“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
- Luke 15:31-32

Parables are like rooms you can stand in and look around. They are told that way deliberately. When something is varied and complex, you can’t always explain it in a textbook way. So Jesus told stories that could be explored from different angles - stories that could slip underneath our defences and assumptions, and reshape our lives.

In Luke 15, we are given what is often treated as three parables, but it is really a story in three chapters. The pattern is identical each time: something is lost, something is found, and there is great celebration. A shepherd finds a sheep. A woman finds a coin. A father receives back a son.

By the time we reach the third chapter, the pattern is familiar. The younger son is clearly lost. He demands his inheritance, disgraces his father, wastes everything, and ends up ruined. According to Deuteronomy 21:18-21, a rebellious son deserved judgement. Rebellion results in death - that is the direction the law runs. But here the mechanism is reversed. The father runs, embraces, and restores. The son is not alive, then dead - he is dead, then alive. Lost, then found. And, as before, there is rejoicing.

Which means we expect the story to end there.

But it doesn’t - after the three chapters, there’s an epilogue! The elder brother stands outside the party. He doesn’t celebrate, but complains and criticises: “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!”

The older brother does not speak as a son but as a servant who believes he has earned something. In the logic of transaction, grace is an insult. If the reckless brother is honoured, what was the point of obedience? He is scandalised less by his brother’s sin than by his father’s mercy. The father’s response is astonishing: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” The elder brother believes that there is only so much blessing to go around, and the love the younger brother receives means that he is excluded. was never outside the blessing. Yet he cannot enjoy it because he cannot rejoice in grace.

Many of us, as we read these words, will feel like the older brother. But what if we’re operating with the wrong assumption? There is no scarcity of blessing, love or mercy.

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.

Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it."

Matthew 13:44-46

Discovery is exciting—whether it’s a world-changing scientific breakthrough or finding a forgotten £5 note in your coat pocket. Sometimes it’s planned, sometimes it’s a happy accident, but the joy of finding something valuable is universal. In life, we search for houses, holidays, jobs, and relationships, and when we finally find the right one, the excitement is real.

Jesus used parables to explain the Kingdom of Heaven, comparing it to hidden treasure or a precious pearl. One man stumbles across treasure in a field; a merchant searches and finds a pearl more valuable than he imagined. Both react with joy, selling everything else to claim it. The Kingdom of Heaven works the same way—its value surpasses all worldly ambitions and possessions. Discovering it isn’t about improving your life or following rules; it’s about recognising something so supremely valuable that everything else fades into the background.

Following Jesus is a radical reordering of life priorities. Unlike destructive obsessions, giving everything for God is safe and life-giving, because He is loving, compassionate, and trustworthy. The Kingdom transforms, restores, and renews. Jesus has already given everything for us—our response is to discover, delight, and respond in joy.

He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”

He told them still another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds[a] of flour until it worked all through the dough.”

- Matthew 13:31-33

Jesus says the Kingdom is like a mustard seed and like yeast. Both start small, both look unimpressive, and both work on a timeline that doesn’t match our impatience. The Kingdom often begins as something you can barely name, a cautious “maybe,” a tiny prayer, a fragile step, but it grows into something with real presence. And it grows for a purpose. Not just “bigger,” but shelter. Branches where others can rest.

Yeast, meanwhile, is the change you can’t track while it’s happening. It disappears into the dough and quietly works through the whole batch. That’s how God often reshapes us. With a slow, deep transformation that eventually shows up in steadiness, humility, repentance, mercy.

So don’t despise small beginnings. And don’t panic in slow seasons. The Kingdom is already here, and not yet finished like living in a house mid-renovation.

Keep trusting the builder, keep showing up, and ask simply: “Jesus, plant your Kingdom in me.”

Listening to the words of the King

Parables are given to make us wise — to shape how we live, to train our character, to form us spiritually. This parable gives us the message of the kingdom so that we might hear, respond, and be fruitful. “Hearing” is central to this parable. In the language Jesus was telling this story, the word translated to hear also means to obey. That is no coincidence.

It’s possible to be physically present, religiously active, and spiritually closed. You can come on Sunday. You can hear sermons. You can read Scripture and still not really hear. Not because the message is unclear — but because the heart is guarded. We fear that listening too hard will draw our hearts to places we don’t want to go.

The crowd would have known there was meaning beneath the surface of what they heard but exactly what Jesus meant would not have been obvious The key turning point is verse 10: “The disciples came to him and asked, ‘Why do you speak to the people in parables?’” “Disciples” here does not mean only the Twelve. Anyone who wanted could come closer and ask. This is not a closed group. This is about attitude.

Those who come and ask are given more. Those who stay at a distance hear the stories — but do not really listen.

Jesus says: “Whoever has will be given more… whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them.” These two groups are self-selected.

This is not about intellectual ability. It is about receptivity.

They are not smarter.
They are not more moral.
They are not more religious

They are not more deserving.

They are simply willing.

Willing to listen.
Willing to be taught.
Willing to admit they don’t fully understand.

When people responded by seeking Jesus and wanting to understand more, he turned towards them and invited them to come even closer. When people stayed superficial, no further explanation was given. Not because Jesus wanted to hide — but because lack of receptivity prevented further progress. These parables are the King graciously telling us what the kingdom is really like.

While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

Then John’s disciples came and asked him, “How is it that we and the Pharisees fast often, but your disciples do not fast?” Jesus answered, “How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them? The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them; then they will fast.

“No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch will pull away from the garment, making the tear worse. Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.”
- Matthew 9:10-17

Human beings are deeply wired to want to stay separate from the things that we fear might make us dirty. In our modern world, we think in biological terms about infection. In the ancient world, the wrong kind of people could 'pollute' you. That's why some groups didn't like it when Jesus sat down to eat with tax collectors and sinners. When people complained, Jesus responded with the image of new wine in old wineskins. It's a simple message—the old cannot contain the new. Old frameworks could not contain the inbreaking Kingdom of God - in fact, it was bursting out of the boundaries that people would want to place on it.

The Pharisees and John’s disciples were sincere, committed people. Their movements sought holiness, repentance, and faithfulness to God. But they were still waiting—waiting for renewal, for restoration, for God to act. What they failed to see was that the waiting was over. The bridegroom had arrived. God was restoring his people, not through stricter boundaries or deeper separation, but through mercy, healing, and presence. Jesus’ holiness worked differently. Instead of avoiding the sick, he became their doctor. Instead of guarding purity by distance, he restored people just by drawing near to them.

Where do we struggle to make space for what God is doing now? Are there habits, identities, or ways of seeing ourselves that no longer stretch? Perhaps we sense the tension—the feeling that we can’t cling to what’s familiar and fully receive Jesus at the same time. The good news is this: there is nothing we can do to heal ourselves, but there is someone who has come to do what we cannot. Jesus is the healer. He is the new wine. He offers the Kingdom freely and waits for our response.

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions - it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

• Ephesians 2:4-10

What should Christians be doing?

You probably know the list: go to church, sing the songs, pray, and read your Bible. Don’t drink too much, don’t swear, don’t sleep around. Be nice, even when people are annoying. Basically… be Ned Flanders. But if we’re honest, most of us aren’t really like Ned Flanders and probably don’t want to be Ned Flanders either.

In Acts 1, Jesus tells his followers they’ll receive power from the Holy Spirit and be his witnesses - starting in Jerusalem, but ultimately to the ends of the earth. That word witness can feel uncomfortable. We’d prefer to stick to being nice. We don’t want to offend people. When we do try, we don’t always know what to say. So often we replace the story with systems - it’s as if life is like a cosmic game of Snakes and Ladders. Good behaviour is a ladder to get you closer to God; bad behaviour sends you sliding back down the snake.

But that is not your story or mine. Over and over again, the Bible tells a story that when people mess things up, God goes looking for them. He starts in the Garden, looking for Adam and Eve, who hid from Him. In exile. In the wilderness. With murderers, adulterers, outcasts, traitors, and doubters. God doesn’t wait at the top of the final ladder of good works. He shows up right where people have fallen.

Jesus eats with Zacchaeus, offers living water to a broken woman, heals and forgives the sick, and offers Thomas his wounds. Grace always comes first. Transformation follows. So what does it mean to be a witness? We don’t have to sell a system or teach people how to climb ladders. You just need to tell the truth about where we were, how God found us, and how grace is reshaping our lives. In view of God’s mercy, we learn to live - head, heart, and hands - in the rhythms of that same God’s grace.

“Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honour one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervour, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.”

Romans 12:9–16

Paul reminds us in Romans 12 that transformation by God’s grace doesn’t happen in isolation — it happens as we live together as the body of Christ.

Using the image of a body, Paul shows us that life and growth come through connection. When we choose to live disconnected from the church, we cut ourselves off from the very place God uses to form us. What holds the body together is love — not the fragile, emotional love our culture often celebrates, but agape love: self-giving, sincere, and active.

Paul describes love that is honest and discerning, devoted like family, enthusiastic in action, patient in suffering, faithful in prayer, generous with resources, hospitable to others, and willing to share both joy and pain. This kind of love isn’t something we produce by trying harder; it flows from the grace we’ve already received in Christ.

True love commits to people for the long haul. It challenges, supports, celebrates, and suffers together. As we live this way, we become a visible picture of God’s kingdom — a city on a hill — transformed together by grace.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.
- Romans 12:1-2

Romans 12 marks a significant turning point in Paul’s letter. After laying out the gospel of grace, Paul turns to the life that flows from it. Everything hinges on one word: therefore. Christian ethics are not about earning God’s favour, but responding to God’s mercy. As someone once put it, “religion is grace; ethics is gratitude”.

And what is gratitude? Paul urges the people of the church to offer their bodies as “living sacrifices.” For his original hearers, this would have been a paradox. Sacrifices were dead bodies, bleeding out on an altar. So what could a living sacrifice be? Only your whole self and your everyday life given over to God. In other words, not just your “Sunday self,” but our work, relationships, choices, and habits.

The problem with living sacrifices is that they keep trying to crawl off the altar. We are not set up for sacrifice but self-interest, with deep patterns and instincts that shape how we work, rest, play, and what we do when things don’t go our way. If the same outcomes keep repeating, it’s probably not a coincidence—it’s a pattern.

So Paul asks listeners - and us - not to pattern our lives according to the world. It is as if to say, we must realise that many of us are already sacrificing our lives without knowing it, offering them up to careers, success, or autonomy. These things are false gods, not just because they have no right to ask for our worship, but because they haven’t done for us what Jesus has. Jesus himself offered everything—taking his hands off his own life and trusting the Father completely. When you know that grace, then offering your life back to God becomes the only reasonable thing to do.

And if you don’t yet know that grace, then what? Real transformation doesn’t begin with trying harder, but with being deeply grasped by what has already been done for you, without even knowing that you need to ask.