what's on
Sunday 14 September - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 24 September - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 28 September - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
Wednesday 24 September - Young at Heart (10:30am)
Sunday 28 September - Bible Study (after the 9:00am service)
healing the runaway heart (7 september)
On this Father's Day, as we reflect on the Epistle to Philemon for the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, let's confront a raw truth: family rifts sting like nothing else. Luther's lecture on Philemon spotlights Paul's masterful plea for reconciliation between Philemon and his runaway slave Onesimus – a story that mirrors the fractured bonds between fathers and wayward children. Just as Onesimus bolted, perhaps abusing freedom or shirking duty, our kids might rebel, steal moments of trust, or flee responsibility. Yet Paul doesn't demand justice; he woos with mercy, urging us dads to melt like wax under grace's fire. And kids, take heed: like Onesimus returning humbled, you too must step up, confess the hurt, and bridge the gap with repentant hearts.
Luther reminds us that true healing isn't hammered by authority but kindled by love. Paul, the imprisoned apostle, humbles himself, calling Onesimus his 'very heart' and begging Philemon to receive him not as a servant but a beloved brother. Dads, imagine your prodigal child as your own bowels – that deep, gut-wrenching pull. We've all felt the ache of betrayal, but Luther provokes: don't despair over the thief or the deserter. Instead, bear with them, restore them, destroying the devil's work as Christ rebuilds ours. Children, mirror this: flee not from duty, but run back with faith, offering service born of love, not compulsion.
Provocatively, Luther flips the script on compulsion – no forced obedience here, mates. Paul could've commanded as an elder, but he entreats for voluntary goodness, knowing laws crush spirits while love revives them. For fathers nursing wounds from kids' missteps, this is a gut-punch: are we tyrants or tenders? Healing demands we confess the hurt, extenuate the sin, and boast in redemption's double blessing – turning one evil hour into eternal unity. And for you wayward ones: don't hide in rebellion; like Onesimus, acknowledge the wrong, repay the debt in spirit, and embrace the father's open arms.
Luther's fire ignites hope: from useless runaway to faithful son, Onesimus returns forever transformed by the Gospel. Dads, if Paul's chains birthed such grace, your trials can too. Charge their debts to your account, as Paul did, repaying with your own self if needed. This isn't weak sentiment; it's bold Christianity – enjoying one another in the Lord, not flesh alone. Children, seize this grace: step forward as brothers in Christ, serving steadfastly, for reconciliation thrives when both sides yield to mercy's call.
So, Fathers and young ones alike, on Father's Day, let's pray for softened hearts and open arms. As Luther urges, our kingdom is mercy, not murder. Fathers, receive your runaways as you'd receive Christ Himself; children, return as Onesimus did, transformed and true. Trust the Gospel promise: 'In Christ, all things are made new' (2 Cor. 5:17), and watch rifts heal into unbreakable bonds. Grace and peace from our heavenly Father – may it flow through you today.
We Pray For:
† All members of our congregation who have ceased to gather with us for worship, that we may seek them out and invite them to return.
† Those who have big decisions to make, that God would guide them and give them the power to carry out what they decide.
† All Christians, that we carry the cross of Christ and never grow weary.
† Those who blaspheme God's name, and persecute his followers, that they may be enlightened with faith in Christ.
† The poor and oppressed, who live under the consequences of authority that has been abused.
Luther reminds us that true healing isn't hammered by authority but kindled by love. Paul, the imprisoned apostle, humbles himself, calling Onesimus his 'very heart' and begging Philemon to receive him not as a servant but a beloved brother. Dads, imagine your prodigal child as your own bowels – that deep, gut-wrenching pull. We've all felt the ache of betrayal, but Luther provokes: don't despair over the thief or the deserter. Instead, bear with them, restore them, destroying the devil's work as Christ rebuilds ours. Children, mirror this: flee not from duty, but run back with faith, offering service born of love, not compulsion.
Provocatively, Luther flips the script on compulsion – no forced obedience here, mates. Paul could've commanded as an elder, but he entreats for voluntary goodness, knowing laws crush spirits while love revives them. For fathers nursing wounds from kids' missteps, this is a gut-punch: are we tyrants or tenders? Healing demands we confess the hurt, extenuate the sin, and boast in redemption's double blessing – turning one evil hour into eternal unity. And for you wayward ones: don't hide in rebellion; like Onesimus, acknowledge the wrong, repay the debt in spirit, and embrace the father's open arms.
Luther's fire ignites hope: from useless runaway to faithful son, Onesimus returns forever transformed by the Gospel. Dads, if Paul's chains birthed such grace, your trials can too. Charge their debts to your account, as Paul did, repaying with your own self if needed. This isn't weak sentiment; it's bold Christianity – enjoying one another in the Lord, not flesh alone. Children, seize this grace: step forward as brothers in Christ, serving steadfastly, for reconciliation thrives when both sides yield to mercy's call.
So, Fathers and young ones alike, on Father's Day, let's pray for softened hearts and open arms. As Luther urges, our kingdom is mercy, not murder. Fathers, receive your runaways as you'd receive Christ Himself; children, return as Onesimus did, transformed and true. Trust the Gospel promise: 'In Christ, all things are made new' (2 Cor. 5:17), and watch rifts heal into unbreakable bonds. Grace and peace from our heavenly Father – may it flow through you today.
We Pray For:
† All members of our congregation who have ceased to gather with us for worship, that we may seek them out and invite them to return.
† Those who have big decisions to make, that God would guide them and give them the power to carry out what they decide.
† All Christians, that we carry the cross of Christ and never grow weary.
† Those who blaspheme God's name, and persecute his followers, that they may be enlightened with faith in Christ.
† The poor and oppressed, who live under the consequences of authority that has been abused.
Lost Sheep: Dare We Admit We're the Strays? (14 september)
Why does Jesus cosy up to tax cheats and moral wrecks while the self-righteous grumble? It's a scandal that shatters our tidy notions of righteousness. In Luke 15, the parables of the lost sheep and coin expose our futile attempts at self-reform. We fancy ourselves as the faithful flock, but the law unmasks us as wanderers—guilty, unfeeling, and utterly incapable of turning back on our own. True repentance isn't about mustering contrition or wishing we felt sorry; it's the law's crushing verdict that leaves us exposed and desperate.
Yet here's the provocation: God doesn't wait for us to clean up or crawl home. Like the shepherd abandoning the ninety-nine, Christ pursues the one—the worthless stray that's you and me. He doesn't scold or demand decisions; He hoists us onto His shoulders, rejoicing right there in the wilderness. Repentance isn't our achievement; it's His divine upheaval, repenting us through His word alone, as Ezekiel foretells and the Psalmist pleads.
This flips our churchy expectations upside down. We're not a club for the morally improved or a mission to tally numbers. We're the found sinners, gathered in joy over heaven's delight in the lost. Forget striving for attrition or equity; embrace the passive gift of forgiveness, where Christ receives us as we are—oppressors and oppressed alike.
Beloved flock, hear the promise: Christ, the Lamb of God, has sought you out, taken your sin upon Himself, and declares you found forever. In Him, heaven rejoices over you, and no wandering can separate you from His unrelenting grace.
Yet here's the provocation: God doesn't wait for us to clean up or crawl home. Like the shepherd abandoning the ninety-nine, Christ pursues the one—the worthless stray that's you and me. He doesn't scold or demand decisions; He hoists us onto His shoulders, rejoicing right there in the wilderness. Repentance isn't our achievement; it's His divine upheaval, repenting us through His word alone, as Ezekiel foretells and the Psalmist pleads.
This flips our churchy expectations upside down. We're not a club for the morally improved or a mission to tally numbers. We're the found sinners, gathered in joy over heaven's delight in the lost. Forget striving for attrition or equity; embrace the passive gift of forgiveness, where Christ receives us as we are—oppressors and oppressed alike.
Beloved flock, hear the promise: Christ, the Lamb of God, has sought you out, taken your sin upon Himself, and declares you found forever. In Him, heaven rejoices over you, and no wandering can separate you from His unrelenting grace.
The Wily Steward's Shrewd Scheme (21 september)
Consider the parable in Luke 16 where a manager, facing the sack for squandering his master's goods, slashes debtors' bills in a desperate bid for favour. What shocks us? The master commends this unrighteous act! This tale flips our expectations, exposing how we cling to money as a false sign of security, loving mammon over God. Are we like the Pharisees, self-justifying with wealth and works, only to face the law's hammer?
Yet here's the provocation: this manager's wiles mirror the gospel's daring freedom. He writes off debts outside the law, making friends with unearned wealth. As disciples, we're called not to hoard but to wield the keys—binding sin or loosing it through absolution. Squandering grace means withholding forgiveness; being shrewd means lavishing it, reducing what's owed to zero in Christ's name.
Beloved, in your daily grind, don't be white-collar sinners ashamed to beg or dig. Use unrighteous mammon to gain eternal dwellings—forgive freely, and friends multiply in heaven. This illegal mercy steals from the law but pleases our Lord, counting our unrighteousness as righteous through faith alone.
And here's the promise: Debtor, your bill is torn up by Christ. Sit down quickly and write zero—forgiven, freed, forever welcomed into his kingdom.
Yet here's the provocation: this manager's wiles mirror the gospel's daring freedom. He writes off debts outside the law, making friends with unearned wealth. As disciples, we're called not to hoard but to wield the keys—binding sin or loosing it through absolution. Squandering grace means withholding forgiveness; being shrewd means lavishing it, reducing what's owed to zero in Christ's name.
Beloved, in your daily grind, don't be white-collar sinners ashamed to beg or dig. Use unrighteous mammon to gain eternal dwellings—forgive freely, and friends multiply in heaven. This illegal mercy steals from the law but pleases our Lord, counting our unrighteousness as righteous through faith alone.
And here's the promise: Debtor, your bill is torn up by Christ. Sit down quickly and write zero—forgiven, freed, forever welcomed into his kingdom.
Angels: Our Unseen Guardians (28 september)
As we approach Michaelmas on 29 September, let's shake off the fairy tales and confront the raw truth Luther preached in 1530: angels aren't fluffy ornaments for our mantles, but fierce messengers dispatched by God to battle the devil's schemes. In a world riddled with envy, hatred, and chaos, the evil one prowls closer than your shadow, whispering doubts and stirring vices that erode our souls and shatter our lives. Yet, we often live in smug security, blind to this spiritual warzone. Luther urges us to wake up—recognise the devil's arrows aimed at your heart, and realise how perilously near he lurks, ready to devour.
But here's the provocation: if the devil is so potent, why aren't we all ruined? It's because God's holy angels stand sentinel, outnumbering and outwitting the foe with divine shrewdness. They shoot back with arrows of truth, preserving our faith, families, and futures. Luther reminds us that every standing home, every breath of peace, is evidence of their vigilant office. As Christians, we're not to idolise these spirits or pray to them, but to honour God who deploys them for our good. Imagine teaching our kids this: fear the devil's tricks, but trust the angel at your side to thwart him.
This isn't abstract theology—it's personal. In our daily grind, amid temptations and trials, angels govern with gladness, restraining evil so we can cling to Christ. Luther's words sting: without them, your house would burn, your child perish. Yet, we disdain this gift, chasing self-reliance. Let's provoke one another to gratitude: start each morning beseeching God for angelic aid, as Elisha did, seeing heaven's hosts encircling our fears.
And here's the promise: God, our mighty fortress, assures us in His Word that these angels always behold His face, ensuring no evil overcomes those who trust Him. Rest in this—He will guard you through them, unto eternal life.
But here's the provocation: if the devil is so potent, why aren't we all ruined? It's because God's holy angels stand sentinel, outnumbering and outwitting the foe with divine shrewdness. They shoot back with arrows of truth, preserving our faith, families, and futures. Luther reminds us that every standing home, every breath of peace, is evidence of their vigilant office. As Christians, we're not to idolise these spirits or pray to them, but to honour God who deploys them for our good. Imagine teaching our kids this: fear the devil's tricks, but trust the angel at your side to thwart him.
This isn't abstract theology—it's personal. In our daily grind, amid temptations and trials, angels govern with gladness, restraining evil so we can cling to Christ. Luther's words sting: without them, your house would burn, your child perish. Yet, we disdain this gift, chasing self-reliance. Let's provoke one another to gratitude: start each morning beseeching God for angelic aid, as Elisha did, seeing heaven's hosts encircling our fears.
And here's the promise: God, our mighty fortress, assures us in His Word that these angels always behold His face, ensuring no evil overcomes those who trust Him. Rest in this—He will guard you through them, unto eternal life.