So here we are again, a few billion miles farther along our mysterious path among the immensities. What a comfort read more

So here we are again, a few billion miles farther along our mysterious path among the immensities. What a comfort it is to know the Man in charge of it all. Without Him, it would be easy to think that the whole of time and space, and life itself, are without reason, purpose, or meaning -- as H. G. Wells said, that it is "a bad joke beyond our unterstanding, a flare of vulgarity, an empty laugh braying across the mysteries." With Jesus forever between God and us, we can understand a few things, and trust Him for the rest. After all, He is one of us: a baby once, as we all were; then, and forever after, a Man, as we all shall always be.

Justice and Judgment are thy throne Yet wondrous is thy grace; While truth and mercy joined in one, read more

Justice and Judgment are thy throne Yet wondrous is thy grace; While truth and mercy joined in one, Invite us near thy face.

Feast of Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, 651 Commemoration of Cuthburga, Founding Abbess of Wimborne, c.725 Commemoration of John Bunyan, read more

Feast of Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, 651 Commemoration of Cuthburga, Founding Abbess of Wimborne, c.725 Commemoration of John Bunyan, Spiritual Writer, 1688 Christians are like the flowers in a garden, that have each of them the dew of Heaven, which, being shaken with the wind, they let fall at each other's roots, whereby they are jointly nourished, and become nourishers of each other.

Feast of François de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, Teacher, 1622 Complain as little as possible of your wrongs, for, read more

Feast of François de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, Teacher, 1622 Complain as little as possible of your wrongs, for, as a general rule, you may be sure that complaining is sin: ... because self-love always magnifies our injuries.

If people gathered to a political meeting, and the chief speaker spoke to them only for some quarter of an read more

If people gathered to a political meeting, and the chief speaker spoke to them only for some quarter of an hour, they would be annoyed, would feel with some resentment that he had not taken them seriously, had dealt much too cavalierly with the question of the hour, an Ulster boundary, or such like. But the things of the soul are far more momentous, and to be asked to deal with huge, unfathomable facts like the Cross in a few minutes, means that people are not really interested in these things. This is, of course, a snippety age, with a snippety press, and snippety novels. But must we preachers follow and be snippety, too?

Patriotism is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion, but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime.

Patriotism is not short, frenzied outbursts of emotion, but the tranquil and steady dedication of a lifetime.

Feast of Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, c.326 If I now want to add something of my own read more

Feast of Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, c.326 If I now want to add something of my own (i.e., inner assurances) to this faith, if this great and glorious faith is defective and saves me not till I can add my own sense and my own feeling to it at such a time or place, is not this saying in the plainest manner that faith alone cannot justify me? ... All I would say of these inward delights and enjoyments is this: they are not holiness, they are not piety, they are not perfection, but they are God's gracious allurements and calls to seek after holiness and spiritual perfection.

Feast of Stephen, Deacon, First Martyr The Mother sits by the rough-hewn byre where her Baby smiles, and the secret read more

Feast of Stephen, Deacon, First Martyr The Mother sits by the rough-hewn byre where her Baby smiles, and the secret fire shines on her face. Her hand rests by an iron spike from the wood thrust high ("The nails in His hands!" ) An open chink in the rude, cold shed lets in the sky, and the Star that led shepherds and kings pours down its light: a silver shaft through the frosty night ("The spear in His side!") Her hands reach out, as to push away the cross-crowned hill and the bloody day; they touch a rough, unyielding wall: the stable side, of stone piled tall ("The stone -- rolled away!").

Feast of John and Charles Wesley, Priests, Poets, Teachers, 1791 & 1788 He was but a heathen that said, read more

Feast of John and Charles Wesley, Priests, Poets, Teachers, 1791 & 1788 He was but a heathen that said, If God love a man, He takes him young out of this world; and they were but heathens, that observed that custom. to put on mourning when their sons were born, and to feast and triumph when they died. But thus much may we learn from these heathens, that if the dead, and we, be not upon one floor, nor under one story, yet we are under one roof. We think not a friend lost, because he has gone into another room, nor because he has gone into another land: and into another world, no man has gone; for that Heaven, which God created, and this world, is all one world... I spend none of my faith, I exercise none of my hope, in this, that I shall have my dead raised to life again. This is the faith that sustains me, when I lose by the death of others, or when I suffer by living in misery myself: that the dead and we are now all in one Church, and at the resurrection, shall be all in one Choir.