The joy of being found out
by Noel Due
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Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered (Psalm 32:1).
Read Psalm 32
Psalm 32 opens not with instruction but with blessing. Before David describes confession, discipline or repentance, he announces the outcome: forgiveness. This order matters. Grace is not the reward at the end of repentance; it is the ground that makes repentance possible at all.
David speaks from experience. When sin was hidden, not denied but concealed, it hollowed him out. Silence before God did not preserve dignity; it consumed him. ‘My bones wasted away … day and night your hand was heavy upon me.’ This is the law doing its proper work – not to destroy, but to expose. God’s hand presses in until self-justification collapses. The sinner learns that secrecy before God is not safety but bondage.
Then comes the turn: ‘I acknowledged my sin to you … and you forgave.’ No bargaining. No improvement plan. No delay. Confession is not performance; it is truth spoken into mercy. Here, the Lutheran distinction between law and gospel is unmistakable. The law uncovers sin; the gospel covers it. What David could not hide, God chooses to cover – not by ignoring sin, but by forgiving it through its destruction on the cross.
The psalm then widens from personal testimony to communal instruction. ‘Let everyone who is godly offer prayer.’ Forgiveness is not a private spiritual technique; it is the pattern of life for the whole people of God. Those who trust this mercy are freed from panic and self-defence. Importantly, Psalm 32 does not end in introspection but guidance. The forgiven are taught a new way to live, no longer driven by fear like a horse or mule, but led by trust. Obedience follows forgiveness; it does not precede it.
Thus, Psalm 32 teaches the rhythm of the Christian life. Sin confessed. Forgiveness given. Joy restored. The blessedness David proclaims is not moral success but absolution. To be forgiven is to be released – from silence, from self-accusation, from the crushing labour of pretending. This is why the psalm ends with rejoicing. The righteous are not those without sin, but those who live from forgiveness.
Dear Father, you have given us all in giving us Christ. In him is our forgiveness, righteousness, life and love. In him is hope and true faith. Let us this day cease to hide from you, but to open our hearts to your gaze, so that our experience may be like David’s: ransomed, healed, restored and forgiven. 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.
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
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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
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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.
Renewed while we fade
by Noel Due
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So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16).
Read 2 Corinthians 4:13 – 5:1
Paul writes as one who knows fragility firsthand. His confidence is not theoretical optimism, but faith forged in suffering. The Christian life, as Paul describes it, is lived under a double truth: decay is real, and renewal is real – but they operate on different planes. We must not confuse them.
The outer self – our visible life, our strength, reputation, even our ministry – is wasting away. Paul does not soften this. Here, there is no promise of steady improvement or visible success. This is the theology of the cross speaking plainly: God’s work in us is often hidden beneath weakness, loss and contradiction. To deny this would be to lapse into a theology of glory, measuring God’s favour by external appearances.
Yet precisely here, Paul refuses despair. The inner self is being renewed – not by effort, progress, or spiritual technique, but day by day. This renewal comes through the word that is heard and believed. Earlier, Paul had said, ‘I believed, and so I spoke.’ Faith does not eliminate affliction; it speaks in the midst of it. Renewal comes from outside us, from the promise of Christ crucified and risen, applied anew even as everything visible deteriorates.
Paul presses further. What we see is temporary; what we do not see is eternal. Faith clings not to what can be measured, but to what has been promised. The present affliction, real and painful though it is, is not minimised but put into perspective by resurrection. Death is not denied; it is answered. Chapter five makes this concrete. Our bodies are tents – temporary dwellings – but God himself prepares a permanent house. This is not an escape from creation but its redemption. The Christian hope is not disembodied survival but resurrection, guaranteed by God, not secured by us.
Thus, Paul teaches the church how not to lose heart: not by denying weakness, but by locating life where God has promised it – in Christ, hidden now, revealed in glory. Until then, renewal continues quietly, faithfully, day by day.
Dear Father, this world is not yet heaven, and we cannot make it so. Forgive our feeble attempts to make heaven on earth by securing ourselves and our futures. Root deeply in us the hope of eternal life, seen and guaranteed in the resurrection of Jesus, who has raised us up with him so that where he is, we may be also. 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.
Holy ground for unholy feet
by Noel Due
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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
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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
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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.
Faith made beautiful
by Anita Foster
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… so that in everything they may be an ornament to the teaching of God our Saviour (Titus 2:10b).
Read Titus 2:1–10
In this passage from the Book of Titus, Paul writes to a new Christian community in Crete about living in a way that increases the attractiveness of the gospel message and makes it credible. He uses the words ‘ornament’ or ‘adorn’ to describe the way the lives of believers can make the gospel message beautiful.
In the text, Paul addresses the actions of people of different ages, genders, stages and stations of life. He speaks about self-control: being sound in faith, love and endurance; being reverent; not slandering or being enslaved to too much wine; teaching what is good; being loving partners and children; and being kind and good managers of the household. These things are part of the everyday-ness of life – the ‘in everything’ of life. We’re not talking about big, dramatic acts of faith or super-intelligent or influential arguments, but the fact that faithfully living a life of integrity is a crucial part of witnessing to the gospel.
People in our world are so sick of hypocrites and being disappointed by leaders. A prominent Christian writer was recently exposed as having an eight-year extramarital affair. We understand that none of us are exempt – we are all tempted by sin and fall short of God’s glory – it’s part of the human condition. We also know that God’s grace extends even to the darkest parts of life. But when recognised Christian writers or speakers behave in a way that is incongruent with a life of faith, it casts a shadow over the credibility of their teaching and their proclamation of the gospel.
To be clear, Paul is not saying that our actions save us – earlier and later in Titus, he asserts that salvation comes from God’s grace alone. But once received, grace can reshape a life. The Greek verb kosmeo, translated in this verse as ‘ornament’ or ‘adorn’, does not just relate to decoration or appearance. It means to arrange, put in order or make something beautiful by fitting it well. A life that is ordered or arranged by grace truly becomes a thing of beauty. Not to draw attention to itself, but to point to Jesus.
God of grace, we thank you for your incredible gifts to us. We ask that your Holy Spirit order and shape our lives in ways that reflect the beauty of the gospel, becoming a living testimony to the transforming work of Christ. 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.