by Pastor Peter Bean
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What to make of these verses? Not the most wonderful reading in the Bible. It started off well with hospitality shown by Lot. But it quickly degenerated into all sorts of terrible things: sexual immorality, betrayal of family, disbelief, tardiness, warnings ignored, ingratitude. And, as we read on, there is more.
What do we do with all of this? Of course, it’s easy to jump to conclusions and become judgemental of actions and inactions, groups and individuals. And don’t we do that? Sorry, I’ll let you answer that for yourself. For myself, yes, I do jump to conclusions. I do make judgements. I do look down on people. Lord, have mercy.
And the Lord does. Even when we think we have more time to prepare. Even when we joke about what God might do. Even when we are inhospitable. Even when we condemn!
I guess, here, in these verses, we have a good description of human nature. Thoughts and actions are described that can lead us away from God. Even when God is present – in our face, if you like – even when God is clear, and we can hear the voice of the Spirit guiding us. (Did you know that, in the Hebrew Scriptures, to hear is the same as to obey?)
But we also have a good description of God’s nature: to be merciful, to restore those who lack trust or think they can make it on their own. Can each of us examine our lives? Look for those times when you didn’t trust God’s promises and thought you could make it alone. Look for those times when God’s mercy re-appeared: in a word of forgiveness, in a restoration of relationships, in a comforting hug, in the quiet breath of the Spirit breathing new life into you.
And give thanks for the Lord’s mercy.
Lord God, Heavenly Dad, gracious Saviour, life-giving Spirit, thank you for your mercy, shown to me in so many ways. Thank you. Amen.
In early October, Peter enjoyed a family camp with his children and grandchildren at Lake Bonney, South Australia. Then, he returned to weeding, planting, riding, reading and relaxing.
For whom is the time of liberating grace?
by Anastasia Kim
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The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor (Luke 4:18a).
Read Luke 4:14–21
Luke tells us that Jesus returned to Galilee ‘in the power of the Spirit’. That detail matters. Jesus does not begin his ministry in Jerusalem, the religious centre, but in Galilee, a region shaped by vulnerability, mixed populations and long-standing suspicion. Galilee was home to many who lived on the margins, including Gentiles, and who were often regarded as socially insignificant. It is precisely there that Jesus goes, led by the Spirit.
This power comes after the wilderness. The Spirit who led Jesus into hunger and testing now leads him into public ministry. In Luke’s Gospel, spiritual power is not found in avoiding struggle, but in faithfulness lived within it. The Spirit does not shield Jesus from fragile realities. The Spirit sends him into them.
When Jesus arrives in Nazareth, nothing dramatic happens. ‘As was his custom’, he enters the synagogue on the Sabbath and stands to read. Spirit-filled ministry begins in ordinary faithfulness. The Spirit does not pull Jesus away from Israel’s worship but draws him deeper into it. Opening the scroll of Isaiah, Jesus reads words first spoken to exiles: good news for the poor, release for captives, sight for the blind, freedom for the oppressed. These words describe real-life conditions, not abstract ideals.
Jesus calls this moment ‘the year of the Lord’s favour’. This is not simply a calendar year, nor a promise deferred to the distant future. It is God’s gracious time breaking into the present. This liberation does not begin with human action, but with Christ’s declaration that God’s grace is already at work. In Luke, forgiveness is not merely spoken. It is enacted. What binds is loosened. What is crushed is lifted. Those pushed aside are named as the very recipients of God’s grace.
Then Jesus says the words that still unsettle me: ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’ God’s liberating grace is not postponed. It is happening now. This ‘today’ is uncomfortable, because it reveals that grace is not reserved for the familiar or the respectable. It reaches across boundaries, toward outsiders and those who were long excluded.
As I sit quietly with this text, I find myself asking whom I expect God’s grace to be for. Jesus makes it clear that God’s work begins among the vulnerable and moves outward from there. Spirit-filled faith does not withdraw from the world. It follows Christ into the places where God’s grace is already being spoken into life.
Today, the time of liberating grace is still unfolding.
Spirit of the Lord, open my eyes to see who your grace is for today. Anchor my life in Christ’s mercy, and lead me toward those who most need your freedom. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
Saved for fearless worship
by Anastasia Kim
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… to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins (Luke 1:77).
Read Luke 1:68–79
Luke 1:68–79 places us just after John’s birth. Zechariah, whose voice had long been silent, is finally able to speak. And when he does, he does not explain himself or his experience. He sings. In his song, he recognises what God has been doing all along. What once sounded like an angel’s distant promise is now confessed as fulfilled mercy.
The joy surrounding John’s birth is more than the happiness of a long-awaited child. It is joy rooted in mercy. Luke uses the word eleos to describe it. Not a vague kindness, but God’s tender concern for those in real need. As Zechariah’s song unfolds, that need turns out not to belong only to Elizabeth or to one family’s story. It names ‘us’. Those who sit in darkness. Those who live under the shadow of death. Those who know what it is to lack peace.
Some words in the song sound almost political: ‘that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us’ (Luke 1:71). It is not hard to hear in them the hopes of a people longing for deliverance. I found myself feeling the same way when I read this passage.
Luke does not silence those hopes. But the song itself leads us deeper. Its centre is not conquest, but forgiveness. ‘Knowledge of salvation’ comes, Zechariah sings, ‘by the forgiveness of their sins’ (Luke 1:77b). The most decisive enemy is not only outside us. It is sin and all that follows from it: fear, bondage and, finally, death.
The purpose of this salvation is then named with surprising clarity. We are rescued ‘from the hands of our enemies’ so that we might ‘serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness in his presence all our days’ (Luke 1:74,75). Redemption is not only about being saved from something; it is also about being saved for something. A life before God. A life shaped by worship. A life no longer driven by anxiety but carried by mercy.
So Zechariah’s song gently lifts our eyes. Beyond every short-lived victory. Beyond every hope that cannot finally hold. It points us to the dawn that breaks from on high. Christ comes down to us. He forgives sins. He shines into the darkness. And he guides our feet, again and again, into the way of peace.
Lord God of Israel, we worship you for visiting your people with tender mercy. Forgive our sins, free us from fear, and shape our lives for holy service. By your dawning light, shine into our darkness and guide our feet into peace. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
The everlasting light that does not fade
by Anastasia Kim
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The sun shall no longer be your light by day, nor the moon by night; the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of mourning shall be ended (Isaiah 60:19,20).
Read Isaiah 60:19–22
We cannot live without light. Our days are governed by the sun, our nights softened by the moon. Even rest depends on some form of light to guide and steady us. Yet Isaiah dares to proclaim a future in which neither sun nor moon is necessary, because God himself becomes the light. This is not poetic exaggeration but a theological promise of new creation.
Isaiah 60:19–22 stands at the ‘end of times’ climax of the chapter. It does not merely describe restoration after exile, but the fulfilment of God’s saving purpose, where created lights give way to the uncreated Light. The text assumes the reality of sorrow. ‘Your days of mourning shall be ended’ only makes sense because mourning has been real, persistent and heavy. Law is spoken honestly: human life is marked by fragility, loss and limits. We depend on rhythms that fail, bodies that weaken and hopes that dim.
Into this reality, the gospel is announced. The Lord does not simply provide light; he is the light. Salvation here is not improvement of circumstances but the gift of divine presence. In Lutheran terms, this is grace in its purest form: donum Dei. God gives himself. Verse 21 deepens the promise. ‘Your people shall all be righteous.’ This righteousness is not achieved but bestowed, a status granted by God’s own faithfulness. The future of God’s people rests not on their strength but on God’s promise.
For those in later life, or those who walk alongside them, this word speaks with particular tenderness. The promise is not that life will become brighter in visible ways, but that it will never fall into final darkness. When memory fades, strength diminishes, and productivity ceases, dignity remains, because God himself is their glory. The light that does not fade is already given, hidden now under the cross, but certain in hope.
Everlasting God, you are our light when all other lights fail. Abide with us in our weakness, and let your presence be our glory. Through Jesus Christ, the Light of the World. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.