That nobody is somebody
by Reid Matthias
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The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, ‘We have found the Messiah!’ (that is, the Christ). And Andrew brought his brother to Jesus (John 1:41,42a).
Read John 1:29–42
At first, Jesus wasn’t famous. Not like who the internet tells me are the five most famous people in the world: Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi (soccer players), followed by Kylie Jenner, Kim Kardashian and Taylor Swift.
No, Jesus was not a ‘nepo baby’ (someone made famous by their parents). His parents were not famous (not at that point, anyway), and he didn’t receive any extra assistance upon growing up, save some frankincense, myrrh and gold. And Jesus wouldn’t have been identified by anyone in Galilee. Except on those two days when Jesus walked by his cousin, John, who yelled out, ‘Look, the Lamb of God!’
Strange, isn’t it? Of all the things John could have said as he pointed. You know – ‘Hey, everybody, that’s the Son of God right there!’ or ‘Everybody drop what you’re doing. That man is going to save the entirety of human existence from their sins!’ And instead, he chose, ‘the Lamb of God!’
Maybe that was part of the intrigue for Andrew, one of John’s disciples. After John had been questioned about his own Messiah-ness, he pointed out his cousin, Jesus, as the one who was and is to come.
But he wasn’t famous.
Yet after one afternoon, Andrew saw enough in Jesus to run to the most important person in his life, his brother Peter (Simon). He told him that this no-name, nobody, wandering, totally unexpected rabbi was the Messiah. The one they’d been waiting for.
What would you do if Jesus showed up at your local grocery store? How would you react? If his identity was verified, who would you tell first, and how would you tell the story?
Lamb of God, Jesus Christ, come into my life today. Be with me where I’m staying. Be with me where I’m going. Be with me every second of my life. Amen.
Reid Matthias is the school pastor at St Andrews Lutheran College in Tallebudgera, Queensland. Reid is married to Christine, and together with their three incredible daughters, Elsa, Josephine and Greta, they have created a Spotify channel (A 13) where they have recorded music. Reid has recently published his seventh novel, A Miserable Antagonist. You can find all of his novels and music links at www.reidmatthias.com
The waiting
by Jane Mueller
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I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure (Psalm 40:1,2).
Read Psalm 40:1–11
There’s a kind of waiting that grinds. The kind where you’ve done everything right – prayed, served, persevered – and nothing shifts. Where your faith feels static, and your prayers seem unheard. David knew this waiting. He didn’t downplay it or romanticise it: ‘I waited patiently for the Lord.’ The original Hebrew text can be interpreted as, ‘I waited and waited.’ It’s not serene; it’s survival.
David called his place of despair ‘the desolate pit’. Sometimes, the pit is burnout. Sometimes, it’s depression. Sometimes, it’s the slow suffocation of carrying other people’s expectations while pretending you’re fine. The miry bog clings – fear of failure, resentment that you can’t say aloud, the quiet cynicism that creeps in when God feels absent.
And yet, David doesn’t stay in the mud. He’s pulled out, not because he climbed harder, but because God reached lower. ‘He drew me up … set my feet upon a rock.’ Grace does what striving never could.
Notice that the rescue doesn’t erase the scars. David still remembers the pit. He still names the waiting. Faith doesn’t mean pretending it never happened; it means standing steady while you still smell like the mud you came from.
Here we are in 2026. It’s still early in the year – the time we’re meant to feel renewed, focused and ready. But maybe you already feel spent. Perhaps you’ve hit February-level fatigue in January. If so, you’re right where grace works.
Maybe ‘waiting and waiting’ is your first act of faith this year. Not hustling, not forcing; just holding your ground while God does what only he can – because he still pulls people out of pits, even when the calendar’s shiny and your soul isn’t.
So, if you’re in the thick of it, stop polishing the mud or trying to climb your own way out of the pit. Wait … not because you’ve given up, but because you’ve handed it over. Trust that the waiting isn’t wasted. Give God the truth of it and let him meet you there. Let him lift you again. Let him restore you to solid and steady ground.
In her book, When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd writes, ‘When you’re waiting, you’re not doing nothing. You’re doing the most important something there is. You’re allowing your soul to grow up. If you can’t be still and wait, you can’t become what God created you to be.’
The pit isn’t the end of the story. It’s where grace starts to write a new one.
God, I’m tired of pretending the pit doesn’t exist. You see the exhaustion, the fear and the ache I’ve stopped naming. Meet me there. Pull me up again. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
Water + blood + spirit = real faith + real life
by Jane Mueller
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Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life (1 John 5:12).
Read 1 John 5:6–12
We live in a world that trusts what it can see. If it can’t be proven, posted or peer-reviewed, it’s treated as suspect. But John cuts through the noise: the truest things aren’t always the loudest. God’s truth doesn’t shout through headlines; it quietly moves through the water, the blood and the Spirit.
The water points to Jesus’ baptism – God’s declaration that Christ is his Son.
The blood takes us to the cross – love proven, not promised.
And the Spirit keeps that same love alive – the ongoing proof that what Jesus started hasn’t finished.
These three tell one story: God is alive, real and right here.
It’s easy to let faith become a concept to manage rather than a life to live. We quote it, discuss it, explain it and organise it. But John doesn’t write about faith in a theoretical sense. He brings us back to the pulse of it: whoever has the Son has life. Not doctrine. Not theory. Not a rulebook. Not duty. Life. The kind that breathes, moves and changes things.
So, what does this look like for me on a Friday morning in 2026? It’s courage when fear shouts louder. It’s forgiveness when I’d rather prove my point. It’s integrity when convenience would be easier. It’s the quiet defiance of believing Jesus isn’t just the topic of my prayers, but the oxygen in my lungs.
This passage doesn’t ask us to add more religion to our week or to get busier for God. It asks if Christ’s life is pulsing through ours, shaping how we think, how we love and how we show up. Today’s passage calls us – you and me – to be alive in Christ.
Jesus, you are life itself. Wake me from autopilot. Pull my faith out of theory and into motion. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
Are you trying to revive what God has released?
by Jane Mueller
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Therefore we were buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also might walk in newness of life (Romans 6:4).
Read Romans 6:3–11
Some of us are lugging around stories we were never meant to keep alive.
Old habits, old fears, old versions of ourselves – things God has released in Christ. We polish them, defend them, justify them and even call them ‘just how I am’. But resurrection life doesn’t come by dragging the past into the present. It comes by letting the past stay finished.
Paul doesn’t mince words in today’s reading. Baptism is hardly a sentimental symbol. It shows us what God is like – decisive, cleansing and lifegiving. When water is poured over us, it declares that the old ways of living no longer have control. The same God who meets us in that water continues meeting us every day, calling us out of old patterns and into new life.
So why do we keep trying to revive what God has released? Why do we rehearse the same resentments, recycle the same narratives and keep identifying with the same wounds? The perfectionist who can’t stop striving, the leader who keeps replaying old failures, the friend who keeps apologising for taking up space, the parent who still believes they’re not enough? Maybe it’s because the old life is familiar. And sometimes, ‘familiar’ feels safer than ‘free’.
But resurrection doesn’t happen in comfort zones. You can’t keep one foot in the past and one in grace. Paul says, ‘Consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God.’ That’s an active choice – daily, sometimes hourly.
So maybe it’s time to ask: What’s still taking up oxygen in my soul that should’ve been surrendered by now? What part of me keeps trying to reclaim a life that’s already been transformed?
Stop propping up the old storyline. Step fully into the new one.
Stop trying to become someone new. Start living like the new creation you already are.
And if no-one’s ever spoken this over you, let it land now: the old you is finished. The new you is alive. Walk in it, breathe from it, own it, live it, shine through it.
God of resurrection, expose parts of me still clinging to what you’ve released. Give me the courage to stop rehearsing the things you’ve already finished, and to rise – fully and freely – into the life you’ve given me. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
The day the Spirit hit ‘go’
by Jane Mueller
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Peter said to them, ‘Repent and be baptised every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit’ (Acts 2:38).
Read Acts 2:36–42
Pentecost is when the Holy Spirit turned a local message into a global one. Different people, different accents, different dialects, one message: Jesus is alive. The Holy Spirit disassembled arguably the biggest obstacle to global mission – the language barrier – by translating the gospel into the mother tongue of people from every nation under heaven. Pentecost shows that God doesn’t wait for us to work our way toward him; he meets us where we are. He meets us in our own language, our own culture and our own generation.
And, for that reason, maybe the Pentecost account needs a ‘remix’ to remind us that when God speaks fluent ‘human’, he speaks to all generations.
The Pentecost remix: Generation Alpha dialect
Fast-forward 50 days from Passover. Jerusalem’s stacked with pilgrims and passports from every corner – accents everywhere. Then boom: the disciples start spitting truth in every language. Not subtitles – Spirit-titles.
Crowds freeze mid-conversation like, ‘Hold up – how are these Galileans speaking my hometown lingo?’ Peter rolls up and goes, ‘Chill, this isn’t energy-drink mania – the Spirit pressed “go”, that’s all.’ Then he drops the gospel bomb: Jesus is alive. (Peter’s talking about the J-Man – the GOATed teacher who dropped parables like mixtapes, fed 5,000 with leftovers, and told sickness to sit down.) Peter drops the sequel: the main character’s alive, the Holy One’s still running the show. Death got debugged. Forgiveness is legit, and the Spirit’s for the global group chat.
The crowd is in meltdown, like, ‘Bruh, what even is step two? Do we just download forgiveness?’
Peter hits them with the classic mic drop: ‘Μετανοήσατε, καὶ βαπτισθήτω.’
Luther remixed it for his gen: ‘Tut Buße und lasst euch taufen.’
Vintage translators nerfed it to: ‘Repent and be baptised.’
Gen Alpha translation: ‘Change lanes, turn around, get grounded and glowed up.’
The Spirit goes full send – holy fire, zero chill. Heaven’s update drops, tongues are trending, and hope is on repeat. It’s a full-on grace quake – fear collapses, hearts reboot, and mercy shakes the system. Ordinary people walk like miracles because heaven’s already gone live.
That’s Pentecost: God turning human confusion into connection, and chaos into community.
The Spirit speaks our language today – through culture, creativity and even our clumsy words. We don’t need a polished speech or perfect prayers because God works through our real talk, our half-formed thoughts, our casual slang and our misunderstood jargon. He takes our normal, everyday voice – regardless of our generational dialect – and translates our words into living hope.
Holy Spirit, translate my hesitation into faith, my distraction into focus and my words into worship. Let your fire burn bright – in me, in your church and in the world. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
Ashes don’t get the last word
by Jane Mueller.
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A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you, and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26). Read Ezekiel 36:24–28
Australia knows bushfires. Black Friday in 1939 scorched Victoria, darkening the skies with smoke and killing 71 people. Ash Wednesday in 1983 claimed 75 lives across Victoria and South Australia, levelling whole communities. Black Summer in 2019–20 brought devastation on a scale almost beyond comprehension – millions of hectares burned, and thousands of homes destroyed. Thirty-three people lost their lives to the flames, and hundreds more deaths were later counted among the toll from smoke exposure. Every summer, the memory of bushfire lingers like a scar on our land and our hearts.
Ezekiel also knew devastation. He wrote to exiles who had seen their land razed, their temple destroyed, and their hope reduced to ash. Into that bleakness, God spoke, ‘I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean … I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you.’ God promised that destruction would not be the final word. Renewal was coming.
Have you walked in a bushfire-blackened landscape? It looks hopeless. Yet after rain, green shoots push through the ash. Nature holds the secret of resurrection. Likewise, God takes our scorched places – the losses, the grief, the failures – and brings new life. His Spirit writes resilience on our hearts. He plants hope where there was only ruin.
Scars remain, but scars can testify. Just as the landscape bears the memory of fire even as it regenerates, we bear witness to God’s Spirit who brings life from death. Out of ashes comes beauty. Out of devastation comes a new heart.
God of hope, I remember those who grieve losses caused by bushfires – past and present. Bring comfort to the broken-hearted and strength to rebuild. As I go about my day today, show me signs of new growth – a plant sprouting, a flower opening or even weeds pushing through cracks. Let these signs remind me that you bring life where I least expect it. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
What do Twenty20 cricket and Ancient Israel have in common?
by Jane Mueller
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But now, this is what the Lord says – he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel: ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine’ (Isaiah 43:1).
Read Isaiah 43:1–7
On this day in 2005, Aussies saw something new at the Western Australian Cricket Association ground in Perth: the very first Australian Twenty20 cricket match. Traditionalists scoffed. After all, cricket was a gentleman’s game of patience and strategy, not coloured shirts, roaring crowds and fireworks. Yet the game changed. It was fast, bright and captivating. Twenty20 brought new audiences to an old sport. Reinvention breathed fresh life into cricket.
God’s words through Isaiah also speak of reinvention. Israel had been battered by exile. Its identity was fractured. But God declared, ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.’ God wasn’t abandoning the covenant – Israel’s story wasn’t over. The God who never lets go was renewing the covenant and reshaping Israel’s story.
We live in a world that thrives on reinvention, but often leaves us exhausted as we constantly update, rebrand and hustle for relevance. The reinvention God offers is different. He doesn’t demand that we remake ourselves to earn his love. Instead, he renames us, claims us and redeems us. Our identity is secure. ‘You are mine.’
Let that sink in.
You are his.
Just as Twenty20 reshaped cricket without erasing its heart, God reshapes our lives without discarding who we are. He takes what is weary, fractured or stuck, and breathes new Spirit-filled energy into it. We are called by name into a story of belonging and purpose.
When fear rises – fear of change, of failure, of the unknown – remember that God has already called you by name. You belong. Your life is not defined by exile or loss, but by the redeeming love of the one who says, ‘You are mine’.
Redeeming God, thank you for calling me by name. When fear rises in me today – whether small or large – guide me to pause and whisper aloud, ‘I am yours. I belong to you.’ Let this confession quiet my fear and steady my steps. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
When God joined the queue
by Jane Mueller
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Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptised by him (Matthew 3:13).
Read Matthew 3:13–17
John saw him coming and froze. The line at the Jordan was full of ordinary sinners – farmers, labourers, tax collectors – all waiting their turn to be washed clean. And then Jesus joins the queue. No entourage, no special treatment. Just the Son of God, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the very people he came to save.
John can’t take it. ‘You should be baptising me,’ he blurts out. But Jesus insists, ‘Let it be so now.’
Let it be so now.
It’s one of the most quietly disruptive moments in Scripture. The one who has nothing to confess stands among the confessors. The one who created water submits to being washed in it. Holiness doesn’t hover about human mess – it wades right into it.
That’s what grace does. It doesn’t operate at a distance. It moves toward us, joins the queue and stands behind us in all the mess we’d rather hide. The baptism of Jesus is about solidarity. God doesn’t save by staying clean; God saves by stepping in.
If being human has started to feel like a competition or a performance, maybe the invitation is the same: step down into the water. Stand where everyone else stands. Get in line with the people you’ve been comparing yourself to and the ones you’ve tried to impress. Let grace even the playing field.
When Jesus rose from the water, heaven tore open, and the Spirit descended. Maybe that’s what happens when we choose humility over hype, presence over performance and love over comparison. The same sky that opened over the Jordan still opens for moments like these.
In this week’s devotions, we won’t just read about baptism – we’ll see that something’s changed. We’ll get on with living like resurrected people. Every piece of Scripture in the days ahead is a reminder that grace moves, water breaks, God keeps making all things new, and heaven is here, now.
Jesus, you could stay distant, but you don’t. You step into our mess, into our fears and into the queues we stand in. Teach me to do the same – to meet people where they are, not where it’s comfortable – and strip away my need to appear strong or right. Let my life and presence look like your love – close enough to get wet. Amen.
Jane is a former Lutheran school principal and now serves as Governance Leadership Director for Lutheran Education SA, NT & WA. Jane has a keen interest in psychology, enjoys hiking and loves learning about and trying new things.
The voice of the Lord
by Jim Strelan
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The voice of the Lord is powerful, the voice of the Lord is majestic (Psalm 29:4).
Read Psalm 29
Don’t you wish that God would speak to you directly, like it seems he did in Old Testament times? Then you would know. Know what his will is. Know what he wants for you. Know how to respond to your present situation. Know what is ahead of you. That would be something.
This psalm is a song of praise. It’s a call to worship a God who is powerful and majestic. Interestingly, this psalm presents the voice of God as being heard in the lightning, thunder and wind. See the power of those things, see what they can do, and hear God. And worship him. We have no excuse for not acknowledging God. Romans 1:20 tells us that ‘God’s invisible qualities – his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen’. Look around you, and there’s something wrong if you can’t see God.
The trouble is that the power of nature, while awe-inspiring, is also destructive. So, if you want to fully grasp the nature of God, what we see around us leaves us confused. There are cyclones and roaring fires, floods and tsunamis. Powerful, yes, but leaving us a little in fear of this powerful, majestic God.
Hebrews 1:1,2 tells us: ‘In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us through his Son.’ You want God to speak to you? Listen to Jesus. He is the Word of God in human form. His voice is God’s voice. And it’s majestic and powerful. Hear him say, ‘Come.’ Hear him say, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’ Hear him say, ‘This is my body/blood for you.’ Hear him say, ‘I am with you always.’ Hear the many, many promises he makes. Hear him and trust his word. It’s the voice of God. When the Transfiguration happened, a voice from the cloud repeated the words Jesus heard at his baptism: ‘This is my Son whom I love; with him I am pleased.’ And added are the words: ‘Listen to him!’ (Matthew 17:5).
God speaks. And his speaking leads us to worship.
Lord, open my ears and heart so that I can hear you speaking. Amen.
Jim lives on Brisbane’s northside with his wife, Ruth. He enjoys reading and listening to music, is a proud Brisbane Lions member and loves his children and grandchildren. Jim is passionate about the gospel and the freedom it brings.