All that is good is ours not by right but by the sheer bounty of a gracious God

The unwounded life bears no resemblance to the Rabbi.

We must go out into a desert of some kind (your backyard will do) and come into a personal experience of the awesome love of God.

There is an extraordinary power in storytelling that stirs the imagination and makes an indelible impression on the mind.

At Sunday worship, as in every dimension of our existence, many of us pretend to believe we are sinners. Consequently, all we can do is pretend we have been forgiven. As a result, our whole spiritual life is pseudo-repentance and pseudo-bliss.

I could more easily contain Niagara Falls in a teacup than I can comprehend the wild, uncontainable love of God.

This is the God of the gospel of grace. A God who, out of love for us, sent the only Son He ever had wrapped in our skin. He learned how to walk, stumbled and fell, cried for His milk, sweated blood in the night, was lashed with a whip and showered with spit, was fixed to a cross, and died whispering forgiveness on us all.