Author: Matt Fricker

There is an interesting story recorded in Mark 1:23–26 and Luke 4:33–35, about Jesus suppressing the news about who He really was. 

The sun had barely set when there was a knock on the door of Andrew and Peter’s home. When Peter opened it, he was confronted by a large crowd of people. It seemed as if the whole town was gathered, eager to see the teacher. Word had spread like wild fire about what had happened at the synagogue earlier that day. 

Jesus had been there, teaching with an authority that amazed all who heard him, but he had caused quite a stir when he cast a demon out of a man. As Jesus was speaking, the demon manifested itself and demanded to know what Jesus wanted. 

“What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!”

Jesus responded sharply. “Silence! Come out of this man!”

At once the demon violently left the man and retreated, shrieking as it went. 

All who witnessed the event were amazed. 

So now, the people of Capernaum were at the home of Andrew and Peter with their sick family members and friends. Jesus met with them late into the night and many people were healed. 

They also brought those who were spiritually troubled and Jesus drove many demons away. But he would not let the demons speak, on account of them knowing who he was. 

There are a few reasons Jesus doesn’t want the full revelation of who He really is to be public knowledge, but first and foremost is the fact that he understood that His Father was working to a plan—a plan that could not be rushed. 

I wonder, how often do we try to push God’s agenda forward because it suits our schedule? 

Prayer

Father, guide me in the paths of wisdom when it comes to the plans you have for me. 

Jesus, continue to shape me into your likeness, my thoughts, my words, my actions.

Holy Spirit, thank you for your ever present comfort, guidance and leading. Amen.

Image Credit: Courtesy of Lumo Project Films

In the beginning.

Before the ticking of the first clock—before time itself—there was only The Echo. It did not bounce off walls, for there were no walls. It did not travel through the air, for there was no atmosphere. It emanated from within the heart of the silence, loaded with an astonishingly beautiful potential.

Let there be light. 

In that very moment—at the utterance of those first divine words—the silence split apart. Not a violent collision of matter or the big bang of a cosmic explosion, but by a breath, a spoken intent.

The Echo took form. It pushed out into the absolute nothingness of the dark, an energised narrative that shattered the void. 

Where the Word traveled, reality took form. 

The Word spoke stars—and trillions of burning spheres ignited in the deep, cold expanse. 

The Word spoke waters and land—and oceans rushed into existence, cradling a brand-new earth. 

Every blade of grass, every mighty tree, every living creature that roams the face of the earth, each a syllable perfectly spoken.

The Word spoke humanity—and the image of the Creative One Himself was brought to life from the very dust of the ground, man and woman.  

It was as if the universe was a grand poem, and the Word was the voice that read it aloud.

Centuries rolled by, the poem grew complex. The voices of humanity became loud, a discordant static of grief, ambition, and broken promises. 

They forgot the language of the garden. They forgot how to hear the Word in the rustle of the leaves, or the turning of the tides, or the roar of a waterfall, or the soft whisper of the wind. 

The world grew cold, cloaked in a different kind of darkness—not the empty dark before creation—but a heavy, blind darkness of the soul.

The Word watched. 

The same Word that had stretched the canvas of the cosmos, now looked upon a dimming planet. But The Echo was not lost. 

In a quiet stable, in a forgotten town called Bethlehem, the  ancient narrative was re-born. 

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

The infinite, boundless Voice that had spoken galaxies into existence gathered itself into a tiny, fragile space. The Eternal Echo that spoke all that exists into reality was now heard in the soft, humble cry of a newborn baby.

He was in the world, and though the world was made through Him, the world did not recognise Him.

As He grew, He walked the dusty roads of the very earth His own speech had shaped. When He spoke, the old poetry of Genesis rippled through the air. To the stormy sea, He whispered, “Peace, be still,” and the waters remembered the voice that had separated them from the dry land on the third day. 

To a man born blind, He spat on the ground and made mud, applying it to his eyes, a deliberate Echo of the day He had formed humanity from the dust of the ground.

And to his friend—recently deceased and buried in a tomb of stone—he spoke words of life, “Lazarus, come out!“

He was the Light shinning in the darkness, and the darkness could not overcome Him.

And then, on a Friday afternoon, stretched out on a beam of wood cut from a tree His own voice had sustained, the Word prepared to speak His final line.

The sun stood still, the earth shook, and a thick and suffocating darkness hovered over the threshold of all creation, mimicking the void before that first day long ago.

He breathed out a single, definitive phrase, “It is finished.”

Then the Word fell silent. 

He was laid in a tomb, carved into the stone of the earth He had made. For three days, the cosmos held its breath. The poem seemed to have ended in a tragedy.

But a Word spoken by the Divine cannot return void.

On the dawn of the first day of the week, an new Echo was heard through the garden. The stone rolled away, and with the quiet power of a new creation bursting forth, the Word stepped out into the morning sun. As it was in the beginning, the darkness was banished by the light, and the Word of Life breathed once again on all creation. 

The Echo is alive!

And if you dare to listen—if you have ears to hear— you will hear it calling out new names, speaking new life into existence. 

The Story is not ended—it is still being told. 

Image credit: Echoes of Grace, Matt Fricker

All eyes were fixed on the hole in the side of the hill. Some in the crowd that had gathered were murmuring and whispering. Most stood silent, the words of Jesus still echoing in their minds. 

“LAZARUS, COME OUT!”

The air was thick with anticipation. 

And then he appeared, still wrapped in his burial shroud. Jesus instructed some of those standing near by, “Unwrap him, and let him go!”

Many of the people who had come out with Mary and Martha to mourn with them, when they saw Lazarus alive, believed who Jesus was. But some were troubled, and went to the Pharisees to tell them what Jesus had done. 

Imagine, if you can, spending your whole life putting your faith and hope in the teachings and traditions of your trusted elders and leaders, only to witness for yourself something so profound that it rocks your whole belief system. Would you be suspicious? Confused and thrown off balance? Would you even be able to accept what you had just seen with your own eyes? You might even feel angry. 

Who is this man? And how is he able to do that which only God can do? This is a very important question to ponder—perhaps the most important question of all. 

In that moment—when the realisation of what you have experienced hits you—I wonder if you might allow the gift that is the reframing of your reality to reform and re-story your understanding of who Jesus really is. 

Prayer: Father, in the middle of all that’s going on in my life — the grief, the busyness, the fear, the questions — I choose to run to you today. I know you have something to show me and that there’s more of you to know. Expand the borders of my heart and fill in the black and white spaces of my theology with the beautiful colours of new life.

Prayer excerpt from the Lectio 365 app, courtesy of 24-7 Prayer.

Image credit: Courtesy of Lumo Project Films

Story from Matthew 15 and Mark 7

The number of people gathering outside the modest villa on the coast was growing by the minute. 

People from all over Tyre and Sidon had heard that a Jewish Rabbi who had healing powers had snuck into town. In the midst of all the noise and commotion, a Greek woman was making her way through the crowd. Suddenly, there he was. 

She threw herself onto the floor at his feet, not daring to look at his face. For a moment time stood still. She could see his sandals and his feet, and the edge of his robe was just centimetres from her trembling fingers. The room fell silent as the dust settled. This was her moment, the one she had been waiting for since she had first heard about him. 

The words barley passed over her lips, “Please Lord, my daughter has an unclean spirit in her. Will you come and drive it away. I beg of you.” 

Still looking at the healers feet, she waited to hear his reply. He didn’t answer her. The disciples urged Jesus to send her away.

Finally he spoke, “I must feed the children first-my own family, the Jews. It wouldn’t be right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

His words were sharp and to the point and it was clear to everyone in the room that she had made a big mistake coming here. 

But the woman slowly got to her knees and looked at the rabbi. His face was kind and when he looked at her, she felt as though he could see into her soul. She could see that he was different. There was something about this man that caused her heart to fill with hope. But he had denied her request. 

And so, mustering all her courage, she replied, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs under the table get to  eat the children’s crumbs.”

You could almost hear the people in the room draw a collective breath and for a moment, the woman wondered what he might say next. She didn’t have to wait long.

A slight smile spread across the rabbi’s face as he looked down at the woman kneeling before him, “You have spoken wisely. Return to your home. Your daughter is free of the spirit that troubled her.”

The woman returned to her home to find her daughter laying on her bed, totally well and happy. Jesus had restored her body, mind and spirit and she was whole once again. The woman had her little girl back. 

Prayer
Father, thank you that your mercy is so vast, and your power so great, that even the smallest crumb of your grace is more than enough to heal our brokenness, cast out our fears, and renew our lives.

A story based on my reflection of events that take place between Mark chapters 4 and 5

The lightning cast long shadows on the back of the small cave and the howling wind drove big drops of rain onto the weathered face of the man huddled inside. Storms like this were not uncommon over the lake, growing quickly in the heat of the late afternoon, but this storm was particularly nasty. 

As the man looked out over the lake from the shelter of his cave, he could see the dim light of a boat lantern as it rose and fell on the pitching waves. He wondered to himself who it might be. Fisherman probably, caught out by the rapidly developing storm that had swept over them. As the man drifted in and out of sleep, his eyes struggled to focus on the distant light. His mind was shattered by the constant torment in his head and his body ached. 

Suddenly, he was jolted awake. There was a disturbance in his spirit and his eyes came quickly into focus. It looked like a wave… except this wave was spreading out from the centre of the lake in every direction… and in the middle was the small boat. The lantern was still, the water calm, and before he could work out what was going on, the storm had all but dissipated. For a moment he thought he was dreaming, but then he felt the tension in his body rise, a sensation he had felt many times before. 

Legion wasn’t happy. 

Image credit: Ai-generated image by Matt Fricker

This is a story about a man who knew what isolation was all about. Forced to quarantine so he didn’t contaminate others, he lived his life on the edges of society, cut off from his family and his community. He wandered the dusty roads between the towns and villages, spending his days scrounging for food and water, begging on the mercy of others, and longing for a miracle. As each day passed, he slipped further and further into despair and  hopelessness.

The story begins in Capernaum, a small fishing village located on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. An amazing thing had just taken place in the home of Simon and Andrew, who were brothers. Simon’s mother-in-law had been laid up in bed with a fever, and when Jesus heard about it, he went to her bedside, took her by the hand, and healed her. News spread quickly, because by night fall, the whole town has gathered outside the door. 

That night, Jesus healed many who were sick, and he drove out many demons.

Early the next morning, Jesus went out to find a quiet place to pray. It wasn’t long before Simon and some others went looking for him. In fact, there was a large crowd of people also looking for him, so Jesus said to Simon and those with him, “Let’s go to all the neighbouring villages, so that I might preach there also. After all, this is why I came. This is what I was sent for.” 

So that’s exactly what they did. Jesus went from village to village throughout the region of Galilee, preaching in the synagogues, healing the sick, and driving out demons. 

Then one day, they had an unexpected encounter. Up ahead on the road, a lonely figure appeared. At first it was difficult to tell who it was through the haze, but as they drew closer, they could see that it was a man. He was dressed in ragged clothes and had scruffy, unkempt hair. Was he a traveller, a beggar, a bandit? Was he alone? 

The disciples were cautious—hesitant to get too close—but the man kept coming towards them. Their worst fears were realised when they saw his skin. He was a leper!

He was supposed to keep a distance of fifty paces and call out to warn any travellers on the road that he was unclean, but he did none of that. Instead, he came right up to Jesus and fell to his knees, uttering the words, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

For a moment, the disciples were not sure how their master was going to react, but Jesus was deeply stirred by what he saw, and what he did next caught all of them by surprise. 

He reached out and placed his hand on the man before him. “I am willing. Be clean!”

At that very instant, the skin disease that had plagued the man vanished. He was healed. 

Jesus was quick to dismiss the man with these instructions;

“Don’t tell anyone about this. Instead, go to the priest and let him examine you. Take along the offering required in the law of Moses for those who have been healed of leprosy. This will be a public testimony that you have been cleansed.”

The man, unable to contain his joy at being made well, told anyone who would listen what had happened to him. The news spread throughout the region like wild fire and it became harder and harder for Jesus to enter into any village, on account of the vast number of people who were now seeking him out.  

Story compiled from Matthew 8:2-4, Mark 1:40-45, Luke 5:12-16

A couple of observations:

Let’s look more closely at what is going on in this interaction with the leper. 

Matt 8:2—“Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

In the Bible, leprosy was a broad term that covered many types of skin disease, and even though we don’t know exactly what form of skin disease this man had, we do know what the consequences of having it were. According to the Law given to Moses, anyone with a skin disease had to isolate themselves from the wider community. 

Forced to live in special camps beyond the city walls, lepers were not allowed to come within 2 metres of another person, and if the wind was blowing, they were not allowed within 50 paces of another person. They had to warn anyone who might approach them by calling out ‘unclean’ and they had to cover their mouth. 

If you read through Numbers Ch5 and Leviticus Ch’s 13-14, you will begin to get a picture of what life for someone with leprosy might be like; If you discovered a skin infection, you had to isolate outside the city walls for seven days. If you were lucky, your condition would clear up within seven days and you could present yourself to the priest, offer the prescribed sacrifice, and be declared clean. You would be good to go.

But if your condition continued, or worsened, you faced the possibility of a lifetime of isolation—and not just social isolation. 

As someone declared unclean, you were not allowed to enter the temple or synagogue. You were effectively cut off from any aspect of worship. 

So it’s interesting to take note of what the leper is actually asking Jesus to do for him, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” 

To be made clean means more than just being healed. In fact, the word translated as clean has a four fold meaning—a meaning not lost on Matthew’s audience— and Matthew uses it intentionally in this way in this passage. 

As well as physical healing, it has the idea of ceremonial purification, the return to fellowship with people, and the freedom to worship in the temple. In other words, wholeness. 

But what catches my attention in this story is how the leper asks… “Lord, if you are willing…”

Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a passive, half-hearted request. “Hey Jesus, Iv’e got this little problem I’m hoping you can help me with. But if not, that’s OK, I’ll just continue to deal with it on my own. Sorry to bother you.”

Matthew says he knelt before Jesus and asked—Mark says he knelt before Jesus and begged—Luke says he fell facedown and begged.  

Either way, the intention is clear. Here is a man who knows he can’t help himself. In fact, he knows that in all likelihood, no-one can help him.  So why has he come to Jesus? 

What has he seen? What has he heard? Who does he think this Jesus is?

That question is exactly why Matthew places this story where it is, directly after the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew wants to show his audience—and us—that the Kingdom of God is not only near, it has arrived. 

Through Jesus, the wholeness of Heaven is touching the brokenness of Earth.

Whether by faith or sheer desperation, or both, this man with a serious skin disease has come to Jesus because he believes, with all his heart, that Jesus can restore him to wholeness.  

“Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.” 

To Matthew’s Jewish readers, this is a powerful statement of intent—a reminder of who Jesus really is—because in their experience, tradition, and belief, only God can heal someone of leprosy. In fact, it was placed in the same category of miracles as raising someone from the dead. 

But what Jesus actually did goes much further than just bringing wholeness and restoration to a desperate man. By reaching out and touching him, Jesus demonstrates not only his authority and his power, but his love. 

In a society turned upside down by war, escalating crime, and splintering religious factions, many Jewish people—whether traditional or converts to Christianity—would have felt isolated. 

Its important to remember that Matthew is writing to a predominantly Jewish Christian audience, a community that was encountering new issues during a time of both social and political reconstruction after the first revolt against Roman rule (around 66AD) and the subsequent war that lasted 4 or so years.

During that time, vast numbers of Jewish people fled Jerusalem and Judaea and moved north, settling in Galilee and the surrounding areas. By the end of that 4 year war, the city of Jerusalem had been severely damaged, crime was rampant, and the temple itself had been destroyed.

The loss of the temple created a religious vacuum. People felt as though God had abandoned them—or that He was punishing them—and everyone was asking the question, “What does it even look like to be Jewish now?”

Interestingly, it was exactly during this period of chaos that the Pharisees would rise to become the new dominant force in the reconstruction of Jewish life and religious practice. This was the new age of the Rabbi. As the teachers of Jewish tradition and the interpreters of Torah and Law, it was this group who would come into conflict with the growing Jewish Christian community. 

It’s into this social and political turmoil that Matthew delivers his Gospel. He is writing to persuade them—to remind them—that Jesus of Nazareth was in fact the promised, and long-awaited for, Messiah.

Through this story—and the ones Matthew places next to it—we see a tangible demonstration of God’s love for those who are isolated, cut off, and living on blurred lines. 

So what are the implications for us as the church? What might this story be telling us about our role in the current age? An age of increasing isolation, an age of polarising ideologies, the new age of the meta-verse. 

Personally, I find myself left standing with this question…. Am I willing? 

Am I willing to actively participate in what God is wanting to do in this age—the period of history between Jesus’ ascension and his return. 

Am I willing to proactively love those around me in a tangible way that demonstrates God’s love for them?

Am I willing to reach out and touch—to embrace, to hold, to walk alongside—those in our community who are isolated. 

Prayer
Jesus, move in power across our world. Stretch out your hand to heal, restore, and reveal your glory.

Image credit: Courtesy of Lumo Project Films

A first person account of the story found in John 2.

The wedding feast was well under way and the guests were enjoying themselves as they danced and sang and celebrated with the groom and his new bride. As I moved through the crowd, filling cups and serving food, I noticed that one particular guest was at the centre of a group of people, who were in the middle of an animated discussion. I moved closer to see what was going on.

The man at the centre, a Rabbi I think, had been invited to the wedding along with his mother and his followers. I arrived just in time to hear him telling his mother, “Dear woman, that’s not our concern. And besides, My time has not yet come.”

At first I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but it soon became clear that they were discussing the fact that the wine had all but run out. I felt embarrassed for the groom.

Then, without warning, the woman turned to me and said, “Do whatever my son tells you!” By this time, some of the other servants had joined me, and the Rabbi instructed us to fill the five stone urns that were nearby with water. These urns were usually used for ceremonial washing rituals and they varied in size. The smaller ones held about 75 litres of water while the bigger ones about 113 litres of water. So we set off to fetch all the water we needed to fill the urns. To and from the well we went until all five were filled to the very brim. 

Once that was done, the Rabbi said to us, “Now fill a cup from one of the urns and take it to the master of ceremonies.” 

So I took a cup and dipped it into the urn, careful not to spill any. As I did, I saw something that I will never forget — the water had turned into wine! I immediately went to find the master of ceremonies. He looked at me for a moment, then took the cup from my hand and tasted it. The look of surprise on his face was priceless and he rushed off to find the groom.

“A host always serves the best wine first, then, when everyone has had a lot to drink, he brings out the less expensive wine. But you — you have kept the best until now!” 

Neither the groom nor the master of ceremonies knew where this good wine had come from, but I did. Whoever this Rabbi was, he had brought great joy and blessing to the groom and his new bride. This was going to be a wedding feast that would be remembered for years to come. 

Personal Reflections

As I sat in this story, a few things jumped out for me…

The first thing that caught my attention was the idea that Jesus had the servants fill the stone water jars to the brim. This is not something that I can say I have ever noticed before. Now I’m not sure of His reasoning for doing this, but it occurred to me that by filling them to absolutely full, there was no way someone could accuse Jesus of sneaking something in. The other thing that stood out for me here was the amount of work involved in filling six stone jars. The story tells us that these were the kind of water jars used for Jewish ceremonial washing, each holding 2 or 3 measures (20-30 gallons or75-113 litres). That’s between 450 and 678 litres in total and that’s going to take some effort!

In the story, we hear Jesus’ mother tell the servants (plural – implying more than one) to do whatever her son tells them to do. So even if there were three servants, each servant would have to carry 150-226 litres each! How far away was the well? And how many trips back and forth did it take? We just don’t know, but either way, it required some effort. 

In a world that demands instant results, fast and efficient service and tap and go convenience; I am reminded that doing the work that Jesus sets before me will take time, effort and perseverance. 

As I reflected on this, I sensed the Spirit reminding me about my own ‘call’ to the work Jesus places before me. The truth is, I can only bring water and I must bring it in faith — not skimping or short changing — but filling the jars to the brim. That is all I am called to do. What Jesus does with that water is up to Him. 

One of the questions that came out of my time in this story was this; What is it about this generous, extravagant act that reveals God’s Glory? I’m not sure I can fully answer that just yet. Having said that, I was surprised to discover how this story plays out when you look at it from the Grooms perspective. 

For the most part, he has nothing to do with what is going on in this story, other than it is his wedding where it takes place. Yet, when you think about it, as far as the wedding guests are concerned, he is the hero of the story. It is the Groom who has invited the guests. It is the Groom who is hosting the banquet. It is the Groom who has blessed his guests with an extravagant surprise and a generous gesture. You see, as far as the guests are concerned, the Groom is the one who has saved the best for last. By serving the best wine later, he not only adds joy to the festivities, but he blesses his guests by honouring them as worthy recipients. 

I wonder, if like me on occasion, he had a moment of imposter syndrome? What if the guests find out this act of generosity is not my doing? What if the people around me discover what I’m really like? What if people expect greater things from me in the future? 

As I reflect on these questions and their implications in my own experience, I find myself drawn once again into the safe place that is God’s Grace in my life. I am reminded, once again, that it is He that lives in me that accomplishes His purposes through me.

This is good — not because it offers me an excuse to justify my lack of faith or fear of failure — but because it confirms that God’s Grace in my life is all I need. It is sufficient. Again, what he does with the water I bring in faith is entirely up to him. When people are blessed because of what I do or say, that is His work in and through me. I am not an imposter; I am simply a faithful servant doing what I have been asked. As I look back over the years, I can see quite clearly those times when I was happy to accept this position with humility. I can also see those time when I did not. 

One other aspect of this story that really caught my attention was the nature of the wine and what it might represent. When the master of ceremonies tasted the wine that Jesus had provided, he commended the Groom on saving the best for last. What Jesus has done here is astounding. Think about it.

This is not cheap wine made good — not something old made new or better — but something altogether new that surpasses the old. 

I am still processing what this means for me, but I have a suspicion. It seems to me that God is using this current time to prepare His Church for the new season that is unfolding and I also can’t help but wonder if God is planning to reveal His Glory in a new and wonderful way. 

A Kingdom of generous outpouring that brings joy and blessing. Not sure what that is going to look like — but I’m keen to be a part of it. 

Image credit: Pixels