Litanies & Prayers

Ken Sehested

In Memory of Rosa Parks’ refusal to relinquish her bus seat, leading to her arrest,
1 December 1955, Montgomery, Alabama, a small act of defiance which
prompted the modern Civil Rights movement.

On maintaining the heart’s composure amid electoral mania

Ken Sehested

There is a certain pathology in our current season,
electoral follies punctuated by fresh tales of human
fury and nature’s duress—the combination exaggerated
if not unique. All the more reason to be reminded:

There is a life beneath, above, on the other side of this
present madness, a brightness excelling all expectation,
but not necessarily the one imagined, a surprise ending
beyond the sadness, a gladness for which we can only

Ken Sehested

First Sunday

Do not bow in the face of fear, O Little Flock of Jesus. Though be
vigilant, for there is reason to quake. Before Jesus was so described
in the Gospels, it was Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus who was
proclaimed as “savior” and “redeemer” who brought “salvation”
to the world, and citizens were to have “faith” in their “lord.”
Scripture’s nativity stories have grown sentimental in our telling,
but not so for the original accounts. Then and there, a head-to-head
conflict was narrated as to whose peace was more reliable, whose
promise more trustworthy, whose Word would endure beyond the
heavens’ rending and the mountains’ trembling. Regardless the
stumble, do not slumber. Despite history’s grimaces, do not shield
your eyes nor stop your ears, lest you miss an angel’s announcement
of hope’s incursion. Stay awake!

A litany for worship regarding the plight of immigrants

Gracious One, who jealously guards the lives of those at every edge, we lift our heavy hearts to your Mercy. Corrosive leaders claim that immigrants are “poisoning the blood of our country.”

We live in a fretful land, anxious over the ebbing away of privilege, fearful that strangers are stealing our birthright.

Loud, insistent voices demand a return to “the rule of law.”

by Ken Sehested

First Sunday advent

Blessed be your name, Beloved, who makes a way out of no way. Draw near unto us, for we live in a season of darkened sun, veiled moon, scattered stars, embattled news. Heaven itself shudders. Our bread is kneaded with sighs, and tears fill our cup. Let the light of your countenance return, with the grain and the grape, communion’s feast whereby we remember your purpose, your promise, your provision, and we again rejoice in your illuminating presence and resplendent glory.

by Ken Sehested

Composed after fumbling for worthy words, over several hours and much soul-shaking.

Invocation. “When You’re Broken Open.” —from Dance: 1, Anna Clyne, cello soloist, with Inbal Segev & London Philharmonic Orchestra & Marin Alsop

by Ken Sehested

The time has come to flee Pharaoh’s national security state for the insecurity of the wilderness.

Led by the Spirit and sustained by angels, we head to the desert for a throw-down with the Devil.

by Ken Sehested

The time has come to flee Pharaoh’s national security state for the insecurity of the wilderness.

Led by the Spirit and sustained by angels, we head to the desert for a throw-down with the Devil.

by Ken Sehested

The saints of old don’t wear golden crowns, or sit on lofty perch, mouthing caustic comments on how poorly we yet-mortal souls measure up to the glory of days past.

They, too, knew about keeping hope alive while getting dinner on the table, faucets fixed, carpools covered, and budgets balanced.