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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.
A heart laid bare
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me (Psalm 51:10).
Read Psalm 51:1–10
David knew the weight of failure. After committing adultery with Bathsheba and orchestrating the death of her husband, David could have hidden in denial or defended his actions. Instead, he turned to God with a heart shattered by guilt and longing for mercy. Psalm 51 is rich in emotion and spiritual depth. It’s David’s raw, vulnerable cry – not just for pardon, but for renewal.
‘Have mercy on me, O God,’ David begins, appealing not to his worthiness, but to God’s steadfast and unfailing love, great compassion and abundant mercy. This is the beating heart of repentance – not fear of punishment, but trust in a merciful God who longs to restore.
David doesn’t gloss over or downplay his sin. He names it, owns it and understands its depth. ‘Against you, you alone, have I sinned.’ His confession is full, honest and humble. He knows that God desires more than apologies. God desires truth in the inmost being. David sees that his broken actions flow from a broken heart, and what he needs is not only forgiveness but transformation.
‘Create in me a pure heart, O God,’ he pleads. Not just cleanse me but recreate me. His prayer moves from remorse to hope and from guilt to grace. He believes in a God who can bring beauty from ashes and who delights not in perfection, but in contrite hearts made new.
This psalm calls us to a bold and honest surrender. It reminds us that God is not put off by our failures. Instead, he meets us in them. When we come to him with open hearts and truthful words, he doesn’t shame us; he restores us. There is no sin too dark and no heart too broken for the mercy of God. His love doesn’t just cover our past; it creates a new future.
Come as you are and let him make you new.
Lord, have mercy on me. Cleanse me. Wash me whiter than snow. Recreate me. Restore my joy by your unfailing love. 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.
Let spring speak
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
For I will not be so bold as to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me (Romans 15:18a).
Read Romans 15:14–24
The Apostle Paul had every reason to boast. His life was full of achievement – he travelled widely, built communities and poured himself into helping others grow. He mentored young leaders, wrote letters that shaped the early church and endured persecution for the sake of the gospel. Yet, he writes, ‘I will not be so bold as to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me.’ He steps back and gives credit not to himself, but to Christ working through him.
In a world that often tells us to prove our worth through success, status or self-promotion, Paul’s words cut through with quiet humility. He doesn’t deny the value of his efforts, but he shifts the spotlight. He speaks with gratitude, not pride.
Paul’s example invites us to look beyond ourselves – not just upward to Christ, but outward to the world around us.
As spring breaks through the chill of winter, creation itself seems to echo that humility. Martin Luther wrote, ‘Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.’ New life emerges quietly, with early blossoms, delicate leaves and green shoots pushing through cold soil. Spring doesn’t declare its achievements or seek applause. It simply unfolds in all its radiance, pointing to something greater. Similarly, often the most meaningful parts of our lives aren’t the ones we announce or display. They are the quiet, grace-filled moments that shape us from the inside out.
Take a moment today to notice the good that has flowed through you – not just what you’ve achieved, but what grace has made possible. A kind word offered at the right time. A relationship healed. A decision that brought peace. These moments don’t need to be loud to be powerful.
Boasting only in Christ isn’t about denying our gifts. It’s about recognising the deeper source behind them. It’s about humility and gratitude, and pointing to the goodness that flows through us, not just from us.
Gracious God, help me let go of the need to prove myself. Remind me that the good in my life isn’t mine alone – it’s a gift from you. Work through me in quiet, surprising ways. Shape me into someone who reflects your goodness so clearly that others catch a glimpse of you, not 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.
by Jane Mueller
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope … (Romans 15:13).
Read Romans 15:1–13
On 11 September 2001, the world held its breath. Coordinated terrorist attacks in the United States saw four commercial planes hijacked. Two struck the World Trade Centre in New York City, one hit the Pentagon near Washington, DC, and the fourth crashed in a field in Pennsylvania after passengers intervened. Nearly 3,000 people were killed. Broadcast live across the globe, it was the deadliest terrorist attack in history. The images were unforgettable: collapsing towers, dust-covered survivors, stunned silence.
Though it happened in the USA, the grief was not confined by geography. It shook people the world over. It pressed into our churches, conversations and hearts. In classrooms, chapels and loungerooms, we wrestled with the weight of what had happened. It was a defining moment in global history.
The world changed. Airport security intensified – liquid restrictions were introduced, and body scanners became normal. Global surveillance increased. Counter-terrorism became a central focus of international policy. Immigration laws tightened.
Fear surged. Suspicion of others – especially those who looked or believed differently – grew. Strangers became threats. Compassion wrestled with anger. Grief and outrage sat side by side as many struggled with the tension of both heartbreak and fury. The ripple effects of that single day still can be felt across political, social and cultural lines.
Yet, in the midst of the uncertainty, people gathered. Candles were lit. Prayers were spoken. The human heart still ached for peace, light, meaning and hope.
In moments like this, what does it mean to be the church?
Paul doesn’t suggest a passive response – he prescribes a radical one.
- ‘Bear with the weak’ (verse one).
- ‘Build each other up’ (verse two).
- ‘Live in harmony’ (verse five).
- ‘Welcome one another as Christ welcomed you’ (verse seven).
These aren’t suggestions for peaceful times. They are commands for when the world falls apart.
When fear rises, we don’t retreat. We rise. We lead with love. We open our arms wider. Christ’s people don’t echo the panic of the world; we rest in the enduring. In Christ, we are strong, courageous and grounded in grace.
And when the world feels uncertain, we stand on hope. Not optimism, but defiant, unshakeable confidence in God. Paul says, ‘May the God of hope fill you.’ Not with fear. Not with revenge. But with joy. Peace. Hope.
That’s the kind of hope the world still needs – and the hope God freely gives.
God of unshakeable hope, ignite in us a fierce trust in you. When the world trembles, make us strong. When others divide, make us reconcilers. When fear speaks loudly, let your love speak louder. As we remember the events of 9/11, all these years on, we grieve the loss, lament the brokenness, and pray for peace in a world still aching for healing. Fill us with joy and a bold faith, so that we might shine with your hope in every dark place. In Jesus’ name, 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.