Photo by...Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash
A student survey conducted at one of our local schools determined that young people see the church as being full of old people and pews. And they think that the pews have to go. There’s some good news in that survey, they didn’t say the old people should go, only the pews.
Think for a moment: How does their perception match reality?
We might immediately begin to defend the pews. They've been good enough for generations. They keep us awake. They haven’t killed anyone.
Or we might be offended that they’ve labelled us as old. We might argue that we’re not nearly as old as our grandparents were at the same age.
We might want to join James and John to ask Jesus whether we should call down fire from heaven and destroy them.
But before we get too defensive, these young people are crying out for the church to recognise and value them. They don’t think the church cares about them, they don’t think we care. They think the church is only interested in the people who’re already involved, which to them means old people.
I wonder whether they’re any different to those of any age who aren’t connected to our churches. Would the whole ‘unchurched’ and 'previously-churched’ community agree that we don’t care. Would they contend that we’re only interested in ourselves.
If we’re so busy polishing and defending our pews then they have to go. If there’s anything in our church that uses up our time at the expense of living our lives for Jesus then it has to go.
Even more urgently we have to go. Not leave the church, the community of God’s people, but go with the good news that because God loves and cares for every single person in this world so do we.
“As you go”, Jesus says, “make disciples of all nations.” Jesus cares about this because he has ‘skin-in-the-game’. He died for each and every one we encounter as we go about our lives.
How do we, as individuals and a church, need to change so that no one in our community will feel that we don’t care about them?
Holy ground for unholy feet
by Noel Due
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground (Exodus 3:6b).
Read Exodus 3:1–6
Moses meets God not in a sanctuary but in the wilderness, not in triumph but while tending sheep – work that marks his exile and failure. But also that work and place which forms him into the person he needs to be for God’s sake. The burning bush draws him in, yet it is not spectacle for its own sake. The fire burns without consuming because this God is revealed by divine self-disclosure. Moses does not discover God; God interrupts Moses.
The first word spoken is restraint: ‘Do not come near.’ God is holy, utterly other. Lutheran theology insists upon this seriousness of God’s holiness, not as moral improvement, but as judgement. The command to remove sandals is not merely a ritual nicety; it is an exposure. Moses stands on holy ground not because he has made it holy, but because God has chosen to be present there. Holiness is not managed. It is given.
Yet this same holy God immediately reveals himself in mercy. He names himself as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – the God who makes promises and keeps them across generations. He is the Lord who remembers his promises. Moses hides his face, rightly fearing death before such holiness. And yet God speaks again – not condemnation, but compassion: ‘I have surely seen … I have heard … I know their sufferings.’
The burning bush confronts Moses with the law: God is holy; Moses is not. Fear is the proper response. But the gospel follows swiftly: God sees affliction and comes down to deliver. Redemption does not arise from Israel’s faithfulness or Moses’ readiness. It arises from God’s gracious initiative.
The bush that burns without being consumed points forward. God will later dwell with his people in fire and cloud (via the Tabernacle), and ultimately in flesh, bearing judgement without being destroyed, so that his people might live.
The God who reveals himself in holiness is the same God who hears your cries. Holy ground, then, is wherever God speaks mercy to sinners. And like Moses, we are called not first to understand, but to trust the One who comes down to save.
Dear Father, we thank you for the full revelation of your holiness and mercy in the cross. There, you open to the world your heart and arms, as we are crucified with Christ, only to also rise with him. Thank you for such love, and grant us an overflow of love in return. Amen.
Noel is a semi-retired Lutheran pastor, writer, teacher and professional supervisor. He is married to Kirsten, a medical doctor, and they have three children and nine grandchildren. They also have two cats.
Glory fades, the Word remains
by Noel Due
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him (Matthew 17:5b).
Read Matthew 17:1–9
On the mountain of Transfiguration, glory breaks through – but only briefly. Jesus shines with uncreated light; Moses and Elijah appear – the law and the prophets bearing witness. Peter, overwhelmed, reaches for permanence: tents, structures, something to hold the moment still. Yet before he can finish speaking, the Father interrupts. The cloud descends, the voice sounds, and the command is not to build, but to listen.
This is decisive. God does not first invite us to act, ascend or stabilise glory. He calls us to receive. Listen to him. Faith comes by hearing (Romans 10:17), not by managing holy experiences. Peter’s instinct reflects the theology of glory – trying to grasp God on our terms, to preserve splendour without the scandal of the cross. But the Father redirects attention away from the dazzling scene and back to the Son’s words, which will soon speak of suffering, rejection and death. They had not previously listened to him on these things, so would they do so now?
Notice also that Moses and Elijah fade. The law that exposes sin and the prophets that announce judgement and promise both give way to Christ alone. This does not abolish them but fulfils them. The Father does not say, ‘Listen to them’, but ‘Listen to him’. Christ is not merely another messenger; he is the final Word. He is not one among many, but one of a kind! Salvation comes from outside ourselves, spoken to us by the Son, not discovered within us by mystical ascent.
When the disciples fall face down in fear, Jesus does not leave them there. He touches them and says, ‘Rise, and have no fear.’ Glory is not sustained on the mountain but carried down into the valley, where demons remain, crosses await, and faith clings to a promise rather than a vision.
The Transfiguration teaches us how God deals with his church now. We do not see Christ transfigured, but we hear him: in Scripture, preached and read. And that is enough. That same voice from the cloud still speaks forgiveness, life and salvation. Listen to him.
Dearest Heavenly Father, we thank you for the full revelation of your nature through your Son. Enable us to hear his voice by your Spirit that we may receive the blessings of faith and trust. Amen.
Noel is a semi-retired Lutheran pastor, writer, teacher and professional supervisor. He is married to Kirsten, a medical doctor, and they have three children and nine grandchildren. They also have two cats.
More than words
by Anita Foster
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead (James 2:15–17).
Read James 2:14–17
What a striking reminder James offers us of the importance of providing practical support, love and mercy to meet the needs of all people in a life of active faith. James is addressing Jewish Christians living outside of Jerusalem. These people knew about God. They knew about Jesus. They knew how to say all the right things, the right rituals, prayers and blessings. They could recite Scripture. I wonder if that describes some of us, too.
But James insists that a faith that is truly alive not only looks at what to say and believe, but what to do. It doesn’t show partiality toward those who are rich and influential or like-minded. But a living faith looks beyond to the needs of others and the world. It looks to the needs of the poor, the homeless, the sick and other injustices in our world. It’s not too busy or too stretched to help. To physically provide. To care and support. These actions of service, generosity and support are an outpouring of the love and care that God has lavished upon us. It is a way that others can actively experience the love of God through the work of our hands.
James invites us to live the kind of faith that reorients how we operate in the world. This can be challenging. I know that often I have good intentions in this space and don’t always follow through with action. This text invites us into a kind of faith that doesn’t just go along with cultural norms or expectations for enjoying life and looking out for ourselves, or even offering thoughts and prayers, but a faith that actively seeks to make a difference in the lives of those who need it most.
God of mercy, open our eyes to the needs around us and give us hands and hearts to serve. Help our faith be alive in compassion, generosity and justice. Amen.
Anita Foster lives in Melbourne’s outer east with her husband and three teen and tween daughters. She is the Director of Faith and Formation at Luther College in Croydon, and she loves teaching, theatre, being in nature and finding new ways to express her creativity.