Sunday Collectives 4/17/17 – 4/23/17
Now that I am a Christian should I feel different or see a difference in my life?
Before you became a Christian, while you may or may not have been a good person, you could do nothing to bring glory and honor to God. You could not even choose to live as though God existed. All you could choose was to live in a way that took you from one pleasure, comfort and approval by another.
By Chad Bird
- That he’s become sin so God turns his back on him?
- That he’s experiencing hell in our stead?
The sticker on the back of the jeep in front of me threatens to crush my weak spirit. It has the words, No Bad Days encased in a fish outline alluding to the fact that there are no bad days with Christ.
What? No bad days?
The guilt and condemnation pour over me as I think about the “bad day” that I was having. What had I done wrong? Perhaps it was my pessimism coming to a head again.
Theology is broken into two greek words, theos (God) and logos (Word). So then basically theology is the study of a “word about God” or God’s Word or God. You cannot separate the two. Many today will decry the study of doctrine or forming a belief system or knowledge about what and why one believes what they believe about God’s Word.
Claiming all you need are the red letters, or love, or the Bible is forgetting some important truths. Those same red letters, that same Bible says that because of love we should “be aware of false teachers.(Matthew 7:15, Romans 16:17-20, 1 Timothy 4:1-2)” Paul, told Timothy to study God’s Word, so that he would be a craftsmen (2 Timothy 2:15).
By Jody Neufeld
I am the one who has seen the afflictions
that come from the rod of the Lord’s anger.
He has led me into darkness,
shutting out all light.
He has turned his hand against me
again and again, all day long.
He has made my skin and flesh grow old.
He has broken my bones.
In 1975, three friends and I participated in a 200-mile bicycle marathon on Belle Isle, an island-park owned by the city of Detroit. The course was a five-mile circuit which you circled forty times. Every time you passed the “finish line,” someone stamped your plastic vest. The race lasted twenty-four hours and the goal was to get forty stamps, representing 200 miles.
My friends and I were foolish high school boys (pardon my redundancy) and not one of us trained for the event. I had to borrow an “English racer” (with its tortuously narrow racing seat) because I didn’t even own a bike. Nevertheless, we decided to ride forty-one circuits (sort of a biker’s-dozen of 205 miles) just to say we did.