Living by faith has never been about what we bring to the table. It has always been, and always will be, about what God does for us when we can’t do anything for ourselves.
The entire history of Protestantism is downstream of a goldsmith in Mainz figuring out how to cast identical pieces of lead type in less than a minute.
When we despair of ourselves, we repent of these self-justifying schemes and allow ourselves to be shaped by God, covered in Christ’s righteousness, and reborn with a new heart.

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The testimony of the Word assures us that God isn’t waiting for us at the top of the stairs, with arms folded and brows furrowed.
The Protestant milieu was pervaded with the announcement that God and God alone is the active agent in the salvation of sinners.
We can lay down our sledgehammers of moralistic performance, which aren’t effective anyway, and we can trust that we are his and his life is ours.
The Antichrist offers another continual presence. It is every whisper that tempts us toward autonomy, that tells us to carry it alone, that insists suffering is meaningless.
Christian spirituality is not a flight from the world, but a deep dive into its brokenness.
You’re permitted to call on “Our Father, who art in heaven” at all hours of the day and night with whatever you like.
Here is the true story, the one worth remembering: You are a gift.
For those with faith in Christ, there is always a happy ending.
Protestants, in my view, don’t suffer from a Goldilocks problem. They have an arrogance problem.
Instead of offering more details or more information, he does something even better: he promises his very presence.
God doesn’t just simply give you all the things. He does so because his very own Son came down and earned all the things for you.
One might say that the first statement of the Reformation was that a saint never stops repenting.