The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you today.

What Is the “Common Good”?
You’ve probably hard the term “the common good.” Andrew Walker explains what it is and why it matters for ethics.
The Basis for Confession
Aubrynn tells how a service she attended took an unexpected but beneficial turn. “When we got to the time of confession and assurance, I was struck by something unexpected: this part of the service was ‘backwards’.”
Doctrine for Life
Human Nature in its Fourfold State. The Crook in the Lot. Notes on the Marrow of Modern Divinity. Read these riveting experiential classics in The Complete Works of Thomas Boston to learn how theology can your life. (Sponsored Link)
What Is Calvinism? A Simple Explanation of Its Terms, History & Tenets
“Calvinism is not a church or a denomination. Calvinism is not even (just) a system of doctrine. Instead, Calvinism is a broad religious tradition with certain shared views and points of emphasis. It is doctrinal, churchly, and activistic. Calvinism teaches that the glory and sovereignty of God should come first in all things. Calvinism believes that only God can lead his church—in preaching, worship, and government.”
Finding freedom from freedom
“We live in what Charles Taylor calls a ‘culture of Authenticity,’ one where the primary values are autonomy, individuality, authenticity, and freedom. Which, since some churches talk about freedom a lot, can be confusing, because I’m not sure we mean the same thing. The freedom our churches talk about is the kind where you get to choose the good, the freedom our culture talks about is the kind where you to choose what the good is.”
Biblical Hope Is a Solid Certainty
Randy Alcorn: “To many of us, ‘hope’ sounds wishful and tentative, but biblical hope means to anticipate with trust. We expect a sure thing, purchased on the cross, accomplished and promised by an all-knowing God. Scripture offers solid ground for our hope in Christ.”
When You Are Done But God Is Not
“Your oldest child heads off to college. A friend you led to Christ and have been discipling moves over 1,000 miles away. Your work contract ends and those you have seen and witnessed to daily for years fade from your life. Our time on earth often passes in cycles—family cycles, ministry cycles, and work cycles. We go from one phase to the next.” Here’s some help on God’s care for us through life changes.
Flashback: Joy Is for the Generous
Money may not be able to purchase the greatest and deepest joy, but it can still generate it. The joy is there for the taking. The joy is there for the giving. The joy is for the generous.

Behavioral compliance to rules without heart-change will be superficial and fleeting. —Tim Keller

The young man had forsaken his father, claimed an early inheritance, and blown it all in reckless living. Having fallen from riches to poverty, this prodigal son was now in the most desperate of straights—working hard, eating little, spiraling ever downward.

But on one brutal day, when he was as low as low could be, a thought suddenly flashed into his mind: “At home even the hired servants have food enough to spare, and I’m here dying of hunger!” The thought birthed an idea: “I will go home to my father and say, ‘Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, and I am no longer worthy of being called your son. Please take me on as a hired servant.’” He understood that though he was no longer worthy to be considered his father’s son, he would gladly take a place as his father’s slave.
So he set out to return home and at last arrived at the outskirts of his father’s holdings. As his foot hovered beside the boundary marker, he paused for just a moment to run over his plan and rehearse his words. “I have sinned. I am not worthy. Make me your servant. I have sinned. I am not worthy. Make me your servant.” With a whispered prayer, he steeled his gaze and began to shuffle forward.
He had taken only a few steps when suddenly, in the distance ahead, he saw someone approaching, running, almost sprinting in his direction. His arms looked to be open wide in a gesture of embrace. As the form came closer, there was a flash of recognition: his older brother. He must have been overseeing the field servants nearby when he spotted his younger sibling and came running toward him. Now, as he approached, the younger man saw that his brother’s arms were not open in embrace, but open in the universal gesture for “stop.” In just a few moments the two stood face-to-face.
The older spoke first: “What on earth are you doing here? After all you’ve done, how dare you set foot on this land?”
“I know I blew it,” the younger replied meekly. “I know I sinned. But I have nothing left. I’ve come to ask dad if he will let me be his servant.”
“Do you know what you did to dad when you left? Do you know how badly you shamed and embarrassed him in front of the entire community? He wants nothing to do with you.”
“I know he won’t ever take me back into the family. I wouldn’t even ask. But I know that he’s kinder to his slaves than most people are to their sons. I don’t need privileges. I just need kindness.”
“He doesn’t love you anymore. He doesn’t want you anymore. You’re dead to him.”
“I just want to talk to him. I just want to plead with him. I have seen him extend mercy to others—maybe he’ll extend it to me as well.”
“Mercy? To you? You’re an absolute disgrace. You disgust me and you’ll disgust him. You’re filthy. You stink.”
“I know. I know I do. I’ve been sleeping in barns. I’ve been eating with animals. I’m starving. I’m broken. I’m done.”
“I’m the future of this family. I’ve done everything dad has asked of me. I’ve obeyed his every word. It’s me he loves.”
“I know. I know you’re worthy of dad’s love. I know I’m not. But maybe dad has some love for the unworthy. I just want to ask. I just want to beg.”
“Come on! You know how just and fair dad is. He can’t just pretend you didn’t betray him. And he certainly hasn’t forgotten what you did to him. He won’t forget. He can’t forget.”
“I know. I can’t either.”
“None of us will ever forget what you did. None of us will ever forget who you are.”
As a tear cascaded from the young man’s eye, his older brother spoke once more: “Tell you what: You march yourself back up that road. I don’t want you to even think about coming back until you’ve cleaned yourself up, until you don’t stink anymore, until you’ve put on some decent clothes, and until you can reimburse dad every single penny you took from him. Then maybe, just maybe, he’ll be willing to see you.”
“I guess it’s only fair.”
“Go. Get out of here. You’re lost—don’t come back until you’ve found yourself.”
“You’re right. I’ll go. I’ll try to clean myself up. I’ll try to earn it all back. And if I do, I’ll return and prove myself to dad.”
And with that, the younger son turned around. He headed back up the roadway and past the boundary marker, each step extending the distance between himself and his father. His brother stood and watched him go, a satisfied grin on his face.
“I think I’m going to throw myself a little party,” he said. “I deserve it.”
(Author’s note: Have you ever considered what might have happened if the prodigal son met his older brother before his father?)

No work of art is more beautiful, more valuable, more irreplaceable, than the twenty-third psalm. It has stood through the ages as a work of art more exquisite than The Night Watch, more faultless than Mona Lisa, more thought-provoking than Starry Night. The lines of the greatest poets cannot match its imagery, the words of the greatest theologians its profundity. Credentialed academics may wrestle with it, yet young children can understand it. It is read over cradles and cribs, over coffins and crypts, at births and deaths, at weddings and funerals. It is prayed in closets, sung in churches, and chanted in cathedrals.

This psalm dries more crying eyes, raises more drooping hands, and strengthens more weakened knees than any man or angel. It tends to every kind of wound and ministers to every kind of sorrow. To trade it for all the wealth of all the worlds would be the worst of bargains. I’d have rather penned the twenty-third psalm than written Hamlet, than painted Sunflowers, than sculpted The Thinker, for when Shakespeare’s play has been forgotten, when Van Gogh’s painting has faded, when Rodin’s sculpture has been destroyed, David’s song will remain. We impoverish ourselves if we do not read it, do not meditate upon it, and do not treasure it. We weaken ourselves if we do not drink deeply of it in our deepest sorrows.
David’s great psalm employs the simplest of images—that of a shepherd and his sheep—and assures of the greatest of truths—that God is forever present with his people. “The LORD is my shepherd” he says so simply, “I shall not want.” Because the LORD is his shepherd, this sheep can have confidence that he will never lack for any necessity, for the shepherd loves his flock and will faithfully attend to their every need. When they are tired he will make them lie down in green pastures, when they are thirsty he will lead them beside still waters, when they are downtrodden he will restore them, when they are lost or uncertain he will lead them in the right paths. The sheep can rest in peace under the shepherd’s watchful eye, they can be assured of every comfort under his tender care.
But sometimes fields go barren and springs run dry. And in such times the good shepherd knows just what to do, he knows he must lead his sheep to fresh pastures and to cool, still waters. Yet he also knows the way will be difficult, for these pastures and waters lie on the far side of a dark valley. So he calls his sheep to himself and begins to lead them into the darkness, to lead them along an unfamiliar path.
And here, on the edge of uncertainty, sheep says to shepherd, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” Though the shepherd must lead his sheep into the darkness, lead them through an unknown valley, they will go, for he is with them. Their fears are soothed by his strength, their uncertainty by his presence. When enemies approach he will ward them off with his rod, when sheep stumble he will lift them with his staff. The shepherd who leads them in will lead them through and lead them out. And soon enough sheep and shepherd will emerge into the light on the far side of their darkness. And there again they will settle together for rest and refreshment. There again they will dwell in sweet peace.
What comfort there is in the knowledge that the shepherd who tends his sheep by still waters is the very same shepherd who tends them in the valley of darkness. The sheep do not foolishly blunder into that valley, they are not led there by wily wolves or chased there by hungry bears. They are led there by their loving shepherd, they enter there only according to his good plan and perfect purpose. They enter the valley only because it is for their benefit, only because the shepherd is leading them to something better beyond. They are never for a moment alone, for they are always following him.
My shepherd has called me to walk a difficult path—a path of sorrow, a path of grief, a path stained by tears. The way is uncharted to me but familiar to him, for he sees the end from the beginning, he has known from ancient times the things still undone. He speaks to the darkness and declares, “My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose.” I can have in him all the confidence of a sheep in his shepherd. I can follow him, knowing that “surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.”
And I will follow him, singing this song in the darkness, meditating upon its truths with every step. I’d rather face my trial with David’s psalm in my heart than with Aaron’s staff in my hand, with Joshua’s army at my side, with Solomon’s gold in my pocket. I’d rather know the words to this one song than of all the great hymns of the Christian faith. I’d rather lose everything with my shepherd beside me than gain the whole world alone. Yes, I can bear the loss of my son as long as I know the presence of my shepherd. I can walk this path, I can pass through this dark valley, if only my shepherd guides me, if only he leads the way.