Ken Sehested
Invocation. “Take Us Home by Another Way.” —Christopher Grundy
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In the US, 6 January 2025 is the fifth anniversary of the attempted coup to overturn Congress’ formal confirmation of the previous November’s presidential election results. It remains an open wound in our body politic. Its felonious instigator has thus far escaped conviction, has returned to power, and has pardoned all the coup’s agents.
In the Christian liturgical calendar, 6 January (Epiphany) is commonly observed as the arrival of the Eastern Magi to 
Bethlehem’s animal feed trough serving as a crib for baby Jesus. In other traditions, the date is marked as the occasion of Jesus’ baptism. In some Eastern Orthodox traditions, 7 January (according to the older Julian calendar) is celebrated as Jesus’ birth—though, in Judaic calculation, a “day” begins on sunset the night before, as in the Genesis account of Creation: “And the evening and the morning were the first day” (Genesis 1:5).
In all these cases, a coup d’état is underway, though only the despots experience it as violent, as in Mary’s hymn of praise, where the powerful are tossed from their thrones and the rich are sent away empty.
(Art at right: John August Swanson)
In all Christians traditions, the common element is the inauguration of a confrontation between God’s Only Begotten and those in seats of power. Divine table-turning is underway. Epiphany, as the manifestation of God’s Intent, will disrupt the world as we know it. Those for whom this “world” is “home”—who profit from current arrangements, from orthodoxies of every sort—will take offense at this swaddling-wrapped revolt.
The bias of heaven is clear: Epiphany’s insurrection announcement confronts every settlement anchored in repression and domination. The announcement of the Kinship of God provokes terror in the imagination of those who believe that death remains the determinant of earthly affairs, that might makes right, that spoils belong to the victors.
Epiphany is provocative. A new Victor has been declared, beyond history’s fated presumption, though its sovereignty awaits its anointed, appointed time.
How, then, are we to live in between appearance and conclusion, between the given and the promised, between Earth’s misery and Heaven’s revelry. What are the pastoral guidelines flowing from this prophetic disclosure?
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Hymn of intercession. “My heart / Be wise / Your enemies have surrounded you / Rising against you / Wait and pray / Don’t stop fighting / Ask every day / The Lord is powerful / Do not lose / Your armour / In death you will finish / Your work.” —English translation of “Inkosi Namandla” (“Lord of Strength”), a reimagining of the traditional Tshwane church song “Ke na le modisa,” arranged by Michael Barrett, performed by the University of Pretoria Camerata
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We, of the majority caste, are largely innocents. By innocent I mean clueless about the way history has privileged some and impoverished others. If we are to move toward a future beyond the fatal consequence of our transgressions, we must lose our innocence. We have hard work to do, patient work, risky work, but worthy, inspiring, hopeful work.
Take a hand. Make your vow. Gird your loins. Declare an allegiance beyond the tip of your nose. Step over your contented threshold and out of your comfort zone. Prepare for turbulence, maybe threat. Make alliances across racial, class, cultural and national boundaries. Cultivate the kind of imagination needed to resist cultural conformity and nationalist fervor.
Nurture a faith rooted deeply enough to withstand inevitable seasons of drought and tempest. Brace yourself for Epiphany’s provocation, confounding the coronation of mammon protected by praetorian guards and backed by courts of infamy. Refuse seating at the tables Jesus flipped.
Be a conscientious objector to the rule of the market. Set your eyes on a horizon beyond every prognosticating fate. Never forget that history belongs to the interceding intercessors. Between the hammer of hope and the anvil of conviction the Spirit’s fire forges impossibility into re-possibility.
These are our disciplines, and sometimes they are arduous. But they are not imposed by a divine taskmaster. They are the overflow of joy, the product of ecstatic vision capable of tracing Creation’s promise, to Resurrection’s assurance, recollecting the Prophet’s assertion that wolf and lamb will lie shorn of threat and the Revelator’s conclusion that, one day, death will be no more.
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Benediction. “I woke up this mornin’ and none of the news was good / And death machines were rumblin’ ‘cross the ground where Jesus stood / And the man on my TV told me that it had always been that way / And there was nothin’ anyone could do or say / And I almost listened to him / Yeah, I almost lost my mind / Then I regained my senses again / And looked into my heart to find / That I believe that one fine day all the children of Abraham / Will lay down their swords forever in Jerusalem. . . . / But I believe there’ll come a day when the lion and the lamb / Will lie down in peace together in Jerusalem.” —Steve Earle, “Jerusalem”
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(Art below: Kathy Manis Findley)
