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.

When the angel says Jesus will receive “the throne of His father David,” it tells us something very concrete. The coming of God’s kingdom arrives in the shape of an ideal King ruling His people.

“Son of David” draws together Israel’s best experiences of leadership—its golden age—as well as its hopes, promises, and yes, even its disappointments. It narrows the story down to one royal line, one covenant, one expectation, and finally one King.

Because David wasn’t just any king—he was the king and God’s promise to David wasn’t only for David, it was for the whole nation. A forever King means a forever people. This extends this vision of kingdom beyond the ordinary existence of this world as we now know it.

So when Mary learns her child will sit on David’s throne, she hears more than a personal blessing. She hears more than a description of what her son will be. She hears that God’s long-awaited King is finally coming, and that God’s long-awaited restoration is beginning. God’s plan is grounded and embodied and involved in our lived daily experience.

We follow:

a wise and righteous King.

a King worthy of our loyalty and obedience.

a King whose reign brings peace, healing, and transformation.

a King who expects us to live by a distinct rule.

a King whose kingdom never ends.

A king is meaningless without a people. We—the Church—are King Jesus’ people. That gives extraordinary dignity to everything we do.

This Advent, we aren’t just looking back to a baby in a manger. We’re looking forward to a King on a throne— a King who reigns even now, and whose reign will one day be gloriously obvious to all.

When we pray “Your Kingdom come” we are asking for something specific and concrete. It is a vision that first appears with King David and the kingdom of Israel. Then the son of David, when on earth as he gathered his followers, put reality to this vision. Today we pray that Jesus’ vision of the kingdom will be formed in London through us. We know that the Kingdom will some day come in completeness.

“You stiff-necked people! Your hearts and ears are still uncircumcised. You are just like your ancestors: You always resist the Holy Spirit! Was there ever a prophet your ancestors did not persecute? They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous One. And now you have betrayed and murdered him— you who have received the law that was given through angels but have not obeyed it.”

When the members of the Sanhedrin heard this, they were furious and gnashed their teeth at him. But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.”

At this they covered their ears and, yelling at the top of their voices, they all rushed at him, dragged him out of the city and began to stone him.

- Acts 7:51-58

In Matthew’s account of Jesus’ trial, the high priest demands that Jesus state plainly whether he is the Messiah. Jesus first gives an ambiguous response—“That’s what you say”—as if to hint, “If you’re asking the question, perhaps you already see something.” If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… Then Jesus goes further: “From now on you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven.” That statement pushes the high priest over the edge. He tears his robe in outrage. For him, this isn’t just a rebel speaking - it’s blasphemy. Case closed.

At Stephen’s trial, it’s the same claim that lights the fuse: “I see the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” That vision seals his fate just as it did Jesus’.

Across much of Scripture, “son of man” simply means “human.” But Daniel 7 uses the phrase in a unique way. Daniel dreams of the beast-like kingdoms of the world - violent, arrogant powers - being judged before God. Then a human figure, “one like a son of man,” is brought into God’s presence and given everlasting authority. The dream isn’t about an ordinary human king; it’s about The Human, entrusted with divine rule over all creation.

Israel longed for a Messiah as an earthly king, someone who would lead Israel to political and military renewal. But Daniel’s vision points beyond that hope. Jesus’ claim isn’t merely, “I am the Messiah.” It is, “I am the Son of Man who shares the authority of the Ancient of Days.” Stephen’s vision confirms that Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension were not the end of his mission but his enthronement—not as a symbolic ruler or “king of our hearts” but as Lord over everything.

Suffering comes to all of us. When it does, Stephen’s story reminds us what sustained him. He saw a reality more solid than the stones and curses around him: Jesus, the Son of Man, reigning. It's not politicians, populists, influencers, despots, bankers, generals, judges or tech-entrepreneurs that are in control. Jesus, the Son of Man, is on the throne.

I will proclaim the Lord’s decree:

He said to me, “You are my son;
today I have become your father.
Ask me,
and I will make the nations your inheritance,
the ends of the earth your possession.
You will break them with a rod of iron;
you will dash them to pieces like pottery.”

Therefore, you kings, be wise;
be warned, you rulers of the earth.
Serve the Lord with fear
and celebrate his rule with trembling.
— Psalm 2:7–11

You may have had the experience of tracking a parcel obsessively: “Out for delivery,” “Delayed,” “Arriving by 9pm”… You check the window, the drive, the door. When it finally arrives, you’re almost surprised the waiting is over. And sometimes the parcel is even better than expected — sturdier, more beautiful, more fitting than what you ordered.

This Advent, we’re exploring Isaiah 9:6 (“to us a child is born, to us a son is given”) and the titles given to Jesus: Son of God, Son of Man, Son of David. These titles expand our vision beyond the sentimental Christmas image of a baby in a manger. This child is fully God, fully human, and the humble, merciful, and just King.

They also speak to the longing that shapes this time of year. As children, we long for Christmas Day; as adults, we long for life to be better, fuller, more whole. Scripture shows we’re not alone. Abraham lived his life clinging to God’s promise of a land he never fully saw. His only piece was a burial plot — a tiny “first instalment” of a much bigger future. Yet he lived forward, trusting God’s word.

Generations later, Israel’s kings were called “sons of God,” appointed to rule with justice. But reality fell short: weak kings, a fragile nation, hopes that never materialised. Still, the prophets urged the people to keep looking for the true King, the true Son of God.

By Mary’s day, hope was low. Rome ruled, leaders were compromised, and God’s people longed for deliverance. Into this comes the angel’s announcement: a child will be born, the Son of God — fulfilling God’s ancient promise and the longing of generations. The “tracked parcel” finally arrives, and the reality surpasses the expectation.

Jesus isn’t just another king. He inherits the nations, reigns forever, and fulfils every longing at its deepest level.

So what does Advent call us to today?

• Don’t be surprised by longing — it keeps our eyes lifted to God’s future.
• Don’t despise small beginnings — God often works quietly and humbly.
• Let Jesus reshape your expectations — the greatest gift God gives is Himself.
• Look forward with hope — Christ has come, and Christ will come again.

“You shall not covet your neighbour’s house.
You shall not covet your neighbour’s wife,
or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey,
or anything that belongs to your neighbour.”
— Exodus 20:17

Jealousy rarely makes our “top ten” sins. We say we’re tired, stressed, skint… but we don’t often say, “I’m jealous.” Yet the tenth commandment drags this quiet sin into the light: “You shall not covet…” because God cares not just about what we do, but about the inner weather of our hearts.

On Sunday we looked at coveting through the story of Cain and Abel, a family drama that becomes the Bible’s first crime scene. Cain can’t cope when God looks with favour on Abel’s offering, and jealousy slowly grows: comparison, resentment, refusal to listen… until it spills over into violence. God warns him, “Sin is crouching at your door,” and that same warning comes to us whenever envy lurks in our scrolling, our workplaces, and even our churches.

But the Bible doesn’t leave us with Cain. Hebrews speaks of “the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel”: the blood of Jesus. At the cross, Jesus is crushed under a world full of envy and rivalry, and yet his blood cries out not “guilty!” but “forgiven… new start… beloved.” In him our worth is no longer set by salary, status, relationship or success, but by the Father’s unshakeable love.

So how do we live free of jealousy in an age of constant comparison? We learn to bring envy into the light in honest confession, to actively bless the people we’re tempted to see as rivals, to practise simple, contented lives, and to walk closely with one another in community. By the Spirit, God slowly reorders our loves until we can look at others’ good gifts without fear, because in Christ we have all we need.