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?
Slow praise
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures (Psalm 104:24).
Read Psalm 104:24–34,35b
Today is World Turtle Day.
It’s one of those observances that feels quietly charming. Turtles don’t rush. They don’t demand attention. They simply move at their own pace: slow, steady and unbothered by the noise around them. They have been doing this for a very long time.
Psalm 104 invites us into that same unhurried posture.
This psalm doesn’t argue for God’s existence or try to prove anything. It simply notices. The psalmist looks at the world – the seas and creatures within them, the cycles of life and breath, the rhythms of work and rest – and responds with awe. Creation is not frantic. It’s ordered and sustained. Held.
Again and again, the psalm returns to one thing: life depends on God’s ongoing care. When God gives breath, creatures live. When God sustains, creation flourishes. Nothing is self-made. Nothing is self-sustaining. And we rejoice knowing that God not only sustains creation now, he also promises its renewal – a future shaped by resurrection, a promise secured for us in Christ.
In a society that rewards speed, efficiency and constant output, Psalm 104 slows us down. It reminds us that wonder takes time. Praise requires attention. Trust grows through noticing what God is already doing.
Even creatures like turtles – ancient, steady and unremarkable by modern standards – bear quiet witness to our Creator, whose wisdom is deeper than our impatience.
To pause and delight in creation is not an abuse of precious time. It is faith. It is choosing to see the world as something sustained by God and worthy of praise, rather than something to be conquered or consumed.
And so, our week of devotions ends where it began: not with control or worldly certainty, but with lives quietly held by our Creator God.
Creator God, slow me down when I rush past wonder and overlook your care. Open my eyes to the beauty around me, my heart to praise and my spirit to trust your sustaining presence. In a world that demands speed and output, remind me again that, along with all creation, 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.
Essential lessons in Vegemite application
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Let what you heard from the beginning abide in you (1 John 2:24a).
Read 1 John 2:24–29
It’s taken me years to master the art of Vegemite application.
This is not a skill you acquire in childhood and then forget about. It requires discipline, focus and a surprising amount of self-control. It takes patience, restraint and a willingness to learn from mistakes. Too much Vegemite, and you’ve ruined perfectly good toast. Too little, and you’re left wondering whether you’re even trying. I’ve had seasons of confidence, moments of regret and the occasional identity crisis when I thought I’d finally nailed it, only to discover I’d drifted off course again.
But as a proud Australian, applying Vegemite to toast is an essential life skill. You don’t dabble with Vegemite. You don’t improvise wildly or freestyle your way to success. Vegemite doesn’t reward experimentation. It demands commitment. You learn the basics, you respect them and – crucially – you stick with them.
In today’s reading, John is writing to a community where sticking to the basics is becoming increasingly harder.
New ideas are circulating. New voices are claiming authority. Some teaching sounds impressive, even sophisticated. There’s no pressure to abandon faith altogether, but certainly to adjust it. Tweak it here, update it there. Make it fit more comfortably with what feels new or fashionable.
John’s advice is remarkably simple: ‘Let what you heard from the beginning abide in you.’
Stay. Remain. Stick.
This isn’t fear of change or resistance to growth. John isn’t warning against learning, reflection or being reshaped – he’s cautioning against forgetting Christ himself. Abiding means continually returning to Christ and trusting him to keep doing his work in us. It is not about clinging tightly but trusting that we are already being held.
Abiding takes patience. It means resisting the urge to constantly upgrade, rebrand or improve what was already given as a gift. It means trusting that God – who held us from the beginning – is still enough.
This brings us back to Vegemite. It doesn’t need experimentation or reinventing. Nor does it require upgrading or rebranding. Spread too thin, and it disappears. Tinker too much, and it loses its point. But used as it was intended, it does exactly what it’s meant to do: it nourishes. John’s advice is just as practical: stick with what you heard from the beginning. Stay. Abide. Don’t drift.
Faithful God, when I am tempted to chase what is new, impressive or fashionable, draw me back to the life you give. When I drift, help me return. When I complicate faith, remind me of the grace I first received in Christ. Hold me steady in your love and keep me grounded in 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.
Confidence without control
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
… for we walk by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7).
Read 2 Corinthians 5:1–10
On this day in 1932, Amelia Earhart landed in a field in Northern Ireland, having flown solo and nonstop across the Atlantic. Historians write that she was exhausted, cold and unsure about where she was. Still, she had made it.
Earhart didn’t fly with certainty. She flew with resolve. The weather changed, instruments failed and visibility dropped. The journey carried risk from the moment she took off. Confidence, for her, meant stepping forward anyway.
Paul speaks of a confidence like that.
In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul describes life as fragile, like a tent – temporary and vulnerable. Bodies age, plans unravel and outcomes remain uncertain. Paul knows this firsthand, and yet he says, ‘We are confident’ (verses six and eight).
Confident. Not because life is predictable. Not because the future feels secure. Not because everything can be seen or measured.
Paul’s confidence does not rest in worldly knowledge and strength, or in what he can personally secure or manage. It rests in the one who holds him. He writes, ‘We walk by faith, not by sight.’ Faith is trusting that God is already at work beyond what we can see, even when we cannot forecast how things will unfold. Or, as Philip Yancey wrote in Disappointment with God, ‘Faith means believing in advance what will only make sense in reverse.’
Like Earhart, Paul doesn’t deny risk. Rather, he acknowledges it without being ruled by it. He refuses to let uncertainty have the final word or to let fear speak louder than God’s promises. Confidence, for Paul, is not bravado; it’s keeping going when the risk is real, because he knows his life is already held.
This kind of confidence doesn’t eliminate fear. It carries us through it.
And so, I ask myself: What am I avoiding right now because I’m afraid? Where have I mistaken caution for faithfulness, when it might actually be fear? What decision could I approach today with trust rather than fear, remembering that the outcome does not rest on me?
God of grace, when the path ahead feels unclear, and the outcome isn’t mine to manage, steady me. When I’m weighing decisions, juggling responsibilities or quietly wondering how much energy I have left, remind me that I am not alone. 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.