Wan jie fausten, sell jie nich lange Jesechta moaken soo aus de Heichla. Dee vestalen äare Jesechta, daut Menschen seenen sellen daut see fausten. Ekj saj junt de Woarheit: Dee haben äaren Loon aul wajch. Oba wan dun Fausten deist,dan wausch dien Jesecht un besorj die de hoa, soo daut nich de Menschen, oba jun Voda em Jeheemen, dien fausten sitt. Un dien Voda, dee doa sitt, waut em Jeheemen väajeit, woat die Doafäa effentlich loonen.

- Matäus 6:16-18

Fasting is framed not as a private rule-keeping exercise but as a joyful response to the presence and absence of the Bridegroom. Drawing from Luke 5, the call of Levi and the banquet with “tax collectors and sinners” becomes the doorway into the question of fasting. In the presence of Jesus, celebration was fitting; after His ascension, purposeful fasting would mark love and longing for Him. The emphasis is on the why, not the how: fasting is less about techniques and more about directing hunger toward Christ, training the will to serve love rather than appetite.

Modern abundance, convenience, and busyness have dulled the church’s practice of fasting, and sometimes secular “optimization” eclipses spiritual purpose. Colossians 2 warns against human-made rules, self-imposed worship, and harsh treatment of the body—approaches that look wise but cannot restrain the flesh. Christian fasting is not ascetic self-punishment or a diet baptized with Bible verses; it is a grace-directed habit that confesses dependence and aims at communion with Christ. It should be practiced with wisdom, humility, and honesty, not as a public display of righteousness or as leverage against God.

Practical counsel is simple: start small. Skip a meal with prayerful intention. Let hunger become a bell that calls the heart to seek righteousness. Communicate with family, consider health realities, enter and exit longer fasts gently, and remember that secrecy in fasting is about avoiding pride, not hiding from the people who serve and love you. Scripture gives a range of faithful reasons to fast—intercession, repentance, seeking deliverance—but all are gathered up into one center: submitting desires to Jesus and preferring Him above good gifts.

There are also wrong motives. Fasting is not a hunger strike to force God’s hand, not a badge of spiritual superiority, and certainly not a tool to harm others. Instead, fasting forms a heart that rests in the finished work of the cross, where Christ disarmed powers and canceled our debt. Even secondary health benefits are secondary; the chief reward is deeper fellowship with Christ. In a culture of constant access to food and constant distraction, fasting recovers a neglected habit of love: training the body to follow the soul, and the soul to follow the Bridegroom.

Woat hee Gloowen finjen? - Pastor Peter Thiessen

Ekj saj junt, daut hee an sea boolt to äa Rajcht vehalpen wudd. Un doch, wan de Menschensän komen woat, woat hee opp de Ieed uk Gloowen finjen?

- Lukas 18:8

Tracing Matthew 2 through the long arc of Scripture, the focus lands on the line “Out of Egypt I called my son” as the key that unlocks how Jesus fulfills Israel’s story in a way no one before Him could. The narrative threads begin with the patriarchs and a buried hope: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob anchored their futures in the promised land, while Joseph—the beloved son who descended into slavery and prison, then was exalted—foreshadowed a pattern of humiliation leading to glory. Egypt, the place of Joseph’s exaltation and Israel’s later bondage, becomes both sanctuary and threat. In the Exodus, God redeemed His firstborn people, marked their doors with blood, and inaugurated a story where every firstborn belonged to Him—a pattern that finds its completion in Christ, the true Firstborn who redeems all.

The history of kings exposes human failure: Solomon’s catastrophic disobedience, Jeroboam’s counterfeit promises and idolatry, and Herod’s murderous jealousy echo Pharaoh’s hardness. Yet where Jeroboam also “came up from Egypt” and led Israel astray, Jesus retraces the path without compromise—conceived by the Spirit, protected by divine direction, and obedient in every step. The Magi’s worship, Joseph’s sleepless obedience, and the night flight to Egypt showcase providence moving quietly and decisively. Matthew’s citations—Hosea 11, Jeremiah 31—are not trivia; they reframe loss within a larger hope. Rachel’s weeping names real grief; God’s answer is not denial but the advent of a Son who will carry that grief to its end on a cross and rise to reign.

The return to Nazareth signals more than geography; it announces the faithful Son who will succeed where Israel, Solomon, and Jeroboam failed. Psalm 2 crowns this vision: the Son is enthroned; the nations are His; refuge is offered to all who bow. This is not merely a beautiful story but a living claim: those once at war with God can be brought out of Egypt—out of bondage, idolatry, and self-rule—by union with the true King. Such news is treasure to be shared, not buried. Shared joy deepens joy. As one year closes and another opens, the call is clear: trust the Son, follow His lead, and make known the rescue He has accomplished.

Christmas Morning Service

Derch dit see wie, waut Leew werkjlich es. Daut wia nich onse Leew fa Gott. Daut wia siene Leew fa ons, daut hee ons sienen Sän schekjt, ons de Sinden auftonämen.

- 1 Johanes 4:10

I’m grateful for each of you in this Advent season. We celebrate not a legend, but a real moment in history: God stepped into our world in Jesus to reconcile us to Himself. John 3:16 tells us the Father’s motive—love. That love does not sort people into “good” and “bad” lists. Our culture often swaps Jesus for Santa, turning Christmas into a reward-for-behavior story. But Jesus came for the ones on the “naughty” list—the lost, the sick, the ones who know they can’t fix themselves. God’s gift is not performance-based; it is grace-based, offered to all who believe.

Because love is a vast word, I drew from Luke 15, where Jesus shows what love looks like. A shepherd goes after one wandering sheep. A woman turns the house upside down for a lost coin. A father runs toward a ruined son, embraces him, clothes him, and throws a feast—not after he cleans up, but as he comes home. That’s the heart of the Father toward you. Nothing in all creation can separate us from His love. Yet God’s love is not indulgence; He disciplines those He loves. Like any wise parent who keeps a child out of the highway, the Lord’s correction is protection, shaping us into wholeness and peace.

How do we experience this love? Often through one another. Jesus commands us to love as He has loved us. Fellowship becomes a conduit of God’s affection, wisdom, and courage. But some of us have armored our hearts because of betrayal and pain. A hardened heart blocks pain—and love. The way back is a wise, guarded openness with trustworthy, Christ-honoring people, and most of all to Jesus Himself. He stands at the door and knocks. Open to Him, and the feast begins—new life, deep peace, and a love that will outlast every earthly gift.

Fräd - Pastor Peter Thiessen

Dan stunden bie dän eenen Enjel plazlich een grootet Schoof Enjel un lowden Gott un säden: Lot Gott em hechsten Himmel Iea kjrieen, un de Menschen opp de Ieed Fräd, dee, aun dee hee sien Jefaulen haft.

- Lukas 2:13-14

Oba de Enjel säd to de Hoad: Fercht junt nich! Horcht! Ekj brinj junt eene goode groote Freidens Norecht, wuatoo sikj aule Menschen freien woaren; junt es dise Nacht, en David siene Staut, de Heilant jebuaren, de Har, Christus.

- Lukas 2:10-11

I shared how Advent stirs up memories of childhood joy—family gathered, songs sung, simple gifts received—and how that joy points to something deeper and older: the joy announced in a field to ordinary shepherds. The angel’s words were clear: good news of great joy for all people. The details and timing of how people celebrate may vary, but the point has never changed. Joy arrived in Jesus. The shepherds heard, responded, went to see, and then shared. That is still the pattern: hear, respond personally, and then spread what we have seen and heard.

This joy is not vague optimism. It is tied to a Person. With Jesus, you receive joy; without Him, you miss the heart of it. He came with human limits, touched specific lives, then returned to the Father so the Holy Spirit could dwell in all who trust Him. That’s why joy can be personal today—because the Spirit makes it real in the heart. But it must be more than inviting Jesus to ride along while we keep heading the wrong direction. Many of us were told to “accept Jesus,” and we tried that without repentance. We kept driving the same road of sin and wondered why nothing changed. Joy begins when we surrender, make a U-turn, and follow Him as Lord.

I spoke from my own story of bondage, misery, and finally deliverance. When I turned around and followed Christ, joy came rushing in—joy in His presence, peace not like the world gives, a new life with new hope. Worldly joys fade—the new-car smell always goes. But joy rooted in Jesus endures because it flows from His peace and presence. To keep that joy burning, we keep putting logs on the fire: prayer, Scripture, worship, obedience. As we trust Him, the God of hope fills us with joy and peace, and that hope overflows by the Holy Spirit. That is the gift held out to each of us in this season: not a holiday mood, but a surrendered life filled with the joy of Christ.