Tag: willingness

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.

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.

Bible 40 Themes 05 Obedience

Obedience isn’t always dramatic. It rarely makes headlines. More often, it’s quiet, costly, and unseen. In 1 Samuel 15, Saul had won a victory, yet he’d adjusted God’s command to suit his own judgement. He kept what looked valuable and offered sacrifice as a spiritual covering for partial obedience. Samuel’s words cut through the smoke of religious performance: “Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obeying the Lord? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams.”

There’s something in us that prefers sacrifice to obedience. Sacrifice can feel impressive; it’s visible, measurable, even public. Obedience, though, is humbler. It means trusting that God’s way is wiser than our instincts. It means surrendering the part of the command we’d rather reinterpret. Saul’s mistake wasn’t outright rebellion in his own eyes, it was selective obedience. He did much of what God asked, but not all. Yet love that edits God’s voice is no longer love rooted in trust.

“To obey is better than sacrifice” reminds us that God desires hearts aligned with him, not gestures designed to compensate for disobedience. We can serve tirelessly, give generously, sing passionately, and still avoid the simple, searching call to heed his voice in the everyday. Obedience might mean forgiving when resentment feels justified, telling the truth when silence would protect us, choosing integrity when compromise would be easier.

Obedience flows from relationship. Samuel speaks of obeying the Lord, not merely obeying a rule. The invitation is personal. God isn’t hungry for ritual; he longs for trust. When we obey, we declare that his character is good, his wisdom reliable, his purposes kinder than our own plans. That kind of obedience shapes us quietly over time. It forms humility, deepens faith, and anchors our lives in something steadier than impulse.

In a world impressed by spectacle, God still listens for the softer sound of a willing heart. Not grand offerings, but faithful footsteps. Not impressive sacrifice, but attentive love.

This is one of a series of posts outlining 40 themes of the Bible. Previous Next

Advent Love Takes Flesh

The Fourth Sunday of Advent draws us close to the mystery at the heart of it all, love. Not a vague sentiment, nor a fleeting warmth, but the fierce and tender love of God made flesh. The angel’s words to Mary ring out: The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. In that overshadowing, love takes on a heartbeat, and the Word begins to dwell among us. Advent love is daring, it breaks into the ordinary with extraordinary promise.

Mary’s response, her quiet yet courageous “I am the Lord’s servant,” shows us what love looks like when it’s received in faith. Love is never simply a feeling; it’s a surrender, a willingness to be caught up in God’s purposes even when they turn our world upside down. As Elizabeth exclaimed, “Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfil his promises to her!” Advent love asks us, too, whether we dare to trust that God is at work in us, however unlikely or unready we may feel.

John’s Gospel tells us, The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, full of grace and truth. This is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us first and chose to enter our world, fragile and flawed, to redeem it from within.

So the fourth candle is lit, the candle of love, shining beside the flames of hope, peace, and joy. Together they burn as a testimony that the night is nearly over, the dawn is near. Love holds them all together, for it’s love that sent Christ, love that sustains us in waiting, and love that will one day bring all things to completion.

As Christmas draws close, may our hearts be opened wide to receive this love that comes down, not in power and splendour, but in vulnerability and grace. And may we, like Mary, bear that love into the world, so that others might glimpse in us the light of Christ who is coming.