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I'm sharing this journal entry from one of our sheep / shepherds for your encouragement and invite you to share your stories to keep us connected David
Thursday April 2, 2020: A journal entry:
JESUS WEPT.
A Morning mist of low cloud wrapped soft around the hills.
I read John 6 and tried to ponder on Jesus the living bread. But the mist beckoned and drew me outside, quickly enfolding me in its clammy embrace.
There was no pausing to choose direction. I headed straight up the hill blanketed in the foggy stillness, only birdcall echoing the inner certainty – she’s coming to pray.
Pray up the hill. I haven’t prayed up there for a while. I’ve prayed. But not there on God’s hill, my place of retreat.
At the summit, as cloud drifted and lifted, it was my heart that rained out its anguished plea, the cry for help with COVID19: LORD HEAR OUR PRAYER. Help us Jesus.
That was it. No wordy waffle. I perched on the rim of the damp bench, poised in grief and need; heart, mind and spirit turned to God, “Yet still do I praise you Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Living God.”
A lull then settled over me, like a mute button had been pressed to hush the turmoil of my distressed thoughts and wretched emotions concerning the plight of the world’s people. Wait. Be quiet!
Jesus wept. The words from last Sunday’s reading came to mind loud and clear.
33 When Jesus saw her crying, and the Judaeans who had come with her crying, he was deeply stirred in his spirit, and very troubled. 34 ‘Where have you laid him?’ he asked. ‘Master,’ they said, ‘come and see.’ 35 Jesus burst into tears. (John 11:33-35 NTE)
I too burst into tears, and as I wept, there at the top of the hill, I knew he was weeping with me. Weeping with all the world. Weeping for us all.
Turn to me. And I, turning, vision all awash, could see clearly, he was there. Feed my sheep. To this I shook my head, and thought, I’m no pastor. You are a minister of my word. Therefore, speak my word to others. Speak my word to one another. And suddenly understanding dawned. “You aren’t just saying this to me, are you? It’s your call to all of us: Feed your sheep. The responsibility is ours collectively.” And I pictured the scattered sheep, isolated from one another but belonging together and needing creative new ways of being church and speaking grace and hope to one another and others.
I plunged, then, down the hill, not following the worn paths but winding down the steeper slope, weaving through knee high weeds, around rocky mounds and patches of slippery flattened grass, to emerge at the wider base track.
Now is the time to forge new paths. Jesus is still the Way, the “base track” of my faith remains the same. It’s the network of familiar paths that represent how we have lived out our faith, that have fallen away, not God’s word or his kingdom, or his love.
I am thankful for this love that comes to us where we are: scattered sheep weeping in the mist of uncertainty. I’m thankful that Jesus wept and that his way isn’t set in stone. That he comes and calls us to discover a new and living way, today and tomorrow and the next day. Hallelujah! This is a new day! And the Jesus who weeps with us in our distress will renew us and lead us on beyond COVID19.
JESUS WEPT.
The autumn sun filtered a pale ray through the drifting grey. A reminder that the God who weeps, also sheds light as well as tears.
Pulling on the maroon jersey
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
… that they may all be one … so that the world may believe that you have sent me (John 17:21).
Read John 17:11b–26
I grew up in South Australia, where football meant AFL. Footy was played with an oval ball, and jumpers were sleeveless. Winter weekends revolved around long arguments about umpiring decisions while kicking a Sherrin in the backyard.
Rugby league was a term used by foreigners. It felt like something that happened somewhere else, to other people.
Then I moved to Queensland.
And it didn’t take long to be re-educated.
I learned that rugby league isn’t just a sport; it’s a cultural commitment. State of Origin is not ‘just a game’. It doesn’t simply appear on the calendar; it shapes it. Organisations wait for the State of Origin dates to be released before setting their own meeting dates and events. After all, expecting attendance at anything unrelated to rugby league during a State of Origin game would be foolishly naïve and wildly optimistic.
For most of the season, men play for rival clubs, where they train separately, chase different trophies and zealously try to beat one another every week. But when State of Origin arrives, club loyalties are set aside. Players who spend most of the year competing against one another pull on the maroon jersey and play together as Queensland. Differences remain, but they are laid down for something bigger. The Maroons play as one, not because they are the same, but because they are committed to a shared purpose.
In today’s reading, Jesus prays for something like that – only deeper, and for the sake of the world.
Jesus prays for all believers. He doesn’t ask that his followers all think the same, agree on everything or lose their distinctiveness. He prays that they may be one – grounded in love, shaped by relationship and held together by God.
And Jesus names what is at stake: ‘So that the world may believe.’ Unity is not an institutional church aspiration – it’s missional. The way followers of Jesus live together communicates something about God to the world.
This kind of unity is not easy because it runs counter to the habits our world rewards. It grows as fruit where love is already at work, forming humility, patience, forgiveness and restraint. Unity is not about winning arguments, but remembering what we’re playing for and who we belong to.
Jesus prays this on the eve of betrayal and abandonment, when everything that could hold his followers together is about to give way. He knows unity will be tested. Still, he places his followers into God’s care and asks that his love – not rivalry – would define them. In a fractured world, unity shaped by love becomes a powerful witness – not because it’s easy, but because it’s rare.
Lord Jesus, you know how easily difference turns into division. When patience runs short, when relationships feel strained, and when unity feels costly, hold us together in your love. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as the Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA/NT/WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, hiking, learning new things and trying new things.
Rivers, not rations
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
I will open rivers on the bare heights and fountains in the midst of the valleys; I will make the wilderness a pool of water and the dry land springs of water (Isaiah 41:18).
Read Isaiah 41:17–20
Water appears throughout Scripture.
It appears early, in creation, where God’s Spirit hovers over the waters. It reappears in the wilderness when thirsty people discover that survival depends on God’s provision. (Think: water from rocks, streams that appear, wells discovered just in time.) Water flows through the psalms, the prophets, the gospels and the final vision of Revelation, where a river of life runs clear and unending.
In Isaiah 41, water is urgent. The people Isaiah describes are poor and needy. They are parched. They are searching – not for abundance, but for just enough. Into that desperation, God speaks a promise that feels excessive: rivers on barren heights, fountains in valleys, pools in dry land.
These are not places where water should be.
Throughout Scripture, water is rarely just about hydration. It signals that God is near. It marks moments when life is sustained, boundaries are crossed, and futures are renewed. From the rock in the wilderness to the River Jordan, and from the well where Jesus meets a Samaritan woman to the living water he promises, water appears wherever God is creating life where it seemed unlikely.
Isaiah insists that this provision is not accidental. ‘That they may see and know … that the hand of the Lord has done this’ (verse 20). This water becomes a sign of who God is.
When people are stretched thin, God meets their needs out of his generosity. We are held by the God who provides, often in ways we don’t expect.
The promise of water does not imply that life will never be dry again. But it does announce that dryness will not have the final word.
Gracious and abundant God, you know where I feel dry, stretched thin, or running on empty. Meet me with what I need today – not what I can manufacture, but what only you can give. Open streams of life where I see no way forward, and help me to trust that, even now, I am held by you. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as the Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA/NT/WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, hiking, learning new things and trying new things.
Do not disturb
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places (Isaiah 32:18).
Read Isaiah 32:14–20
Putting your phone on ‘do not disturb’ doesn’t make the world go quiet. Notifications still arrive. Messages still stack up. The noise doesn’t disappear. It’s just that it no longer governs you. Moments are no longer determined by a device.
Isaiah speaks of peace in a similar way. He describes a scene where things are not as they should be. Palaces are abandoned, the city is levelled, and the land is overgrown with thorns. And yet, into this disorder, God speaks of quiet resting places, secure dwellings and peace that abides.
This is not the peace of everything being fixed. It’s the peace that allows you to stay present instead of shutting down or running away. It’s the peace that doesn’t silence the noise but refuses to let the noise run everything. It’s the peace of being held.
It’s not when circumstances finally cooperate that peace appears. Peace comes when God’s Spirit is poured out. It is not the reward for getting things right; it is the gift that allows us to endure while things remain unresolved. It comes before anything is resolved, and it holds even when chaos doesn’t let up.
This kind of peace doesn’t shout, announce itself or demand a response. Like a phone set to ‘do not disturb’, it simply refuses to let every disruption take control.
Isaiah describes people living quietly, not because they are free of threats, but because they are grounded in God’s care and provision. God’s peace holds when life is disordered, noisy, uncertain or unfinished. Peace is often felt when attention shifts from everything that clambers for a response to the God who is already holding us.
God’s promise of peace is not about escapism. The peace he promises is the ability to remain in this world – with all its obstacles, troubles and challenges – without being defeated.
God of peace, when my mind is noisy and my attention is pulled in too many directions, help me rest in you. When messages pile up, expectations press in and nothing feels settled, remind me that I am held in your care. Quiet what needs quieting and keep me grounded in your presence today. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as the Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA/NT/WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, hiking, learning new things and trying new things.