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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My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
We are so free as Christians that we don't even have to compare ourselves to other Christians.
The Father knows our needs because he knows everything. This is a comforting thought, but only if He is gracious.
Martin Luther is not–or, at least should not–be the object of our affection.
It is a strange irony, but in a world drunk on violence, it is only on the cross of violence that there is hope for peace in our world.
The gelded Gospel is shiny and attractive and compelling, and we can perform the procedure in any number of ways.
Pain is our birthright, but Jesus’ resurrection is our irrevocable end.
The real problem with the way we talk about Baptism in particular, and the sacraments at all, is that we are simply afraid of letting God’s Word get us.
These treasures show us that, no matter how well we think we know this poem, there’s always more layers to uncover.
It’s no wonder we’re so attached to images; we are one. We are human hyphens between the celestial and the terrestrial.
Death can make us feel like tourists or strangers traveling across the landscape of someone else’s life.