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

Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.

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

Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.

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.