Best 400 quotes in «redemption quotes» category

The eyes of a nation (living godly) like this shall see the King of kings and the Lord of lords in all his beauty. Meaning salvation and redemption shall be readily available in abundance for the people of that land.

The Father is about total restoration. A complete returning to son-ship. An heir with all rights and privileges thereof. Maybe you're the prodigal. Surrounded by pigs and staring at the pods. Let me say this to you--I don't care what you've done, where you've gone, where you are, or who you've become, the truth is this: the sanctifying, redeeming, justifying, snatching-back-out-of-the-hand-of-the-devil blood of Jesus reaches to the far ends of the earth.

The glory of the cross is bound up with the effectiveness of its accomplishment.

The fragility of our era is this, too: we don’t believe that there is a chance for redemption; for a hand to raise you up; for an embrace to save you, forgive you, pick you up, flood you with infinite, patient, indulgent love; to put you back on your feet. We need mercy.

The grace of redemption is better than riches.

The grace of redemption is the gift of a RIghteous God.

The machines of this place are failing, and the woman and I are here all alone. The perpetual motion engine, as brilliant and beautiful as it is, is running down—nothing lasts forever. But before this little world falls out of the sky there still might be time enough for redemption. There is still time for me to say the words that I should have had the courage to say at the beginning. There is still time, perhaps, for one more miracle. Hello, Miranda.

The greatest Comfort in life is Christ On the Move For Our Redemption Timelessly! HS (EL)

The miracle of redemption spreads like a leaven throughout the regions of the earth if properly strategized

The material creation was made by God to be developed, cultivated, and cared for in an endless number of ways through human labor. But even the simplest of these ways is important. Without them all, human life cannot flourish.

The more He loved those for whom He was the ransom, the more His anguish would increase, as it is the faults of friends rather than enemies which most disturb hearts!

....[T]he night terrors were no match for the glory of waking up to a new day in the Land of Israel. In every conscious moment, Yael was aware that she was living through times that would form the legends and myths of future generations. Just as her generation told and retold the story of the Exodus from Egypt—the event that changed the nature of Israel forever—so would her people hundreds of years from now tell of the end of the Great Exile and the return to this land. The wonder of it touched everything around her, casting a golden glow over even the most mundane events. Nothing seemed impossible, and nothing seemed entirely real.

The gentle waters poured from the heavens, baptizing the two angels in a healing shower that washed away their differences, lifting the veil from their sight, and they knew they were the same.

The older we get, the bigger the catalog of failures Satan can throw in our faces. You may think, ‘I don’t have anything to offer.’ But you can teach out of your failures as well as your successes (p. 223).

Then the pulse. Then a pause. Then twilight in a box. Dusk underfoot. Then generations. — Then the same war by a different name. Wine splashing in the bucket. The erection, the era. Then exit Reason. Then sadness without reason. Then the removal of the ceiling by hand. — Then pages & pages of numbers. Then the page with the faint green stain. Then the page on which Prince Theodore, gravely wounded, is thrown onto a wagon. Then the page on which Masha weds somebody else. Then the page that turns to the story of somebody else. Then the page scribbled in dactyls. Then the page which begins Exit Angel. Then the page wrapped around a dead fish. Then the page where the serfs reach the ocean. Then a nap. Then the peg. Then the page with the curious helmet. Then the page on which millet is ground. Then the death of Ursula. Then the stone page they raised over her head. Then the page made of grass which goes on. — Exit Beauty. — Then the page someone folded to mark her place. Then the page on which nothing happens. The page after this page. Then the transcript. Knocking within. Interpretation, then harvest. — Exit Want. Then a love story. Then a trip to the ruins. Then & only then the violet agenda. Then hope without reason. Then the construction of an underground passage between us. Srikanth Reddy, "Burial Practice" from Facts for Visitors. Copyright © 2004 by the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted by permission of The University of California Press. Source: Facts for Visitors (University of California Press, 2004)

Then it happened. One of those rare moments when your faith in the Almighty is reaffirmed and you realize that a chapter in a person’s life has just been punctuated with a comma instead of a period.

The old woman with the shimmering hair knew her time was ending as well; she felt it in the unsteady thump that her heart now made, in the way that her eyes no longer wanted to open in the mornings, in the labored breath she had while doing nothing more than sipping her buttercream coffee. Her life had been a series of hazardous mistakes and misfortunes, bad choices and even worse men. She thought that if she could just make one right choice, one last ditch effort at redemption, to choose the way she left this world, to transform herself, if only for a day, then maybe it would make up for all the lost years and loneliness she had felt. -The Girl with Dragonfly Wings

The organist was almost at the end of the anthem’s long introduction, and as the crescendo increases the cathedral began to glitter before my eyes until I felt as if every stone in the building was vibrating in anticipation of the sweeping sword of sound from the Choir. The note exploded in our midst, and at that moment I knew our creator had touched not only me but all of us, just as Harriet had touched that sculpture with a loving hand long ago, and in that touch I sensed the indestructible fidelity, the indescribable devotion and the inexhaustible energy of the creator as he shaped his creation, bringing life out of dead matter, wresting form continually from chaos. Nothing was ever lost, Harriet had said, and nothing was ever wasted because always, when the work was finally completed, every article of the created process, seen or unseen, kept or discarded, broken or mended – EVERYTHING was justified, glorified and redeemed.

The Plan Of Redemption Is Being Implemented On Daily Bases

The Plan Of Redemption Culminated In Taking A giant Step

The only cure for suffering is to face it head on, grasp it round the neck and use it.

The Redeemer redeems.

The redemption of a country depends on the position of the church

The real monsters are born, not made. They are the ones who watch behind friendly faces. The ones who come for the innocent trying to steal everything they have, be it their most treasured possessions, their honour or their lives. Not because they must, not because their very existence relies on it but simply because there is a thrill in it for them. To watch a man pierced by wrath and greed die a lonely death, to watch a woman pierced by lust and anger whimper away in fear. It thrills them to watch man burn and bleed. Real monsters love to turn the sound of beautiful life into many a terrified scream.

There is always a road back. If we have the courage to look for it, and take it. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I don't know. I need help. These are the signposts. The cardinal directions.

There's a certain amount of ambiguity in my background, what with intermarriages and conversions, but under various readings of three codes which I don’t much respect (Mosaic Law, the Nuremberg Laws, and the Israeli Law of Return) I do qualify as a member of the tribe, and any denial of that in my family has ceased with me. But I would not remove myself to Israel if it meant the continuing expropriation of another people, and if anti-Jewish fascism comes again to the Christian world—or more probably comes at us via the Muslim world—I already consider it an obligation to resist it wherever I live. I would detest myself if I fled from it in any direction. Leo Strauss was right. The Jews will not be 'saved' or 'redeemed.' (Cheer up: neither will anyone else.) They/we will always be in exile whether they are in the greater Jerusalem area or not, and this in some ways is as it should be. They are, or we are, as a friend of Victor Klemperer's once put it to him in a very dark time, condemned and privileged to be 'a seismic people.' A critical register of the general health of civilization is the status of 'the Jewish question.' No insurance policy has ever been devised that can or will cover this risk.

There’s no lonelier feeling than when a crowd of people is staring at you and there’s nowhere to hide. But you know what you do? You take your lumps and then give it another shot the next time. A better shot. That’s all you can do.

There is also the significance of the crown of thorns for the church, God's redeemed people. It reminds us that Christ is a King and that he is victorious even when he seems defeated. However abased Christ may appear to me he is still a King. He accomplishes a regal task at Calvary and gains for us a royal pardon. He ascends a throne as he goes to be crucified, a throne of grace. In this apparent weakness he is the mighty Conqueror of Satan and sin and death, the Overcomer of this world. The cross appears as foolishness to the world, but to God's redeemed people that cross is victory, salvation, the power of God.

The specific sufferings of Jesus do not amount to redemption: rather, redemption is wrought through the uniqueness of the person who suffered and the perfect charity for which, in which and by which he suffered. The uniqueness of the suffering of Christ, then, lies in the pro knobs, which is bound to the freedom through which the Son endures “every human suffering” on account of love. To say that Jesus endured “every human suffering” does not mean that he specifically suffered every thing that every person ever did or could suffer, but the he “sums up” in this Passion the suffering so fate world, mystically including them in his own suffering and recapitulating them in the form of perfect love. The whole weight of this psychological and physical dereliction of humanity is, in Christ, suffered and sorrowed now within God himself, in the sense that the human sufferings of Christ are “one” with the divine filial relation that constitutes his unity with the Father.

The three step key to happiness when everything is down - Redemption, Reconstruction and Recover

The truth is, God has redeems the world across cultures, countries, world powers, systems, religious orders, trends, movements, and human heart since the beginning of time. His ways are entirely outside of our understanding. Sure, I know and love God and my contacts, because it is the only one I know; and I am grateful he found me here. But he has rescued people in and out of church, in and out of religions, and in and out of traditions since the beginning. He operates and truly mysterious ways we won't know until heaven. And we will probably be shocked.

The truth, Ben. Sometimes it takes a while.

The very implausibility of the restoration of pared down fingernails and amputated limbs at the end of time underlines, for me, the despicableness of human beings who, in fact, torture and mutilate their fellow human beings. Yet, the implausible, even risible doctrine of the resurrection of the body asserts that—if there is such a thing as redemption—it must redeem our experience of enduring and even inflicting such acts. If there is meaning to the history we tell and the corruption (both moral and physical) we suffer, surely it is in (as well as in spite of) fragmentation. Bodily resurrection at the end of time is, in a technical sense, a comic—that is, a contrived and brave—happy ending.

The weapons of divine justice are blunted by the confession and sorrow of the offender.

The whirlwind in his brain—which had so many times tugged his pituitary in ways that made him TAKE instead of GIVE— subsided for the very first time. Tightness in his crotch usually corresponded with a tightness in his gut, making him want to CONTROL, to CHOKE, to SUBDUE... but not this time. Not ever again.

There is no riches like redemption.

These times of war and ruin will pass, and by love, you will be renewed and all terrible things shall be undone. Do you hear me, Fin Button?” Jeannot pushed the hair from her face and though shaking yet, Fin nodded. “In the name of God I drew you from the water, and in his name shall you be delivered home.

This is the worst thing about poisons and deadly sins - that we enjoy them.

The Word through whom all things were made is now the Word through whom all things are remade.

This life wasn't all there was; there was more, much more, and when people spoke of death as "passing" they were exactly right, because the spirit passed on to that other level of existence. Knowing that was the most comforting thing she could imagine.

This morning I awoke drowning in sadness. Sleepily, I probed my heart looking for a cause. Then, rising from the dream, I took possession of my feelings and gave them back to God - the only Source of my life. And that feeling of sadness - redeemed - became a deeply felt compassion, a determination to make a difference….

This side of the grave, no one--and I don't care who they are or what sin or sins they have or are committing--is too far gone.

Thou has heard the words of Christ. . . . Dost thou weep, when I have thee, Poor soul, what aileth thee? Dost thou weep, when I have wept so much? Be of good cheer ; thy wounds are saving, and not deadly. It is I that have made them, who mean thee no hurt : though I let out thy blood, I will not let out thy life (628).

They say the eyes are the windows to our soul; glass gateways that do little to conceal our true self. Yet, for me, they're also the narrators of our heart and give insight to our well-kept secrets... secrets I wanted to remain hidden.

Through the realization of the potentials and possibilities within and outside of you, one connects imagination with reality. What could be becomes so.

Through the realization of the potentials and possibilities within and outside of you, one connects imagination with reality. What could be becomes so. You transform what exists, causing not only its evolution, but determining to a large part the course of its evolution. It’s a kind of alchemy in that what you create has not existed before, you give birth to other potentials and possibilities, which continues and expands the program. Perhaps more importantly, the very core of existence is touched and celebrated, that being creation itself.

Trevor climbed once again to the land of the living, naked except for an antique gas mask strapped to his face. As he peered through glass eyes like a mutant fly and breathed through the alien snoot, a single thought coiled through the booby-trapped labyrinth of his brain: I need to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to be alone.

Trevor could almost see the invisible gas leaking from the broken furnace, billowing around his body, wafting in his wake from the laundry room to the living room, seeking out the nostrils of the realtor, the yuppies, the toddler, and every other goddamn trespasser before seeping into their bloodstream and infecting their cells until they dizzied, ached, barfed, and fell to the floor like a bunch of— He caught himself. He breathed through his nose. He pushed away the hate, calmed the tornado strangling his gut, and thought of HER.

Turn it beautiful. His words came faintly at first, but they came again and again, always softly, always with the insistence of an elder commanding wisdom. Turn it all to beauty. She walked to the rail. When she turned and sat upon it, she heard a sailor in the crowd murmur that she might play them a tune. She hoped he was right. She needed the voices to be wrong. Fin raised the instrument to the cleft of her neck and closed her eyes. She emptied her mind and let herself be carried back to her earliest memory, the first pain she ever knew: the knowledge that her parents didn’t want her. The despair of rejection coursed through her. It fathered a knot of questions that bound her, enveloped her. Waves of uncertainty and frailty shook her to the bones. Her body quivered with anger and hopelessness. She reeled on the edge of a precipice. She wanted to scream or to throw her fists but she held it inside; she struggled to control it. She fought to subjugate her pain, but it grew. It welled up; it filled her mind. When she could hold it no more, exhausted by defiance and wearied by years of pretending not to care, Bartimaeus’s words surrounded her. Got to turn it beautiful. She dropped her defenses. She let weakness fill her. She accepted it. And the abyss yawned. She tottered over the edge and fell. The forces at war within her raced down her arms and set something extraordinary in motion; they became melody and harmony: rapturous, golden. Her fingers coaxed the long-silent fiddle to life. They danced across the strings without hesitation, molding beauty out of the miraculous combination of wood, vibration, and emotion. The music was so bright she felt she could see it. The poisonous voices were outsung. Notes raged out of her in a torrent. She had such music within her that her bones ached with it, the air around her trembled with it, her veins bled it. The men around fell still and silent. Some slipped to the deck and sat enraptured like children before a travelling bard.

The story of grace is the Gospel of not just forgiveness, but also of redemption. God uses the weak, the ones who have failed and the ones who had run out of second chances long ago.