May was quite an adventure for me in terms of logistics and routine. I had just completed my first month living in Napier—barely enough time to recover my sleep, adjust to the new time zone, and establish a productive work rhythm—when I found myself launching into a season of travel… and a house move!
A few days after landing in the beautiful region of Hawke’s Bay, my local church—where I serve as a pastor—kindly hosted me in a holiday home until a more permanent place became available.
The cozy property sat right in front of one of Napier’s beaches, offering me the daily joy of having breakfast in the sunroom as the sun rose behind the ocean, ending my days with seaside walks, and enjoying a glass of wine on Saturday nights while listening to the waves and feeling the ocean breeze.
When I was younger, to be honest, I hated routine. I found it boring. It felt like sticking to a fixed schedule and calendar limited my “creative freedom.” Ah, the whims of youth…
But after turning thirty, I began to appreciate routine, to love being home, and to realize how much I need stability for my mental and emotional wellbeing. One key to adapting quickly to this new country, language, and culture was having a place to come back to at the end of each day. That beach house became my personal oasis—a space where I could decompress from the pressures of immigrant life, think in my native language again, and simply rest.
On the day I left for my trip, I had to vacate the house I’d been staying in, as it was going to be rented out to new guests while I was away. I packed up all my clothes, emptied the fridge, and gathered every decorative item I’d placed around the house to turn that temporary rental into a home.
I loaded my car, which stayed parked at the church and served as my “temporary storage” during the trip. But my artwork and decorative pieces—I hid them inside a cupboard in the house, planning to retrieve them later. I left two scented candles as a gesture for the next guests, but one item I chose to keep hidden was a rosemary-scented diffuser, a gift from a dear friend in Brazil, which I tucked away in the secret cabinet.
The trip itself was incredibly fruitful—but I’ll share more about that in my next piece. I stopped in Tauranga for some meaningful time with fellow church leaders in New Zealand. Then I visited Auckland, where I got to reconnect with the city that was my first home in this country last year.
From there, I flew to Sydney, experiencing Australia for the first time. I attended a worship conference where I met legends like Darlene Zschech, Ben Fielding, and Matt Redman, and learned more about songwriting and the theology of worship. I even got to visit Hope UC Church on the Central Coast, led by Darlene and her husband Mark—a long-time dream come true.
After this whirlwind of travel, time zone changes, and unpredictable meals, I finally returned to Napier. When I went back to the holiday home to collect my remaining items, I was struck by something unexpected.
As I opened the cupboard where I’d hidden my belongings, the fragrance from the diffuser—sealed in for days—rushed out and filled the room. I had never smelled anything so intense—and yet, so delightful.
In that moment, the Holy Spirit reminded me of a passage from the Sermon on the Mountain:
“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you… But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you… So that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
(Matthew 6:3–4, 6, 18)
Three times in the most important sermon He ever preached, Jesus made a promise about a specific kind of divine reward—one that’s available to those whose motivation is to please the heart of God, living for the gaze of the heavenly Father.
Make no mistake—Jesus wasn’t casually offering advice or making a vague promise. What He taught in the Sermon on the Mountain was spiritual nitroglycerin—explosive enough to upend the old order, shake society, challenge the status quo, and, most of all, expose the original sin lodged in our hearts.
Since the garden of Eden, we’ve wrestled with humanity’s thirst for control. When Adam and Eve ate from the tree of knowledge, they made a deliberate choice: they distrusted God’s character and took control into their own hands. That “independence” led to death, but it also left us with a fallen heart constantly craving control, recognition, and external validation.
Jesus, in His preaching, was confronting the very material we’re made of: our ego and its endless appetite for approval. He was exposing our religiosity—how we often do “godly” things supposedly for God’s glory, when in reality, we’re seeking glory for ourselves and applause for our reputation.
But Jesus also proposed a different lifestyle: one in which we teach our ego to take second place. A way of life in which our actions aren’t for human applause, but for the eyes of the Father alone. We choose, again and again, to exchange earthly recognition for divine reward.
More than two thousand years later, Jesus’ words remain as relevant as the day they were first spoken. Centuries and cultures may change, but when it comes to human nature, “there is nothing new under the sun.” Yet, there is still a promise standing firm—a divine reward for those who live to please the Father’s heart.
“What is that reward?” you might be wondering.
Theologically, I believe it refers to the eternal rewards we’ll receive in heaven—a divine response to our obedience and sacrifices here on earth. But as I reflect on the Sermon on the Mountain as a whole, I’m convinced the reward of a secret life is becoming more like Jesus.
When we live the Beatitudes and adopt a lifestyle centered on the Father’s gaze, we become the salt of the earth and the light of the world. As we embrace the hidden life, the fragrance of Christ begins to form within us. And as we become rooted and grounded in love, we develop a character that glorifies Jesus—naturally.
Just like that hidden fragrance that burst forth when the cupboard door opened, the character of Christ formed within us will be revealed in the ordinary moments of daily life—impacting everyone around us.
As for me, I’ve finally moved everything into my new home. I’m excited to decorate it, establish a new routine, and place that rosemary diffuser right in my living room.
Until next time.
