, in Jesus, runs away.

We are not prepared to be judged by Matthew.

Matthew's geneaology underscores that God has always worked through messy and broken families.

Jesus' ministry is not what John the Baptist expected it to be.

Two refreshing new books place the storyteller within the story he tells.

The Bible uses the word fear both for fright and awe. This week's texts reveal the difference.

While we're preparing for Jesus' birth, these texts talk about getting ready for the Second Coming.

My state has the same number of churches as prisoners. This fact haunts me.

Belief in the incarnation places suffering bodies within the realm of Christian responsibility.

Belief in the incarnation places suffering bodies within the realm of Christian responsibility.

You knew about weakness before you were ordained. Yet something made you get out of the boat and try to walk.

New communities spring up at coffeehouses, on Habitat for Humanity worksites, or at 5k races. What makes any of them a church?

During Holy Week, it's common for worship leaders to ask people to consider their place in the drama of Jesus' final days. To what extent do we betray him, deny him, insult him, crucify him? When do we, like the crowds, find ourselves gawking at suffering with prurient glee? When do we, like the thieves, alternately ridicule the truth, then believe in it? When do we, like the centurion, make our confession--though perhaps a moment too late?

During Holy Week, it's common for worship leaders to ask people to consider their place in the drama of Jesus' final days. To what extent do we betray him, deny him, insult him, crucify him? When do we, like the crowds, find ourselves gawking at suffering with prurient glee? When do we, like the thieves, alternately ridicule the truth, then believe in it? When do we, like the centurion, make our confession--though perhaps a moment too late?

During Holy Week, it's common for worship leaders to ask people to consider their place in the drama of Jesus' final days. To what extent do we betray him, deny him, insult him, crucify him? When do we, like the crowds, find ourselves gawking at suffering with prurient glee? When do we, like the thieves, alternately ridicule the truth, then believe in it? When do we, like the centurion, make our confession--though perhaps a moment too late?

How on earth do we balance the quietness of our hearts with a public call to repentance?