This is the first in a series meant to let the Christian tradition speak for itself, the way it has carried Christians through long winters, confusion, and joy for centuries.
The crisis is not merely that people are leaving. The crisis is that we have relinquished what is uniquely Lutheran and deeply needed.
The ethos of the church’s worship is found in poor, needy, and desperate sinners finding solace and relief in the God of their salvation.

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Wade Johnston, Life Under the Cross: A Biography of the Reformer Matthias Flacius Illyricus, Concordia Publishing House, St. Louis: MO, 2025.
This story points us from our unlikely heroes to the even more unlikely, and joyous, good news that Jesus’ birth for us was just as unlikely and unexpected.
Illness is not romantic. It is not a test, a metaphor, nor a blessing in disguise.
The unity of God’s people is grounded not in lineage nor land but in the promise of the coming Christ.
Why would David write this psalm for all to read when he was no longer God’s greatest king, but rather God’s greatest sinner?
When we fail, our first impulse is the same as that of our spiritual ancestors: to sprint headlong into the bushes.
On this, the birthday of Martin Luther, I will pause to thank God for his birth.
Something Reformation Christians ought to do is familiarize themselves with Roman Catholic theology.
The Reformation isn’t just a chapter in church history. It’s a reminder that the gospel remains forever good news.
Grace isn’t fair. It’s reckless and lavish and handed out freely to those who don’t deserve a thing.
The Protestant milieu was pervaded with the announcement that God and God alone is the active agent in the salvation of sinners.
On October 19, 1512, Martin Luther formally graduated with his doctorate in theology.