Life + Faith – joncoombs.com

Tag: God

  • King Jesus: The Calling of The Ordinary

    Today, the announcement of good news, of great news, of world transforming news would be shared virally across social media, it would make headlines on news websites, it would be part of the regular conversation down the street and with neighbours. So it should be a little surprising to us that the first place Jesus proclaims the good news of the gospel of God (Mark 1:14-15) is in a small town up in the north of the country of Israel, away from the power and influence of Jerusalem and its religious leaders. 

    Here in Melbourne, important political news comes from Spring St, and important AFL news comes from AFL House. These are the places where the power and influence of our city come from. However, here in Mark’s gospel this news of Jesus and the good news he has to share appears in an out of the way, quite backward place, among ordinary people going about their ordinary days. 

    And we read of this in Mark 1:16-20: 

    16 As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 17 “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” 18 At once they left their nets and followed him.

    19 When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. 20 Without delay he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

    Jesus sees Simon (Peter) and Andrew at work, casting their nets. A little farther along he see these guys James and John preparing their nets. These fisherman are in the middle of their normal work day and Jesus comes along and calls them to follow him into a completely new direction and purpose. 

    Notice who Jesus doesn’t call. 

    He hasn’t gone to the highly ranked schools and universities. He hasn’t gone to find who is the smartest or brightest in the country. He doesn’t look for the leading academics and performers. He doesn’t start with the religious elite. 

    Who does he call? 

    The ordinary. Ordinary people doing ordinary things. Everyday people. People getting on with their jobs and responsibilities. 

    How encouraging is it to know that God’s kingdom isn’t built by the impressive, the influential, and the highly credentialed. Jesus calls those who have not made it in the eyes of the world. He doesn’t choose people because of their status or education or reputation. 

    Jesus calls ordinary people to follow him. 

    And what’s even more amazing is that Jesus is the one who takes the initiative. It was usually the other way around in the first century, a prospective student would approach a rabbi to be their disciple. Here, however, Jesus takes the initiative. He is the one who calls. He chose those who are to follow him. 

    This is a pattern throughout the Bible. God calls a people to himself. He takes the initiative and forms a people who belong to him and live under his rule. This same pattern is here in Mark 1, but in personal form. Jesus calls these men to come follow and become part of God’s mission in the world. 

    We are called in the same way today.

    Those of us who follow Jesus can say that God has taken the initiative toward us. He has called us to belong to him. 

    On one hand this is personal and individual, but on the other it’s not. Jesus calls these fishermen into a small group, a small community of followers who will become the early church as the New Testament unfolds.

    Following Jesus is personal, but it’s not isolated. We follow Jesus together and are shaped by him as we walk with others in faith. 

    When Jesus calls these fishermen he calls them into a life that will be changed and reshaped. One moment they are known locally for their trade, expertise, and work. In the next moment they are disciples of the Son of God, leaving behind all that is familiar to them.

    What a call we are part of! What a calling we have in Christ Jesus!

  • King Jesus: The Kingdom of God

    Have you ever received news or advice that changed your life?

    There are moments and events that reshape how we live and how we see the world. On a cultural level we might think of events like 9/11 or the COVID pandemic and how they altered patterns of work, travel, and security. On a personal level it could be a job promotion, a relationship breakdown, or the loss of someone close. These moments leave a mark.

    On a spiritual level, coming to Christ and trusting him as Lord and Saviour ought to have been life changing. As we walk with Jesus we might come through seasons, take a step of faith, or sit under the influence of a mentor that alters our life. I know that when I read a very basic biography of the missionary Jim Elliott I was never quite the same again. There are a few other moments like that I could name. 

    In Mark 1:14–15 we come to the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. It begins with an announcement and a call. It is a moment that is life altering not only for those who first heard it, but ultimately for the world. We read, 

    After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. “The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!”

    What do we notice? 

    First, Mark gives us the timing. Jesus begins his ministry after John the Baptist is imprisoned by Herod. The one who has prepared the way has completed his ministry, now it’s time for Jesus. 

    Second, Mark gives us the location. Jesus goes into Galilee. Technically he is already there because Nazareth is in that region, his home town. But the Sea of Galilee is around 30km away from there and this is where he shares this message. Note that this is not the religious centre of Israel or Jewish thought. This is a northern region, far away from the seats of power and influence. 

    Third, Mark tells us what Jesus is doing. He’s proclaiming the good news of God. He is announcing something that demands attention and response. He is bringing a life changing message. 

    In the Roman world, good news (or a gospel) would often be declared after a war victory, or at the birth or coronation of a ruler. There’s even an ancient inscription that speaks of “the beginning of the gospel of Caesar Augustus.” Mark deliberately uses this same kind of language, but now the good news is not about Caesar. It is about Jesus and the reign of God.

    Jesus says, “The time has come. The kingdom of God has come near.” 

    The long-awaited moment in God’s plan has arrived. What God has promised and prepared is now here.

    It’s hard to define the kingdom of God. One commentator I recently read had nine different angles on the kingdom of God from Mark alone! 

    At its most broad, the kingdom of God is God’s rule and reign over his creation. But in other places Jesus describes the kingdom using metaphors and objects in life. It’s like a mustard seed that grows into a large plant (Matthew 13:31-32; Luke 13:18-19). It is like yeast that when mixed with flour transforms everything it touches (Matthew 13:33; Luke 13:20-21). It’s like a pearl or a treasure that is so valuable that one sells everything to gain it (Matthew 13:44-46).

    In terms we might understand in our day and age, we might say the kingdom of God is like a washing machine. Dirty clothes go in and through the action of water and detergent they come out clean and renewed. Or perhaps it’s like the body when eating well and exercising, change is happening even if you do not see it on the scales each day. Or maybe it’s like a software update working in the background so that over time everything runs differently and hopefully better (!). 

    In Jesus the kingdom of God is not just an idea. It’s personified. The kingdom of God makes a personal appearance in Jesus. The rule and reign of God is revealed through the person and work of the Son of God. 

    When we enter this kingdom through Jesus, we are aware that it is not fully complete, either in us or in the cosmos. But as we step into it, and continue in it, we are asking Jesus to take his rightful place upon the throne of our heart and to establish God’s kingly rule over every dimension of our lives 

    This proclamation by Jesus then brings a call to action. To repent and believe. 

  • King Jesus: The Love of God the Father

    The baptism of Jesus, by John, is a key moment in the life of Jesus and his ministry. 

    In Mark 1:9-11 we read, 

    “At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptised by John in the Jordan. Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: ‘You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.’”

    Jesus arrives from Nazareth and is baptised by John, who has been preparing the way for him to be received. Mark gives us a pretty simple description of what’s going on, but we can’t miss the vivid details either. Heaven is described as being torn open. The Spirit depends on Jesus like a dove. The voice of God the Father is heard. 

    This is the point of affirmation and anointing of Jesus. It establishes his identity. He is named as the Son, loved by the Father, and is pleasing to him. 

    We notice a particular closeness between Jesus the Son and his Father. This is unique in scripture. Throughout the Old Testament we know there are plenty who walk closely with God, think Noah, Abraham, Moses, David and others who are faithful followers and friends of God. But here it is the language of family. He is the Son. He is loved. God is pleased. The relationship described here is personal and direct. 

    As God the Father reveals the identity of Jesus the Son of God (Mark 1:1) it is also worth highlighting that this affirmation of identity and love occurs before he has done anything. This declaration occurs before Jesus has done any ministry at all. He hasn’t performed any miracles. He hasn’t taught any crowds. He hasn’t called any disciples to follow him. And quite obviously, he hasn’t gone to the cross or been raised from the dead. Yet, God the Father declares his love and pleasure in his Son. 

    I find this encouraging. 

    I find this a helpful reminder about God’s love and pleasure for us. 

    When someone you know tells you that they love you it lifts you. When someone says they are pleased with you or proud of you, then you are encouraged and stand a little taller. Here’s the Father speaking those kind of words over the Son. Love and pleasure is declared before achievement, not after it. 

    It’s the kind of reminder that helps us understand God’s love for us as we are, not in what we do. 

    God doesn’t love us because of what we are doing for him, how we are serving him, or whether we are becoming ‘better’ (whatever that might mean for us). No, God the Father loves us for who we are, as his child, as part of his family. God’s love and pleasure toward us comes before any sort of achievement we believe we are offering to him. 

    Remember John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son…” This isn’t after we have proved ourselves. Nor is it after we’ve improved ourselves. This is out of love for us. 

    This is part of the deep comfort of the gospel. We come to a loving Father through a loved Son. 

  • King Jesus: The Messenger

    One of the few times Mark directly quotes the Old Testament comes at the beginning of his gospel. He writes:

    I will send my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way a voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’” (Mark 1:2–3)

    The Messenger

    These words point to a coming messenger. Someone sent ahead of the Lord to prepare people for his arrival, like the announcer before a basketball game who introduces the players from each team or the caller at a darts match who declares each score as it lands. The role is to get people ready and paying attention.

    Mark tells us that this messenger is John the Baptist.

    He appears in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. People from the Judean countryside and Jerusalem go out to him. They confess their sins and are baptised in the Jordan River.

    John is presented as a prophet in the mould of the Old Testament. His clothing of camel’s hair, leather belt, and wilderness lifestyle all point in that direction. He is especially reminiscent of Elijah. His role is to call people back to God and prepare them for what God is about to do next. In that sense, he stands as the last of the Old Testament style prophets, right on the edge of the new era that arrives with Jesus.

    The Message

    From this messenger comes a message that is clear and humble:

    “After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” (Mark 1:7–8)

    John knows exactly where he stands in relation to the one who is coming. He is faithful and bold, but he is not the King. He says he is not even worthy to untie his sandals.

    That image can slip past us today. We tie and untie shoes all the time without thinking about it. But in the first century, with open sandals, dirty roads, and poor sanitation, feet were filthy. Cleaning them was servant work. The lowest servant work. It was considered such a degrading task that even Jewish servants where warned against doing it.

    John says he is not worthy to perform even that lowly role for the one who is coming. That is how great he understands Jesus to be.

    Baptism

    Part of John’s ministry is baptism, and it is worth noting what his baptism means. Mark says it is a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. It is about turning back to God.

    Repentance is a change of direction. Like when you miss a turn while driving and need to do a U-turn. Repentance is that turning of the heart and life back toward God, with confession and humility.

    Christian baptism includes repentance too, but it also goes further. It is baptism into Christ. It speaks of forgiveness, new life, belonging to God’s family, and receiving the Holy Spirit. John’s baptism prepares the way. Jesus brings the fulfilment.

    John’s role is not to draw attention to himself but to point forward. Prepare the way. Straighten the path. Get ready for the King.

    Have you got a prepared heart ready to hear from the King?

  • King Jesus: The Beginning of The Good News

    Do you like a good action movie?

    A James Bond film, Mission Impossible, or one of the Bourne movies? The kind where things are moving from the opening scene and the story carries real momentum.

    If one of the gospels were turned into action flick, Mark would be the script. It moves quickly, has lots of movement, and gets straight to the point. There is no warmup, no stretching beforehand, no long preamble. It is like the starter’s gun at the beginning of a race and we are off.

    Mark begins like this:

    “The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God.” (Mark 1:1)

    That single line acts as both introduction and purpose statement. It tells us what the whole book is about before anything else is said. Like the opening line of a great novel, it draws us in. Except this isn’t fiction. This is the announcement of a real person and the purpose for which he came.

    Mark doesn’t include genealogies, birth stories, or any post-resurrection events. His focus is clear and deliberate. He wants to announce and show that Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God. The book is centred on who Jesus is, what he does, and what it means to follow him.

    The word gospel (euangelion in the Greek) means good news. In the first century, good news would be publicly proclaimed when there was a military victory or a royal announcement. You can picture the town crier calling out the news of the day in the streets. In that sense, Mark is like a paper boy standing on the corner calling out the headline,

    “Good news. Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God has arrived.”

    But this good news is greater than a victory in battle or the birthday of an emperor. This is the announcement of God’s King and the fulfilment of long-awaited expectation and hope.

    The good news is not merely an event. It is a person. Jesus himself.

    Notice the titles Mark gives him. Messiah. Christ. Son of God. These are not polite honourifics. They are identity claims. They tell us that Jesus is not simply another religious teacher or prophet. He is uniquely connected with God and shares in God’s own identity.

    From the first sentence, Mark wants us to know who stands at the centre of this story. Everything else in the book hangs from this opening declaration.

  • Christmas 2025: Jesus

    Jesus – Luke 2:41–52

    We have citrus trees along the side of our house. Four years ago we planted them. They are still in the juvenile stage, growing taller and taller each season. It’s a slow process and will take another few years before they produce any fruit.

    Before Jesus preaches and begins His ministry of healing, teaching, miracles, and calling followers, we read of Him doing something very ordinary – learning. Here we get that picture of a student, asking questions, listening, and sitting among teachers. Even Jesus, the Son of God, takes part in that slow work of growth before going about producing anything.

    It’s quite a simple story. Jesus doesn’t perform any wonders or reveal Himself to others. What He is doing is growing in wisdom, stature, and favour with God and the people (v52). This is a time of formation for Jesus. And if Jesus required it, then perhaps we too might need to do the same.

    Growth doesn’t happen overnight, it’s often gradual, unnoticed, and uncomfortable. Yet God uses these seasons to shape us, to humble us, and provide us with wisdom and patience for the road ahead. Luke’s inclusion of this story reminds us that we are being formed through those unseen and ordinary years.

    It’s like learning a new musical instrument, having to practice and practice and practice when no one is looking. It’s like moving through adolescence, discovering who we are, what our purpose is, and where we belong. As someone once said, growth is like outgrowing old shoes; it’s awkward, slightly painful, but necessary.

    We often want instant results, instant transformation, but discipleship takes time.

    Ask God to highlight one area where He wants you to grow this season. Is it patience, courage, compassion, humility, wisdom, rest? Something else perhaps? Take one small step this week in that direction.

    Where might God be inviting you to lean into slow, steady growth this Christmas?

    This devotional series runs alongside our Songs for the Saviour sermon series this Christmas. It explores the four ‘songs’ of Luke’s Gospel, which in their historical Latin form are known as the Magnificat, Benedictus, Gloria in Excelsis, and Nunc Dimittis.

  • The Tender Mercy of God

    In the month leading up to Christmas Day I think I have been present and shared something of the Christmas story at six ‘extra’ end of year events. We all know it’s a busy time, with plenty of different activities in church, school, and other community groups we’re involved in. For me, this has probably been my most active Christmas in some time, possibly ever. And as you can imagine, I’m wanting to share the great news of Jesus’ birth, but also do so in a way that isn’t stale. I want it to be attractive and meaningful for the hearers, and also for me personally as the speaker. At some of these events I can share the same message with a tweak or two, but by the time you’ve done that 2-3 times I feel within myself that it’s time to change it up. 

    That’s why, at our Community Kitchen Christmas meal the other evening, I decided to share for five minutes on the phrase, “the tender mercy of God”, which comes from Luke 1:78.

    It’s such a great phrase. It’s beautiful really. And it is part of the Christmas story, tucked away in Zechariah’s song. 

    After months of silence, and the birth of his son John, Zechariah breaks into praise. His words look back and acknowledge God’s faithfulness (Luke 1:68-75), and then turn toward the future and the coming of Jesus, which lead him to say those words, “the tender mercy of God”. 

    Tender mercy. 

    This is not forceful power. 

    This is not harsh correction. 

    This is not distant authority. 

    This is tender mercy. 

    Zechariah’s song helps us understand what kind of God we are dealing with, and what kind of salvation He is bringing into the world through Jesus. 

    John, Zechariah’s son, was not to be the central character of the story. He would be the one who prepared the way. Like the opening act at a concert who warms up the crowd and gets them ready for the main artist or band, his role was important but not ultimate. He would point beyond himself to Jesus. 

    And what was he preparing people for? 

    Not a political revolution. 

    Not economic rescue.

    Not national independence. 

    John was preparing people for salvation through the forgiveness of sins. A salvation that flows from God’s tender mercy. 

    If we’re honest, we often look outward for our own salvation. We want to be saved from difficult circumstances, whether it’s pressure at work, financial stress, health challenges, and broken relationships. And God cares about all those things. 

    But Christmas reminds us that God’s deeper work for us is inward. 

    God comes to deal with the things we carry beneath the surface. Guilt. Shame. Regret. Fear. The quiet sense that things aren’t right inside of us. 

    And He doesn’t come aggressively or forcefully, He comes gently and tenderly. 

    God doesn’t approach us with a raised voice, or come to shame and humiliate. He isn’t impatient or hurried or fed up and disappointed. 

    God meets us in our brokenness with closeness. 

    He draws near. 

    Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience to me when on Christmas Day you celebrate a meal with all the special cutlery and utensils. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Out comes the special plates, the special bowls, the fine glassware, and the more expensive cutlery. There are decorations that only come out once a year, perhaps there are some precious ornaments displayed around the room too. And within this celebration there are kids around, excited and happy and joyful. 

    Now, imagine that one of them accidentally knocks a glass off the table. It shatters on the floor and its contents stain the carpet. The room is suddenly quiet. The child freezes. They’re waiting. 

    What are they waiting for? Most likely a parent or family member to get cross out of the stress, pressure, and frustration that a Christmas Day meal can bring. 

    But tender mercy is not snapping in frustration. 

    Tender mercy is not shaming or scolding. 

    Tender mercy is kneeling down, wrapping them in a hug, and saying, “It’s OK. No worries. I’ll sort it out.”

    This, Zechariah tells us, is what God is like. 

    Because of God’s tender mercy, Jesus comes into the world. 

    Because of God’s tender mercy, forgiveness is possible.

    Because of God’s tender mercy, light shines into dark places.

    And because of God’s tender mercy, God guides people into a path of peace.

    It isn’t about having life neatly organised. It isn’t about pretending things are fine. It isn’t about performing spiritual competence. It is about a God who draws near, who sees us as we are, and who chooses compassion over condemnation.

    Wherever this season finds you; tired, hopeful, grieving, uncertain, or desperately trying to hold things together, the message of Christmas remains the same.

    God’s mercy is tender.

    And it is for you.

  • Book Review: Spurgeon’s Sorrows – Realistic Hope for Those Who Suffer from Depression

    Would it surprise you to learn that one of the greatest preachers in Christian history, the so-called ‘Prince of Preachers’, struggled with depression throughout his life and ministry? 

    Charles Haddon Spurgeon, pastor of the Metropolitan Tabernacle in 19th-century London, preached to thousands weekly, wrote extensively, and continues to shape preachers today. Yet behind the sermons, quotes, and books was a man who often walked through deep fog and valleys of darkness.

    I have known for many years that Spurgeon battled various health concerns, and at least a little depression, but I hadn’t realised how pervasive it actually was. In reading Spurgeon’s Sorrows by Zack Eswine I gained a better picture of the man but also the depths to which his depression and anxiety impacted his life. The other surprising thing about this was how public and how often he spoke about it. This short little volume (just over 100 pages) really opens the reality of mental illness not just for believers but also for pastors. I know it’s not talked about often, if at all, and this book is so helpful and insightful for all saints and sufferers. 

    Our churches are full of people who are going through depression, anxiety, and all ranges of mental illness. We may not see it while interacting with them on a Sunday morning, but they sit there, often silently, battling the melancholy of the mind. Older people carrying the weight of loneliness, middle-aged adults questioning their position in life, young people navigating their identity and uncertain future. They may not look depressed but are sure to be there in the pews. 

    As Christians it is important to talk about this. The Psalms do. So does Job. So does Elijah. So does Paul. And so does Spurgeon. One reason I found this book helpful was the normalising of this conversation without reducing it to Christian cliches or simplistic solutions.

    To give you an idea of the depth of Spurgeon’s struggle he once said, 

    “The mind can descend far lower than the body, for in it there are bottomless pits. The flesh can bear only a certain number of wounds and no more, but the soul can bleed in ten thousand ways, and die over and over again each hour.”

    He knew the darkness that makes it hard to pray, to preach, to feel anything at all. That numbness that comes over us when walking through an unending fog. He writes about this kind of depression as something that comes uninvited and stays longer than is welcome. And yet, in all of this, he saw no contradiction between faith and depression. He writes elsewhere, “Depression of spirit is no index of declining grace”. 

    This is encouraging for us as believers. It’s comforting to hear this from someone who has lived faithfully under the weight of this burden. How often are we prone to think such a thought or such a condition may disqualify us of our belief? But it is not so!

    We walk with Christ in the valleys and on the mountaintops and everywhere in between. 

    Eswine writes with care and warmth. He doesn’t overreach. He lets Spurgeon speak and then offers reflections that feel more like a conversation. 

    In one part of the book Eswine lists various helps that Spurgeon would undertake to help him recover from these periods of flatness, which again was really helpful. But he goes on to talk about how, 

    “The melancholy life thrives when it runs marathons instead of sprints, or when it sprints often, only to rest often. You needn’t try to do “the most things” in “the fastest ways” anymore. To resist this is to have seasons of rest and nature forced upon us by breakdown.”

    This is helpful for all of us who find ourselves running too fast and living on the edge of our limits. Whether it’s burnout, exhaustion, or anxiety, there is the invitation to slow down and let go of that performance mentality. 

    At times Spurgeon himself described what it was like when the overwhelm was upon him.In a sermon called The Christian’s Heaviness and Rejoicing he preached these words:

    “I was lying upon my couch during this last week, and my spirits were sunken so low that I could weep by the hour like a child, and yet I knew not what I wept for…”

    How about that!? How raw. How open. How vulnerable and honest. It’s not the kind of thing we would hear out of a 21st-century preacher would we?

    The book, thankfully, doesn’t offer neat answers, tied up firmly like a shoelace. It doesn’t promise that darkness will lift, but what it does do is point to Christ. It points to Christ to declare that He is the one who truly understands what we may be going through. 

    I would recommend this book to anyone, it’s a must read. It’s five stars. If you’re a pastor it will do your own soul a truckload of good, and also help you walk with those who suffer from mental illness themselves. If you’re someone who experiences depression, or are in it now, then this book gives you a helpful and faithful voice to that which you struggle with. And if you walk with those who do walk the road of mental illness then this book might help you understand it a little more. 

    To close I can’t but leave you with one of my favourite quotes from Spurgeon about suffering and depression. While speaking about God providing all our needs from Philippians 4:19 he preaches,

    “Then comes our need in suffering, for many of us are called to take our turn in the Lord’s prison camp. Here we need patience under pain and hope under depression of spirit. Who is sufficient for furnace-work? Our God will supply us with those choice Graces and consolations which shall strengthen us to glorify His name even in the fires! He will either make the burden lighter, or the back stronger—He will diminish the need, or increase the supply.”

    Amazing. 

    How great that the Lord our God is with us through the troughs of life and will indeed supply us with everything we need. 

  • Pull Up A Pew

    Pull Up A Pew

    I’ve been toying around with poetry lately, both as a fun little exercise and something to learn and improve my writing.

    I wrote the following after reflecting on Matthew 14:23, where Jesus, even after all the ministry and miracles, withdraws alone to pray. I suspect many of us live in the tension of hurry and stillness, this is a kind of prayer from that place. An invitation to slow down and respond out of the rest in his presence.

    Pull Up A Pew

    Driven, my heart beats fast and faster
    Hurried, from one to the next
    The urgent crowds out my time and place
    To sit, be still, and seek your face. 

    The mind, it races on and on
    Thinking, what I ought to do
    So much, so many, so few pursue
    But here you call, pull up a pew.

    You stopped and went with task after task
    Up the mountain, where in the Father you bask
    Teach me your ways, for I forget
    Instead I find I just project.

    I want to stop and pray my Lord
    To find the rest you promise so
    To leave the work in your hands
    As you lead me to the silent lands.

    After dismissing the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. Well into the night, he was there alone. – Matthew 14:23

  • The Ethics of AI: A Pastoral Reflection

    The Ethics of AI: A Pastoral Reflection

    AI is no longer just a buzzword or a new toy for those tech enthusiasts, is it? It’s here, beginning to expand its tentacles into our lives. Whether it’s at home, at work, our life admin, our church, and even our habits of thought and prayer, AI is making an impact. It’s fast. It’s smart (-ish). And if we’re honest, it can become slightly addictive. 

    Beyond the speed and fascination I’ve found myself asking some of those deeper questions about AI. Not about what it can do, but what it’s doing to me, to us. I’ve moved on from the question about whether it is right or wrong, and beginning to think through the way it forms me and my faith. What kind of person am I being shaped into, and is this coherent with the way of Jesus? 

    This is certainly not a how-to article on AI. Nor is it a listicle full of tips about the best apps or top tips in ethical AI use. Rather, it’s a reflection, a pastoral reflection seeking to bring to the top that question of, “Who am I becoming as I use this tech?”

    The reality is that tools don’t just serve us, they shape us. And AI, more than any other since the creation of the smartphone, is beginning to reach into parts of life where formation may already be fragile. 

    Worship Is Where Ethics Begins

    The starting point for Christian ethics is worship.

    Romans 12 doesn’t begin with behaviour. It begins with a posture drawn from the well of God. It says, 

    “In view of God’s mercy, offer your bodies as living sacrifices…”

    In other words, ethics isn’t just about what we do. It’s about how we live before God and who we are becoming because of God. It’s not just doing the ‘right’ things, it’s about the ‘who’ things. And so perhaps the first questions to ask ourselves is, “Is this helping me to live and worship and trust in God”? 

    This is where the hammer hits the nail for me. 

    AI, in all its cleverness, doesn’t only help me perform tasks. It makes me more efficient. It removes uncomfortable thinking, and sometimes thinking all together! And if I’m not careful it pushes me forward into a way of life that looks like a worldly hustle rather than the unhurried pace of the Spirit of God. 

    I’m not here to cry foul of all of AI, nor even say it is inherently wrong. I use it regularly. But I am saying we need to stop and reflect on how we are using it. I’m saying it’s worth watching closely its impact in not just our lives but in our hearts. If I don’t walk in the mercy of God, and stay firm in that foundation and identity, then I will find myself using these AI tools to keep producing and performing more and more. And I know if I walk that path then I’ll slowly but surely become less present to God, to others, and to myself. 

    The Promise and the Pushback

    A little while ago Kenny Jahng wrote an article called Beyond Binary Morality: How AI Challenges Traditional Christian Ethical Frameworks. It’s certainly worth your time to go and read. Kenny argues that AI reveals the limits of simple “right/wrong” categories. Algorithms, after all, aren’t choosing between good and evil by they’re weighing trade-offs, running probabilities, and calculating complexity.

    And in many ways, I agree with him. Wisdom in our time requires nuance (as it always has, no doubt). Neat moral boxes are beginning to be stretched for us, there is complexity and complication when thinking through Christian ethics of AI. 

    Where I found myself gently pushing back on this article, however, was the idea that AI might be the solution to pastoral overwhelm. As Kenny writes, many pastors feel burdened by tasks that don’t require their spiritual gifts—like creating policy and guidelines, doing administration, or making decisions on future projects and ministries without experience. Some of these aren’t soul-shaping tasks but just the cost of managing and navigating church life in the modern day. 

    AI, he argues, can be a relief valve.

    And he’s right, it can. It has been for me, in some areas of ministry. I’ve used it to help structure content, bring creativity to my thinking about ministry areas, and provide clearer communication to the church. This has meant I’ve had more time to focus on people, to be creative, and I’ve even found more time for prayer. But I do acknowledge there is another side to this. 

    That other side, the shadow side, is the fact that AI doesn’t remove the overwhelm, it can accelerate it. 

    If I don’t deal with what’s happening in my heart, the time I’ve saved won’t go to the priorities of prayer and preaching and other elements of what I call ‘Wordwork’, it’ll go to more output. More tasks. More tweaks. More production. More performance.

    This is why I keep coming back to remember that ethics begins with worship. When my use of AI is grounded in worship of God then the posture I hold is one of submission, surrender, and obedience. When it flows out of a need to produce, to prove myself, or to perform in front of others then it becomes something else. 

    Something that promises rest but quietly feeds the restlessness.

    Babel and the Illusion of Control

    That story from Genesis 11 is one that lives rent free in my mind at the moment. 

    “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves…”

    The Tower of Babel is a story about autonomy. It’s about humans using their creativity not in response to God, but in competition with him.

    And I think it’s an image that speaks into our age of AI. Not because AI is evil, but because it tempts us to think like Babel: I can control more. I can create more. I can become more. 

    But we’re not created in God’s image to view our lives and all that it entails in this way. We’re not given such responsibility. We’re made to receive the mercy and grace of God. We’re made to live in communion with God, not as optimised beings. 

    As we explore AI’s possibilities it’s worth asking ourselves the question, “Are we building a life with God or are we building a life for ourselves? 

    The Way of Jesus

    The more I use AI, the more I feel the invitation to slow down.

    It’s one thing to use a tool. It’s another to let it use you. And I don’t want to become the person who outsources the very parts of life and ministry that form and shape me as a child of God. 

    Sermons aren’t just written, they’re lived. 

    Pastoral care isn’t just organised, it’s personal and relational. 

    Discipleship isn’t just explanation and knowledge, it’s years-long formation under God and his people. 

    The way of Jesus is still slow. It’s relational. It’s incarnational. It requires presence. And if AI helps me serve others better, I’ll use it. But if it pulls me away from the kind of person Jesus is shaping me to be then it might be time to put it down.

    If you’re interested to explore this further you can also listen to our church podcast where we are beginning to explore AI in the church. You can grab the episodes here or on YouTube.