what's on
Sunday 3 August - AGM (after the 9:00am service)
Sunday 10 August - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Sunday 24 August - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 27 August - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 10 August - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Sunday 24 August - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 27 August - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Jesus: Not Your Judge,But Your Saviour
– Beware the Rich Fool's Trap (3 August)
What do you really want from Jesus? In Luke 12:13-21, a bloke in the crowd demands that Jesus sort out his inheritance dispute with his brother, hoping for a fair share under the law. But isn't that what we often crave too – a divine judge who sides with us, enforcing rules to our advantage? It's a stark reminder: we approach the Son of God not for salvation, but to wield the law like a weapon for our gain. Provocative, isn't it? Jesus flat-out refuses, asking, "Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?" He's not here to play lawyer; He's come to save us apart from the law's demands.
Watch how Jesus turns the tables with a blistering warning: "Take care and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." Ouch – that hits home. This fella's heart is tangled in greed, measuring his worth by what he owns compared to his brother. We're no different, mates; our coveting turns abundance into scarcity, chaining our faith to stuff that rusts and fades. Jesus pulls no punches, using the law to expose our sin fully, not to pat us on the back, but to drive us to despair of our own schemes.
Then comes the parable of the rich fool, whose land yields a bumper crop. Instead of gratitude, he frets inwardly: "What shall I do? I have nowhere to store my crops." He tears down barns to build bigger ones, hoarding for a comfy future – "Soul, relax, eat, drink, be merry." Sound familiar? It's the trap of self-reliance, curving us inward like Ecclesiastes' preacher, declaring all vanity because death strips everything away. God crashes in: "Fool! This night your soul is required of you." Brutal truth: faith in possessions ends in judgment, leaving us empty-handed.
Yet here's the pastoral nudge – don't let this crush you; let it free you. Our faith belongs not in what we hoard or achieve under the law, but in something far richer: Christ's promise outside it all. Turn from the vanity of earthly treasures and cling to the gospel word spoken over you in Baptism and the Supper – forgiveness given freely, securing your eternal future.
And that promise? "I will say to my soul, soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years" – no, that's the fool's delusion. God's true word to you: "Your sins are forgiven; I have prepared a place for you. Come, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." Rest in that, dear ones.
We Pray For:
† The church, that it may read the signs of the times and remain steadfast in the confession of the truth.
† All Christians, that we may run with perseverance the race set before us.
† Those who put all their trust in their earthly possessions, that they may seek the true riches that come from God .
† Those who are afraid or anxious, that they may put their hope and faith in God.
† Charity organisations, that they may channel the wealth of our community to those who are most in need.
Watch how Jesus turns the tables with a blistering warning: "Take care and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions." Ouch – that hits home. This fella's heart is tangled in greed, measuring his worth by what he owns compared to his brother. We're no different, mates; our coveting turns abundance into scarcity, chaining our faith to stuff that rusts and fades. Jesus pulls no punches, using the law to expose our sin fully, not to pat us on the back, but to drive us to despair of our own schemes.
Then comes the parable of the rich fool, whose land yields a bumper crop. Instead of gratitude, he frets inwardly: "What shall I do? I have nowhere to store my crops." He tears down barns to build bigger ones, hoarding for a comfy future – "Soul, relax, eat, drink, be merry." Sound familiar? It's the trap of self-reliance, curving us inward like Ecclesiastes' preacher, declaring all vanity because death strips everything away. God crashes in: "Fool! This night your soul is required of you." Brutal truth: faith in possessions ends in judgment, leaving us empty-handed.
Yet here's the pastoral nudge – don't let this crush you; let it free you. Our faith belongs not in what we hoard or achieve under the law, but in something far richer: Christ's promise outside it all. Turn from the vanity of earthly treasures and cling to the gospel word spoken over you in Baptism and the Supper – forgiveness given freely, securing your eternal future.
And that promise? "I will say to my soul, soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years" – no, that's the fool's delusion. God's true word to you: "Your sins are forgiven; I have prepared a place for you. Come, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." Rest in that, dear ones.
We Pray For:
† The church, that it may read the signs of the times and remain steadfast in the confession of the truth.
† All Christians, that we may run with perseverance the race set before us.
† Those who put all their trust in their earthly possessions, that they may seek the true riches that come from God .
† Those who are afraid or anxious, that they may put their hope and faith in God.
† Charity organisations, that they may channel the wealth of our community to those who are most in need.
the grammar of grace (10 august)
When I stand to preach, I’m chasing words that carry the Word. The Gospel’s a powerful thing, overflowing and gripping us, but it can slip away—demanded in tough moments, yet sometimes landing flat, like law without grace. Yesterday’s Gospel can turn into today’s law; what stirred us then goes stale now. So, I lean on a grammar of grace—simple rules to share the Gospel fresh, as a word that sets you free. We’ve got two kinds of words: “if then” ones that tie us to conditions, and “because therefore” ones that liberate. The Gospel’s nearly always “because therefore,” a simpler echo of law versus Gospel.
“If then” words are everywhere—mate, you know them. If you want dessert, eat your veggies; if you want citizenship, pay your taxes. Scripture’s full of them, like the Ten Commandments: if you’ve got a God, don’t misuse His name; pause each week to hear Him. These shape our lives, but our world’s forgotten them. It’s our job to teach them to our kids, to live them out. Yet, “if then” can’t spark faith. They turn your eyes inward, watching yourself instead of your neighbour, making you so self-conscious you lose the plot. Jesus says, “He who seeks his life will lose it; whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
Then there’s the Gospel word—starting with “because.” Because God loves you, you’re free. The condition’s on Him, not you. Think of the Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall see God”—not a to-do list, but a promise. Or at the Supper: “This is My body, given for you”—pure gift, no lecture. Here’s how I keep it straight with four rules. First, Jesus is the doer, the subject of the verbs—forgiving the paralytic, calling Lazarus with “Come forth!” Second, you’re the beneficiaries: “Your sins are forgiven for Jesus’ sake,” spoken straight to you. Third, it’s unconditional—no ifs or buts; nothing separates you from God’s love. Fourth, it’s now: not “will be forgiven,” but “are forgiven.” Jesus says, “I am the resurrection,” bringing future hope into today.
These rules guide me when I visit you in hospital or sit with you in grief. They’re not magic, but like fishing—you try words till one sticks. I carry this Gospel into your toughest moments, confident our crucified, risen Saviour never fails us. He puts His words on my lips: “He who hears you hears Me.” So, I speak with joy, helping you rest in Him.
Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom (Luke 12:32).
“If then” words are everywhere—mate, you know them. If you want dessert, eat your veggies; if you want citizenship, pay your taxes. Scripture’s full of them, like the Ten Commandments: if you’ve got a God, don’t misuse His name; pause each week to hear Him. These shape our lives, but our world’s forgotten them. It’s our job to teach them to our kids, to live them out. Yet, “if then” can’t spark faith. They turn your eyes inward, watching yourself instead of your neighbour, making you so self-conscious you lose the plot. Jesus says, “He who seeks his life will lose it; whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
Then there’s the Gospel word—starting with “because.” Because God loves you, you’re free. The condition’s on Him, not you. Think of the Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall see God”—not a to-do list, but a promise. Or at the Supper: “This is My body, given for you”—pure gift, no lecture. Here’s how I keep it straight with four rules. First, Jesus is the doer, the subject of the verbs—forgiving the paralytic, calling Lazarus with “Come forth!” Second, you’re the beneficiaries: “Your sins are forgiven for Jesus’ sake,” spoken straight to you. Third, it’s unconditional—no ifs or buts; nothing separates you from God’s love. Fourth, it’s now: not “will be forgiven,” but “are forgiven.” Jesus says, “I am the resurrection,” bringing future hope into today.
These rules guide me when I visit you in hospital or sit with you in grief. They’re not magic, but like fishing—you try words till one sticks. I carry this Gospel into your toughest moments, confident our crucified, risen Saviour never fails us. He puts His words on my lips: “He who hears you hears Me.” So, I speak with joy, helping you rest in Him.
Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom (Luke 12:32).
sunday 24 august
Imagine being bent double for 18 years, crippled by an unseen spirit, unable to stand tall or see the sky. That's the woman Jesus encounters in the synagogue on the Sabbath – a living picture of our own bondage under the law. We scoff at spirits today, blaming bad backs on biology or bad luck, but isn't your guilt, your shame, your endless striving a demonic grip? The law demands perfection, yet leaves us hunched and hopeless, whispering that our suffering isn't enough. It kills, extending our misery indefinitely, just as the synagogue leader objected to healing on the holy day. Provocative truth: are you still playing the hypocrite, untying your beasts while binding your neighbour?
But Jesus doesn't tweak the rules or swap one patriarchy for another; he shatters the law's chains with a word: "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." He lays hands on her, and immediately she stands straight, praising God spontaneously – no new duties, no 'freedom for' more tasks. That's the gospel's scandal: pure freedom from sin, Satan, and death, not a disguised new law. He calls out the leader's hypocrisy, ranking a daughter of Abraham above oxen, exposing how the law boomerangs on the self-righteous. Challenging question: if Christ frees beasts on Sabbath, won't he loose you, his elect, from whatever binds you?
This healing is temporary – she'll bend again in death – but Jesus' teaching that day strikes the fatal blow to the law, replacing it with eternal faith. The crowd rejoices at wonders, yet misses the word that undoes shame forever. Pastoral comfort: in your exhaustion from 'doing better,' hear Christ meeting you in despair, substituting himself for dead principles. Faith isn't forced; it's the Spirit's gift, birthing joy without pressure.
And here's the promise: You are set free from your bondage by Christ's cross and resurrection. Believe it – this freedom is yours, now and forever.
But Jesus doesn't tweak the rules or swap one patriarchy for another; he shatters the law's chains with a word: "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." He lays hands on her, and immediately she stands straight, praising God spontaneously – no new duties, no 'freedom for' more tasks. That's the gospel's scandal: pure freedom from sin, Satan, and death, not a disguised new law. He calls out the leader's hypocrisy, ranking a daughter of Abraham above oxen, exposing how the law boomerangs on the self-righteous. Challenging question: if Christ frees beasts on Sabbath, won't he loose you, his elect, from whatever binds you?
This healing is temporary – she'll bend again in death – but Jesus' teaching that day strikes the fatal blow to the law, replacing it with eternal faith. The crowd rejoices at wonders, yet misses the word that undoes shame forever. Pastoral comfort: in your exhaustion from 'doing better,' hear Christ meeting you in despair, substituting himself for dead principles. Faith isn't forced; it's the Spirit's gift, birthing joy without pressure.
And here's the promise: You are set free from your bondage by Christ's cross and resurrection. Believe it – this freedom is yours, now and forever.
Humble Hoax: Jesus Crushes Pride, Not You (Sunday 31 august)
The Gospel from Luke 14 challenges our comfy notions of humility. We Aussies pride ourselves on being down-to-earth, but let's face it: we often turn humility into a sly game of one-upmanship. Sitting in the back pew isn't about true lowliness; it's dodging the spotlight while secretly hoping for a pat on the back. The Pharisees played the same trick, using Sabbath rules and honour seats to climb their way to righteousness. But Jesus explodes that myth—humility isn't a ladder to heaven; it's the law's hammer crushing our self-made pride.
Provocatively, Jesus heals on the Sabbath, silencing the legal eagles who measure worth by merit or inverted piety. Whether you're chasing status through wealth, activism, or monastic vows, it's all law: demanding you earn your spot at the eternal banquet. Our pietist streak whispers, "Out-humble the rest, and God will notice." Rubbish! That flips the merit system upside down but keeps it spinning. True justice? It's not your low seat earning exaltation; it's recognising you're dropsy-swollen sinners, bound by law's accusations.
Yet here's the pastoral nudge: Jesus doesn't leave us in the dust of our failures. He crashes the Pharisees' feast, bears our sins, and speaks gospel freedom to the afflicted bloke right there. No emergencies required—His word heals gratis, apart from works. This resurrection of the just isn't a reward for the 'humble enough'; it's Christ's election of you, forgiving every pretence and raising you anew.
Beloved, hear this promise: Jesus says to you, "Friend, move up higher," not for your efforts, but because He humbled Himself to the cross for your sake. Your sins are forgiven; rise in His resurrection—free, justified, feasting forever.
Provocatively, Jesus heals on the Sabbath, silencing the legal eagles who measure worth by merit or inverted piety. Whether you're chasing status through wealth, activism, or monastic vows, it's all law: demanding you earn your spot at the eternal banquet. Our pietist streak whispers, "Out-humble the rest, and God will notice." Rubbish! That flips the merit system upside down but keeps it spinning. True justice? It's not your low seat earning exaltation; it's recognising you're dropsy-swollen sinners, bound by law's accusations.
Yet here's the pastoral nudge: Jesus doesn't leave us in the dust of our failures. He crashes the Pharisees' feast, bears our sins, and speaks gospel freedom to the afflicted bloke right there. No emergencies required—His word heals gratis, apart from works. This resurrection of the just isn't a reward for the 'humble enough'; it's Christ's election of you, forgiving every pretence and raising you anew.
Beloved, hear this promise: Jesus says to you, "Friend, move up higher," not for your efforts, but because He humbled Himself to the cross for your sake. Your sins are forgiven; rise in His resurrection—free, justified, feasting forever.