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!
Second Sunday
Be clear about this, O Little Flock of Jesus: Fear is a liar and a
cheat. It will bargain its bag of trinkets and baubles and plastic
shiny objects for the world-blessing power with which you have
been vested. When fear comes knocking, open the door and say,
“Come in; stay as long as you like, but you’ll get no bed or board
here.” Do not trouble yourself over fear’s sneers. Though tossed
on the waves of dread and cast onto the shoals of distress, take
heart. Though the wilderness be your portion, remember that the
Light of Life has been promised specifically to those who dwell
there. Though that great gettin-up-morning tarries, the day will
come when righteousness and peace will kiss. Fear not, stand still:
or such is the war-cry of the nonviolent people of God.
Third Sunday
Fear the Lord, O Little Flock of Jesus, for only such holy fear has
the power to displace the sway of every mortal life’s dread and
dismay. Indeed, the fear of God liberates the fretful, whimpering
self that demands its privilege and exemption from covenant ties—
the very things that ruin life’s verdant provision. The One who
claims you thereby frees you to be the oil of gladness, an oak of
righteousness, repairer of ruined cities. This claim does not maim
but authorizes you to declare good news to the oppressed, bind up
the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty to the enslaved and exoneration
to the incarcerated. Fear’s murmuring shrivels the soul and desiccates
the heart. Though weeping o’ertake, sow your tears trusting in the
day when shouts of joy shall break out.
Fourth Sunday
Practice fear displacement, O Little Flock of Jesus. Resist any who
proclaim the politics of panic. Live in the blessed assurance that the
world—despite much evidence to the contrary—is in God’s hands
and is promised to the meek who know their true source of security
is the One who fashioned the earth in an act of sheer delight.
“Fear not!” was the angel’s greeting to Mother Mary. And her
response to this incredulous announcement? “Let it be. Let it be
with me according to your Word.” Let it be with thee as well, barren
pilgrim, every settler who will not settle for less than the coming new
heaven and new earth, every weary traveler who awaits Christ’s
disclosure in the breaking of bread. Trod on, you traveler to Beulah’s
fecund fields, to Zion’s streams of mercy and vineyards brimmed
with gladness, where Love Incarnate soothes every furrowed brow,
disentangles every knotted fear, restores the blinded eye and
deafened ear, and caters a feast for the ages.
# # #
