The thief is the prophetic picture of all of us, staring hopelessly hopeful at the Son of God, begging to hear the same words.
The Solas are not just doctrinal statements. They are the grammar of Christian comfort.
For English speakers, no Reformer comes close to Tyndale in terms of measurable impact.

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The only recourse we have is to die before we die. To give up on a fake-life. To acknowledge that this stupid, selfish game we’re playing with our immortality projects has zero success.
That week, I began to doubt myself. Did I really believe?
What if I just hadn’t repented enough? Or prayed enough? Or really, really given my whole heart to Jesus? What if I just wasn’t ready?
I recently began seeing a chiropractor for what turned out to be a compressed disc. He took routine x-rays to facilitate his diagnosis, and on the day he was to go over the results with me, I was placed in a conference room to wait for our consultation.
Many, many people—including many church people—have this asinine idea that Jesus showed up on earth two thousand years ago and loosened everything up.
This rather unique human being is God grounded in our humanity. The man Jesus.
From a secret place deeper than the muscle tissue of her brain she spoke Jesus’ words. Words He planted there long ago.
It seems like the sky is falling every other day now. From politics to culture to religion to about anything else, there’s one purported cataclysm after another on the horizon.
Christians argue about who's in charge of who, who's going to run things, who is the authority and who are the leaders that tell us on behalf of Jesus what to do next.
Forty days after His resurrection from the dead, Jesus ascended.
This coming Sunday churches around the world will celebrate the big, splashy day of Pentecost. As well they should.
People have often tended, quite wrongly, to view me as saintly. I attribute that undeserved reputation to the fact I have always had a very strong sense of the kind of person I should be.