Sermons

As we embark on a new season, whether it's a new church year, a new school year, or simply a new chapter in our lives, it's a fitting time to refocus on the essentials of our faith. The book of James, particularly chapter 1, verses 19 to 25, offers us profound insights into the transformative power of God's Word. This passage isn't just about hearing; it's about living. It's about allowing the Word to penetrate our hearts, change our actions, and ultimately shape our lives. In a world filled with noise and distractions, how do we truly listen to God? And more importantly, how do we live out what He says?

The early-church word “gospel” simply means good news, yet even Christians sometimes struggle to state it clearly.  This message—news about what God has done in Jesus—is the lifeblood of Christian mission, the yard-stick of authentic evangelism, and the anchor of personal assurance.  In this overview we follow Paul’s pattern (especially Romans 1–4) to set out the gospel’s four indispensable notes and consider why keeping them straight matters for your own soul and for anyone you hope to reach this week.

The book of Jonah ends with God’s startling question to His petulant prophet, “Should I not be concerned about that great city?”—a window into the missionary heart of God and a mirror exposing our own reluctance. The scene finds Jonah brooding east of Nineveh, angry that the people he had just warned have repented and been spared. God’s gentle object-lesson—a vine that springs up overnight to shade Jonah and then withers at His command—reveals how far Jonah’s priorities lie from the Lord’s.

For forty days the risen Christ had appeared, taught and eaten with His disciples—yet on the Mount of Olives they witnessed something unlike any prior meeting: Jesus was “lifted up, and a cloud took Him out of their sight.”  In that single, unforgettable moment God underlined two truths at the centre of the Christian hope.

Acts 3:1-10 zooms in on the first miracle Luke records in post-Pentecost Jerusalem: Peter and John command a man, lame from birth, to walk “in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.”

Good Friday’s hillside gave us one of Scripture’s starkest portraits of grace. Two criminals hung on either side of Jesus.  At first both hurled insults, but as the hours crawled by something miraculous happened in one man’s heart.  While his partner kept sneering, this bandit suddenly rebuked the blasphemy, admitted his own guilt – “we are getting what our deeds deserve” – and begged, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

Jesus’ first words after the nails were driven home were not a cry of pain or a plea for vengeance. Instead the dying Son prayed: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

Israel had barely caught its breath after God's dramatic provision of water from the rock when a new crisis erupted in the wilderness. The nomadic Amalekites swept out of the desert bent on wiping the fledgling nation from the map. What followed – a gritty mêlée in the valley below Rephidim and a prayer-soaked vigil on the hill above – is much more than an obscure military episode. God commanded Moses to “write this for a memorial” because it sketches, in miniature, how every generation of believers must wage spiritual war.

Every Sunday is Resurrection Day, yet even familiar truths grow dull if we stop dwelling on them. Paul’s little reminder to Timothy—“Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead”—is the tonic our forgetful hearts still need. 1 Corinthians 15 helps us refresh that memory and trace some mighty implications.

Life in the wilderness can feel hopelessly dry—just ask the Israelites in Exodus 17. They’ve been following God’s command, only to arrive at a desert campsite with no water. Thirst escalates to anger, and soon they’re ready to stone Moses. Their demand, “Is the Lord among us or not?” rings with unsettling arrogance, given everything God has already done: plagues in Egypt, crossing the Red Sea, daily manna from heaven. Yet they dare to question God’s goodness and presence.

Life in the wilderness for ancient Israel was never meant to be a casual stroll toward the Promised Land. In Exodus 17:1–7, the people find themselves camped at Rephidim, a place with no water—despite the fact that they are following God’s explicit commands and visible guidance. This puzzling moment highlights a vital lesson: obedience to the Lord does not guarantee a trial-free life.

In 2 Corinthians 12:1-10, the Apostle Paul shares a deeply personal account of his spiritual experiences and his ongoing struggle with a "thorn in the flesh." While the exact nature of this affliction remains a mystery—subject to centuries of scholarly debate—the focus of the passage is not on pinpointing its cause, but on understanding the profound truth contained in verse 9: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." This article explores the key themes of Paul's message, the source and sufficiency of divine grace, and how this truth applies to our own lives.