God is at work in waiting
by Josh Hauser
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Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you (Isaiah 30:18a).
Read Isaiah 30:18–26
Nobody likes waiting. Tell a young child to wait, and they may scream, shout and throw themselves on the floor. If we are honest with ourselves, we still do this as adults, just in more subtle ways. We live in a world where everything is becoming instant and on demand. Instant messages. Instant answers. Instant gratification.
When I order something online, I find myself checking the tracking nonstop. If I message my wife a question, I notice myself becoming unnecessarily impatient if it takes longer than a minute or two for an answer.
This kind of impatience is not new.
Just before our passage for today, the people of Israel were doing something very similar. Facing a crushing enemy, they did not want to wait for God’s promised rescue. Instead, they ran off to Egypt, striking a quick political deal for security. They were looking for their own instant answers.
Yet in verse 18, we hear the Lord’s response: ‘Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore, he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.’
Pause on that for a moment. God longs to bless his people because he is a gracious God, yet he waits. In Isaiah 30, the people are waiting because their own plans have failed. God is waiting for a different reason. God waits because he is gracious. The people have trusted the wrong powers and ignored God’s word, yet the Lord still promises to act.
Verse 19 assures the people that their crying will be heard. Verses 20 and 21 promise that even in hardship, God will teach and guide them. Verse 22 speaks of turning away from false trusts. Verses 23 to 26 describe healing, provision and restored joy. What follows their impatience should be punishment; instead, they find renewal.
God is at work in the waiting.
While we are throwing tantrums, God is at work. While we think we are wasting time, God is at work. While we are ‘doomscrolling’ on social media, God is at work. God’s waiting is purposeful.
And this begs the question, what are you waiting for right now? A breakthrough? A healing? A change? An answer? If you are, remember that in the waiting, God is at work. Right now.
Isaiah speaks of a God who hears the cries of his people, who teaches them the way to walk and who remains their healer and provider. These promises are spoken while the people are still waiting.
So, when waiting begins, it becomes a moment to turn toward God. To pray. To listen. To trust that he is near.
God is at work in the waiting.
Dear God, help us trust in the waiting. Help us believe that you’re working even when we can’t see it. Give us patience and peace while we wait. Thank you for being gracious, for meeting us in the hard seasons, for never forgetting us. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.
Josh lives in the western suburbs of Melbourne with his wife, Alice, and their two children. Josh enjoys time with his family, the beach and sports of any kind. Josh works at a school, where he feels it is a privilege to share the gospel with the next generation.
Where God is at work
by Josh Hauser
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth (Matthew 5:5).
Read Matthew 5:1–12
With so much going on in the world, it is easy to start questioning, ‘Where is God working?’ This week, that is the question we want to start answering.
In the Bible reading for today, Jesus says in verse five, ‘Blessed are the meek.’
While scrolling social media recently, I came across a post about the word used to describe meekness. It talked about the word used in Scripture for meek, which is praus. It claimed that we are using the word all wrong. According to the post, praus was used to describe a trained warhorse, powerful but under control. This then changed the meaning of the verse to suggest that ‘Blessed are the meek’ really means blessed are those who control their power and submit it to God.
Isn’t this a demonstration of the human condition?
We discuss how much shackled power we have, rather than focusing on the Creator who gives strength. When we hear the word ‘meek’, we do not want to appear meek. We see it as a negative. So, people look at the word praus and try everything they can to avoid the reality of what Jesus is actually saying.
Unsurprisingly, in this famous passage known as the Beatitudes, Jesus is not saying that we have all the power and then graciously put it aside to follow God. Jesus is saying that the people who are meek, poor, mournful and persecuted are valued and looked after by God with his unending grace. This is where God is found. This is where God is at work.
God is found with those in need and those who are struggling. So, what does this mean for us?
Simply this: This is where we need to be found, too. With those who are struggling and needing care and support. Because, at some point in life, everyone feels meek, poor, sad, persecuted and in need of help.
Dear God, thank you for seeing us when the world overlooks us. Thank you for calling us blessed because we are yours. Help us to see others the way you do, so that we can be your hands and feet in this world. In your name, we pray. Amen.
Josh lives in the western suburbs of Melbourne with his wife, Alice, and their two children. Josh enjoys time with his family, the beach and sports of any kind. Josh works at a school, where he feels it is a privilege to share the gospel with the next generation.
Who may dwell with you?
by Anastasia Kim
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Whoever does these things shall never be shaken (Psalm 15:5b).
Read Psalm 15
Psalm 15 asks a question that unsettles anyone who takes faith seriously: ‘Who may dwell in the Lord’s tent? Who may live on God’s holy hill?’
The answer given is searching and demanding. The one who may stand in God’s presence is described as blameless, truthful, careful with words, faithful to promises, unwilling to harm others and resistant to corruption. This is not a casual portrait of goodness. It is weighty. It presses close.
When I hear these words, I do not feel immediately reassured. I feel exposed. To live without causing harm, to speak truth from the heart, to keep an oath even when it hurts. These are not small virtues. They touch daily life, relationships, habits of speech and hidden motives. If dwelling in God’s presence depends on meeting these standards, the door seems firmly closed.
This is why the movement of Scripture matters. What Psalm 15 describes as a privilege once limited to priests – and only briefly – is now opened through Christ. Access to the Holy Place, and even the Holy of Holies, was once guarded by veils and sacrifice. In Jesus, that veil is torn. The Word becomes flesh and pitches his tent among us. God’s dwelling is no longer distant – it is given.
Grace does not make the psalm weightless. Being welcomed into God’s presence through Christ does not turn integrity into an optional extra. The cross does not trivialise our words, our promises, or the ways we harm one another. It takes it seriously enough to bear their cost.
Psalm 15 ends with a promise: the one who lives this way will not be shaken. Not because life is calm, but because life is anchored. Winds still blow. Storms still come. A life shaped by truth, faithfulness and love for the neighbour stands on solid ground.
I live in God’s presence because of Christ alone. I am still called to walk there with care, reverence and honesty, not lightly, not carelessly, but gratefully.
Gracious God, you welcome us into your presence through Jesus Christ alone. Teach us to live there with integrity, humility and love, held firm by your grace. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
At your word
by Anastasia Kim
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Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets (Luke 5:5).
Read Luke 5:1–11
Miracles are often imagined as moments of triumph or reward. Scripture resists such a simple reading. In Luke 5, the miracle does not erase fatigue, nor does it confirm human competence. It exposes it.
Simon and his partners have already finished their work. The nets are washed. Failure has been accepted as final. Into that exhausted space, Jesus steps into Simon’s boat and uses it as his pulpit. Before any miracle occurs, Simon gives Jesus access to what is his. This first obedience is quiet, costly and easily overlooked.
There are days when my own nets feel just as washed and finished. Only after the teaching ends does Jesus speak a word that contradicts experience. ‘Put out into the deep water.’ Simon answers honestly. He names the emptiness of the night. He does not argue from expertise. He yields to a word that exceeds reason. ‘At your word.’
The catch that follows is overwhelming. Boats strain. Nets tear. But the true miracle is not abundance. It is recognition. Simon falls at Jesus’ knees, not in gratitude, but in fear. Confronted with holiness, he sees himself clearly. This is not shame for its own sake. It is the proper response to divine presence. Like Isaiah before the throne, Simon knows he does not belong here.
Jesus does not depart. He speaks the gospel. ‘Do not be afraid.’ The miracle does not bind Simon to success. It frees him from it. What follows is not stewardship advice or a strategy for growth, but a call that reorders life entirely. They leave the boats. They follow.
In a world trained to negotiate with God, this text restores reverence. We are not invited to manage grace, assess outcomes or protect our nets. We are called by a word that creates faith where there was only emptiness. Even the smallest obedience, offered without certainty, becomes the place where Christ reveals himself.
Lord Jesus Christ, speak your word into our tired places. Free us from fear, and call us again to trust you and follow, for our life rests in your grace alone. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
For whom is the time of liberating grace?
by Anastasia Kim
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The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor (Luke 4:18a).
Read Luke 4:14–21
Luke tells us that Jesus returned to Galilee ‘in the power of the Spirit’. That detail matters. Jesus does not begin his ministry in Jerusalem, the religious centre, but in Galilee, a region shaped by vulnerability, mixed populations and long-standing suspicion. Galilee was home to many who lived on the margins, including Gentiles, and who were often regarded as socially insignificant. It is precisely there that Jesus goes, led by the Spirit.
This power comes after the wilderness. The Spirit who led Jesus into hunger and testing now leads him into public ministry. In Luke’s Gospel, spiritual power is not found in avoiding struggle, but in faithfulness lived within it. The Spirit does not shield Jesus from fragile realities. The Spirit sends him into them.
When Jesus arrives in Nazareth, nothing dramatic happens. ‘As was his custom’, he enters the synagogue on the Sabbath and stands to read. Spirit-filled ministry begins in ordinary faithfulness. The Spirit does not pull Jesus away from Israel’s worship but draws him deeper into it. Opening the scroll of Isaiah, Jesus reads words first spoken to exiles: good news for the poor, release for captives, sight for the blind, freedom for the oppressed. These words describe real-life conditions, not abstract ideals.
Jesus calls this moment ‘the year of the Lord’s favour’. This is not simply a calendar year, nor a promise deferred to the distant future. It is God’s gracious time breaking into the present. This liberation does not begin with human action, but with Christ’s declaration that God’s grace is already at work. In Luke, forgiveness is not merely spoken. It is enacted. What binds is loosened. What is crushed is lifted. Those pushed aside are named as the very recipients of God’s grace.
Then Jesus says the words that still unsettle me: ‘Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’ God’s liberating grace is not postponed. It is happening now. This ‘today’ is uncomfortable, because it reveals that grace is not reserved for the familiar or the respectable. It reaches across boundaries, toward outsiders and those who were long excluded.
As I sit quietly with this text, I find myself asking whom I expect God’s grace to be for. Jesus makes it clear that God’s work begins among the vulnerable and moves outward from there. Spirit-filled faith does not withdraw from the world. It follows Christ into the places where God’s grace is already being spoken into life.
Today, the time of liberating grace is still unfolding.
Spirit of the Lord, open my eyes to see who your grace is for today. Anchor my life in Christ’s mercy, and lead me toward those who most need your freedom. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
Saved for fearless worship
by Anastasia Kim
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… to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins (Luke 1:77).
Read Luke 1:68–79
Luke 1:68–79 places us just after John’s birth. Zechariah, whose voice had long been silent, is finally able to speak. And when he does, he does not explain himself or his experience. He sings. In his song, he recognises what God has been doing all along. What once sounded like an angel’s distant promise is now confessed as fulfilled mercy.
The joy surrounding John’s birth is more than the happiness of a long-awaited child. It is joy rooted in mercy. Luke uses the word eleos to describe it. Not a vague kindness, but God’s tender concern for those in real need. As Zechariah’s song unfolds, that need turns out not to belong only to Elizabeth or to one family’s story. It names ‘us’. Those who sit in darkness. Those who live under the shadow of death. Those who know what it is to lack peace.
Some words in the song sound almost political: ‘that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us’ (Luke 1:71). It is not hard to hear in them the hopes of a people longing for deliverance. I found myself feeling the same way when I read this passage.
Luke does not silence those hopes. But the song itself leads us deeper. Its centre is not conquest, but forgiveness. ‘Knowledge of salvation’ comes, Zechariah sings, ‘by the forgiveness of their sins’ (Luke 1:77b). The most decisive enemy is not only outside us. It is sin and all that follows from it: fear, bondage and, finally, death.
The purpose of this salvation is then named with surprising clarity. We are rescued ‘from the hands of our enemies’ so that we might ‘serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness in his presence all our days’ (Luke 1:74,75). Redemption is not only about being saved from something; it is also about being saved for something. A life before God. A life shaped by worship. A life no longer driven by anxiety but carried by mercy.
So Zechariah’s song gently lifts our eyes. Beyond every short-lived victory. Beyond every hope that cannot finally hold. It points us to the dawn that breaks from on high. Christ comes down to us. He forgives sins. He shines into the darkness. And he guides our feet, again and again, into the way of peace.
Lord God of Israel, we worship you for visiting your people with tender mercy. Forgive our sins, free us from fear, and shape our lives for holy service. By your dawning light, shine into our darkness and guide our feet into peace. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
The everlasting light that does not fade
by Anastasia Kim
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The sun shall no longer be your light by day, nor the moon by night; the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your days of mourning shall be ended (Isaiah 60:19,20).
Read Isaiah 60:19–22
We cannot live without light. Our days are governed by the sun, our nights softened by the moon. Even rest depends on some form of light to guide and steady us. Yet Isaiah dares to proclaim a future in which neither sun nor moon is necessary, because God himself becomes the light. This is not poetic exaggeration but a theological promise of new creation.
Isaiah 60:19–22 stands at the ‘end of times’ climax of the chapter. It does not merely describe restoration after exile, but the fulfilment of God’s saving purpose, where created lights give way to the uncreated Light. The text assumes the reality of sorrow. ‘Your days of mourning shall be ended’ only makes sense because mourning has been real, persistent and heavy. Law is spoken honestly: human life is marked by fragility, loss and limits. We depend on rhythms that fail, bodies that weaken and hopes that dim.
Into this reality, the gospel is announced. The Lord does not simply provide light; he is the light. Salvation here is not improvement of circumstances but the gift of divine presence. In Lutheran terms, this is grace in its purest form: donum Dei. God gives himself. Verse 21 deepens the promise. ‘Your people shall all be righteous.’ This righteousness is not achieved but bestowed, a status granted by God’s own faithfulness. The future of God’s people rests not on their strength but on God’s promise.
For those in later life, or those who walk alongside them, this word speaks with particular tenderness. The promise is not that life will become brighter in visible ways, but that it will never fall into final darkness. When memory fades, strength diminishes, and productivity ceases, dignity remains, because God himself is their glory. The light that does not fade is already given, hidden now under the cross, but certain in hope.
Everlasting God, you are our light when all other lights fail. Abide with us in our weakness, and let your presence be our glory. Through Jesus Christ, the Light of the World. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
Light at the water’s edge
by Anastasia Kim
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light (Matthew 4:16a).
Read Matthew 4:12–23
Jesus begins his public ministry in a place many had learned to overlook. After his baptism and time of testing, he goes to Galilee. Not to the religious centre, not to the seat of power, but to a region shaped by ordinary lives and quiet struggle. Matthew tells us this choice matters. What happens in Galilee is the fulfilment of God’s promise. Light comes precisely where darkness has lingered the longest.
I have learnt that my own prayer often begins in ordinary places as well. When I prepare Scripture or seek stillness, I find myself drawn to parks, paths near water and environments where movement slows. I did not always love water. For a long time, I preferred mountains and heights, but living near a lake has taught me something new. Water invites waiting. It reflects light gently. It creates space for prayer without demanding words.
It is along the water’s edge that Jesus calls his first disciples. Fishermen at work, hands busy with nets, lives grounded in daily responsibility. Jesus does not offer them a plan or a lesson. He offers himself. ‘Follow me.’ And they go. Discipleship begins not with understanding everything, but with trusting enough to take the next step.
Matthew places this moment before the Sermon on the Mount for a reason. Before Jesus teaches, he gathers. Before instruction, there is invitation. Before words, there is light. We are first brought out of the shadows and into relationships, and only then shaped by teaching.
This is still how Jesus comes to us. He meets us where we are, in familiar places, in unremarkable moments. He does not wait for clarity or readiness. He brings light and calls us to walk with him, one step at a time.
Lord Jesus Christ, Light of the World, shine upon our day. Call us to follow you and lead us gently into your way. Amen.
Anastasia Kim lives in Brisbane and serves as an aged-care chaplain. She holds a Bachelor of Theology from the University of Divinity and is currently undertaking a Master of Theology at Australian Lutheran College. Her ministry and studies are shaped by a commitment to pastoral care.
Your will
by Reid Matthias
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Yet it was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer (Isaiah 53:10a).
Read Isaiah 53:6–10
Chapter 53 is the most often quoted prophecy as evidence that Jesus was the chosen Messiah. From the first verse to the last, Christians throughout history have pointed to all these things that came to fruition in Jesus’s life, passion, death and resurrection.
I must have read this text a dozen times before, but it’s never hit me how difficult this was for the Father. To have one’s only child burdened with all the guilt of history and the future … Why, if this happened in contemporary times, if blame were placed on my innocent child, I, as a father, would be marching straight up to the real culprits and giving them a piece of my mind.
In this chapter, though, not only is Jesus silent about his innocence (verse 7), but it seems as if the Father purposely did this.
‘It was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer …’
Countless times, students have asked me this question: ‘Why would an all-loving God do something so incredibly un-loving?’
Perhaps this is the epitome of the difference between human thinking and the eternal perspective of God. It was because he was all-loving for us, his children, that he chose for his Son to be crushed and to suffer. In doing this, in leaving himself open to human finger-pointing and questioning, God took all the world’s sin and destroyed it in one, horrifically beautiful and self-sacrificial act.
Then the question arises: If God’s will can be for Jesus to suffer, is it God’s will for me to suffer? Is suffering a result of God’s wrath? Or is suffering natural to earthly life for which the only antidote is the blood of his Son, Jesus?
I believe that the suffering we encounter in this lifetime, though not willed by God, is endured by God with us through Jesus. That was the point of naming Jesus ‘Emmanuel’. This means that ‘God is with us’ through every moment of life, and by believing in his Son, Jesus, we are promised eternal life, free from that earthly suffering.
Praise God for his Son Jesus.
Heavenly Father, God with us, thank you for your willingness to save us. Through Jesus’ sacrifice, I am assured that even in my own pain and suffering, you will be with me. 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