All around the world,
our brothers and sisters suffer—
imprisoned, beaten, killed.
Twelve churches attacked each day.
Four thousand four hundred people killed
this year alone
because they named the name of Jesus.
We are strangers here,
foreigners in our own land,
and it feels strange because it is.
We do not quite belong.
Our neighbours say, Yeah, nah,
and laugh,
while we feel the tug of another home
that we have not yet seen.
Our identity is not Australian,
not class or culture or comfort,
but Christ.
Chosen by the Father,
washed by the Spirit,
called to obey the Son.
Grace began this work,
and grace will finish it.
We have been born again
into a living hope.
The tomb stands empty,
and so does despair.
Our inheritance—
not investments, not savings, not land—
but a kingdom kept by God
in God’s vault of light.
Untouchable.
Unhackable.
Unfading.
And even when we whisper,
I can’t hold on,
we find the truth is otherwise:
God is holding on to us.
For a little while,
we may suffer grief.
It tests our faith—
burns away the false and leaves the true.
And still, somehow,
there is joy.
Not the easy kind,
but the quiet joy that knows
Christ has already conquered death.
In the long light of eternity,
this brief ache
will seem like one night
in a one-star hotel.
The prophets saw the outline,
but we see the face.
They longed for what we know.
Even angels strain to understand
the grace that has been shown to us.
So we lift our eyes—
chosen exiles,
refined through the fire,
entrusted with a message
that has outlasted empires.
The world may call it foolish,
but we know what we’ve been given:
a living hope,
an unfading inheritance,
and a joy that will not die.
Until faith becomes sight,
we will keep believing,
keep rejoicing,
keep walking as strangers
toward home.
Original message by Andrew West, The Bridge Church Macquarie Park NSW
12 October 2025
The Afterword 
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