what's on
Sunday 13 July - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Sunday 27 July - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 30 July - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 27 July - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 30 July - Young at Heart (10:30am)
the power of christ's word (6 july)
Read: Luke 10:1-20
Jesus sends His preachers out like lambs among wolves, armed with nothing but His word. No money, no gear, just the gospel: “Peace be to you.” That’s enough, because when they speak, Christ Himself speaks, offering forgiveness that shatters sin’s chains. So why do we chase worldly props—status, plans, power—when the gospel alone brings life? Hear your pastor’s voice as Christ’s, proclaiming your sins forgiven. Trust this promise, for it’s the harvest Jesus has already sown.
But wolves howl. Some reject this peace, spitting at the gospel like Chorazin and Bethsaida. Don’t be shocked—rejection stings, but it doesn’t dim the word’s power. The gospel boomerangs back, sustaining the preacher and you, because its strength isn’t in us; it’s in Christ’s cross. So, when you hear “Your sins are forgiven” and doubts creep in, cling to this: the Holy Spirit works when He pleases, and He’s working in you.
Preachers, you’re not planting seeds—you’re harvesting what Christ grew. The demons flee at His name, but don’t puff up over small wins. Jesus saw Satan fall like lightning; your job is to point to His victory. Demand your wages boldly, not for pride, but because eternal life flows through your words. Church, pray earnestly for more laborers. We need preachers who’ll face the wolves, trusting Christ’s voice is enough.
So, people of God, listen up: your name is written in heaven, not because you’re holy, but because Christ’s word makes you His. When you hear the absolution, it’s Jesus saying, “You’re mine.” Let that peace sink in. Pray for your pastor, support the preaching office, and live boldly in this truth: the gospel is sufficient, and Christ’s victory is yours. Amen.
We Pray For:
† Pastors and evangelists to preach the word of God.
† All Christians, that we may learn to sit at Jesus' feet.
† Those who are estranged and hostile towards Christ and his church, that they may be reconciled to God.
† Those who are distracted by the worries of this life from the things of God.
† The world, that God's kingdom would come to bring relief from suffering and oppression and salvation for all people.
Jesus sends His preachers out like lambs among wolves, armed with nothing but His word. No money, no gear, just the gospel: “Peace be to you.” That’s enough, because when they speak, Christ Himself speaks, offering forgiveness that shatters sin’s chains. So why do we chase worldly props—status, plans, power—when the gospel alone brings life? Hear your pastor’s voice as Christ’s, proclaiming your sins forgiven. Trust this promise, for it’s the harvest Jesus has already sown.
But wolves howl. Some reject this peace, spitting at the gospel like Chorazin and Bethsaida. Don’t be shocked—rejection stings, but it doesn’t dim the word’s power. The gospel boomerangs back, sustaining the preacher and you, because its strength isn’t in us; it’s in Christ’s cross. So, when you hear “Your sins are forgiven” and doubts creep in, cling to this: the Holy Spirit works when He pleases, and He’s working in you.
Preachers, you’re not planting seeds—you’re harvesting what Christ grew. The demons flee at His name, but don’t puff up over small wins. Jesus saw Satan fall like lightning; your job is to point to His victory. Demand your wages boldly, not for pride, but because eternal life flows through your words. Church, pray earnestly for more laborers. We need preachers who’ll face the wolves, trusting Christ’s voice is enough.
So, people of God, listen up: your name is written in heaven, not because you’re holy, but because Christ’s word makes you His. When you hear the absolution, it’s Jesus saying, “You’re mine.” Let that peace sink in. Pray for your pastor, support the preaching office, and live boldly in this truth: the gospel is sufficient, and Christ’s victory is yours. Amen.
We Pray For:
† Pastors and evangelists to preach the word of God.
† All Christians, that we may learn to sit at Jesus' feet.
† Those who are estranged and hostile towards Christ and his church, that they may be reconciled to God.
† Those who are distracted by the worries of this life from the things of God.
† The world, that God's kingdom would come to bring relief from suffering and oppression and salvation for all people.
The Law’s Mirror and the Saviour’s Mercy (13 july)
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37 confronts us with a piercing question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Like the lawyer who approached Jesus, we often assume the law is a ladder to climb, a checklist to tick off to earn God’s favour. We tell ourselves, “If I love God enough, if I help my neighbour enough, surely I’ll be right with God.” But Jesus holds up the law like a mirror, and what we see is not our righteousness but our failure. The law demands perfect love—heart, soul, strength, and mind for God, and selfless care for our neighbour. Who among us can say we’ve met that mark? The law doesn’t save; it exposes our sin, leaving us wounded and helpless, like the man in the ditch, desperate for a rescuer.
The Good Samaritan story isn’t a call to try harder or to become superhuman saints who love beyond the ordinary. That’s a trap, a monastic myth that turns Jesus’ words into another impossible demand. Instead, Jesus points us to Himself. The Samaritan, an outsider, scorned and unlawful in the eyes of the religious, is Christ in disguise. He doesn’t save by keeping the law better than others; He saves by acting outside it, pouring out mercy where the law offers none. While the priest and Levite pass by, bound by their legal duties, Jesus stops, binds our wounds, and pays the cost we could never afford. This is the scandal of grace: salvation comes not through our efforts but through His extravagant, law-defying love.
So, what does this mean for us? Stop pretending you can save yourself. The lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbour?” betrays his desire to limit the law’s demands, to justify himself. But Jesus won’t let us dodge the mirror. Every time we walk past someone in need, every time we prioritise our comfort over love, we prove we’re not the Samaritan—we’re the wounded, dependent on mercy. The law shows us we’ll never do enough, and that’s the point. It drives us to the One who has done it all. Christ, the true Good Samaritan, has carried you to safety, paid your debt, and promised to return. You don’t earn eternal life; you receive it from Him, freely given.
This truth is both provocative and comforting. It shatters our self-righteousness, forcing us to admit we’re not the heroes of our own story. Yet it’s the most pastoral news we could hear: you don’t have to be. Jesus, the outsider who became your Saviour, has already saved you. So, live boldly in His mercy. Love your neighbour, not to earn God’s approval, but because you’re free—free from the law’s condemnation, free to reflect the reckless love of the One who stopped for you. Come to His table this Sunday, where His grace meets you again, and go out as wounded but rescued people, pointing others to the only Saviour who saves outside the law.
The Good Samaritan story isn’t a call to try harder or to become superhuman saints who love beyond the ordinary. That’s a trap, a monastic myth that turns Jesus’ words into another impossible demand. Instead, Jesus points us to Himself. The Samaritan, an outsider, scorned and unlawful in the eyes of the religious, is Christ in disguise. He doesn’t save by keeping the law better than others; He saves by acting outside it, pouring out mercy where the law offers none. While the priest and Levite pass by, bound by their legal duties, Jesus stops, binds our wounds, and pays the cost we could never afford. This is the scandal of grace: salvation comes not through our efforts but through His extravagant, law-defying love.
So, what does this mean for us? Stop pretending you can save yourself. The lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbour?” betrays his desire to limit the law’s demands, to justify himself. But Jesus won’t let us dodge the mirror. Every time we walk past someone in need, every time we prioritise our comfort over love, we prove we’re not the Samaritan—we’re the wounded, dependent on mercy. The law shows us we’ll never do enough, and that’s the point. It drives us to the One who has done it all. Christ, the true Good Samaritan, has carried you to safety, paid your debt, and promised to return. You don’t earn eternal life; you receive it from Him, freely given.
This truth is both provocative and comforting. It shatters our self-righteousness, forcing us to admit we’re not the heroes of our own story. Yet it’s the most pastoral news we could hear: you don’t have to be. Jesus, the outsider who became your Saviour, has already saved you. So, live boldly in His mercy. Love your neighbour, not to earn God’s approval, but because you’re free—free from the law’s condemnation, free to reflect the reckless love of the One who stopped for you. Come to His table this Sunday, where His grace meets you again, and go out as wounded but rescued people, pointing others to the only Saviour who saves outside the law.
Busy Hands, Restless Hearts: Choosing the Good Portion (20 july)
Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ, the story of Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38-42 confronts us with a stark contrast: two sisters, one bustling with activity, the other still at Jesus’ feet. Martha, consumed by serving, embodies the law’s demand for action, recognition, and equity. Her anxiety and complaints reveal a troubled conscience, pulled away from the one thing necessary by the weight of her tasks. We know this struggle all too well—our lives often mirror Martha’s, driven by the need to do, to be seen, to balance the scales of fairness in a world that never seems to rest.
Yet Mary, sitting passively, listening to Jesus’ words, shows us the gospel’s gift. She chooses the “good portion”—not a reward for her efforts, but the promise of Christ Himself, freely given. This is provocative: the world, and even our own hearts, scream for us to earn our worth, to prove our value through endless striving. But Jesus turns this upside down, declaring that only one thing is needed: to hear and receive His word, which frees us from the anxiety of performance and the burden of comparison.
Martha’s distraction is ours too. We’re tempted to measure our faith by our busyness, to seek recognition for our service, or to point fingers when others seem idle. But the gospel calls us to pause, to listen, to let Christ’s presence be enough. This isn’t about abandoning our responsibilities—Martha’s work matters—but it’s about where we find our rest. The law demands; the gospel delivers. Mary’s choice reminds us that our salvation isn’t in our hands but in the hands of the One who enters our homes and hearts with grace.
So, dear friends, come to the feet of Jesus. Lay down your troubled conscience, your need for control, your endless to-do lists. In His word, you are not judged by what you do but embraced by what He has done. Your sins are forgiven, your name is known, and your place is secure in Him. This is the good portion, and it will never be taken from you. Rest in that promise today and always.
Yet Mary, sitting passively, listening to Jesus’ words, shows us the gospel’s gift. She chooses the “good portion”—not a reward for her efforts, but the promise of Christ Himself, freely given. This is provocative: the world, and even our own hearts, scream for us to earn our worth, to prove our value through endless striving. But Jesus turns this upside down, declaring that only one thing is needed: to hear and receive His word, which frees us from the anxiety of performance and the burden of comparison.
Martha’s distraction is ours too. We’re tempted to measure our faith by our busyness, to seek recognition for our service, or to point fingers when others seem idle. But the gospel calls us to pause, to listen, to let Christ’s presence be enough. This isn’t about abandoning our responsibilities—Martha’s work matters—but it’s about where we find our rest. The law demands; the gospel delivers. Mary’s choice reminds us that our salvation isn’t in our hands but in the hands of the One who enters our homes and hearts with grace.
So, dear friends, come to the feet of Jesus. Lay down your troubled conscience, your need for control, your endless to-do lists. In His word, you are not judged by what you do but embraced by what He has done. Your sins are forgiven, your name is known, and your place is secure in Him. This is the good portion, and it will never be taken from you. Rest in that promise today and always.
the Lord’s Prayer: A Gift that Flows from Faith (27 july)
This Sunday, we dive into the Lord’s Prayer (Luke 11:1-13), a gift that flows from faith, not a checklist to earn God’s favour. When Jesus’ disciples asked Him to teach them to pray, they were caught comparing themselves to John’s followers, chasing a model to copy. But Jesus doesn’t give a formula to perfect; He gives a promise to trust. Prayer isn’t about getting it right, it’s about clinging to the Father who calls us His own through baptism.
Too often, we approach prayer like a deal with God, bargaining like Abraham did for Sodom (Genesis 18:20-33). We’re tempted to think we must prove our worth or whittle God down to get what we want. Yet the Lord’s Prayer flips this on its head. It’s not about our effort but God’s grace—His name is hallowed, His kingdom comes, and our daily bread is given because He is our Father, not a cosmic negotiator.
This prayer humbles us, exposing our unworthiness, yet it emboldens us to call God “Father” and trust His promises. From holiness to forgiveness, from daily needs to deliverance from evil, each petition rests on God’s faithfulness, not our performance. Even when we face temptation or loss, like the pain of an unbaptised loved one—Jesus assures us that our Father gives good gifts, not serpents (Luke 11:11-13). We pray as those already claimed by His love.
So, dear church, you are free to pray boldly, not because you’ve earned it, but because Christ has made you God’s child. In your baptism, He spoke the same promise over you as He did over Jesus: “You are my beloved.” Trust that promise, and let it shape your prayers. Your Father hears, provides, forgives, and delivers—today and always.
Too often, we approach prayer like a deal with God, bargaining like Abraham did for Sodom (Genesis 18:20-33). We’re tempted to think we must prove our worth or whittle God down to get what we want. Yet the Lord’s Prayer flips this on its head. It’s not about our effort but God’s grace—His name is hallowed, His kingdom comes, and our daily bread is given because He is our Father, not a cosmic negotiator.
This prayer humbles us, exposing our unworthiness, yet it emboldens us to call God “Father” and trust His promises. From holiness to forgiveness, from daily needs to deliverance from evil, each petition rests on God’s faithfulness, not our performance. Even when we face temptation or loss, like the pain of an unbaptised loved one—Jesus assures us that our Father gives good gifts, not serpents (Luke 11:11-13). We pray as those already claimed by His love.
So, dear church, you are free to pray boldly, not because you’ve earned it, but because Christ has made you God’s child. In your baptism, He spoke the same promise over you as He did over Jesus: “You are my beloved.” Trust that promise, and let it shape your prayers. Your Father hears, provides, forgives, and delivers—today and always.