what's on
Sunday 22 March - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 25 March - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 29 March - Palm Sunday 8:30am service
Wednesday 25 March - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 29 March - Palm Sunday 8:30am service
second sunday in lent (1 march)
Nicodemus sneaks to Jesus under cover of night, a Pharisee drowning in law yet craving escape. Like him, we often slink towards God in our darkest moments, burdened by rules and self-effort, wondering if there's a way out of the endless cycle of do's and don'ts. But what if our secret searches reveal not a hidden path, but our utter helplessness under the law's glare?
Jesus shatters Nicodemus's expectations: being born again isn't a task we tackle or a choice we make, it's the Spirit's wild, unbidden work, like wind we hear but can't control. Provocatively, this flips our evangelical clichés on their head; no conversion checklist or personal decision saves us. We're flesh-bound sinners, and only divine intervention rebirths us into freedom.
Worse still, Jesus lectures Nicodemus on the gospel without handing it over, talking of God's love for the world, yet leaving him in the shadows of 'maybe' and 'everyone'. This smashes our smug universalism: a God who loves abstractly never speaks personally, condemning us to doubt. True preaching doesn't just describe salvation; it delivers it, distinguishing law's demands from gospel's gift.
Yet hear this promise, dear ones: in your baptism, the Spirit has chosen you, washing away sin with water and Word. God so loved you, not the vague world, but you specifically, that He gave His Son to be lifted up for your sake. Cling to this: where law ends, sin dies, and eternal life is yours, freely given in Christ.
We Pray For:
† The world, that it may receive the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
† All Christians, that they may follow the way of the cross.
† The nations of the world, that they may receive the blessing of peace.
† The church, that it may worship in the Spirit and in the truth of Christ.
† All travellers, exiles and refugees, that God would guide them to a home to call their own.
† That we may face death in the certain hope of resurrection, and that we may be raised up together with all who have died in the faith of Christ.
Jesus shatters Nicodemus's expectations: being born again isn't a task we tackle or a choice we make, it's the Spirit's wild, unbidden work, like wind we hear but can't control. Provocatively, this flips our evangelical clichés on their head; no conversion checklist or personal decision saves us. We're flesh-bound sinners, and only divine intervention rebirths us into freedom.
Worse still, Jesus lectures Nicodemus on the gospel without handing it over, talking of God's love for the world, yet leaving him in the shadows of 'maybe' and 'everyone'. This smashes our smug universalism: a God who loves abstractly never speaks personally, condemning us to doubt. True preaching doesn't just describe salvation; it delivers it, distinguishing law's demands from gospel's gift.
Yet hear this promise, dear ones: in your baptism, the Spirit has chosen you, washing away sin with water and Word. God so loved you, not the vague world, but you specifically, that He gave His Son to be lifted up for your sake. Cling to this: where law ends, sin dies, and eternal life is yours, freely given in Christ.
We Pray For:
† The world, that it may receive the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
† All Christians, that they may follow the way of the cross.
† The nations of the world, that they may receive the blessing of peace.
† The church, that it may worship in the Spirit and in the truth of Christ.
† All travellers, exiles and refugees, that God would guide them to a home to call their own.
† That we may face death in the certain hope of resurrection, and that we may be raised up together with all who have died in the faith of Christ.
third sunday in lent (8 March)
As we journey through Lent, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 confronts us with a stark question: what is true worship? In a world obsessed with rituals and holy places, whether Mount Gerizim or Jerusalem, we're tempted to believe our efforts can bridge the gap to God. But Jesus shatters this illusion, revealing that our sacrifices, no matter how sincere, leave us thirsting and uncertain.
Consider the woman's life: five husbands and a current lover, a tangled web of broken commandments. She's no stranger to sin's weight, hiding under the cover of midday solitude. Yet Jesus pierces her defences, exposing her failures not to condemn, but to invite her into something radical. How often do we, like her, cling to our own versions of righteousness, hoping they mask our deepest shame?
The old worship wars, between Samaritans and Jews, or even our modern church divides, boil down to one flawed premise: we must appease God through our actions. Sacrifice demands a priest, a victim, a holy site, but it never delivers certainty. It's a prayer ascending in smoke, pleading for acceptance, yet repeating endlessly because doubt lingers. Jesus declares this era over; true worship isn't what we offer up, but what descends to us.
Enter the Messiah's revolution: worship in spirit and truth means listening, not labouring. The woman becomes the first evangelist, her testimony drawing others not through flawless living, but through the raw truth of her encountered grace. Jesus doesn't demand better behaviour; he proclaims forgiveness, turning sinners into preachers. This is the harvest he sows—ripe fields where reapers rejoice without earning it.
And here's the promise: Jesus, the Saviour of the world, knows every shadow in your story, yet he takes your sin upon himself, absolving you completely. No more striving; in him, your thirst is quenched eternally, and you are free to worship as beloved children of God.
Consider the woman's life: five husbands and a current lover, a tangled web of broken commandments. She's no stranger to sin's weight, hiding under the cover of midday solitude. Yet Jesus pierces her defences, exposing her failures not to condemn, but to invite her into something radical. How often do we, like her, cling to our own versions of righteousness, hoping they mask our deepest shame?
The old worship wars, between Samaritans and Jews, or even our modern church divides, boil down to one flawed premise: we must appease God through our actions. Sacrifice demands a priest, a victim, a holy site, but it never delivers certainty. It's a prayer ascending in smoke, pleading for acceptance, yet repeating endlessly because doubt lingers. Jesus declares this era over; true worship isn't what we offer up, but what descends to us.
Enter the Messiah's revolution: worship in spirit and truth means listening, not labouring. The woman becomes the first evangelist, her testimony drawing others not through flawless living, but through the raw truth of her encountered grace. Jesus doesn't demand better behaviour; he proclaims forgiveness, turning sinners into preachers. This is the harvest he sows—ripe fields where reapers rejoice without earning it.
And here's the promise: Jesus, the Saviour of the world, knows every shadow in your story, yet he takes your sin upon himself, absolving you completely. No more striving; in him, your thirst is quenched eternally, and you are free to worship as beloved children of God.
Seeing in the Mud: Christ's Gospel Light for Sinners (15 march)
In the story of the man born blind from John 9, we confront a raw truth: sickness and suffering scream 'sinner' at us, don't they? The disciples assumed this man's darkness stemmed from someone's fault, his or his parents', as if the law could neatly pin blame and prescribe a fix. But Jesus shatters that illusion, revealing how we modern Aussies often do the same, masking our maladies with pride or victimhood, claiming control where none exists. What if our deepest blindness isn't physical, but a refusal to see sin's true grip?
The law's light exposes us as sinners, dividing us like the Pharisees who interrogated the healed man. They couldn't fathom a Sabbath-breaker as saviour, insisting God ignores sinners and rewards the obedient. Yet here's the provocation: can a sinner save sinners? The gospel flips the script, showing Jesus not explaining evil's origin, but abolishing it through a muddy promise, 'Go, wash in Siloam.' This isn't self-help or mind-over-matter; it's Christ freeing the bound, deaf, and dead, turning commands into liberating gifts.
As the man progresses from calling Jesus 'a man' to 'a prophet' to 'Lord,' we see faith isn't our achievement, it's bestowed. Driven out by legalists, he meets Jesus anew, who elicits belief not by force, but by revelation: 'You have seen him; he is the one speaking with you.' True worship kneels before this light, not in darkness of self-justification, but in the gospel's dawn. Lent challenges us: are we disciples of Moses' law or Christ's promise?
Hear this, dear church: Though you were blind in sin, now you see, because Christ, the Lamb of God, takes your iniquity upon himself. Your sins are forgiven, freely given in his word and sacraments, resurrecting you to new life. Believe, and worship him.
The law's light exposes us as sinners, dividing us like the Pharisees who interrogated the healed man. They couldn't fathom a Sabbath-breaker as saviour, insisting God ignores sinners and rewards the obedient. Yet here's the provocation: can a sinner save sinners? The gospel flips the script, showing Jesus not explaining evil's origin, but abolishing it through a muddy promise, 'Go, wash in Siloam.' This isn't self-help or mind-over-matter; it's Christ freeing the bound, deaf, and dead, turning commands into liberating gifts.
As the man progresses from calling Jesus 'a man' to 'a prophet' to 'Lord,' we see faith isn't our achievement, it's bestowed. Driven out by legalists, he meets Jesus anew, who elicits belief not by force, but by revelation: 'You have seen him; he is the one speaking with you.' True worship kneels before this light, not in darkness of self-justification, but in the gospel's dawn. Lent challenges us: are we disciples of Moses' law or Christ's promise?
Hear this, dear church: Though you were blind in sin, now you see, because Christ, the Lamb of God, takes your iniquity upon himself. Your sins are forgiven, freely given in his word and sacraments, resurrecting you to new life. Believe, and worship him.
fifth sunday in lent (22 March)
This Fifth Sunday in Lent confronts us with the raising of Lazarus. Jesus hears that the one he loves is ill, yet he stays away two more days. We expect love to act swiftly and preserve life, but Jesus refuses to play by the rules of our law-bound expectations. He is after something greater: the glory of God revealed in resurrection by his word alone.
Our hearts crave vindication, a celebration of life or final reward for the righteous. Jesus grows angry at this deception. The law accuses and binds us in death’s tomb, declaring “you stinketh.” Yet Christ does not come to judge our goodness; he attacks death itself, the last enemy.
You who are baptised have already died with Christ. Now the same voice that called Lazarus speaks to you today. Preaching this gospel does more than talk about resurrection it enacts it. Christ is the resurrection and the life, calling you forth here and now.
So listen: the stone is rolled away. “Come out!” Jesus declares with commanding promise. He unbinds you from sin and death and sets you free. Forgiveness is yours, and new life begins this very day.
Our hearts crave vindication, a celebration of life or final reward for the righteous. Jesus grows angry at this deception. The law accuses and binds us in death’s tomb, declaring “you stinketh.” Yet Christ does not come to judge our goodness; he attacks death itself, the last enemy.
You who are baptised have already died with Christ. Now the same voice that called Lazarus speaks to you today. Preaching this gospel does more than talk about resurrection it enacts it. Christ is the resurrection and the life, calling you forth here and now.
So listen: the stone is rolled away. “Come out!” Jesus declares with commanding promise. He unbinds you from sin and death and sets you free. Forgiveness is yours, and new life begins this very day.