Reflection: Speak, Lord (14th Jan, 2026, Year A)

Readings

1 Samuel 3.1–10, 19–20 – Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread. At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ and he said, ‘Here I am!’ and ran to Eli, and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’ But he said, ‘I did not call; lie down again.’ So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, ‘Samuel!’ Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’ But he said, ‘I did not call, my son; lie down again.’ Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, ‘Here I am, for you called me.’ Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, ‘Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” ’ So Samuel went and lay down in his place. Now the Lord came and stood there, calling as before, ‘Samuel! Samuel!’ And Samuel said, ‘Speak, for your servant is listening.’ As Samuel grew up, the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.

Mark 1.29–39 – As soon as they left the synagogue, they entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they told him about her at once. He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up. Then the fever left her, and she began to serve them. That evening, at sunset, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. And the whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him. In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed. And Simon and his companions hunted for him. When they found him, they said to him, ‘Everyone is searching for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go on to the neighbouring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.’ And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

Reflection

In both of our readings today, we encounter a God who speaks — and a people who are learning how to listen.

In the passage from 1 Samuel, we meet the boy Samuel in the temple at Shiloh. It is a quiet, almost fragile moment. We are told that “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” Israel is not in a time of great spiritual confidence. The priest Eli is old, his sons have brought the priesthood into disrepute, and the people’s faith feels tired and uncertain.

And yet it is precisely in that setting that God chooses to speak — not to a king, not to a prophet, but to a child. Samuel hears his name called in the night, and like any child he assumes it must be Eli. It takes time, patience, and guidance for Samuel to recognise the voice of God. Only when Eli helps him does Samuel learn the posture of listening faith: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

That simple sentence lies at the heart of discipleship. God’s call is not always loud or dramatic. It often comes quietly, persistently, sometimes inconveniently — and we may mistake it at first for something else. Samuel’s story reassures us that misunderstanding does not disqualify us. God continues to call, and God provides guides — mentors, teachers, companions in faith — who help us learn to listen.

Turning to the Gospel, Mark presents a very different scene, full of energy and movement. Jesus heals Simon’s mother-in-law, and suddenly the whole town gathers at the door. Needs press in from every side: sickness, suffering, desperate hope. Jesus responds with compassion and authority. He heals many and drives out demons. It would be easy to imagine that this is exactly what Jesus should keep doing — staying where he is needed, where he is successful, where people are grateful.

But then, in the early morning, while it is still dark, Jesus goes to a deserted place to pray. Like Samuel in the night, Jesus seeks the quiet place of listening. When the disciples find him and urge him to return — “Everyone is searching for you” — Jesus responds not by giving in to demand, but by naming his calling: “Let us go on to the neighbouring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”

Here, too, we see the pattern of listening leading to obedience. Jesus’ prayer shapes his priorities. Even good and urgent demands must be held alongside attentiveness to God’s purpose.

Together, these readings invite us to reflect on our own attentiveness to God. In a world that is noisy, busy, and full of competing voices, when do we make space to listen? Are we open to God speaking in unexpected ways — through scripture, through prayer, through the needs of others, or through a quiet nudge of the Spirit?

They also challenge us to consider what listening leads to. For Samuel, it meant growing into a life of faithful service, becoming a trustworthy prophet among the people. For Jesus, it meant continuing his mission beyond comfort and familiarity.

For us, listening to God may not lead to dramatic moments, but it may shape the small, faithful decisions of daily life: where we offer our time, how we respond to need, when we choose prayer over busyness, and how we say, again and again, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” May God grant us the grace to hear his voice, to discern his call, and to follow where he leads.

Amen.

Reflection: Fear and Love in Faith (Jan 7th, 2026, Year A)

Readings

1 John 4.11–18 – Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Saviour of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgement, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.

Mark 6.45–52 – Immediately he made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After saying farewell to them, he went up on the mountain to pray. When evening came, the boat was out on the lake, and he was alone on the land. When he saw that they were straining at the oars against an adverse wind, he came towards them early in the morning, walking on the lake. He intended to pass them by. But when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought it was a ghost and cried out; for they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’ Then he got into the boat with them and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.

Reflection

In our two readings today, we are invited to reflect on fear and love, and on what it means to trust God when the way ahead feels uncertain.

In the Gospel reading from Mark, the disciples find themselves in a boat, battling against the wind. They are doing exactly what Jesus has told them to do, yet the journey is hard and frightening. The wind is against them, and they are making little progress. It is in the middle of this struggle, in the darkness of the night, that Jesus comes to them, walking on the sea.

Mark tells us that when the disciples see him, they are terrified. They have been with Jesus for some time now, yet in this moment of fear they do not recognise him for who he is. They think he is a ghost. Fear clouds their vision and overwhelms their understanding. And so Jesus speaks those gentle but powerful words: ‘Take heart; it is I; do not be afraid.’ As soon as he gets into the boat, the wind ceases, and they are utterly astounded.

This scene perhaps resonates deeply with our own experience of life and faith. Many of us know what it is to feel as though we are rowing against the wind; trying to be faithful, trying to do what is right, yet finding ourselves tired, anxious, or afraid. Sometimes we pray and wonder why the struggle continues. Like the disciples, we may fail to recognise that Christ is nearer than we think, present even in the midst of the storm.

The letter of 1 John speaks directly into this experience. ‘Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another.’ John reminds us that God’s love is not abstract or distant. It is made real in Jesus Christ, and it grows in us as we live in love. Most strikingly, we are told that ‘there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.’

Fear, in the Bible, is not just about being startled or anxious; it is also about what happens when we forget who God is and how deeply we are loved. The disciples’ fear on the lake is not just fear of the wind and the waves, it is fear born of not fully understanding who Jesus is. They had not yet grasped the depth of God’s love revealed in Christ.

In his letter, John, writing to a community learning how to live as God’s people, reassures them that abiding in God’s love changes us. When we abide in love – when we trust that God’s love holds us – fear loosens its grip. This does not mean that life becomes easy or that storms vanish immediately. But it does mean that we are not alone in the boat.

For us, in the life of the Church and in our daily lives, these readings invite us to ask: where are we rowing against the wind? Where are we anxious or afraid? And can we hear again Jesus’ words spoken into those places: ‘Take heart; it is I; do not be afraid.’

So today we are invited to trust more deeply in God’s perfect love, to allow it to calm our fears, and to live it out in the way we care for one another. The wind may still blow, and the night may feel long, but Christ is near, and his love is stronger than our fear.

Amen.

Reflection: The Days are Surely Coming (18th Dec, 2025, Year A)

Readings

Jeremiah 23.5–8 – The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety. And this is the name by which he will be called: ‘The Lord is our righteousness.’ Therefore, the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when it shall no longer be said, ‘As the Lord lives who brought the people of Israel up out of the land of Egypt’, but ‘As the Lord lives who brought out and led the offspring of the house of Israel out of the land of the north and out of all the lands where he had driven them.’ Then they shall live in their own land.

Matthew 1.18–24 – Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife.

Reflection

The prophet Jeremiah speaks to a people who are weary and disillusioned. They have known poor leadership, broken promises, and the painful consequences of exile. Into this uncertainty, God makes a quiet but astonishing promise: “The days are surely coming.” Not tomorrow, not on our timetable, but on God’s. A new king will arise from David’s line — a righteous Branch — one who will reign with wisdom, justice, and integrity. His very name will declare what the people long to hear: “The Lord is our righteousness.”

This promise is not merely about political stability or national pride. It is about restoration — about God setting all things right again. The Lord who once delivered Israel from Egypt will act anew, bringing people home, healing what has been fractured, and renewing hope where it has been worn thin.

When we turn to Matthew’s Gospel, we see how this promise begins to take flesh in an unexpected way. There is no throne room, no royal procession. Instead, we meet Joseph — a quiet, faithful man faced with confusion and heartbreak. Mary is pregnant, and Joseph knows the child is not his. In a culture where shame and punishment were real and dangerous, Joseph chooses mercy. He resolves to dismiss Mary quietly, protecting her as best he can.

But God is already at work beyond Joseph’s understanding. In a dream, the angel speaks: “Do not be afraid.” Words that echo throughout scripture whenever God’s purposes unfold. Joseph is told that this child is conceived by the Holy Spirit, and that his name will be Jesus — “for he will save his people from their sins.” Here, the promise of Jeremiah comes into focus. This king will not rule by force or domination. He will rule by saving, by restoring, by drawing people back into right relationship with God.

Matthew reminds us that this child will also be called Emmanuel“God with us.” The righteousness promised by Jeremiah is not something we achieve or earn; it is something God brings to us, choosing to dwell among us in vulnerability and love.

Joseph’s response is as important as the prophecy itself. He wakes, and he obeys. He takes Mary as his wife. He names the child. In doing so, Joseph gives Jesus a place within the line of David, allowing God’s ancient promise to continue through ordinary human faithfulness. God’s great purposes move forward through quiet acts of trust.

These readings invite us to reflect on the kind of king we are waiting for — and the kind of people we are called to be. In a world still marked by injustice, fear, and uncertainty, God’s promise remains: “The days are surely coming.” Christ reigns not from a distant throne, but from within our human story, present with us, calling us to trust, to mercy, and to obedience.

As we gather in worship, we are reminded that the Lord is our righteousness. Our hope does not rest in our strength or wisdom, but in the God who comes to be with us — and who is even now bringing his promises to fulfilment.

Reflection: A Family Line (17th Dec, 2025, Year A)

Readings

Genesis 49.2, 8–10 – Assemble and hear, O sons of Jacob; listen to Israel your father. ‘Judah, your brothers shall praise you; your hand shall be on the neck of your enemies; your father’s sons shall bow down before you. Judah is a lion’s whelp; from the prey, my son, you have gone up. He crouches down, he stretches out like a lion, like a lioness—who dares rouse him up? The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until tribute comes to him; and the obedience of the peoples is his.

Matthew 1.1–17 – An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David. And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph,and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon. And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah. So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.

Reflection

In our first reading from Genesis, we hear the voice of the aged Jacob, gathering his sons around him. These are words spoken at the threshold between past and future: a father blessing his children, but also a people being shaped by promise. Jacob speaks particularly of Judah, praising him and declaring that the sceptre shall not depart from him, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until the one comes “to whom it belongs”.

At first glance, this feels like a text about power, authority, and kingship. Judah will be strong; his brothers will praise him; rulers will come from his line. Yet this is not simply a story of human ambition or political success. Jacob’s blessing is rooted in God’s purposes unfolding slowly through history — often in ways that are surprising, fragile, and deeply human.

When we turn to Matthew’s Gospel, we are given what may seem an unlikely companion reading: a long genealogy, a list of names that we are tempted to skim over. Yet Matthew places this genealogy right at the beginning of his Gospel, as if to say: if you want to understand Jesus, you must first understand the story he steps into.

Matthew traces Jesus’ family line back through King David, through Judah, and all the way to Abraham. This is the fulfilment of the promise hinted at in Genesis: the line of Judah does indeed continue, and it leads us not to a palace, but to a child born to Mary.

What is striking about Matthew’s genealogy is not only who is included, but how they are included. This is not a polished list of heroes. It is a family tree marked by failure, scandal, displacement, and suffering. We hear of Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and “the wife of Uriah” — women whose stories involve vulnerability, courage, and, at times, great pain. We hear of kings who ruled well and kings who failed badly. We hear of exile, loss, and waiting.

In other words, this is not a triumphant march of uninterrupted success. It is the story of God working faithfully through imperfect people and broken situations. The sceptre promised to Judah does not appear as an obvious symbol of worldly power. Instead, it is carried through generations of ordinary, flawed lives.

This matters deeply for us. The promise of God is not dependent on human perfection. God does not wait until history is tidy or people are blameless. God enters the story as it is — with all its complexity — and redeems it from within.

When Matthew tells us that Jesus is “the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham”, he is not simply making a theological claim. He is saying that in Jesus, all these promises, all these stories, all these lives find their meaning. The ruler spoken of in Genesis comes not as a lion devouring prey, but as the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. The sceptre is real, but it is a sceptre shaped like a cross.

For us, this invites a quiet but profound reflection. We are part of this same story. Our lives, too, are a mixture of faithfulness and failure, hope and uncertainty. We may feel ordinary, or even unworthy, but God’s purposes are not thwarted by our weakness. Just as God worked through Judah’s line, God continues to work through the Church — through us — to bring Christ into the world again and again.

As we listen to these readings, we are reminded that God keeps his promises, often in ways we do not expect. The genealogy that begins Matthew’s Gospel is not dead history; it is a living testimony that God is faithful across generations. And the Christ who comes from this long line of waiting is the same Christ who meets us here today: not distant or idealised, but Emmanuel — God with us.

May we trust that the God who fulfilled his promise through Judah and through Mary is still at work in our own lives, drawing hope from our brokenness and bringing light into the ordinary paths we walk each day.

Reflection: Rest for Your Souls (10th Dec, 2025, Year A)

Readings

Isaiah 40.25–end – To whom then will you compare me, or who is my equal? says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who created these? He who brings out their host and numbers them, calling them all by name; because he is great in strength, mighty in power, not one is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, ‘My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God’? Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Matthew 11.28–end – ‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

Reflection

As we have been for much of the season of Advent, in our readings today we hear two voices—Isaiah and Jesus—speaking across centuries, yet offering a remarkably similar promise. Both readings come to us in moments of human weariness. Isaiah addresses a people who feel forgotten in exile; Jesus speaks to crowds burdened by expectation, hardship, and the weight of their own limitations. And into those situations, both proclaim a God who does not grow tired, even when we do.

Isaiah begins with a question from God: “To whom then will you compare me?” It is a reminder that God is not simply a bigger or stronger version of ourselves. God is wholly other—Creator of the ends of the earth, the One who calls out the stars by name. And yet this transcendent God bends down to notice the faint and the weary. Isaiah speaks of divine strength that does not crush but instead renews. “They shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” These are not triumphal words about never stumbling, but hopeful words about being upheld when we do.

Into that same human experience, Jesus speaks: “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” At first glance, that sounds like an invitation to collapse, to lay everything down. But Jesus goes on: “Take my yoke upon you.” A yoke is for work, for partnership, for moving forward. Jesus does not take away responsibility; rather, he offers to share its weight. His yoke is “easy”—not because life becomes simple, but because we do not carry it alone.

Both passages confront a common temptation: the belief that we must manage our lives by our own strength. Isaiah challenges the worry that God has disregarded us; Jesus challenges the fear that we must earn our place through endless effort. Together, they remind us of a deeper truth: human strength will fail, but God’s strength will not. And God’s strength is not given begrudgingly but generously, tenderly, and with profound understanding of who we are.

Perhaps each of us brings to this service some form of weariness—physical tiredness, emotional heaviness, the strain of caring for others, the quiet fatigue that comes from uncertainty. The scriptures today do not dismiss those feelings; they acknowledge them. But they also offer a promise: that when our strength falters, God’s does not. When our resources run dry, God’s replenish. When we cannot imagine taking the next step, Christ walks beside us, carrying what we cannot carry on our own. So as we continue in worship, may we hear both Isaiah’s assurance and Jesus’ invitation. May we bring our burdens before the God who neither slumbers nor grows weary, and may we receive the rest and renewal that Christ longs to give. And as we rise again to walk the path set before us, may we do so yoked to him—strengthened, lifted, and held by the everlasting God.

Amen.