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I'm sharing this journal entry from one of our sheep / shepherds for your encouragement and invite you to share your stories to keep us connected David
Thursday April 2, 2020: A journal entry:
JESUS WEPT.
A Morning mist of low cloud wrapped soft around the hills.
I read John 6 and tried to ponder on Jesus the living bread. But the mist beckoned and drew me outside, quickly enfolding me in its clammy embrace.
There was no pausing to choose direction. I headed straight up the hill blanketed in the foggy stillness, only birdcall echoing the inner certainty – she’s coming to pray.
Pray up the hill. I haven’t prayed up there for a while. I’ve prayed. But not there on God’s hill, my place of retreat.
At the summit, as cloud drifted and lifted, it was my heart that rained out its anguished plea, the cry for help with COVID19: LORD HEAR OUR PRAYER. Help us Jesus.
That was it. No wordy waffle. I perched on the rim of the damp bench, poised in grief and need; heart, mind and spirit turned to God, “Yet still do I praise you Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Living God.”
A lull then settled over me, like a mute button had been pressed to hush the turmoil of my distressed thoughts and wretched emotions concerning the plight of the world’s people. Wait. Be quiet!
Jesus wept. The words from last Sunday’s reading came to mind loud and clear.
33 When Jesus saw her crying, and the Judaeans who had come with her crying, he was deeply stirred in his spirit, and very troubled. 34 ‘Where have you laid him?’ he asked. ‘Master,’ they said, ‘come and see.’ 35 Jesus burst into tears. (John 11:33-35 NTE)
I too burst into tears, and as I wept, there at the top of the hill, I knew he was weeping with me. Weeping with all the world. Weeping for us all.
Turn to me. And I, turning, vision all awash, could see clearly, he was there. Feed my sheep. To this I shook my head, and thought, I’m no pastor. You are a minister of my word. Therefore, speak my word to others. Speak my word to one another. And suddenly understanding dawned. “You aren’t just saying this to me, are you? It’s your call to all of us: Feed your sheep. The responsibility is ours collectively.” And I pictured the scattered sheep, isolated from one another but belonging together and needing creative new ways of being church and speaking grace and hope to one another and others.
I plunged, then, down the hill, not following the worn paths but winding down the steeper slope, weaving through knee high weeds, around rocky mounds and patches of slippery flattened grass, to emerge at the wider base track.
Now is the time to forge new paths. Jesus is still the Way, the “base track” of my faith remains the same. It’s the network of familiar paths that represent how we have lived out our faith, that have fallen away, not God’s word or his kingdom, or his love.
I am thankful for this love that comes to us where we are: scattered sheep weeping in the mist of uncertainty. I’m thankful that Jesus wept and that his way isn’t set in stone. That he comes and calls us to discover a new and living way, today and tomorrow and the next day. Hallelujah! This is a new day! And the Jesus who weeps with us in our distress will renew us and lead us on beyond COVID19.
JESUS WEPT.
The autumn sun filtered a pale ray through the drifting grey. A reminder that the God who weeps, also sheds light as well as tears.
Castles fall
The devotions for the coming week are taken from Lutheran Tract Mission’s 2026 Lenten devotional, ‘Hope for Our Future’. Written by Anne Hansen, Lutheran Tract Mission’s Tract Development Officer, the devotions focus on how our futures and hopes are assured in Jesus Christ. The Lenten devotional is available here. It can be downloaded, printed or used as a digital flipbook.
by Anne Hansen
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken (Psalm 62:5,6).
Read Psalm 62:1,2,5–8
The United Kingdom is home to many amazing castles, each with a unique story and incredible history. While nannying in England in 1991, I was asked to take the children to visit their grandparents in Perth, Scotland. A short plane trip later, we were in Scotland. On one of my days off, I borrowed a car and drove to St Andrews (the birthplace of golf), but I didn’t stop there. I went further to St Andrews Castle, built on the shore and cliffs overlooking the North Sea.
The first castle on this site was built from 1189 to 1202. It housed the wealthy and powerful lairds of that time. During various Scottish wars, it was destroyed and rebuilt as it changed hands from the Scots to the English over the next couple of centuries. It was rebuilt around 1400, and while the ruins visible today date from that period, their foundations reach back hundreds of years earlier.
St Andrews Castle has a colourful history and, at one stage in the 1500s, it was the centre of religious persecution and controversy. The ‘bottle dungeon’ can still be seen, and many Christians were imprisoned there. Visiting such a historic site enables the imagination to run riot with all that could and would have happened within the grounds of the walls. Castles were built as a fortification against enemies. A place where the ruling government could be secure, rest and find safety. But really, could they? There was always an enemy plotting their overthrow and wanting to take over the castle.
When King David wrote some of the psalms, I am sure he was relating God’s strength to the castles and fortresses of the time. It would have felt so secure and invincible living in them, but we know through history that castles do fall. But that was the closest King David could come to describing the security he felt when in God’s presence. We know that earthly buildings and structures will decay and fall away, but to have our hope built on the rock that is Christ Jesus, we have a foundation for life and beyond.
Place your hope and life on the rock of Jesus!
My Loving Father, help me not put my trust in earthly things, but to build my life on the rock of Jesus. He is the only one who can give me security and safety, and in him, I find hope for my future. Amen.
Anne Hansen has worked as the Lutheran Tract Mission Development Officer for almost 20 years. She lives in Noosa, Queensland, with her husband Mark (a pastor). She enjoys leading Know Your Bible (KYB) and Mainly Music. For relaxation, she loves walking, reading, gardening and playing pickleball.
The joy of being found out
by Noel Due
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
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
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
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.