Category: Faith

What Kind of Soil?

Our Gospel reading in Matthew 13:1–9 & 18–23 is one of Jesus’ best-known parables, yet it’s one that never stops asking searching questions. We often hear it as a story about four different kinds of people. But perhaps Jesus is inviting us to ask something much more personal: What kind of soil is my heart today?

The wonderful thing is that our hearts aren’t fixed. Over a lifetime we’ve probably known every kind of soil. There have been times when disappointment, grief or hurt have hardened us. At other times we’ve welcomed God’s Word with enthusiasm, only to find our faith tested when life became difficult. There are also seasons when worries, responsibilities and endless distractions have crowded out the space where God wants to work. Yet, by God’s grace, there have been times when we’ve been open, receptive and fruitful, often without even realising it.

The focus of Jesus’ parable isn’t really the soil. It’s the generosity of the Sower. He scatters the seed freely and abundantly because he knows that hardened hearts can be softened, shallow faith can grow deeper, and lives tangled with thorns can be renewed.

That promise is echoed in Isaiah 55:10–13, where God’s Word is compared to the rain and snow that water the earth. They don’t return empty but bring life, growth and fruitfulness. In the same way, God’s Word quietly accomplishes his purpose, often long before we see the results.

And we aren’t left to grow by our own efforts. In Romans 8:1–11, Paul reminds us that the Holy Spirit lives within us, giving us new life and enabling us to become the people God calls us to be.

So today, let’s simply ask God to make us good soil. If our hearts have become hard, may he soften them. If our roots are shallow, may he deepen them. If our lives are crowded, may he help us make room for him. Then, as his Word takes root, may our lives bear fruit that blesses our families, our community and everyone we meet, bringing glory to Christ.

Note: This devotional is based on worship I led at Horden Salvation Army on Sunday 12 July 2026, you can see my full notes by clicking here.

Opening Hearts to Everyone

Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Matthew 10:40

Jesus has a remarkable way of elevating the ordinary. In these closing verses of Matthew 10, he isn’t speaking about grand achievements, spectacular miracles or impressive acts of faith. Instead, he speaks about welcome. A door opened. A meal shared. A cup of cold water offered to someone in need.

It’s easy to think that only extraordinary Christians make a difference, yet Jesus turns that assumption upside down. He tells his disciples that welcoming those who serve him is, in fact, welcoming Christ himself. Every act of kindness offered in his name becomes an act of worship. Even something as simple as giving a thirsty traveller a drink carries eternal significance.

That’s both encouraging and challenging. Most of us won’t stand before crowds or change the course of history. But all of us have opportunities every day to reflect Christ through simple generosity, thoughtful hospitality and quiet compassion. A listening ear, an encouraging word, an invitation to share a meal or a practical helping hand can reveal God’s love just as powerfully as a sermon.

As Pride Month draws to a close, these words invite us to reflect on the kind of welcome we offer. Jesus doesn’t call us to build higher walls or tighter circles; he calls us to recognise his presence in those we receive with grace. Every person bears God’s image and longs to know they’re seen, valued and loved. Whatever our differences, Christ’s followers are called to be known for generous hospitality, genuine respect and a willingness to make room at the table. Our welcome should reflect the wideness of God’s love and the compassion of Christ.

Known by the Father

Father’s Day can stir gratitude, but also memory, absence, and complexity. The Bible doesn’t smooth that out, it places human fatherhood alongside the reality of a Father who’s always faithful. Here’s three Bible readings from the Lectionary that reflect this.

In Genesis 21:8–21, Abraham’s fatherhood is painfully imperfect. He provides for Ishmael, yet sends him away into the wilderness with Hagar. It’s a moment of rejection and fear, a child in danger and a mother pushed to despair. And yet, in that place where human care runs thin, God hears the boy’s cry. The wilderness isn’t outside God’s attention; it becomes the very place where God’s provision is revealed. Human fatherhood falters, but God’s compassion reaches further.

Psalm 86:1–10, 16–17 answers that same tension in prayer. “Hear me, Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy.” It’s the voice of someone who knows dependence, who cannot rely on self-sufficiency or human strength alone. And yet the psalm turns quickly to trust: “You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you.” This is fatherhood reframed, not as distance or control, but as attentive mercy, patient love, and readiness to hear.

Jesus deepens this in Matthew 10:24–39. He speaks honestly about division, misunderstanding, and the cost of following him, even when it cuts across the closest human bonds. Yet he anchors everything in the Father’s care: not even a sparrow is forgotten, and those who acknowledge the Son are held within the life of God. The Father Jesus reveals isn’t distant from suffering, but present in it, aware of it, and faithful through it.

Read together, these passages draw a single line. Human fatherhood is real but limited, sometimes marked by failure and separation. God’s fatherhood meets us in those very places, hearing the cry in the wilderness, answering the prayer of the needy, and holding fast those who feel the cost of discipleship. On Father’s Day, that’s both comfort and challenge: that we’re ultimately known, heard, and kept by a Father whose love doesn’t fail, even when everything else feels uncertain.

Joining God’s Mission Today

It’s easy to look at the world around us, or even at our own lives, and focus on what’s difficult, uncertain, or disappointing. Sarah certainly had her reasons for doing that. When she overheard God’s promise that she’d have a son in her old age, she laughed. It seemed absurd. Humanly speaking, it was impossible. Yet God’s response is one of the most memorable questions in Scripture: “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14).

That question sits alongside the wonderful assurance of Romans 5. Paul reminds us that God’s love doesn’t depend on our goodness, success, or faithfulness. Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Before we’d done anything to deserve it, God had already reached out in love. That’s the foundation of our hope. We trust God not because life is always easy, but because God has shown us his heart in Jesus.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus looks at the crowds and is moved with compassion. He sees people who are weary, confused, and struggling. Then he does something surprising: he sends ordinary disciples to share his work of healing, serving, and proclaiming good news.

Perhaps that’s the challenge for us this week. Where are we laughing at God’s possibilities because we’ve decided something can’t change? Where are we doubting that God can work through us? The same God who kept his promise to Sarah, and who demonstrated his love through Christ, still calls ordinary people to join in his work today.

Maybe this week we can take one small step of faith: trusting God’s promise a little more, receiving God’s love a little more deeply, and sharing God’s compassion a little more generously.

Servant Assertiveness

Assertiveness is often misunderstood. Many people assume it means being forceful, outspoken, or even aggressive, as long as those actions are wrapped in good intentions. Yet Christian assertiveness looks very different. It’s better understood as servant assertiveness, a way of relating to others that’s shaped by humility, compassion, and respect. Rather than demanding to be heard, it seeks first to listen. Rather than overpowering others, it honours their dignity while also recognising the value God has placed within us.

Aggressive behaviour often grows from a failure to recognise the worth of others. It pushes forward without listening, treating people as obstacles rather than fellow travellers made in the image of God. Passive behaviour, on the other hand, can stem from a failure to recognise our own worth. It stays silent when wisdom should speak, withdraws when love should engage, and forgets that we, too, are beloved children of God. Though they appear very different, both aggression and passivity become centred on self. One demands its own way; the other hides from responsibility.

Assertiveness offers a better path. It’s the practice of being open, honest, and respectful towards both ourselves and others. It enables us to speak truthfully without hostility and to listen carefully without surrendering our convictions. In this, we see the example of Jesus. He was neither aggressive nor passive. He listened deeply, spoke courageously, challenged injustice, welcomed the outsider, and remained secure in his identity as the Father’s beloved Son.

A healthy sense of purpose also matters. Aggressiveness often arises when people lack a clear understanding of their true goals and values. When we know who we are in God and what he’s calling us to do, we no longer need to force our way forward. Instead, we can walk with quiet confidence, treating others with grace while faithfully following the path God has set before us.

Growing Older With Purpose

Here are some devotional reflections I’ve written for my 72nd birthday:

The passing of years has a way of sharpening what matters most. Looking back, I can see that life has never been a journey travelled alone. Through seasons of joy and sorrow, certainty and doubt, strength and weakness, God has remained faithful.

The psalmist writes, “Even when I am old and grey, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation” (Psalm 71:18). These words remind us that growing older isn’t a retreat from purpose but an invitation into a deeper one. Wisdom gathered through experience becomes a gift to be shared. The story of God’s faithfulness is never ours to keep to ourselves.

Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son reveals a God whose love is always reaching towards us. Like the father who sees his son while he’s still far away and runs to welcome him home, God meets us with grace before we’ve finished explaining ourselves. Again and again, we discover that we’re not merely tolerated but cherished, embraced, and celebrated.

Life continues to bring challenges, uncertainties, and concerns. Yet Paul’s words offer a steady anchor: “Do not be anxious about anything” (Philippians 4:6). This isn’t a denial of life’s difficulties, but an invitation to trust. God’s peace isn’t dependent on favourable circumstances. It’s a gift that guards the heart even when answers are incomplete.

So, wherever this season of life finds us, we can move forward with confidence. There’s still more to learn, more grace to receive, more love to give, and more of God’s goodness to share. The God who has carried us thus far remains present, still speaking, still welcoming, and still holding us in perfect love.

Hope Beyond the Hills

Psalm 121 reminds us where to look when life feels uncertain, heavy, or overwhelming. The psalmist writes, “I lift up my eyes to the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth”. In times of struggle, our instinct is often to look around for answers, reassurance, or rescue. Yet the psalm invites us to look higher, beyond our fears and beyond our own limited strength, to the God who made heaven and earth and who lovingly watches over his people.

Paul echoes this same truth in his words to the church at Philippi: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God” (Philippians 4:6-7). Anxiety narrows our vision, but prayer lifts our eyes again towards God. As we place our worries into his hands, his peace begins to guard our hearts and minds, even when circumstances remain difficult.

The hills themselves don’t save us. Hope isn’t found in human strength, earthly security, or temporary solutions. Our help comes from the one who created the hills, the seas, and the skies. The Lord isn’t distant or indifferent. He watches over our coming and going, now and forevermore. His care surrounds every step of our journey.

Psalm 23 reminds us that faith does not remove the dark valleys from life. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The promise is not the absence of hardship, but the presence of God within it.

As we open our hearts to him each day, we discover grace for the present moment, strength for the road ahead, and an unshakeable hope that reaches beyond this life into eternity.

Called to be a Leader

I wrote this devotional reflection on Acts 2:37-42 before Commitment Sunday on 10 May 2026, verses used in worship at Stockton Corps on the same day.

There are moments when the gospel stops being an idea and becomes a summons. Acts 2:37-42 captures one of those moments. Peter’s words, spoken in the power of the Holy Spirit, pierced the hearts of the crowd. “Brothers, what shall we do?” they asked. It’s the cry of people suddenly aware that God is calling them into a different way of living. Peter’s answer was simple and demanding: “Repent and be baptised.” Leadership in the kingdom of God begins there, not with status, charisma, or ambition, but with surrender.

The world often imagines leaders as strong personalities who command attention and shape events through force of will. Yet the leaders born in Acts 2 emerged from repentance, humility, and openness to the Spirit. The church itself was born not from human planning, but from people responding faithfully to the call of God. Every Christian leader, whether standing in a pulpit, serving tea in a church hall, guiding children, visiting the lonely, or speaking up for justice, begins in exactly the same place: a heart transformed by grace.

Peter himself is proof of this. Only weeks earlier, he had denied Jesus three times. Fear had overwhelmed him. Yet now he stood boldly before thousands, proclaiming the risen Christ. God didn’t wait for Peter to become flawless before calling him to lead. Instead, God shaped Peter through failure, forgiveness, and renewal. That remains true today. Many people hesitate to lead because they feel inadequate, inexperienced, or wounded by past mistakes. But the Spirit who empowered Peter still calls ordinary people into extraordinary service.

Acts 2 also reminds us that leadership is deeply communal. The believers “devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” Leadership was never meant to be lonely heroism. The early church grew through shared devotion, shared meals, shared worship, and shared responsibility. Christian leadership is less about standing above others and more about walking with them. It means nurturing faith, encouraging hope, and helping people remain rooted in Christ when life becomes uncertain.

There is also a quiet courage in these verses. Around three thousand people were baptised that day. To identify publicly with Jesus in Jerusalem, so soon after his crucifixion, required bravery. Leadership often begins with the willingness to stand openly for what is right and true, even when it’s costly. In every generation, God calls people who’ll live differently; people who refuse hatred, who resist injustice, who choose compassion over cruelty, and who hold onto hope when despair feels easier.

The beautiful thing about this passage is that the call to leadership isn’t reserved for a select few. The promise Peter speaks of is “for you and your children and for all who are far off”. The Spirit is poured out widely. Leadership in the church isn’t about building personal influence; it’s about becoming available to God. Sometimes that leadership will be public, sometimes hidden and unseen. Yet both matter deeply in the kingdom of God.

To be called as a leader is, ultimately, to be called into faithful discipleship. It’s to listen for the Spirit, to remain devoted to prayer and community, and to point beyond ourselves to Jesus. The church still needs leaders shaped by Acts 2 leaders who are humble, Spirit-filled, courageous, compassionate, and deeply rooted in grace.

Trust and Perseverance

There’s a gentle affirmation in Jesus’ words as he speaks to anxious hearts in Gospel of John (John 14:1–14). “Do not let your hearts be troubled… my Father’s house has many rooms.” It isn’t a denial of fear, it’s an invitation to trust. He doesn’t promise an easy road; he promises himself. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Not a map to follow, but a presence to walk with, even when the path feels uncertain or steep.

Then First Letter of Peter (1 Peter 2:2–20) gently shifts the image, urging us to “crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation.” There’s a tenderness here, a reminder that faith isn’t about having it all together. It’s about hunger, about returning again and again to the one who nourishes us. Yet this same passage doesn’t shy away from the cost of discipleship. To follow Christ is to endure, sometimes unjustly, sometimes painfully, trusting that God sees, that God holds, that God redeems.

Jesus’ promise and Peter’s challenge sit side by side. One offers comfort, the other calls for perseverance. Together, they form a rhythm of trust and growth. We’re held securely, yet we’re also being shaped.

And so, in the quiet of today, perhaps the invitation is simple: to trust a little more deeply, to hunger a little more honestly, and to follow a little more closely. Not because the way is easy, but because he is faithful, and he is already there, preparing a place, and walking beside us still.

Called to Be a Disciple

This devotional was inspired by worship at Stockton Salvation Army on Sunday 19 April 2026. This is my personal reflection.

There’s something disarming about the story in Luke 5:1–11. Simon Peter and his companions have been fishing all night and caught nothing, they’re tired, frustrated, cleaning their nets, and ready to call it a day. Then Jesus arrives, borrows Peter’s boat to teach from, and afterwards tells him to put out into deep water and let down the nets. Peter’s response is honest: “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything.” But then comes that quiet, beautiful turn: “But because you say so, I will let down the nets.” What follows is abundance beyond imagining, nets so full they begin to break, boats so heavy they begin to sink.

This is the pattern of discipleship, it doesn’t begin with our competence or success, but with a willingness to trust when it doesn’t make sense. Peter had every practical reason to refuse. He was the expert fisherman, he knew these waters, he’d already tried and failed. Yet something in Jesus’ invitation drew him beyond his own experience into a deeper trust. It’s often in those moments, when we’ve reached the end of what we know, that faith begins to take root, not in certainty, but in obedience.

When the catch comes, Peter’s first instinct isn’t celebration, it’s awareness. “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” Yet Jesus doesn’t turn away. Instead, he speaks words of reassurance and calling: “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will fish for people.” Discipleship draws us beyond our own understanding, inviting us to trust the voice that calls us into deeper waters, and to discover that our inadequacy is precisely where grace meets us and gives us purpose.