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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?
Help my unbelief
by Noel Due
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I believe; help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24b)
Read Mark 9:14–29
The scene at the foot of the mountain is chaos. The glory of the Transfiguration has faded, and Jesus descends into argument, failure and desperation. A father brings his tormented son to the disciples, but they cannot help. The contrast is deliberate: the power of God revealed above meets the weakness of human faith below.
Jesus’ rebuke – ‘O faithless generation’ – is not aimed only at the scribes or the crowd, but at everyone present, disciples included. This strips away any confidence in technique, spiritual rank or past success. The disciples had cast out demons before, but yesterday’s faith cannot be relied on today. Faith is not a possession we store; it is a relationship of continual dependence.
The father’s cry stands at the centre of the passage. When Jesus says, ‘All things are possible for one who believes,’ the man does not pretend confidence. He does not offer polished faith or heroic trust. He brings what he has – and names what he lacks. ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’ This is not a contradiction but true faith speaking honestly. Faith is not certainty about oneself, but reliance on Christ precisely where certainty fails.
Jesus receives this prayer. He does not demand stronger faith before acting. He delivers the boy while the crowd thinks him dead. The resurrection language is intentional: Jesus takes him by the hand and lifts him up. God’s saving work often looks like defeat before it looks like life.
Later, the disciples ask why they failed. Jesus’ answer – ‘This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer’ – is not a technique but a diagnosis. Prayer confesses dependence. It refuses self-trust. It places the entire burden back onto God.
Mark 9 teaches the church how faith actually lives in a broken world. Not triumphantly, not confidently, but honestly. True faith does not hide unbelief; it brings it to Jesus. And Jesus, who does not despise weak faith, answers with mercy and power all the same.
Father, the cry of this dear man is also our cry. We believe, but help our unbelief. Receive our prayer and raise us up. For Jesus’ sake, 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.
When worship forgets the neighbour
by Noel Due
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Render true judgements, show kindness and mercy to one another (Zechariah 7:9b).
Read Zechariah 7:4–10
The question that frames Zechariah 7 is a religiously sincere one: Should we continue fasting as we have done? The context is important: for decades, the people have observed ritual fasts commemorating Jerusalem’s destruction. They are not at home; they are in exile. God’s answer, however, bypasses the calendar and goes straight to the heart. The issue is not whether the fasts were kept, but for whom they were kept. ‘When you fasted … was it for me?’ the Lord asks. Here is a searching word of law: religious practice can be meticulously correct and still be curved inwardly.
God’s response is not to abolish fasting, worship or feasts. Instead, he exposes a deeper problem – ritual without repentance, devotion without love. True worship is never merely vertical. The God who hears our prayers also hears our cries. Thus, the command follows: justice, kindness, mercy, protection of the vulnerable – the widow, the orphan, the sojourner, the poor. These are not optional ethical add-ons, but the fruit God has always desired.
Zechariah does not teach that acts of mercy earn God’s favour. The people were already God’s covenant people. Yet faith that trusts God’s promises cannot be sealed off from love of neighbour. Where faith clings to God’s mercy, mercy flows outward. Where religion becomes self-referential – fasting for ourselves – the neighbour disappears. All we see is ourselves.
The warning embedded here is sobering. God reminds them that earlier generations heard these same words ‘by the Spirit through the former prophets’ and yet refused to listen. Hardened hearts did not lack information; they lacked trust. The result was exile – not because God delights in punishment, but because unrepentant self-righteousness cuts itself off from life.
For the church today, Zechariah speaks clearly. The call is not to abandon worship, but to let worship reshape the heart. True fasting, true prayer, true devotion are received first as gifts of grace – and then lived out as mercy toward others. Where God’s mercy is trusted, it is never hoarded.
Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for loving us with an everlasting love. Even when we have cut ourselves off from you, you have still had your face set toward us. You keep coming to us to give and redeem. Let your love for us truly reshape our hearts into your image day by day. 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.
Hidden faith, real treasure
by Noel Due
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Beware of practising your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them (Matthew 6:1a).
Read Matthew 6:1–6,16–21
Jesus’ warning cuts against a deeply religious instinct that is revealed across all time and cultures: the desire for visible righteousness. Almsgiving, prayer and fasting are not condemned here; they are assumed. What is exposed is the heart’s longing to be seen, measured and approved. This is the old Adam at work – using even good works as currency for self-justification.
Jesus names the danger plainly: righteousness practised to be seen already has its reward. Human praise may come, but nothing more is promised. This is law, not advice. It unmasks a false trust – confidence in recognition, reputation or religious performance. The hypocrite, Jesus says, does not fail because of weak discipline, but because of misplaced faith.
The alternative Jesus gives is striking: secrecy. Give in secret. Pray behind a closed door. Fast without display. This is not spiritual minimalism, nor a strategy for humility. It is a reorientation of faith. True righteousness lives coram Deo – before God alone. Justification happens in this hidden place, where God sees not our performance but our need, and meets it with mercy.
The Lord’s Prayer, placed at the heart of this section, reinforces this. We do not pray to inform God or impress others, but to receive: daily bread, forgiveness and deliverance. Prayer is not a work offered upward, but an open hand turned toward heaven.
Jesus then broadens the warning: treasures reveal trusts. What we store up, protect and display discloses where our heart rests. Earthly treasure is vulnerable – subject to decay and theft. Heavenly treasure is secure because it is given, not earned, and kept by God himself. Here again, the theology of the cross prevails: what is hidden with God is more real than what shines before others.
This passage does not abolish good works; it rescues them. Freed from the need to justify ourselves, we can give, pray and fast – not to be seen, but because we are already seen by the Father who knows our need and delights to give.
Dear Father, we thank you that you can see through all our false pretences and our self-righteousness. We thank you that you see through to the heart, from which all unclean things spring, and there you meet us with mercy. Grant that we may receive your mercy with thanksgiving and open arms this day. 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.