Even though the mystery is “solved,” it doesn’t change the fact that the girl survived a horrific crash in a manner some of her rescuers called “miraculous.” When we interact with the Lord is there anything not miraculous that happens?

The “angel priest” who appeared at the scene of a Missouri car crash, anointed and prayed with the teenage victim, then vanished has been identified as Rev. Patrick Dowling of the Jefferson City Diocese.

A press release provided to FoxNews.com by the diocese said Father Dowling had been travelling Highway 19 between Mass assignments in northern and central Missouri when he arrived near the crash scene Aug. 4.

The arrival of the unidentified priest, who seemed to come out of nowhere, then attend to the victim before disappearing just as mysteriously, touched off nationwide speculation about the identity of the “angel” cleric.

Read it all.

Another interesting perspective. From Christianity Today online.

Just a few weeks ago, Pope Francis tweeted, “A Christian is never bored or sad. Rather, the one who loves Christ is full of joy and radiates joy.” Never? If only. We can be Debbie Downers, even when it comes to our faith.

This is not to suggest discontentment is inherently bad. All people feel the rumblings of “Is this all there is?” in life, which often pushes us to look outside ourselves for truth. At its best, discontentment often reminds us that we were made for a different place, producing in us a hunger to ask deeper questions and pray more fervent prayers.

But hasn’t discontentment also introduced the possibility that we Christians have been marketing our own spiritual brand of a most unholy product? Just as American culture sells, “You need this thing or that experience to be happy,” does American Christian culture insist, “You need this feeling with God or that experience of God to be happy?” And if this is the case, are we asking Jesus for too much?

Read it all.

A very real piece. From Christianity Today online.

You see, I was a good person, or at least had tried my hardest to be one. I had devoted my entire life to following and serving God, giving up a promising career in medicine to become a pastor. I wanted to do great things for his sake, and so planted a church in

Washington, D.C. My family had moved into the heart of the city, intent on being an incarnational witness of Christ. As a result, God was supposed to protect us against the worst that the world could offer.

But he hadn’t. Instead, three months into that church plant, he had allowed my wife to get aggressive breast cancer. Then, only a few years after its founding, the church plant was forced to close its doors. Our home has been broken into twice, our car, more times than I can count. These kinds of events, I thought, aren’t supposed to happen to people who follow God faithfully. We are supposed to enjoy protection, blessing, and providence, not cancer, failure, and crime. I never expected our lives to be perfect, but this was too much to bear. I felt betrayed by God because he had broken his promises.

This might all seem strange for a pastor to say. After all, Jesus obeys his Father’s will and yet is persecuted and suffers terribly. The disciples follow in the footsteps of their Lord and experience the same. According to 1 Peter 4:12, “Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.”

As a pastor, I understood—and taught—these very truths. But despite all my good theology and good intentions, here I was, struck by a deep sense of God’s betrayal. I tried to remind myself time and time again of the witness of the life of Christ and the early church, and how God could use suffering to refine and strengthen our faith. I even preached on those themes more than a few times during that hellish year. I knew the right answers like the back of my hand, but they were of no use to me, because feelings of deepening anger and mistrust toward God inevitably crept back into my heart.

I realized then that I didn’t really believe what I thought I believed, what I said I believed. My conscious theology had been overridden by a subconscious theology: the gospel of health and wealth, or the idea that following God ensures blessings in this life. Had anyone accused me of subscribing to such ideas, I would have denied it vehemently. But it became abundantly clear that I had subconsciously absorbed them, in at least some subtle form, from countless sources.

Read and reflect on the whole thing.