Once and for all
by Linda Macqueen
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… he entered the Most Holy Place once for all by his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption (Hebrews 9:12a).
Read Hebrews 9:11–15
Today’s text stands at the centre of a long, careful argument (read all of chapter 9 if you have time): Christ is the High Priest who enters not an earthly sanctuary but the very presence of God, offering not the blood of animals but his own life. He has done something no earthly priest could ever do: he has opened the way into God’s presence once and for all. He has secured eternal redemption.
The original hearers – Jewish Christians – knew the staggering weight of this claim. They had grown up with the temple, the priests, the Day of Atonement, the panicked bleating and bellowing of animals aligned for slaughter, and the stomach-churning smell of blood. They also knew about the heavy curtain in the temple that marked the boundary between God’s holiness and human frailty.
For modern readers, the temple system isn’t part of our cultural memory. We don’t feel the awe of a priest stepping behind the curtain, or the solemnity of sacrifice. But we do know what it is to feel unworthy, distant or unsure of our status before God. We know the inner rituals we perform to try to make ourselves ‘clean enough’ or ‘good enough’ – and even then, sometimes, we are still not sure if it’s been enough.
Into our world, the writer of Hebrews still speaks with astonishing clarity: Christ has already crossed the distance. He has already carried the cost. He has already opened the way to God.
Matthew 27:51 gives us the image that makes this truth unforgettable: ‘The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.’ Not from bottom to top – as if we humans had clawed our way toward God – but from top to bottom, God’s own act of opening the way. The barrier rips apart, once and for all. Access is given, once and for all. The Holy of Holies is no longer a place of fear but a place of loving welcome.
We are safe with God. We are home.
Dear Jesus, my High Priest, thank you that your very own blood opened the way to the Father once and for all. Sometimes, I still feel as though I’m standing outside the curtain, trying to be worthy. Help me to step into the astonishing truth that my access to the Holy of Holies has already been given, and that I stand before my God, redeemed, once and for all. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
New clothes
by Linda Macqueen
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Put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness (Ephesians 4:24).
Read Ephesians 4:17–24
Paul’s words in today’s text (addressed to the Ephesians) replay the same melody we heard in yesterday’s text (addressed to the Corinthians). If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation – and now Paul sketches what that new creation looks like in everyday life. He contrasts it with the old patterns of the Gentile world: darkened understanding, hardened hearts, restless desires that never satisfy. These aren’t merely moral failings; they are symptoms of life lived apart from the One who is Life.
But Paul does not say, ‘Try harder to be different.’ He says, ‘You learnt … Christ.’ You were taught to take off the old self and to put on the new – language that sounds remarkably like baptismal clothing. This is not self-improvement; it is participation in Christ’s own life. The new humanity is something God has already begun in us.
We don’t wake up each morning needing to earn God’s favour by being good. We wake up already claimed, already beloved, already joined to Christ. And because we belong to him, his life begins to reshape ours – often quietly, often gradually. It’s like a slow, steady ripening, a growing up day by day into maturity.
In Ephesians 4, Paul’s long list of examples of Christian living is not a checklist for righteousness but a description of what Christ’s life looks like when it takes root in ordinary people: truthfulness, gentleness, forgiveness, generosity and patience. These are not conditions for salvation; they are the fruit of it.
After dwelling on all this, I’m thinking about our neighbour Warren again, and his ‘What’s new?’ question every Thursday night. Maybe I should pay more attention to that question. Maybe I should ask myself that question every day of my new life in Christ. What’s new today, Linda? What did you and the Holy Spirit drown together yesterday so that something new, something that looks like Jesus, can take root and grow?
Dear Heavenly Father, take me again into the waters of my baptism. Let my old self be drowned. Let Christ clothe me again in my new life. Help me to stay alert to how your Holy Spirit is forming me into the very life of Jesus. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
What’s new?
by Linda Macqueen
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: the old has gone, the new is here! (2 Corinthians 5:17)
Read 2 Corinthians 5:16–21
- Every Thursday night, our neighbour Warren pops over for a coffee and a chat. Invariably, as he drops a Coles cake on the kitchen bench, he’ll ask, ‘What’s new?’ Rarely do my husband Mark and I have anything to offer. ‘Nothing much,’ we mutter. ‘Same old, same old.’ (Which, in truth, is exactly how we like it, now that we’ve retired.)
In today’s text, Paul is not asking the fledgling Christians in Corinth, ‘What’s new?’ He’s declaring, ‘You are new.’ For them, being a ‘new creation’ was a radical reorientation against the background noise of a pagan city. It meant stepping out of a world built on social status, rivalry and self‑promotion, and into a community where identity rested in Christ’s reconciling and all-embracing love. This was a seismic shift in thinking and living. This was a ‘born again’ sort of new.
By comparison, for lifelong Christians today, the drama of our ‘new creation’ can feel muted – boring, even. Some of us don’t have a compelling ‘coming to Christ’ testimony, or a life of two distinct chapters: before and after Jesus. Yet baptism tells us that our new creation is not measured by the intensity of our conversion story but by the daily rhythm of dying and rising with Christ. Martin Luther captured this beautifully: baptism is not only a past event but also a present, ongoing reality, binding us inseparably to Christ’s death and resurrection. Each day, the old self is drowned, and each day Christ raises us into his life.
Our ‘new creation’ experience probably looks more like a slow, faithful reshaping: a softening heart, a deeper compassion, a willingness to forgive, a readiness to serve without being noticed. But the source of this new creation is the same for us today as it was for the Corinthians. Christ’s love compels us, draws us, remakes us – again and again – until his life becomes our life.
Father God, you have declared that I am a new creation in Christ. I can’t argue with that, even though I don’t always feel new. Forgive me for dragging into my new life some things that belonged to my old life. Please drown these things and raise me up once again to live into the new creation you have made me. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
Wisdom from a quiet heart
by Linda Macqueen
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… you will only find yourselves fighting against God (Acts 5:39b).
Read Acts 5:27–39
There are a lot of themes we could explore in today’s text, but I can’t miss the opportunity to talk about my second-favourite Pharisee. (Nicodemus is my favourite.) In Acts 5, the apostles stand before the Sanhedrin, accused of defying strict orders to stop teaching about Jesus. The council is furious, intent on silencing these heretics once and for all. Then, into the strained atmosphere steps a devout and highly respected Pharisee. His name is Gamaliel (who was Saul/Paul’s teacher – Acts 22:3).
Gamaliel doesn’t puff his chest out like a peacock. He doesn’t join the chorus of outrage. Instead, he offers a measured, almost understated word of caution: ‘Consider carefully what you intend to do to these men.’ His counsel is simple: if this movement is merely human, it will collapse on its own. But if it is from God, no amount of force will stop it, and opposing it would place the Sanhedrin on the wrong side of God’s purposes.
Gamaliel is not dodging his leadership obligations by sitting on the fence. His counsel is not passivity; it is discernment. It is the refusal to be swept along by fear, anger or groupthink. It is the courage to pause when everyone else is rushing to judgement.
Is it just me, or do you also see a cultural shift towards instant reactions, accompanied by fierce rhetoric? Enemies are easily named. Outrage is applauded. Nuance is dismissed as weakness. And we see Christians, too, drawn into this vortex – quick to label, quick to blame, quick to draw battle lines.
Gamaliel invites us to a different approach. One that trusts God enough to wait. One that believes truth does not need panic to sustain it. One that remembers that the kingdom of God does not advance through force, fear or frenzy, but through the quiet, steady and sometimes off-script work of the Spirit.
Perhaps the most radical witness we Christians can offer today is not louder certainty but deeper calm. Not sharper lines between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ but more space that leaves room for God to act, however and wherever he chooses. Today, my second-favourite Pharisee reminds us that wisdom often sounds like a gentle voice saying, ‘Slow down. Look again. Perhaps God is in this picture.’
Wise and faithful Father, help me to resist the pull of reactive living, of jumping quickly to judgement and outrage. Instead, cultivate in me the quiet confidence that your purposes will stand – whether or not I rush to defend them. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
Strength for the waiting
by Linda Macqueen
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Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength (Isaiah 40:31a).
Read Isaiah 40:25–31
Yesterday, we left the disciples quivering in the upper room, sensing doom. In the coming days, they will huddle in dark corners, fighting twin tormentors: the fear of abandonment and the loss of all hope. We’ve heard this story before. Or one like it.
Hundreds of years earlier, about 7,000 of God’s people were locked up in a foreign land, broken under abandonment and hopelessness, not for a few days or even years, but for entire generations. Into that national despair, God asks a startling question: ‘To whom will you compare me?’ Through his prophet Isaiah, God calls them to lift their gaze from their exhaustion to the One who names the stars and gives them their orders. Renewal for the exiled people of Judah begins not with pulling themselves up by their bootstraps but with a fresh vision of God’s enduring faithfulness and sovereign strength.
It’s against this dark backdrop that verse 31a – the star of countless Christian memes – shines brightly: ‘But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.’ The Hebrew verb here, qāvāh, carries the sense of hopeful, tensile waiting – like strands twisted together to form a strong rope. Waiting on God is not passive or resigned. It is the active, intentional trust of people who bind their lives to his life, drawing strength through the long, dark silences from the One who holds them.
Just like the captives in Babylon, we can grow weary not only from life’s challenges themselves, but also from the pressure to solve them in our own strength. Isaiah reminds us that renewal comes not from tightening our grip, but from being held. Those who ‘wait’ in the qāvāh sense – who intertwine their hope with God’s promises – discover a strength that is not self-generated. We rise, not because circumstances have changed, but because we are lifted up by the everlasting God.
My Lord and God, who calls out the stars by name, forgive me for relying on my own vision, strength and courage to overcome the challenges I face. Help me to trust in you, to wait patiently on you and to hope only in you, until you raise me up again on eagle’s wings. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
Parting words
by Linda Macqueen
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Let not your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me (John 14:1).
Read John 14:1–14
In the upper room, the air is thick with a dread you can almost smell. Lately, Jesus has been saying disturbing things – about betrayal, denial, even his death. And tonight, it all seems to be coming to a head. Like a deer with its nose to the breeze, the disciples sniff impending doom.
And Jesus … just imagine what he’s feeling as the sand in the hourglass runs thinner and faster. How will he use these precious final hours – these hours before everything they’d believed Jesus to be would crumble at the cross?
First, what doesn’t he do? He doesn’t give his friends a pep talk. He doesn’t give them dot-point summaries of the teachings he ran out of time to deliver. He doesn’t unlock the meanings of the parables they had failed to grasp. None of that will carry them through the future he sees for them. What they will need is Jesus himself – day by day, leading them to the Father’s heart, leading them home.
Jesus’ parting words are as gut-wrenchingly tender as they are desperately urgent: ‘Let not your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me … I am the way, the truth and the life.’
The Greek word for ‘believe’ (pisteuō) has a deeper meaning than intellectual agreement. It means trust, confidence, leaning your whole weight on someone. On this darkest of nights, Jesus doesn’t ask his disciples to hum along with a creed, recite a teaching or sign up to a theological statement. He invites them to rest the full weight of their confusion and fear – and their future mission – on him.
Jesus’ invitation to his beloved friends on that dark night is the same as the one he offers to us, his beloved friends: ‘Lean on me. Put the full weight of your burden on me. Trust me … and me alone.’
My dear friend, Jesus. You see me when my heart trembles, when I struggle to understand, when nothing makes sense, when I cannot work out what you are doing. Help me to shun all the shaky props I have been leaning on, and to trust you alone – you, Jesus, in whom I see my Father; you, Jesus, who is leading me safely home. Amen.
Linda Macqueen retired in September last year, having served 26 years as editor of The Lutheran and communications manager for the LCANZ. She has rapidly adapted to retirement, happily and energetically bringing her long-neglected home and garden back to life. She lives in the beautiful Adelaide Hills with her husband Mark.
My rock and my fortress
by Glenn Crouch
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Into your hands I commit my spirit; deliver me, Lord, my faithful God (Psalm 31:5).
Read Psalm 31:1–5,15,16
When I read the words of verse 5, I hear them on Jesus’ lips as he hung from the cross (Luke 23:46). This is similar to what I experience when reading Psalm 22 (see Psalm 22:1 and Matthew 27:46). Our Lord knew the psalms well. In the depths of his pain and suffering, they were what he drew on to pray. One of my regrets is not delving more seriously into the Book of Psalms when I was younger. They are not only extremely helpful in my prayer life, but also when counselling others.
Let’s look further at what this psalm has to say to us today.
David has complete dependence on the Lord. Look at the words he uses: refuge, deliverer, rock, fortress. Are you dependent on the Lord? Is he the one you run to when things get all messed up? Can you count on him to deliver you from your fear, anxiety and sin? Is he the most stable thing in your life – your foundation and your rock? When you are with him, do you feel protected, as though you were in the centre of a mighty fortress?
Now that you’ve thought about those things. Read verses 1 to 5 as a prayer to the Lord.
Let’s not forget verses 15 and 16. Once again, think about these words. Is it not your desire to have God’s face shine upon you? Do you not rely on his unfailing love for your salvation, for your deliverance? Read these two verses as a prayer to the Lord.
As our journey together this week concludes, I encourage you to spend time praying through the Psalms and following in the footsteps of our Good Shepherd.
Great and merciful God, you are indeed my rock and my refuge. I so want your face to shine upon me. Help me bring all my problems to you. Help me to trust you more. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.
Glenn is the pastor of St John’s Lutheran Church in Esperance and looks after St Paul’s Lutheran Church in Kalgoorlie–Boulder, Western Australia. Glenn and Karen have been married since 1985. They have two grown sons and are enjoying when they can get to Perth to spend time with their first grandchild.
Being a shepherd
by Glenn Crouch
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Be shepherds of God’s flock that is under your care, watching over them – not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be (1 Peter 5:2).
Read 1 Peter 5:1–7
When I was a young adult involved in youth work with Scripture Union, people would say that I should become a pastor. I would smile and say that God had called me to work with young people – besides, pastoring was too hard a job for me. I think how God must have smiled at me in my youthful ignorance (now I’m not so young), and he had other plans.
Yesterday, we saw Paul commissioning the shepherds of Ephesus. Today, we see Peter doing a similar task. Verse 2 gives us interesting insight into vocation, and not just that of being a shepherd. Peter encourages willingness rather than inevitability. Yes, God wants you to do this, but you also must want to do it. Note also that being a shepherd is not about greed or power, but serving faithfully until our Great Shepherd (verse 4) appears.
It is worth rereading verses 5 and 6. Humility and a willingness to submit to those with more experience are not easy things for many of us. However, this is the way to follow Jesus. While American pastor and author Tim Keller didn’t invent the saying, his description of Christian humility always sticks in my mind: it is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.
We finish with verse 7, which gives us great comfort. We are often overwhelmed by screens telling us to be afraid. Be afraid of the other. Be afraid of being without food/fuel/toilet paper. Be afraid of violence/war. Is it any wonder that anxiety is rampant in our 21st-century Western culture? We need to follow this 1st-century advice: cast all your anxiety on God. Why? Because he cares for you!
Father Almighty, thanks for caring for me. Help me hand over my anxiety to you. Help me focus less on myself and more on others, and above all, help me focus on my Lord Jesus. In his name, I pray. Amen.
Glenn is the pastor of St John’s Lutheran Church in Esperance and looks after St Paul’s Lutheran Church in Kalgoorlie–Boulder, Western Australia. Glenn and Karen have been married since 1985. They have two grown sons and are enjoying when they can get to Perth to spend time with their first grandchild.
Generations of shepherds
by Glenn Crouch
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Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood (Acts 20:28b).
Read Acts 20:25–32
A couple of years ago, we celebrated the 50th anniversary of our church building here in Esperance. I had the privilege of contacting the pastors who had served before me – some of whom I didn’t know. It was wonderful to hear the stories of these shepherds.
In our passage today, Paul is addressing the leaders of the church in Ephesus. He couldn’t enter the city, so he had these people come and meet with him at Miletus (about 50 kilometres away). Paul realises this is most likely his last time with them (verse 25), as his journey to Jerusalem is dangerous. As he has been the shepherd of Ephesus, teaching them ‘the whole will of God’ (verse 27), so now he commissions them to continue in this work (verse 28).
This is no simple task. There are savage wolves around (verse 29)! Shepherds not only have to worry about dangers from outside, but from inside as well (verse 30). This is a vocation that involves many tears (verse 31).
We often joke that pastors have it pretty easy, what with only having to work one day a week, and then only for an hour or so. We pastors often make this joke to each other, since we know how far from the truth it is. Pray for the pastors in your community, as they preach, teach, pray and weep for that community.
Think about the shepherds who have had an impact on your journey with Jesus.
Gracious Father, I lift before you all the pastors in our community. Help them be faithful to your word. Strengthen them as they teach about Jesus. Encourage them when they feel frustrated and alone. Protect them and their families from the evil one. I ask this in the name of the Good Shepherd, our Lord Jesus. Amen.
Glenn is the pastor of St John’s Lutheran Church in Esperance and looks after St Paul’s Lutheran Church in Kalgoorlie–Boulder, Western Australia. Glenn and Karen have been married since 1985. They have two grown sons and are enjoying when they can get to Perth to spend time with their first grandchild.