<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:podcast="https://podcastindex.org/namespace/1.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/">
	<channel>
		<title><![CDATA[Devotions]]></title>
		<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love</link>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>&#xA9; </copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>Mon, 22 Jun 2026 20:53:35 +0000</lastBuildDate>
		<generator>PodPoint: Podcasting for Churches and Ministries</generator>
		<ttl>360</ttl>
		<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[The Good News, quietly shared.]]></itunes:subtitle>
		<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
		<itunes:summary><![CDATA[Simple Christian messages, offered without the noise.

​If you are neurodivergent, navigating family life with complex needs, carrying hurt from past church experiences, or simply tired of the pressure to perform—this space is for you. For anyone who has ever felt they didn't quite fit into traditional pews: you have a place here.

​Pax et Bonum — Peace and the Good.
Amen.]]></itunes:summary>
		<description><![CDATA[Simple Christian messages, offered without the noise.

​If you are neurodivergent, navigating family life with complex needs, carrying hurt from past church experiences, or simply tired of the pressure to perform—this space is for you. For anyone who has ever felt they didn't quite fit into traditional pews: you have a place here.

​Pax et Bonum — Peace and the Good.
Amen.]]></description>
		<itunes:owner>
			<itunes:name><![CDATA[David Holdsworth Ministries]]></itunes:name>
			<itunes:email>davidholdsworth@ymail.com</itunes:email>
		</itunes:owner>
		<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/podcasts/images/large/22dcf89121e5ad718c97a5e9baa415d1.png" />
		<itunes:category text="Religion &amp; Spirituality">
			<itunes:category text="Christianity" />
		</itunes:category>
		<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
		<podcast:locked>no</podcast:locked>
		<podcast:guid>4c4035b4-cb98-559c-bec5-9ba91f09f87a</podcast:guid>
		<podcast:txt>824630351172a5a1371416ea6c143caf</podcast:txt>
		<itunes:type>episodic</itunes:type>
		<atom:link href="https://media.podpoint.com/feed/11888" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
								<item>
				<title><![CDATA[My Christian Testimony]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[My Christian Testimony (recorded before 2023).]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[My Christian Testimony (recorded before 2023).]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[My Christian Testimony (recorded before 2023).]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/podcasts/images/full/22dcf89121e5ad718c97a5e9baa415d1.png" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/3186a9eacf7003d36d53e869e1893982.mp3" length="6636492" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/3186a9eacf7003d36d53e869e1893982.mp3</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/my-christian-testimony</link>
				<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2026 00:45:29 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>06:55</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[Take Heart]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[There are many good Catechisms available. But, somewhere along the line Christians in many parts of the church at large seem to have lost this age old practice of simple instruction in the format of questions and answers. In no way is this little contribu]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[There are many good Catechisms available. But, somewhere along the line Christians in many parts of the church at large seem to have lost this age old practice of simple instruction in the format of questions and answers. In no way is this little contribution meant to take away from good Catechisms already written, but rather to be a compliment to them. This is a simple way for me to share the good news with others. It is my hope that you the reader or listener may find biblical help from the simplicity of the good news.]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[There are many good Catechisms available. But, somewhere along the line Christians in many parts of the church at large seem to have lost this age old practice of simple instruction in the format of questions and answers. In no way is this little contribution meant to take away from good Catechisms already written, but rather to be a compliment to them. This is a simple way for me to share the good news with others. It is my hope that you the reader or listener may find biblical help from the simplicity of the good news.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/91238c49848bba31104065a7c8b69f1e.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/2e960d8520077d584368de2112fa27cf.mp3" length="2743491" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/2e960d8520077d584368de2112fa27cf.mp3</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/take-heart</link>
				<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2026 00:45:15 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>06:10</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[I am Autistic and that is OK]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA["...I don't believe this is a disorder, disease or demon. It is merely a difference, a neurodivergence. If people do wish to pray things away, may it be abelism in our society that they turn the fight against..."]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA["...I don't believe this is a disorder, disease or demon. It is merely a difference, a neurodivergence. If people do wish to pray things away, may it be abelism in our society that they turn the fight against..."]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA["...I don't believe this is a disorder, disease or demon. It is merely a difference, a neurodivergence. If people do wish to pray things away, may it be abelism in our society that they turn the fight against..."]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/podcasts/images/full/22dcf89121e5ad718c97a5e9baa415d1.png" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/42a9a3ec251ee09aa6384744644dbaff.mp3" length="2120861" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/42a9a3ec251ee09aa6384744644dbaff.mp3</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/i-am-autistic-and-that-is-ok</link>
				<pubDate>Sun, 31 May 2026 00:44:59 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>02:13</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[Muddy Message in Spring: An Invitation]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[March, April, May Edition Dear friends in Christ, ​Welcome. ​This space exists for one reason: love — the love of God poured out in Jesus Christ, the love we are called to extend to one another, and to the world. ​There are many voices clamouring]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[March, April, May Edition

Dear friends in Christ,
​Welcome.
​This space exists for one reason:
love —
the love of God poured out in Jesus Christ,
the love we are called to extend to one another,
and to the world.
​There are many voices clamouring for our attention right now. The world is fast, loud, and full of heavy demands. But here, you will find the rhythm of just one heart seeking to follow the way of Love.
​Welcome to The Muddy Pioneer. This is Episode Zero: How I Walk — An Invitation to the Unhurried Path.
​As a pioneer minister leading a "muddy church" walking fellowship here in Scotland, my ministry doesn't happen behind heavy oak doors, under artificial lights, or within rigid institutional walls. It happens out on the paths, under the open sky, and in the quiet, unpolished spaces of creation. Together, we learn to walk at a slower, more natural pace. This is a faith rooted not in religious tradition for its own sake, but in the living, active, self-giving love at the heart of the Gospel.
​Before we journey together through the seasons down the trail, I wanted to lay out a bit of a Muddy Church manifesto—the three truths that have become my baseline anchors on this path.
​Anchor One: The Living Word
​First, the Living Word. Jesus Christ is God manifest in the flesh. Apart from Him, the true God cannot be fully known. In Jesus, we don't see a God of condemnation or distance; we see the face of a God who is Love, and whose Gospel is the organic path of Peace.
​Anchor Two: The Gift of Grace
​Second, the Gift of Grace. I believe with all my heart that salvation is found by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. To me, this means grace is a total gift — entirely unearned, freely given, and deeply life-changing.
​You do not have to perform here. You do not have to mask your struggles, achieve a certain standard, or pretend to be someone you are not just to be held by God. His grace is as free, open, and unconditional as the fresh air we breathe when we step outside.
​Anchor Three: The Way of Love
​And third, the Way of Love. It is our joy and our calling to follow Him. Though we stumble frequently through our human frailty and our messy lives, our compass remains firmly set toward holiness.
​We simply hold to the Golden Rule: to love God, and to love one another — even our enemies. This is the active, lived, muddy faith that has the power to heal a fractured world.
​These are the pillars of my path. I invite you to sit with them for a moment, perhaps take them on a physical walk today, and ask yourself: how is Love calling you forward right now?
​Beyond the theology, I want to be completely transparent with you. Here are ten things that help define who I am, how I minister, and how I walk through this world:
​I am neurodivergent — Autistic. I see the intricate, beautiful, interconnected patterns of God's creation through a unique lens, and I deeply appreciate low-sensory, quiet spaces where the soul can finally breathe.
​I am a follower of Jesus. He is my North Star — or more accurately, the bright Morning Star.
​I am a seeker of Peace. I stand firmly with the Red Letter Christians and the peacemakers of this world.
​I dwell in Scotland. My faith and my pioneer ministry are deeply nourished by these rugged landscapes, the changing weather, and the ancient paths of the Celtic saints.
​I find the Divine in the ordinary, the muddy, the unpolished, and the overlooked.
​I am a poet. I capture my t...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[March, April, May Edition

Dear friends in Christ,
​Welcome.
​This space exists for one reason:
love —
the love of God poured out in Jesus Christ,
the love we are called to extend to one another,
and to the world.
​There are many voices clamouring for our attention right now. The world is fast, loud, and full of heavy demands. But here, you will find the rhythm of just one heart seeking to follow the way of Love.
​Welcome to The Muddy Pioneer. This is Episode Zero: How I Walk — An Invitation to the Unhurried Path.
​As a pioneer minister leading a "muddy church" walking fellowship here in Scotland, my ministry doesn't happen behind heavy oak doors, under artificial lights, or within rigid institutional walls. It happens out on the paths, under the open sky, and in the quiet, unpolished spaces of creation. Together, we learn to walk at a slower, more natural pace. This is a faith rooted not in religious tradition for its own sake, but in the living, active, self-giving love at the heart of the Gospel.
​Before we journey together through the seasons down the trail, I wanted to lay out a bit of a Muddy Church manifesto—the three truths that have become my baseline anchors on this path.
​Anchor One: The Living Word
​First, the Living Word. Jesus Christ is God manifest in the flesh. Apart from Him, the true God cannot be fully known. In Jesus, we don't see a God of condemnation or distance; we see the face of a God who is Love, and whose Gospel is the organic path of Peace.
​Anchor Two: The Gift of Grace
​Second, the Gift of Grace. I believe with all my heart that salvation is found by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. To me, this means grace is a total gift — entirely unearned, freely given, and deeply life-changing.
​You do not have to perform here. You do not have to mask your struggles, achieve a certain standard, or pretend to be someone you are not just to be held by God. His grace is as free, open, and unconditional as the fresh air we breathe when we step outside.
​Anchor Three: The Way of Love
​And third, the Way of Love. It is our joy and our calling to follow Him. Though we stumble frequently through our human frailty and our messy lives, our compass remains firmly set toward holiness.
​We simply hold to the Golden Rule: to love God, and to love one another — even our enemies. This is the active, lived, muddy faith that has the power to heal a fractured world.
​These are the pillars of my path. I invite you to sit with them for a moment, perhaps take them on a physical walk today, and ask yourself: how is Love calling you forward right now?
​Beyond the theology, I want to be completely transparent with you. Here are ten things that help define who I am, how I minister, and how I walk through this world:
​I am neurodivergent — Autistic. I see the intricate, beautiful, interconnected patterns of God's creation through a unique lens, and I deeply appreciate low-sensory, quiet spaces where the soul can finally breathe.
​I am a follower of Jesus. He is my North Star — or more accurately, the bright Morning Star.
​I am a seeker of Peace. I stand firmly with the Red Letter Christians and the peacemakers of this world.
​I dwell in Scotland. My faith and my pioneer ministry are deeply nourished by these rugged landscapes, the changing weather, and the ancient paths of the Celtic saints.
​I find the Divine in the ordinary, the muddy, the unpolished, and the overlooked.
​I am a poet. I capture my thoughts, my processing, and my prayers through free verse.
​I work outdoors. My daily life is spent in an outdoor nursery, teaching and learning under the open sky.
​I advocate for the Different — those the world, and too often the conventional church, passes right by.
​I have a deep heart for those with Additional Support Needs, and those who are healing from religious trauma or church hurt.
​I am not always right. I don't have it all figured out. I am still learning, still walking, and still discovering.
​And above all —
above all —
I believe in Love.
​Because God is Love,
and love is where everything
begins
and ends.
​I hope this introduction helps you find your footing here, whether you are listening from a quiet room, sitting on a bench, or catching these words while out on a muddy path somewhere. If your soul is tired, or if you have been rushing for too long, consider this your official invitation to step off the highway and onto the unhurried path.
​Thank you for walking with me today.
​Pax et Bonum — Peace and Good to you.
​I'm David, The Muddy Pioneer.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/podcasts/images/full/22dcf89121e5ad718c97a5e9baa415d1.png" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/7270f29c8761a0c1c75ce7a02fcae459.m4a" length="8395243" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/7270f29c8761a0c1c75ce7a02fcae459.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/muddy-message-in-spring-an-invitation</link>
				<pubDate>Tue, 26 May 2026 08:38:32 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>05:40</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[Muddy Message in Summer: Grace]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[(Please note this episode references the previous name of the podcast: Above All Love) June, July, August Edition Script: Above All Love A Muddy Church Reflection Episode 1: 🎧 Introduction You: "Hello, and welcome back to Above All Love. I’m so glad]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[(Please note this episode references the previous name of the podcast: Above All Love) 

June, July, August Edition

Script:

Above All Love 

A Muddy Church Reflection
Episode 1: 

🎧 Introduction

You:
"Hello, and welcome back to Above All Love. I’m so glad you’re here with me today.

Today, we’re doing things a little differently. If you are able, I’d love for you to pop your headphones in, put your coat on, and step outside. Find a patch of grass, a local park, or a path into the woods. If you’re at home today and can’t get out, that’s completely okay—just close your eyes and let your imagination walk with me.

As we start, I want you to take a deep breath. Let your shoulders drop. For the next fifteen minutes, you don’t have to achieve anything. You don’t have to prove your worth. You are just here, walking with God—and with the understanding that your good works are already prepared for you by Him."

📖 The Scripture & The Forest Analogy
You:
*"Our focus today is a reminder that we often desperately need to hear, especially when life is heavy and demands are high. It’s from Ephesians 2:8–9:
‘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.’

If you are walking right now, I want you to pause for a second and look around you at the trees. Look up at the canopy, or down at the grass beneath your boots.

Think about how much effort these trees are putting in right now to exist. They aren’t striving. The oak tree isn’t looking at the pine tree, trying to out-work it. The moss on the stone isn’t panicking about its productivity. They simply rest in the soil, drink the rain, and receive the sunlight that is freely given to them.

They exist by grace. And so do you.

But here’s the beautiful part: while we aren’t saved by works, we are created for good works—works that God has already prepared for us to do. Our striving isn’t to earn love or acceptance; it’s to respond to the love and acceptance we’ve already received. The trees don’t grow to prove themselves; they grow because they’re alive, and in their growth, they become part of something greater. So it is with us."

🍃 The Sensory Practice (Nature Connection)
You:
"Let’s try a little invitation together. I want you to look around you and find something that is completely free and completely effortless—something that doesn’t have to do anything to be itself.

Maybe it’s a fallen leaf on the ground, a smooth stone, or a piece of bark. Pick it up and hold it in your hand. Feel the texture of it.

As you hold that object, remember this: nobody manufactured this leaf to earn its place in the woods. God created it, sustains it, and loves it just as it is. And yet, in its stillness, it plays a part in the ecosystem around it. It shelters insects, decomposes to nourish the soil, or crumbles to become part of the earth again.

We live in a world that tells us we are only valuable if we are working, achieving, or climbing ladders. If you are a carer, if you are neurodivergent, or if you are just exhausted, you might feel like you are constantly failing to do enough. But God says: My grace is a gift. You cannot earn it, and the beautiful news is, you don’t have to. And yet, in your rest, you will find that God has already equipped you to bear fruit—fruit that He has prepared for you to produce, not to prove."

🤔 The Wondering Questions
You:
"As we pre...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[(Please note this episode references the previous name of the podcast: Above All Love) 

June, July, August Edition

Script:

Above All Love 

A Muddy Church Reflection
Episode 1: 

🎧 Introduction

You:
"Hello, and welcome back to Above All Love. I’m so glad you’re here with me today.

Today, we’re doing things a little differently. If you are able, I’d love for you to pop your headphones in, put your coat on, and step outside. Find a patch of grass, a local park, or a path into the woods. If you’re at home today and can’t get out, that’s completely okay—just close your eyes and let your imagination walk with me.

As we start, I want you to take a deep breath. Let your shoulders drop. For the next fifteen minutes, you don’t have to achieve anything. You don’t have to prove your worth. You are just here, walking with God—and with the understanding that your good works are already prepared for you by Him."

📖 The Scripture & The Forest Analogy
You:
*"Our focus today is a reminder that we often desperately need to hear, especially when life is heavy and demands are high. It’s from Ephesians 2:8–9:
‘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.’

If you are walking right now, I want you to pause for a second and look around you at the trees. Look up at the canopy, or down at the grass beneath your boots.

Think about how much effort these trees are putting in right now to exist. They aren’t striving. The oak tree isn’t looking at the pine tree, trying to out-work it. The moss on the stone isn’t panicking about its productivity. They simply rest in the soil, drink the rain, and receive the sunlight that is freely given to them.

They exist by grace. And so do you.

But here’s the beautiful part: while we aren’t saved by works, we are created for good works—works that God has already prepared for us to do. Our striving isn’t to earn love or acceptance; it’s to respond to the love and acceptance we’ve already received. The trees don’t grow to prove themselves; they grow because they’re alive, and in their growth, they become part of something greater. So it is with us."

🍃 The Sensory Practice (Nature Connection)
You:
"Let’s try a little invitation together. I want you to look around you and find something that is completely free and completely effortless—something that doesn’t have to do anything to be itself.

Maybe it’s a fallen leaf on the ground, a smooth stone, or a piece of bark. Pick it up and hold it in your hand. Feel the texture of it.

As you hold that object, remember this: nobody manufactured this leaf to earn its place in the woods. God created it, sustains it, and loves it just as it is. And yet, in its stillness, it plays a part in the ecosystem around it. It shelters insects, decomposes to nourish the soil, or crumbles to become part of the earth again.

We live in a world that tells us we are only valuable if we are working, achieving, or climbing ladders. If you are a carer, if you are neurodivergent, or if you are just exhausted, you might feel like you are constantly failing to do enough. But God says: My grace is a gift. You cannot earn it, and the beautiful news is, you don’t have to. And yet, in your rest, you will find that God has already equipped you to bear fruit—fruit that He has prepared for you to produce, not to prove."

🤔 The Wondering Questions
You:
"As we prepare to walk back or finish our quiet time today, I have two wondering questions for you to carry in your heart as you look at the trees:

Where in your life right now are you trying to ‘work’ for love or acceptance, instead of simply receiving it?
As you look at the woods around you, how does it feel to know that God has already prepared good works for you to do—not as a condition of His love, but as a response to it? He lives in these woods, He lives in your heart, and He loves you exactly as you are."

🙏 Closing Prayer

You:
"Let’s pray together.

Father, thank You that Your love is not a ladder we have to climb. Thank You that we don’t have to jump through hoops to be close to You. As we look at the beauty of Your creation, remind our weary hearts that we are saved by grace, not by our own works. And yet, in our rest, show us the good works You have prepared for us to walk in—works that reflect Your love, Your justice, and Your compassion.

Let us rest in Your soil today, and let us rise to serve from a place of gratitude, not obligation. Amen.

Thank You for joining me for Simply Fellowship. Go gently, enjoy your walk, and I’ll meet you here next time."]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/1ac455383ea1d16343b99a020e289832.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/5fc569bd4ec5dc7adfdd11170c68cbdf.m4a" length="7946566" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/5fc569bd4ec5dc7adfdd11170c68cbdf.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/muddy-message-in-summer-grace</link>
				<pubDate>Fri, 22 May 2026 10:30:12 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>05:22</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[Not by Works]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have your theology sorted to be here. You don't need to feel worthy, or confident, or certain of your standing before God. ​You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are rea]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have your theology sorted to be here. You don't need to feel worthy, or confident, or certain of your standing before God.

​You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this — carrying whatever you carry, however long you've been carrying it.

​If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.
​Hymn

​We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

    ​Not the labours of my hands

    Can fulfil thy law's demands;

    Could my zeal no respite know,

    Could my tears for ever flow,

    All for sin could not atone;

    Thou must save, and thou alone.

    ​— Augustus Toplady, Rock of Ages


​Prayer

​Gracious God,

​Thank you that you do not ask us to earn what we could never afford.

​Thank you that the verdict you speak over us in Christ — righteous, beloved, accepted — is not a verdict we worked for, or argued our way to, or deserved by any accumulation of effort or goodness.

​We confess that we still reach for the scorecard sometimes. We still half-believe that we must do something more, be something more, before we are truly welcome.

​Meet us today in the gap between what we have done and what you have done. Let the love of Christ cover it.

​And may we leave this time knowing — not just in our heads, but somewhere deeper — that the gift is already given, and our hands are simply asked to be open.

​Amen.
​Old Testament Anchor

​Before Paul writes his great argument in Romans, a voice from the wilderness of Israel's own history had already heard the same word.

    ​"Come, everyone who is thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which does not satisfy?"

    ​— Isaiah 55:1–2 (ESV)


​This is the heartbeat underneath the whole gospel. The invitation is to those who have nothing. Not those who have almost enough, or who are nearly ready. Those who have no money. Those who are hungry without the means to feed themselves.

​The question that cuts is this: why do you labour for that which does not satisfy?

​Why do you keep reaching for something that will not hold? Why work for a righteousness that will always fall a little short, that will always leave you wondering if you have quite done enough?

​There is bread here. It costs nothing. That is not a bargain — it is a gift.
​Scripture

​Our reading today is from Romans chapter three, verses twenty-two to twenty-eight, from the Easy English Bible.

    ​"God makes people right with himself. He does this through faith in Jesus Christ. He does it for everyone who believes. All people have done wrong things and have fallen short of God's glory. God is kind to us. He does not give us what we deserve. He makes us right with himself as a free gift. Jesus Christ set us free from the power of wrong things. God offered Jesus as a gift. Through his blood, Jesus became the way for God to forgive our sins. God did this to show that he is right and fair. In the past, he had been patient and had not punished people for their wrong things. Now he shows that he is right and fair. He is right himself and he makes right any person who has faith in Jesus. So the...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have your theology sorted to be here. You don't need to feel worthy, or confident, or certain of your standing before God.

​You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this — carrying whatever you carry, however long you've been carrying it.

​If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.
​Hymn

​We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

    ​Not the labours of my hands

    Can fulfil thy law's demands;

    Could my zeal no respite know,

    Could my tears for ever flow,

    All for sin could not atone;

    Thou must save, and thou alone.

    ​— Augustus Toplady, Rock of Ages


​Prayer

​Gracious God,

​Thank you that you do not ask us to earn what we could never afford.

​Thank you that the verdict you speak over us in Christ — righteous, beloved, accepted — is not a verdict we worked for, or argued our way to, or deserved by any accumulation of effort or goodness.

​We confess that we still reach for the scorecard sometimes. We still half-believe that we must do something more, be something more, before we are truly welcome.

​Meet us today in the gap between what we have done and what you have done. Let the love of Christ cover it.

​And may we leave this time knowing — not just in our heads, but somewhere deeper — that the gift is already given, and our hands are simply asked to be open.

​Amen.
​Old Testament Anchor

​Before Paul writes his great argument in Romans, a voice from the wilderness of Israel's own history had already heard the same word.

    ​"Come, everyone who is thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which does not satisfy?"

    ​— Isaiah 55:1–2 (ESV)


​This is the heartbeat underneath the whole gospel. The invitation is to those who have nothing. Not those who have almost enough, or who are nearly ready. Those who have no money. Those who are hungry without the means to feed themselves.

​The question that cuts is this: why do you labour for that which does not satisfy?

​Why do you keep reaching for something that will not hold? Why work for a righteousness that will always fall a little short, that will always leave you wondering if you have quite done enough?

​There is bread here. It costs nothing. That is not a bargain — it is a gift.
​Scripture

​Our reading today is from Romans chapter three, verses twenty-two to twenty-eight, from the Easy English Bible.

    ​"God makes people right with himself. He does this through faith in Jesus Christ. He does it for everyone who believes. All people have done wrong things and have fallen short of God's glory. God is kind to us. He does not give us what we deserve. He makes us right with himself as a free gift. Jesus Christ set us free from the power of wrong things. God offered Jesus as a gift. Through his blood, Jesus became the way for God to forgive our sins. God did this to show that he is right and fair. In the past, he had been patient and had not punished people for their wrong things. Now he shows that he is right and fair. He is right himself and he makes right any person who has faith in Jesus. So there is nothing for us to be proud of. Faith does not let us be proud. No! We must be right with God because of faith. This is the law of faith. We believe, then, that God makes people right with himself. He does not do this because they obey the law. He does it because they have faith."


​Devotion

​There is a question every human heart has asked, in one form or another, since the very beginning: Am I good enough?

​It shows up in different ways. The rich young man came to Jesus and asked: What good thing must I do to have eternal life? The Philippian jailer, rattled and undone by earthquake and grace, asked Paul and Silas: What must I do to be saved?

​Both questions are really the same question. They are the sound of a soul that believes the door must be earned.

​Paul, in these verses from Romans, is doing something extraordinary. He is not simply answering the question — he is dismantling the premise.

​The question assumes that righteousness is something we produce and present. That it is like currency: we accumulate it through obedience, through religion, through moral effort, through keeping the law. And if we have enough of it, God will count us in.

​Paul says: no. That is not how this works. That has never been how this works.

​All have sinned, and fall short. That is not a verdict delivered with contempt. It is a statement of shared human condition. It is the level ground at the foot of the cross. No one arrives with surplus. No one negotiates from a position of strength. We all come empty-handed.

​And it is precisely to empty hands that the gift is offered.

​Paul uses several words worth holding for a moment:

    ​Justified — the word of the courtroom. To be justified is to be declared righteous by the judge. Not reformed, not improved, not given a suspended sentence. Declared righteous. The verdict spoken over you is not "guilty but forgiven" — it is righteous in Christ. The robe Paul speaks of elsewhere, the righteousness of Christ, is placed on the shoulders of the undeserving, just as the father in the parable threw his best cloak around the shoulders of the returning son before a word of explanation had been given.
    ​Redeemed — the word of the marketplace. To be redeemed is to be bought back, purchased out of the place where you were bound. And the price paid was not your own striving. It was the blood of Christ. You did not work your way out of the debt. Someone else settled it.
    ​Propitiation — the difficult word, the one Paul does not apologise for. It means a sacrifice that satisfies the just requirement. Because the offence against a holy God is real. Sin is not a minor administrative error. It requires an answer. And the answer the gospel gives is staggering: God, in Christ, provides the sacrifice himself. The judge descends from the bench. The holy one enters the condemned place. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

​This is the justice of the cross. Not that God looked away from sin. Not that he pretended it did not matter. But that in the death of His Son, the full weight of human sin was met — and met by Love.

​Paul then asks the question that has been building: Where is boasting then?

​It is a sharp, knowing question. Because human beings love to boast. We boast in nationality. In ancestry. In achievement. In religious performance. The Pharisee in the temple stood and listed his credentials before God: I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of everything. He was not lying. He had done these things. But he had confused the keeping of a ledger with the receiving of a gift.

​Boasting, says Paul, is excluded. Not because we have been told to be humble, but because the structure of grace leaves nothing to boast in. You did not earn this. The robe was given before you asked. The ring was on your finger before your speech was finished. The gift was complete before you arrived.

​And so the conclusion — a person is justified by faith, apart from works of the law — is not a cold theological formula. It is the most liberating sentence in the world to anyone who has been exhausted by the effort of trying to be good enough.

​Faith is not itself the achievement. Faith is simply the open hand. The hand that stops trying to manufacture what it cannot produce and receives what is freely given.

​The rich young ruler went away sad, because he had great wealth and could not imagine leaving it — including the wealth of his own moral record. The Philippian jailer fell to his knees, in the ruins of his certainties, and asked with nothing in his hands. And Paul and Silas said to him: Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will be saved.

​Just that. Just faith. Just the open hand, the turned face, the willingness to receive.

​The gift is already given. The price is already paid. The verdict is already spoken.

​Our only boast is in the cross.
​Wondering Questions

​These aren't questions that need answers. They're just things to hold and sit with. You might want to pause here, step away from the screen for a few minutes, and let them settle.

    ​I wonder what it would feel like to truly stop trying to earn what has already been given — and whether there is a part of me still reaching for the scorecard?
    ​I wonder what Paul meant by the empty hands of faith — and what it actually takes to open them?
    ​I wonder about the rich young man who went away sad, and what it was he could not let go of?
    ​I wonder what the difference is between knowing that salvation is a free gift and living as if it is?
    ​I wonder whether I have ever confused religious effort with trust — and whether God minds the confusion as much as I do?
    ​I wonder what it would mean today, in practice, to let my only boast be the cross?

​A Query

​(In the spirit of the Quaker tradition)

    ​Is there a righteousness I have been quietly accumulating — counting up, presenting, relying on — that I have not yet been willing to lay down at the foot of the cross?


​A Moment of Quiet

​Before you read on, you might like to pause here.

​Close your eyes, or look out of a window.

​There's no rush. Just rest for a moment.
​An Invitation

​Before you go — a quiet word.

​If you have spent a long time trying to be good enough — working, striving, measuring yourself against others or against an imagined standard — this passage was written for you. Not to condemn the effort, but to relieve it. The door is not locked waiting for you to produce the right key. The door is already open, and the One who opened it is standing there, not asking what you have brought.

​If you want to respond to that today, you might simply say, in your own words or in the quiet of your heart:

    ​I have nothing to offer. I have no case to make. I come with open hands. I believe in Jesus, and I receive the gift.


​And if you already walk in this grace, and have for many years — perhaps there is still a corner of your heart where the old scorecard lives. Where you wonder, quietly, if you have done enough, been enough, prayed enough. The gospel says to that corner, too: It is finished. Come home.

​The gift is not for the deserving.

It was never for the deserving.

It is for the ones with open hands.
​Going Out

​Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

​May you carry today the strange lightness

of one who has been told the debt is paid

and has, against all habit, believed it.

​May the word justified settle in you —

not as doctrine only, but as news,

good news,

the best news you have ever heard.

​May you stop, just for today,

trying to earn what love has already given.

​And may your only boast

be the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ —

in whom all the fullness of grace has come to meet us,

with nothing required but an open hand.

​Above all, love.

Amen.

​Thank you for being here. Above all, love.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/25e8c8b64456af558c8647a347cb8555.png" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/740b4a9384bb67c86fa0a05cc40eac88.m4a" length="19950821" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/740b4a9384bb67c86fa0a05cc40eac88.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/not-by-works</link>
				<pubDate>Sat, 16 May 2026 21:09:34 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>13:28</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[Not in Temples Made with Hands]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[Welcome ​Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told. ​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have answers about buildings or belonging, or about where God is or isn't. You don't]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[Welcome
​Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have answers about buildings or belonging, or about where God is or isn't. You don't need to have a church to come back to, or feel the loss of one that has gone.

​You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this — in a home, in a garden, on a phone in a waiting room, or anywhere else entirely.

​If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

​Hymn
​We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

​O thou not made with hands,

Not throned above the skies,

Nor walled with shining walls,

Nor framed with stones of price,

More bright than gold or gem,

God's own Jerusalem.

— F. T. Palgrave


​Prayer
​Living God,

​Thank you that you are not confined to any building we have made for you. Thank you that no steeple contains you, no locked door shuts you out, no sale sign diminishes you.

​Meet us today wherever we are — in our homes and our routines, our advocacy and our wandering, our walks through the woods and our late nights on screens. Remind us that we carry something we did not build and cannot lose. Remind us that the Presence is not somewhere we have to travel to.

​And if we have grieved the loss of a place that felt holy to us — let us grieve it honestly, and then find you here, still, in this body, in this breath, in this moment.

​Amen.

​Old Testament Anchor
​Before we reach the New Testament's radical rethinking of the temple, we need to hear the older voice that already knew this truth.

​"Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool. Where is the house that you will build Me? And where is the place of My rest? For all those things My hand has made, and all those things exist," says the Lord. "But on this one will I look: on him who is poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembles at My word."

— Isaiah 66:1–2 (NKJV)


​This is the word underneath the early church's astonishing shift. Long before Stephen stood before the Sanhedrin, long before Paul preached in Athens, Isaiah had heard God say it plainly: the house you could build me is not the house I want. What I look for is not architecture. It is a heart.

​Scripture
​Our reading today is drawn from Acts 7:48–50 and Acts 17:24 (Easy English Bible).

​"But the Most High God does not live in buildings that people make. As the prophet wrote: The Lord says, 'Heaven is my throne. The earth is a place to rest my feet. What kind of house would you build for me? Where would I rest? I myself have made all these things.'"

​"God made the world and everything in it. He is Lord of heaven and earth. He does not live in buildings that people make."

​Devotion
​In Scotland, it is becoming a common sight to see a For Sale sign outside a kirk.

​Many of these buildings — some centuries old, some the anchor of a community for generations — are being converted into flats, bars, community centres. On a cultural level, it can feel like loss. It is a visible sign of a shifting landscape. But we must be careful what we mourn.

​Because the buildings are just that. Bricks and mortar. The work of human hands, offered to God, yes — but not the dwelling place of God.

​Stephen knew this, and it cost him something to say it. Sta...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[Welcome
​Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

​This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't need to have answers about buildings or belonging, or about where God is or isn't. You don't need to have a church to come back to, or feel the loss of one that has gone.

​You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this — in a home, in a garden, on a phone in a waiting room, or anywhere else entirely.

​If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

​Hymn
​We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

​O thou not made with hands,

Not throned above the skies,

Nor walled with shining walls,

Nor framed with stones of price,

More bright than gold or gem,

God's own Jerusalem.

— F. T. Palgrave


​Prayer
​Living God,

​Thank you that you are not confined to any building we have made for you. Thank you that no steeple contains you, no locked door shuts you out, no sale sign diminishes you.

​Meet us today wherever we are — in our homes and our routines, our advocacy and our wandering, our walks through the woods and our late nights on screens. Remind us that we carry something we did not build and cannot lose. Remind us that the Presence is not somewhere we have to travel to.

​And if we have grieved the loss of a place that felt holy to us — let us grieve it honestly, and then find you here, still, in this body, in this breath, in this moment.

​Amen.

​Old Testament Anchor
​Before we reach the New Testament's radical rethinking of the temple, we need to hear the older voice that already knew this truth.

​"Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool. Where is the house that you will build Me? And where is the place of My rest? For all those things My hand has made, and all those things exist," says the Lord. "But on this one will I look: on him who is poor and of a contrite spirit, and who trembles at My word."

— Isaiah 66:1–2 (NKJV)


​This is the word underneath the early church's astonishing shift. Long before Stephen stood before the Sanhedrin, long before Paul preached in Athens, Isaiah had heard God say it plainly: the house you could build me is not the house I want. What I look for is not architecture. It is a heart.

​Scripture
​Our reading today is drawn from Acts 7:48–50 and Acts 17:24 (Easy English Bible).

​"But the Most High God does not live in buildings that people make. As the prophet wrote: The Lord says, 'Heaven is my throne. The earth is a place to rest my feet. What kind of house would you build for me? Where would I rest? I myself have made all these things.'"

​"God made the world and everything in it. He is Lord of heaven and earth. He does not live in buildings that people make."

​Devotion
​In Scotland, it is becoming a common sight to see a For Sale sign outside a kirk.

​Many of these buildings — some centuries old, some the anchor of a community for generations — are being converted into flats, bars, community centres. On a cultural level, it can feel like loss. It is a visible sign of a shifting landscape. But we must be careful what we mourn.

​Because the buildings are just that. Bricks and mortar. The work of human hands, offered to God, yes — but not the dwelling place of God.

​Stephen knew this, and it cost him something to say it. Standing before the Sanhedrin, accused of speaking against the temple, he turned the accusation back into a question: has God ever actually lived there? He quoted Isaiah and then said it plainly: the Most High does not dwell in temples made with hands.

​The whole arc of the Old Testament had been bending toward this truth: God cannot be housed. The temple was always a meeting place, not a cage. Paul understood this too. Standing in Athens — a city of extraordinary temples — he told the philosophers something their architecture had never quite managed to say: He is the one in whom we live and move and have our being.

​In 1 Corinthians 6, Paul turns to the believers and says: do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you?

​The architecture God has chosen is human flesh.

​There is something clarifying about the absence of a building. It asks you the question directly: where, then, do you think God is? Where do you expect to meet him?

​The answer, it turns out, is: here. Wherever here is.

​In the home where the morning prayer is said. In the advocacy meeting where someone is fighting for a person who cannot fight for themselves. In the woods where the trees do not ask you to perform. In this screen, in this moment, between these words and whoever is reading them.

​Wondering Questions
​I wonder which spaces have felt most holy to me — and what it was that made them feel that way?
​I wonder whether I have sometimes looked for God in a location, when he has been present in a person all along?
​I wonder what the church could become if it truly believed it was not a building to maintain but a people to be inhabited?
​An Invitation
​If you have felt, lately, that the church is shrinking — that the visible signs of faith are fading from the landscape — you are not wrong to notice it. But the church was never the building.

​If you want to respond today, you might simply say:

I don't know where you are, but I am willing to be a place where you dwell. Come and make your home in me.

​Going Out
​Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

May you carry today the quiet knowledge that you are not empty —

That the Most High has taken up residence in the ordinary building of your life.

May the sacred travel with you into every unsacred-looking place.

And may you know yourself to be what no bricks and mortar ever quite managed to be —

A living temple, a dwelling place, a home for the Holy.

​Above all, love.

Amen.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/37a7441f3e4210706fcadb712e7e055d.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/8e54f32188e8e14d6f5c3a0ba1b5f062.m4a" length="10596067" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/8e54f32188e8e14d6f5c3a0ba1b5f062.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/not-in-temples-made-with-hands</link>
				<pubDate>Sun, 10 May 2026 09:40:13 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>07:09</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[The Waiting Father]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[Welcome Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told. This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be certain, or hopeful, or even very presen]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[Welcome

Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be certain, or hopeful, or even very present today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.
Hymn

We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.
Just as I am, without one plea,
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidst me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. — Charlotte Elliott
Prayer

Loving God,

Thank you that you do not wait for us to deserve welcome before you offer it.

Thank you that your arms are already open before we have finished our speeches, before we have explained ourselves, before we have made ourselves presentable.

Meet us today in the far country, if that is where we are — or in the long road home, or at the door.
Wherever we are on the journey, let us feel the movement of your love running toward us.

And if we have been standing in the field a long time, watching from a distance, finding it hard to go in — grant us the grace to step across the threshold.

Amen.
Old Testament Anchor

"I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no more worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants."

— Luke 15:18–19 (NKJV, for context)

But before we reach the son's rehearsed speech, we need to hear the older word that echoes underneath it. The prophet Hosea, writing from within a broken covenant — God's people far from home, scattered, faithless — hears God speak in a way that should not sound like God at all:
"How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?... My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused. I will not carry out my fierce anger... For I am God, and not a man — the Holy One among you." — Hosea 11:8–9

This is the heartbeat underneath the parable. The God who cannot let go. The Father who is undone by love. Not a cold sovereign distributing justice from a distance — but one whose heart turns within him at the thought of the lost child.
How can I give you up?

It is not a rhetorical question. It is a cry. And it is the cry that sends the father running down the road.
Scripture

Our reading today is from Luke chapter fifteen, verses eleven to twenty-four, from the Easy English Bible.
Jesus also said, "There was a man who had two sons. The younger son said to his father, 'Father, please give me my part of your property now.' So the father gave each of his sons their part of his things. A few days later, the younger son sold everything that was his. He went away to a country far away. There he wasted all his money by living in a wrong way. He spent everything. Then there was no food to eat in that country, and he began to be hungry. He went to work for a man who lived there, and that man sent him to his fields to look after the pigs. He was so hungry that he wanted to eat the pig food. But nobody gave him anything. Then he began to think clearly again. He said to himself, 'My father's servants have plenty of food to eat. And here I am, so hungry that I am nearly dying. I will go back to my father, and I will say to him, "Fathe...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[Welcome

Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be certain, or hopeful, or even very present today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to read slowly, or stop and come back — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.
Hymn

We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.
Just as I am, without one plea,
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou bidst me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. — Charlotte Elliott
Prayer

Loving God,

Thank you that you do not wait for us to deserve welcome before you offer it.

Thank you that your arms are already open before we have finished our speeches, before we have explained ourselves, before we have made ourselves presentable.

Meet us today in the far country, if that is where we are — or in the long road home, or at the door.
Wherever we are on the journey, let us feel the movement of your love running toward us.

And if we have been standing in the field a long time, watching from a distance, finding it hard to go in — grant us the grace to step across the threshold.

Amen.
Old Testament Anchor

"I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, and I am no more worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants."

— Luke 15:18–19 (NKJV, for context)

But before we reach the son's rehearsed speech, we need to hear the older word that echoes underneath it. The prophet Hosea, writing from within a broken covenant — God's people far from home, scattered, faithless — hears God speak in a way that should not sound like God at all:
"How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel?... My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused. I will not carry out my fierce anger... For I am God, and not a man — the Holy One among you." — Hosea 11:8–9

This is the heartbeat underneath the parable. The God who cannot let go. The Father who is undone by love. Not a cold sovereign distributing justice from a distance — but one whose heart turns within him at the thought of the lost child.
How can I give you up?

It is not a rhetorical question. It is a cry. And it is the cry that sends the father running down the road.
Scripture

Our reading today is from Luke chapter fifteen, verses eleven to twenty-four, from the Easy English Bible.
Jesus also said, "There was a man who had two sons. The younger son said to his father, 'Father, please give me my part of your property now.' So the father gave each of his sons their part of his things. A few days later, the younger son sold everything that was his. He went away to a country far away. There he wasted all his money by living in a wrong way. He spent everything. Then there was no food to eat in that country, and he began to be hungry. He went to work for a man who lived there, and that man sent him to his fields to look after the pigs. He was so hungry that he wanted to eat the pig food. But nobody gave him anything. Then he began to think clearly again. He said to himself, 'My father's servants have plenty of food to eat. And here I am, so hungry that I am nearly dying. I will go back to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have done wrong things against God and against you. I am not good enough to be called your son. But please let me be one of your servants."' So he got up and he went back to his father. While he was still a long way away, his father saw him coming. His father felt sorry for him and he ran to meet him. He hugged him and he kissed him. The son said, 'Father, I have done wrong things against God and against you. I am not good enough to be called your son.' But the father said to his servants, 'Quick! Bring the best clothes and put them on my son. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fat calf and kill it. Let us eat together and be happy. My son was dead, but now he is alive again. He was lost, but now I have found him.' So they began to celebrate."
Devotion

He came to himself.

That is the line Luke gives us, quietly, before anything else happens. The turning point in the story is not the speech, not the journey, not the reunion. It is an interior moment — something shifting in the mind of a young man sitting in the mud beside a pig trough, a long way from home. He came to himself.

Which suggests he had, for a time, been somewhere other than himself. Spent. Scattered. Unrecognisable, even to his own heart.

We know that feeling, perhaps. The seasons of life when we have lived so far outside the person we meant to be that coming back requires not just a journey but a recovery of self. The far country is not only a geography. It is a state of soul.

And yet — even in the far country, he remembered. He remembered his father's house. He remembered that there was bread enough, and more than enough. The memory of home is what makes homecoming possible. Even at the furthest reach of the wasted years, something in him still knew the way.

So he rehearses his speech. Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no more worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants. It is a careful speech. Measured. Modest in its ambition. He is not asking to be received as a son — only to be given a place among the workers. To earn, in some small way, what cannot truly be earned back.

But the father is not listening to the speech.

The father has been watching the road. And when he sees the figure — still a long way off, still dusty and thin and uncertain — he does not wait. He does not compose himself. He does not arrange his dignity. He runs.

A father running in first-century Palestine is not a small thing. It is undignified by the standards of the time. It is the act of a man who has abandoned the performance of respectability because something more important than respectability is coming down the road. He runs, and he falls on his son's neck, and he kisses him before a single word has been spoken.

The speech still comes. The son begins his rehearsed lines. But notice: the father interrupts him. He does not let him get to the hired-servant part. He is already calling for the robe, the ring, the sandals, the feast. The son wanted to earn his way back in. The father refuses to let him.

This is the radicalism of the parable. It is not about second chances — as if the son had one more opportunity to prove himself. It is about a love that cannot be outrun, cannot be forfeited, cannot be earned or un-earned. The robe is given before any work is done. The ring — a sign of sonship, of belonging — is put on the finger of a boy who wanted to be a servant.

The celebration is not for what the son has done. It is for what has happened to him: He was dead, and is alive again. He was lost, and is found.

That is the only criterion. Not the quality of the repentance. Not the adequacy of the speech. Not the length of the road back. The son was lost, and now is found — and that is enough to throw a party.

There is, of course, another son. Standing in the field. Hearing the music. Refusing to go in. Jesus leaves that story unfinished — we do not know if the older brother crosses the threshold. We do not know if the father's gentle words reach him. The parable ends with the door open, the feast going on, and a young man who has a choice to make.

Because this story is told to two kinds of people. To those who have been in the far country and are not sure they are welcome home — it says: the father is already running. And to those who have stayed close, and worked hard, and quietly accumulated a ledger of resentments — it says: everything I have is yours. Come in. The feast is not a threat to you. It is yours too.

The good news in this parable is not only that the lost are welcomed. It is that the welcome is excessive. Unreasonable. Running-down-the-road welcome. Best-robe welcome. Kill-the-fatted-calf welcome. The God of this story does not say: well done, you came back. He says: my son was dead and is alive.

Hosea heard this voice centuries before the parable was told: How can I give you up?

The answer, it turns out, is: I can't. I won't. I never could.

And somewhere down the road — still a long way off, still unsure of our welcome, still rehearsing our speeches — the father is already running.
Wondering Questions

These aren't questions that need answers. They're just things to hold and sit with. You might want to pause here, step away from the screen for a few minutes, and let them settle.

    I wonder what it felt like to come to himself — and what that moment of clarity was actually like, in the middle of the mud and the hunger?
    I wonder what the father was doing on all the days he watched the road, before his son came home?
    I wonder what the son expected when he finally saw his father — and what it felt like to be run to, rather than waited for?
    I wonder why the father interrupted the speech — and what the son felt when he realised the hired-servant part would never be needed?
    I wonder about the older son in the field, and whether his anger was entirely without reason, and what it would have cost him to go in?
    I wonder if there is a speech I have been rehearsing — something I believe I must say before I can be welcomed — and whether the Father is already at the door before I have finished it?
    I wonder what it would feel like to simply be found?

A Query — in the spirit of the Quaker tradition:
Is there a part of me still standing in the far country — not for want of a father to come home to, but because I am not yet sure I deserve the robe?
A Moment of Quiet
Before you read on, you might like to pause here.
Close your eyes, or look out of a window.
There's no rush. Just rest for a moment.
An Invitation

Before you go — a quiet word.

If you have never followed Jesus, or if faith has felt, for a long time, like something that belongs to better people than you — this parable was not told about better people. It was told about a boy in a pig field who had made a thorough mess of things. The welcome in the story is not conditional on the quality of the mess you made, or how long you were away, or how far you travelled.

If you want to respond to that love today, you might simply say, in your own words or in the quiet of your heart:

I am coming to myself. I am remembering the way home. And I am willing to be surprised by who comes running to meet me.

And if you already walk with Jesus — if you have been welcomed home before and perhaps need welcoming again, or if you have been standing in the field for a long time, dutiful and faintly resentful — the father's words are for you too: You are always with me, and everything I have is yours.

The feast is not a competition. The robe is not a threat. The door is open. The music is already playing.

Come in.
Going Out
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

May you know today that you are not beyond the reach
of a love that runs down roads.

May something in you come to itself —
some forgotten corner that has been in the far country a long while —
and may it remember the way home.

May you find, on the road,
that the welcome is already moving toward you.

And may you receive, without earning,
the robe, the ring, and the feast —
and hear it said of you, in whatever language your heart speaks:

This one was lost, and is found.
Was dead, and is alive again.

Above all, love.

Amen.

Thank you for being here. Above all, love.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/b6ef36636fc43edbea075b3737f26fed.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/7113519880220f1adb26965bb3aabe12.m4a" length="19866576" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/7113519880220f1adb26965bb3aabe12.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/the-waiting-father</link>
				<pubDate>Sat, 02 May 2026 21:36:07 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>13:24</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[The One Who Came Back]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be healed, or feeling anything in particular today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this. If you need to move]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be healed, or feeling anything in particular today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to move, or step away and come back later — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

HYMN
We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what thou dost love,
And do what thou wouldst do.
— Edwin Hatch

PRAYER
Loving God,
Thank you that you do not wait for us to be well before you notice us.
Thank you that in the middle of our years — in the middle of our waiting, our weariness, our half-lived lives — you are not absent.
Revive us today, not in some distant future,
but here, in the midst of things.
And if we find ourselves healed and walking forward,
may we be the kind of people who turn back.
Amen.

OLD TESTAMENT ANCHOR
"Lord, I have heard your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, Lord. Renew them in our day, make them known in our time; in wrath remember mercy."
— Habakkuk 3:2

The prophet Habakkuk is not praying from a place of triumph. He is praying from the middle. He has heard what God has done in the past — the great deeds, the ancient mercies — and he is asking that those same deeds might happen again, now, in his own time. Not in some golden age. Not when things are better. Now. In the midst of the years.

Revive us, O Lord, in the midst of the years.

It is one of the most honest prayers in scripture. It does not pretend things are fine. It does not wait until they are. It simply asks: would you do it again? Here? For us?

SCRIPTURE
Our reading today is from Luke chapter seventeen, verses eleven to nineteen, from the Easy English Bible.

As Jesus was going to Jerusalem, he walked along the border between Samaria and Galilee. He was going into a village when ten men met him who had a skin disease. They were standing far away from him. They called out to him, "Jesus! Master! Please help us!" When Jesus saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." As they went, they were healed and made clean. When one of them saw that he was healed, he came back. He praised God with a loud voice. He bowed down at Jesus' feet with his face on the ground. He thanked Jesus. This man was from Samaria. Jesus asked, "Were not ten healed? Where are the other nine? Has no one come back to praise God except this man from another country?" Then Jesus said to him, "Stand up and go. Your faith has made you well."

DEVOTION
They were standing far away.
That is where the story begins. Not in a crowd, not in a conversation — at a distance. Because they had to be. The law said so. They were unclean, and the world had arranged itself accordingly: over there, not here. Close enough to be seen, far enough not to touch.
But they had heard about Jesus. And so they called out — a single, desperate cry across the gap: Jesus! Master! Please help us!
It is not an elaborate prayer. There is no theology in it, no doctrinal precision. Just a name, a title, and a please. Just ten human beings, standing at a distance from everything they wanted to belong to, asking to be brought back in.
And Jesus does something surprising. He doesn't touch them, doesn't pronounce them healed, doesn't make a spectacle. He simply says...]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be healed, or feeling anything in particular today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to move, or step away and come back later — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

HYMN
We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew,
That I may love what thou dost love,
And do what thou wouldst do.
— Edwin Hatch

PRAYER
Loving God,
Thank you that you do not wait for us to be well before you notice us.
Thank you that in the middle of our years — in the middle of our waiting, our weariness, our half-lived lives — you are not absent.
Revive us today, not in some distant future,
but here, in the midst of things.
And if we find ourselves healed and walking forward,
may we be the kind of people who turn back.
Amen.

OLD TESTAMENT ANCHOR
"Lord, I have heard your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, Lord. Renew them in our day, make them known in our time; in wrath remember mercy."
— Habakkuk 3:2

The prophet Habakkuk is not praying from a place of triumph. He is praying from the middle. He has heard what God has done in the past — the great deeds, the ancient mercies — and he is asking that those same deeds might happen again, now, in his own time. Not in some golden age. Not when things are better. Now. In the midst of the years.

Revive us, O Lord, in the midst of the years.

It is one of the most honest prayers in scripture. It does not pretend things are fine. It does not wait until they are. It simply asks: would you do it again? Here? For us?

SCRIPTURE
Our reading today is from Luke chapter seventeen, verses eleven to nineteen, from the Easy English Bible.

As Jesus was going to Jerusalem, he walked along the border between Samaria and Galilee. He was going into a village when ten men met him who had a skin disease. They were standing far away from him. They called out to him, "Jesus! Master! Please help us!" When Jesus saw them, he said to them, "Go and show yourselves to the priests." As they went, they were healed and made clean. When one of them saw that he was healed, he came back. He praised God with a loud voice. He bowed down at Jesus' feet with his face on the ground. He thanked Jesus. This man was from Samaria. Jesus asked, "Were not ten healed? Where are the other nine? Has no one come back to praise God except this man from another country?" Then Jesus said to him, "Stand up and go. Your faith has made you well."

DEVOTION
They were standing far away.
That is where the story begins. Not in a crowd, not in a conversation — at a distance. Because they had to be. The law said so. They were unclean, and the world had arranged itself accordingly: over there, not here. Close enough to be seen, far enough not to touch.
But they had heard about Jesus. And so they called out — a single, desperate cry across the gap: Jesus! Master! Please help us!
It is not an elaborate prayer. There is no theology in it, no doctrinal precision. Just a name, a title, and a please. Just ten human beings, standing at a distance from everything they wanted to belong to, asking to be brought back in.
And Jesus does something surprising. He doesn't touch them, doesn't pronounce them healed, doesn't make a spectacle. He simply says: Go and show yourselves to the priests. Go. As if it's already done. As if the healing will happen on the way.
And it does. As they went, they were healed.
We don't know what that felt like — to look down at your hands mid-walk and find the skin changed. To feel the wrongness lifting. To realise, somewhere between where you were and where you were going, that something had shifted in the world. That you were not who you had been.
Nine of them keep walking. Which is not, perhaps, as heartless as it sounds — Jesus told them to go to the priests, and they are going. They are obeying. They are doing the sensible next thing. They have what they came for.
But one of them stops. And turns around.
He is a Samaritan — the detail Luke gives us quietly, without fanfare, but it matters. He is the outsider among the outsiders. The one who, even after healing, would have had the least to go back to in the religious system Jesus pointed toward. The priests would not have welcomed him. The community he was returning to was already one that looked at him sideways. He had every practical reason to keep walking.
And yet.
He turns. He comes back. He falls at Jesus' feet, face to the ground, praising God. And Jesus asks the question that still hangs in the air: Where are the other nine?
It is not a question of accounting. Jesus is not keeping score. It is a question of wonder — of something like grief, perhaps, at how much can be received and how little noticed. How easy it is to be changed and not know it. To receive a gift so overwhelming that you simply carry it away, too stunned or too busy or too focused on the next thing to look back at where it came from.
This story is the answer to Habakkuk's prayer. Revive us, O Lord, in the midst of the years. Not at the end. Not when we are ready. Not when the priests have certified it and the paperwork is done. In the midst of the going, while the feet are still moving, on the ordinary road between one place and another — there it is. The reviving. The skin made clean. The life given back.
The question the story leaves us with is not whether God revives. It is what we do when he does.
The nine received a gift. The one received a relationship. Both were healed. But only one came back to know the healer.
Stand up and go, Jesus says to him. Your faith has made you well.
He was already well. The skin had already changed. What Jesus is speaking to here is something deeper — a wholeness that goes beyond the body. A being-known that the nine, walking away, did not stop to receive.
There are seasons in a life when we are mid-healing. When things are better than they were but not yet where we want them to be. When we have been changed but haven't fully understood how. When God has done something, quietly, on the road — and we are not quite sure whether to keep walking forward or to stop and look back at where it came from.
The good news in this story is that it is not too late to turn around.
The one who came back did not arrive at Jesus' feet with everything together. He arrived with a loud voice and a face on the ground and a gratitude he couldn't contain. He arrived exactly as he was — just changed.
That is enough. It has always been enough.
In the midst of the years, God revives. And when we notice — when we stop and turn and fall at the feet of the one who did it — we find that the healing was only the beginning.

WONDERING QUESTIONS
These aren't questions that need answers. They're just things to hold and sit with. You might want to pause here, step away from the screen for a few minutes, and let them settle.
I wonder what it felt like to be standing far away — to call out and not be sure anyone would answer?
I wonder what happened in those ten bodies as they walked, and the moment each one noticed they were healed?
I wonder why nine kept going and one came back — and whether the answer is simple or complicated?
I wonder what it cost the Samaritan, as the outside outsider, to be the one who turned around?
I wonder what Jesus meant when he said something beyond the physical healing to the one who returned?
I wonder if there is something God has already done for me — quietly, on some road I was walking — that I have not yet stopped to acknowledge?
I wonder what it would look like, today, to turn back?

A Query — in the spirit of the Quaker tradition:
Is there a healing in my life — a reviving, however small — that I have received and carried away, without yet turning to notice where it came from?

A MOMENT OF QUIET
Before you read on, you might like to pause here. Close your eyes, or look out of a window. There's no rush. Just rest for a moment.

AN INVITATION
Before you go — a quiet word.
If you have never followed Jesus, or if faith has felt, for a long time, like something happening at a distance — you do not need to be clean before you call out. The ten weren't. They called from exactly where they were, with exactly what they had, and Jesus heard them.
If you want to respond to that love today, you might simply say, in your own words or in the quiet of your heart:
I am standing at a distance. But I am calling out. And I am willing to notice what changes on the road.
And if you already walk with Jesus — if you have been revived before, and are perhaps in need of reviving again — may this be the moment you stop and turn. Not because you have to. Not because nine others didn't. Simply because the one who gave the gift is still there, and it is not too late to look him in the face.
The road is not over. The reviving is not finished. In the midst of the years, he is still at work.

GOING OUT
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
May you know today that you are not standing at a distance from a God who cannot reach you.
You are standing within earshot of the one who heals on the road.
May something change for you, quietly, in the midst of the going —
and may you have the grace to notice.
May you be the one who turns back.
May you find him still there when you do.
And may you hear, in whatever language your heart speaks,
the words that were spoken on that dusty road:
Stand up and go. Your faith has made you well.
Above all, love.
Amen.

Thank you for being here. Above all, love.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/82fdfc5311b0c20211eef47fad7de97b.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/dcd7f8e9e4a85ef7a731e99e6d2dc876.m4a" length="17273806" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/dcd7f8e9e4a85ef7a731e99e6d2dc876.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/the-one-who-came-back</link>
				<pubDate>Wed, 29 Apr 2026 22:22:38 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>11:39</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
											<item>
				<title><![CDATA[The Road to Emmaus]]></title>
				<category>Podcast</category>
				<itunes:author><![CDATA[David Holdsworth]]></itunes:author>
				<itunes:subtitle><![CDATA[WELCOME Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told. This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be hopeful, or certain, or even feel partic]]></itunes:subtitle>
				<itunes:summary><![CDATA[WELCOME
Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be hopeful, or certain, or even feel particularly faithful today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to move, or step away and come back later — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

HYMN
We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.
— Henry Francis Lyte

PRAYER
Loving God,
Thank you that you walk beside us even when we do not know it is you.
Thank you that you ask us questions and listen to our answers, and do not tell us off for getting things wrong.
Help us today to recognise you — in the breaking of bread, in the kindness of a stranger, in the moment when our hearts feel strangely warm.
And may we find, when we look back, that you were with us all along.
Amen.

SCRIPTURE
Our reading today is from Luke chapter twenty-four, verses thirteen to thirty-five, from the Easy English Bible.

That same day, two of Jesus' followers were going to a village called Emmaus. It was about eleven kilometres from Jerusalem. They were talking together about everything that had happened. While they were talking, Jesus himself came near and walked along with them. But they did not recognise him. He asked them, "What are you talking about as you walk along?" They stopped. They looked very sad. One of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered, "Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that happened there recently?" Jesus asked them, "What things?" They told him about Jesus of Nazareth. They told him that the chief priests and rulers had handed him over to be killed. They had hoped that he was the one who would set Israel free. But now it was the third day since these things had happened. Some women of their group had surprised them. The women went to the tomb early in the morning. They did not find his body there. They came and told them that they had seen angels, who said that Jesus was alive. Then Jesus explained to them what was said about himself in all the scriptures. When they came near to the village, Jesus acted as if he was going further on. But they asked him strongly to stay. "Stay with us," they said. "It is nearly evening and the day is almost over." So he went in to stay with them. While he was at the table with them, he took the bread. He gave thanks for it. He broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognised him. And he disappeared from their sight. They said to each other, "Our hearts were burning inside us while he talked with us on the road."

DEVOTION
They are walking away.
That is the first thing to notice. Not towards Jerusalem, where the other disciples are gathered. Away from it. Away from the empty tomb, away from the rumours, away from the women's astonishing report that he was alive. They have heard all of it and it has not been enough. They are going home — or somewhere that feels more like home than a city full of confusion and grief.
It is hard to blame them. Three days earlier, everything they had hoped for had been nailed to a cross and buried....]]></itunes:summary>
				<description><![CDATA[WELCOME
Welcome to Above All Love. This is Simply Fellowship — the Good News, quietly told.

This is a gentle space. No pressure, no performance. You don't have to have it together to be here. You don't have to be hopeful, or certain, or even feel particularly faithful today. You're welcome exactly as you are, wherever you are reading this.

If you need to move, or step away and come back later — that's completely fine. There's no right way to be here. Just be here.

HYMN
We begin with a hymn verse. Read it slowly. You might want to sit with each line before moving on.
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.
— Henry Francis Lyte

PRAYER
Loving God,
Thank you that you walk beside us even when we do not know it is you.
Thank you that you ask us questions and listen to our answers, and do not tell us off for getting things wrong.
Help us today to recognise you — in the breaking of bread, in the kindness of a stranger, in the moment when our hearts feel strangely warm.
And may we find, when we look back, that you were with us all along.
Amen.

SCRIPTURE
Our reading today is from Luke chapter twenty-four, verses thirteen to thirty-five, from the Easy English Bible.

That same day, two of Jesus' followers were going to a village called Emmaus. It was about eleven kilometres from Jerusalem. They were talking together about everything that had happened. While they were talking, Jesus himself came near and walked along with them. But they did not recognise him. He asked them, "What are you talking about as you walk along?" They stopped. They looked very sad. One of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered, "Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that happened there recently?" Jesus asked them, "What things?" They told him about Jesus of Nazareth. They told him that the chief priests and rulers had handed him over to be killed. They had hoped that he was the one who would set Israel free. But now it was the third day since these things had happened. Some women of their group had surprised them. The women went to the tomb early in the morning. They did not find his body there. They came and told them that they had seen angels, who said that Jesus was alive. Then Jesus explained to them what was said about himself in all the scriptures. When they came near to the village, Jesus acted as if he was going further on. But they asked him strongly to stay. "Stay with us," they said. "It is nearly evening and the day is almost over." So he went in to stay with them. While he was at the table with them, he took the bread. He gave thanks for it. He broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognised him. And he disappeared from their sight. They said to each other, "Our hearts were burning inside us while he talked with us on the road."

DEVOTION
They are walking away.
That is the first thing to notice. Not towards Jerusalem, where the other disciples are gathered. Away from it. Away from the empty tomb, away from the rumours, away from the women's astonishing report that he was alive. They have heard all of it and it has not been enough. They are going home — or somewhere that feels more like home than a city full of confusion and grief.
It is hard to blame them. Three days earlier, everything they had hoped for had been nailed to a cross and buried. They had believed he was the one. The one who would change things. The one who would make it all come right. And he hadn't — or so it seemed. Now there was just the long road, the sore feet, and the words they kept turning over between them, trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense.
And Jesus falls into step beside them.
He doesn't announce himself. He doesn't say: it is I, do not be afraid. He just walks with them, at their pace, in the direction they are going. And then he asks a question — one of the most tender questions in all of scripture. What are you talking about?
He knows. Of course he knows. But he asks anyway. He lets them tell it. He listens to the whole sad unravelling of their hopes. He does not interrupt or correct or rush them to the good part. He walks and listens while two heartbroken people explain, to the very person they are heartbroken about, that they had hoped so much and now that hope is gone.
Only after they have said it all does he begin to speak.
And even then, they do not recognise him. Not on the road. Not through the teaching. It is only later — at the table, in the breaking of the bread, in that one ordinary and familiar gesture — that their eyes are opened. And in the moment they see him, he is gone.
But what they are left with is enough. Our hearts were burning, they say. All along the road, something was happening inside them that they couldn't name. They thought it was just a conversation with a stranger. It was something else entirely.
There are seasons in a life when faith feels like walking away from Jerusalem. When the things we hoped for haven't happened the way we expected. When the tomb is empty but somehow that doesn't feel like good news yet — just another confusing thing to carry. When we are mid-road, mid-grief, mid-doubt, and not sure where we are going.
The good news in this story is that Jesus does not wait for us to turn around before he finds us. He walks in the direction we are walking. He asks what is on our heart. He stays when we ask him to stay. And he makes himself known not in a vision or a thunderclap, but in the breaking of ordinary bread at an ordinary table at the end of an ordinary road.
Sometimes we only recognise him when we look back. But he was there. All along the road, he was there.

WONDERING QUESTIONS
These aren't questions that need answers. They're just things to hold and sit with. You might want to pause here, step away from the screen for a few minutes, and let them settle.
I wonder what it felt like to be walking away — and to have a perceived stranger fall into step beside you?
I wonder why Jesus chose to ask questions rather than simply reveal himself at once?
I wonder what it means that they recognised him in the breaking of bread, and not before?
I wonder if there has been a time in my own life when I felt I was walking away — and later wondered if someone was walking with me?
I wonder what their hearts were burning about, and what that burning felt like?
I wonder what made them say "stay with us" to one they thought was a stranger they had only just met?
I wonder where on my own road I might have missed someone walking beside me?

A Query — in the spirit of the Quaker tradition:
Is there any part of me that is walking away from something right now — and might I be willing to notice who is walking with me?

A MOMENT OF QUIET
Before you read on, you might like to pause here. Close your eyes, or look out of a window. There's no rush. Just rest for a moment.

AN INVITATION
Before you go — a quiet word.
If you have never followed Jesus, or if your faith has grown cold on a long and disappointing road — you do not need to have turned around yet. The two on the road to Emmaus hadn't. They were mid-doubt, mid-grief, mid-leaving. And Jesus walked with them anyway.
If you want to respond to that love today, you might simply say, in your own words or in the quiet of your heart:
I'm not sure where I'm going. But I'm willing to notice who might be walking beside me.
And if you already walk with Jesus — if you have followed him for years, or are finding your way back after a long absence — may this be a moment of recognition. A reminder that the one who walked to Emmaus has not stopped walking. He is still asking: what are you talking about? He is still listening to the whole of it. He is still breaking bread at ordinary tables with tired and hopeful people.
The road is not abandoned. You are not alone on it.

GOING OUT
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.
May you know today that on whatever road you are walking —
whether it leads toward Jerusalem or away from it —
you are not walking it alone.
May your heart burn, even when you cannot explain why.
May you find him in the ordinary things —
the bread broken, the table set,
the stranger who asked how you were and actually waited for the answer.
May you look back on this day and say:
he was there. All along the road, he was there.
Above all, love.
Amen.

Thank you for being here. Above all, love.]]></description>
									<itunes:image href="https://d2qyh7u0eavo4q.cloudfront.net/episodes/images/original/93447a3c00194e37589eace246b69e15.jpg" />
								<enclosure url="https://media.podpoint.com/download/2e2b52a1739adea5aa376924a0176c3d.m4a" length="14787936" type="audio/mpeg" />
				<guid>https://podpoint.com/download/2e2b52a1739adea5aa376924a0176c3d.m4a</guid>
				<link>https://podpoint.com/above-all-love/the-road-to-emmaus</link>
				<pubDate>Sun, 19 Apr 2026 15:10:18 +0000</pubDate>
				<itunes:duration>09:59</itunes:duration>
				<itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit>
			</item>
						</channel>
</rss>
