​Young at Heart Message
 
I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. From a young age, I adored my dad and I wanted to be just like him.
 
When I was four or five years old, I wanted so badly to learn to ride a bike so I could ride with my dad.
 
My parents started me on training wheels, but I hated them. They scared me.
 
Yes, I was afraid of falling, but I was far more afraid of those training wheels.
 
The training wheels created a level of uncertainty and surprise that I couldn’t stand.
 
You’re riding along and then all the sudden you start leaning to one side. Yes, the training wheels catch you, but before they do, you feel like you’re falling.
 
Then, you’re stuck riding off to the side, and you’re too afraid to try to right yourself for fear of leaning too far to the other side and then waiting for the other training wheel to catch you.
 
No thank you.
 
But, I also didn’t want to fall and skin my knees.
 
So, my ingenious solution was to practice in the grass. That way, when I inevitably fell, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
 
It also forced me to learn quickly because I didn’t want to keep falling, even in the grass. But more importantly, I wanted to be able to ride on the sidewalk or the road with my dad.
 
It did not take me long at all to learn to ride a bike. Soon, my dad and I were riding around the block, to the cemetery down the street, and to church.
 
Eventually, I was able to ride by myself on our street. I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore, and I loved being outdoors.
 
One day, I was riding along, just about back to my house from down the street, when I felt my shoelaces get caught up in the pedals.
 
Kids bikes have the brakes on the pedals, or at least they did at that time. You pedal backward to brake, so you couldn’t pedal backward to unloop your shoelaces from the pedals.
 
I had no choice. I had to fall because both my feet were stuck to the pedals. I was scared.
 
I pulled over to the side of the road, found what I thought would be the softest grassy area along the curb, and I fell. Disgraced, I took my shoes off and got the laces free.
 
I was afraid of that happening again, so I learned how to tuck my laces into my shoes so they couldn’t get wrapped up in the pedals. Problem solved, and fear abated.
 
When my family moved to a new house in a rural area, our house was the second one built on our street, which was a cul-de-sac.
 
Unfortunately for me, the cul-de-sac met up with a busy rural road, and I was still young, so I was only allowed to ride my bike on our short street.
 
I was riding one day, and my dad came home from work and drove into the cul-de-sac. The road was newly paved, and they hadn’t built the gravel shoulder up yet, so there was about a 5-inch drop-off from the road to the gravel shoulder.
 
As my dad pulled in, I tried to move over to make sure I gave him plenty of room on the road, and my back tire slid off the pavement.
 
I went down hard. I skinned my knees and I had a huge scrape on my chin.
 
I was distraught, not just because it hurt but because the next day I had my very first day of school at a brand new school. I was starting third grade.
 
This felt like the end of the world. I was afraid of what the other kids would think about this new girl with a huge band-aid on her chin.
 
Weirdly though, I don’t remember being afraid to get back on my bike. I loved riding so much, and I just learned to steer clear of high shoulders.
 
As I got older, my dad and I started to ride together on the busier rural roads.
 
I was afraid to ride alone, and I am sure my parents were afraid to let me.
 
One day, my dad asked if I wanted to ride and I must have said no because he left without me.
 
But then, I must have changed my mind. I hopped on my bike and followed him.
 
But, my dad was too far ahead. The wind was in his ears, and he couldn’t hear me yelling at him.
 
I pedaled harder than I’d ever pedaled, but I couldn’t catch up to him. My bike was smaller than his, and even though by this time I had a bike with gears and handlebar brakes, it still wasn’t big enough and didn’t have enough gears for me to be able to catch him.
 
I rode the entire way with him about half a mile ahead of me, no idea I was behind him.
 
My fear of riding alone on the rural streets was dissipated because, after all, I could see my dad ahead of me. (If anything happened to me though, he never would have known, but that didn’t occur to me.)
 
We got home and I pulled into the driveway after him, out of breath and sweaty.
 
Surprised, he said well, I guess we don’t need to be afraid of you riding alone anymore!
 
As I got older, I rode more and more, and most often I rode alone.
 
In university, I decided I needed to buy myself a decent bike if I was going to take riding seriously.
 
I bought myself a Giant brand road bike. This thing was fancy, and it was expensive.
 
It had the curved handlebars, 21 gears, and… it had pedals that I needed special shoes for so I could clip my feet to them.
 
I hadn’t had my feet stuck to bike pedals since my shoelaces got wrapped around my pedals as a kid.
 
I was scared to try these new shoes. I mean, who wants to be stuck to their pedals when something comes up and you need to take your feet off the pedals unexpectedly?
 
But, this bike was SO cool, and I was so excited to ride it. I set aside my fear and I practiced clipping and unclipping each foot.
 
Then I rode around large parking lots, practicing clipping and unclipping while I was riding.
 
Soon enough, I was riding and I wasn’t scared of getting my feet stuck.
 
Until one day, it happened. I took a turn wrong, couldn’t get my feet unclipped, and took a huge fall.
 
I don’t know if you know this, but falling as an adult hurts a lot more than falling as a kid.
 
You’re a lot farther off the ground, and I was moving fairly fast.
 
But, the fall didn’t stop me, and fear of falling again didn’t keep me from getting back on the bike.
 
Now that it had happened once, I guess I figured I knew what it felt like. I had learned more about the clips and how to use them, and I loved riding so much that I didn’t want to give it up.
 
I have a million more examples of the fear that has come along with riding my bike.
 
People would often ask me, “aren’t you afraid of getting hit by a car riding on the road?”
 
My response would be sure, if I think about it, I should be scared. A lot of bad things could happen when you mix bikes and cars on the road.
 
But I don’t think about it. Because if I think about it too much, I would never do it again.
 
And that’s where the lesson in this small story lies. There are many, many things that, if we think too hard about all the bad things that could happen, we would never do them.
 
But if we let fear overwhelm us, we would never do anything in our lives, either.
 
Fear can paralyze us. Fear can consume us.
 
And often, we can let other people’s fear become our fear.
 
The Message
 
And this is where we find ourselves in scripture today.
 
Once again, today’s passage starts with a reminder that Herod was king at the time Jesus was born.
 
Sharing this is like asking me “aren’t you afraid of getting hit by a car on your bike?”
 
Everyone knows that Herod is dangerous, violent, and paranoid.
 
Just offering that reminder would fill anyone living in that era with fear.
 
Meanwhile, the magi hear about the birth of Jesus, king of the Jews, and wish to worship him.
 
When Herod hears about this “king of the Jews,” he becomes worried – not because he’s worried for the child, but because he’s worried about the threat to his own reign of power.
 
So Herod calls these magi to him.
 
He lies to the magi and tells them that the reason he wants to know as soon as they find him is so that he can worship him, too.
 
Luckily, the magi were warned in a dream not to take the news of Jesus’s location back to Herod.
 
The scripture doesn’t speak of their fear, but they must have been filled with fear.
 
They were defying the orders of Herod, a ruler known for violence and vengeance.
 
The magi couldn’t possibly have known what was coming next.
 
They could not have known that their act of defiance would cause Herod to order the murder of all the young boys living in or near Bethlehem.
 
And yet, they had to have known that there would be consequences to their actions.
 
And they bravely chose love over fear nonetheless.
 
Their choice could have been the end of Jesus’s life. His life could have ended before it began if they had chosen to give in to their fear.
 
Instead, they chose love. Instead, they chose hope for a better world.
 
They did not allow their fear to stop them from doing what the angel in their dream told them to do.
 
They did not allow fear to paralyze them.
 
And really, when it comes down to it, they did not allow Herod’s fear to become their fear.
 
Herod’s actions – his violence and paranoia – also stemmed from fear. Fear of losing power and control. Fear of someone who may one day be able to turn people against him.
 
Fear of loss of control or power is a major driving force for those who oppress others. It is a contributing factor in many, if not most wars.
 
The magi were certainly afraid, but they did not allow their fear to paralyze them, and they did not allow Herod’s fear to influence them.
 
This is the power of epiphany: the beginning of a new path.
 
The magi do what Herod and his allies refuse to do: they seek, they kneel, and they listen.
 
So, on this Epiphany Sunday, may we wonder how the story of the magi might guide us in our own lives.
 
Like the magi, let us kneel in awe, not before the powerful, but before the powerless Christ, whose birth marks the beginning of God’s peace campaign.
 
Let us believe, with trembling hope, that fear does not have the last word.
 
Because we cannot allow fear to stop us. We cannot allow the fear of others to become our fear.
 
Instead, may love lead us forward. May love lead. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
 
God of the Stars, like the magi, we come to this place searching for you. So today, just like every day, we ask that you would remove any barriers that keep us from your Spirit. Clear out the distractions. Wipe away the doubt. Open up our hearts.  
 
And as you do, help us to keep walking. As you do, help us to move toward you. With hope we pray. Amen.

​Meditation
 
Those of you who know me know that I used to own a business. And here is what I know to be true:
 
One hundred people could tell me in one day how much they loved my business.
 
And still, if one person left a bad review or complained or said we were horrible, it was a lot easier to believe that one person than it was to believe the 100 others who loved us.
 
Studies show that it takes five positive messages to outweigh one negative message.
 
And yet, what do we get when we turn on our TV, or open social media, or glance at the news headlines?
 
Usually, it’s negative messages. Often, it’s not just negative messages, but it is messages of fear rather than hope or positivity.
 
In today’s world, it’s easy to believe that fear is louder than good news.
 
Fearful messages spread quickly, echo loudly, and linger longer than positive messages.
 
In a media world driven by algorithms and attention, fear thrives because it sells. It taps into our survival instincts.
 
We want to share fearful news because it makes us feel better to know that others are seeing it, too.
 
We cling to fear, whether we know it or not, and certainly whether we like it or not.
 
So, when the angel says to the shepherds in their field on that night long ago, “Do not be afraid,” and then declares, “good news of great joy for all people,” it’s not merely a sentimental moment.
 
It’s a revolutionary moment.
 
Here, good news is not Caesar’s victory, but God's vulnerability—made flesh in a newborn wrapped in bands of cloth and laid in a manger.
 
Good news may not always seem like it is louder than fear. But that’s the tension that we live in.
 
Like Mary—young, uncertain, and asked to carry more than she could have imagined.
 
Like Joseph—choosing to show up, even when it costs him reputation and comfort.
 
Like the shepherds—shaken awake in the night by glory and confusion.
 
The fear was real, and the risk was real.
 
The circumstances of Jesus’ birth—poverty, displacement, estrangement—are not erased by the angel’s song.
 
And yet, the good news comes anyway.
 
It comes with sound—loud and full of light.
 
It comes with bodies—angels taking up space in the sky, shepherds running through streets proclaiming glory, and Mary holding pain and promise in her arms.
 
It comes through fear, not after it.
 
Luke’s story insists that the good news of God
has weight and presence.
 
But it needs to be amplified. Proclaimed.
 
In a world where fear is curated and fed to us, proclaiming good news is a countercultural act.
 
In a world that tells marginalized communities to be quiet, that punishes joy and rage alike, joy becomes resistance.
 
The shepherds returned glorifying and praising God—they essentially became the first evangelists.
 
They tell anyone who will listen.
 
And the good news spreads—not through Caesar’s decrees, but through trembling, joyful witnesses.
 
Tonight, we are invited to do the same.
 
Not because our fear is gone—but because good news still breaks in.
 
Even when it’s quiet. Even when it’s messy. Even when it feels like the darkness will never end.
 
So let us proclaim the good news loudly.
 
Let us make space for joy that shakes the walls.
 
Let us resist fear’s domination by bearing witness to light, to peace, to Christ among us.
 
Because tonight, we remember:
 
Fear may be loud, but love is louder.
 
Violence may be strong, but hope is stronger.
 
And the good news—God is here—will not be silenced. Amen.
 
God of yesterday, today and tomorrow, we long to catch a glimpse of your Spirit. We cup our ears to hear the sound of the angel chorus. We turn our eyes toward the sky to see if we can find your star. We lean forward in our seat to see if we can feel your presence in our midst.  
 
We long to catch a glimpse of your Spirit, O God. So on this quiet night, on this holy night, on this joyful night, thank you for revealing yourself to us once more. Thank you for speaking to us through the music and the children.
 
Thank you for speaking to us through starlight and candlelight.
 
With gratitude, we catch a glimpse of you tonight and we feel your love. Amen.

The Message
 
On the First Sunday of Advent, when we began our sermon series titled, What Do You Fear?, we took time during worship to write down our fears.
 
Those fears were held in our sacred box and have been carried with us through our Advent journey.
 
And today, we have the opportunity to symbolically release those fears.
 
Originally when I began planning this sermon series, I thought maybe we would release our fears by burning them.
 
But that seemed like not the best idea, so I had to come up with a different (safer) method for releasing our fears.
 
But before we do that, I want to talk about what it means to move from fear to hope.
 
And, I’d like to use today’s scripture to do that.
 
Today, we heard how an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream and told him he could go ahead and marry Mary because the baby she was having was from the Holy Spirit.
 
As we can imagine, both Mary and Joseph must have been filled with fear.
 
In their world, having a baby out of wedlock was not safe for either of them.
 
They would both be shamed, ridiculed, and their lives might be in danger.
 
And yet, despite their fears, both Mary and Joseph decide to proceed forward.
 
They both say yes to divine intervention.
 
And in doing so, they don’t necessarily eradicate their fears.
 
Instead, they release their fears. They lift them to God and decide to trust God completely. They decide to trust that God has it under control.
 
And this trust in God makes room for hope. It isn’t that they are completely free from fear.
 
But they release that fear to God and move forward in hope – hope for a new life and a better world with the presence of the Son of God.
 
They don’t know where this path will take them, but they hold onto hope in the promised future nonetheless.
 
So today, I would like for us to follow their lead.
 
Let us take these fears that we thoughtfully and prayerfully wrote three weeks ago and let’s lift these fears to God.
 
Let us release them and trust that God will hold them for us.
 
And as we release these fears, let us move toward hope.
 
We may not be able to completely erase the fear, nor does God expect us to.
 
But as we release these fears to God, let us lift them in prayer and ask God to hold them on our behalf so we can make room for hope despite the fear.
 
When we wrote our fears, we used special paper. This paper is special because it dissolves in water.
 
So, as I place our fears into this bowl of water, I invite us all into a time of silence. Use this time to remember the fears you wrote, or perhaps new fears have come up in the past few weeks.
 
Pray over each person’s fears as we place them into the bowl of water and watch them dissolve.
 
Pray over your hope that comes out of your fears. Pray over the coming of the celebration of the birth of Jesus.
 
Pray over your hope for the Christmas season, and your hope for the New Year.
 
Pray over the fears of this community, and ask that God would hold those fears and move each of us gently toward hope.
 
Let us lift our fears to God during this time of silence as I symbolically release our fears by dissolving them in this water.
 
When this process is complete, I will ring our singing bowl.
 
*****
Now that we have released our fears to God, I want to suggest another activity that people can do during fellowship time if they wish.
 
This activity might be hard for some of us adults in the room.
 
But, I decided to offer this activity anyway because adults need opportunities to be creative and have fun, too.
 
Originally I was going to have us work on this during worship, but I realize that not everyone would enjoy doing it, and it would be tough for you to do without a table.
 
I’d just like to remind you that it’s supposed to be fun, and it is supposed to be a reminder that despite our fears, we can also be filled with hope.
 
And what better way to remind ourselves of our hope than to act like kids again for at least a few minutes.
 
So, if you would like, you can feel free to make an ornament that you are free to take home with you.
 
I suggest creating an ornament that reminds you of hope, but you can do whatever you’d like on your ornament.
 
There are plenty of markers available at the tables out in the fellowship area.
 
I would encourage you to try it, even just for a few minutes, and tap into your inner child.
 
Who knows what joy you might experience in doing a small project with others. If nothing else, it may be a reminder of our days of youth.
 
And in the meantime, as you leave here, where does your hope lie?
 
May you lift your fears to God and leave more room in your heart for hope.
 
May you allow that hope to swell and begin to displace your fears as you allow God to carry them for you.
 
May you move out of Advent and into the Christmas season with hope and joy in your hearts. Amen.
 
Let us pray:
​
Immanuel, God with us, this morning we turned off our alarm clocks. We poured cups of coffee or boiled water for tea. We slipped shoes onto our feet and combed back fly-away hairs. We bundled ourselves up to brave the cold.
 
We traveled to this room and settled into this space, all in hopes of drawing closer to you. So as we sit with each other in this sacred space, help us to feel your presence in our midst. We are reaching out our hands. We are reaching out our hearts. With love we pray, Amen. 
 
This sermon utilized the commentary by Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee  | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org. Used with permission.

​Young at Heart Message
 
One year ago, on the Third Sunday of Advent 2024, we sat in this circle, and we imagined we were sitting around a pool of water.
 
We each received a stone with a positive affirmation on it, and we tossed it into our imaginary pool and imagined the ripples reaching out to each of us as we did so.
 
This year, I had a hard time coming up with something for our circle service. I prayed about it, and I asked God.
 
I knew that the main sermon would be focused on Mary and her willingness to say “yes” through doubt, fear, shame, ridicule – you name it.
 
On the First Sunday of Advent, we took time to name our fears before God, write them down, and place them into this sacred box.
 
And I will admit that I was surprised at how well people participated. I haven’t read any of your fears, and I will not be reading them. But I did notice that many of you took a good amount of time and put some thought into your responses.
 
And while I don’t know what those fears are, I do know that people have fears. I have fears. And what that tells me is that we could all probably use some affirmation that leans toward hope.
 
So today, before we get to our main sermon, I want to take a moment to pass around this basket. In this basket are folded pieces of paper. Please take a piece of paper from the basket, but do not unfold it until it is your turn.
 
Once everyone has a piece of paper, I’ll explain what we will be doing.
 
Now that everyone has a piece of paper, I want to go around the circle and have us take turns reading our paper. Don’t open your folded piece of paper until it’s your turn.
 
When it’s your turn, please read what is on your piece of paper. When each person is done reading, I want everyone to respond by saying, as enthusiastically as possible, the word “yes.”
 
I’ll demonstrate with mine, and then we will go around the circle and repeat the process. Ready?
 
Does God call me… even when I feel like I don’t belong?
 
YES!
 
(We will go around the room, so each person is able to read theirs and receive a “YES!” from the group.)
 
How did that feel?
 
The Message
 
Thank you everyone for participating and offering one another some positive affirmations, and perhaps even some hope as we continue to move steadily toward Christmas.
 
In today’s scripture passage, we have another example of a prominent figure in the Gospels responding in fear to the appearance of an angel.
 
We just recently heard how Zechariah initially responded to the angel who appeared to him with fear. And today we hear that Mary responds in a similar way.
 
And honestly, I think that tracks. If I were approached by an angel, I would be terrified, too. Or, at the very least, I would be extremely skeptical, and I would be wondering who was pranking me.
 
But imagine Mary’s situation for a moment. She’s young, she’s not married, and she’s living in a world controlled by patriarchal systems.
 
She’s not just casually dating Joseph. They are likely pursuing some kind of arranged marriage. There’s no ancient equivalent of online dating, and she certainly doesn’t have a choice about who she marries.
 
So, when an angel appears and says “hi Mary. Would you like to have God’s child?” – of course she’s scared. She’s maybe even afraid for her life.
 
To say “yes” to this proposal is not an easy feat. Saying “yes” to God means she’s risking her body, her future marriage, and even her life.
 
Most of us would not be willing to take such a risk without, at the very least, asking some questions.
 
Luckily, Gabriel does not punish her for questioning. Instead, he reassures her with a promise that God will intervene, and she will be protected.
 
Mary is essentially wondering if God will be with her if she goes through this. And she believes that the answer is a resounding “yes.” This enables her to respond with her own “yes.”
 
Mary moves through her fear. She doesn’t set it aside, but she moves forward faithfully despite her fear.
 
Mary isn’t going into this endeavor without any fear. She’s uncertain and she can’t see exactly how this is going to play out just yet. But she musters up the courage to say “yes,” even in the unknown.
 
Just like Mary, no one can predict the future. Most of us live our lives taking only minor risks. And most of us don’t want to take too many risks on a future we cannot possibly predict.
 
And yet Mary shows us that her trust in God is stronger than her fear. Mary is living her life just trying to survive a world that is not easy for women. And yet, her call arrived amid her attempts to merely survive.
 
I wonder how often God calls us to be brave, but we are unwilling to take the risk? Or, how often we are presented with an opportunity to accept God’s call, and we bravely move forward despite our fears?
 
Can you think of times in your own life when you have had one or the other? I know I can.
 
Speaking from my own experience, I know that taking risks when it feels like God is calling me has paid off, not just for me but, I hope also for God.
 
I would not be here in Calgary if I had been too afraid to lean in when God was nudging me to make a big change in my life. And Mary would not be the mother of Jesus if she had not leaned in when God called her to take a radical risk.
 
On the first Sunday of Advent, we asked what fears we are holding onto. Now, I ask you this: what invitation or risk are you resisting because you feel inadequate or afraid?
 
What would it mean to say “yes,” not fearfully or timidly, but confidently, with purpose and courage, because you have faith in God and in yourself?
 
In this circle today, we have received a resounding “yes” from our community and from God.
 
May you leave here today with the echo of Mary’s words in your heart: “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it happen as you have said.”
 
Go in peace to hear and respond to what God is calling for you to do, who God is calling you to be, or what God might be calling you to say. Amen.
 
Pastoral Prayer
 
Let us pray: God of Hope, thank you for loving us and understanding when we are too afraid to do what you are asking of us. When we are afraid to take a risk or walk through a door you have opened for us, guide our feet and ease our worries. We know we may not move forward without fear but help us overcome our fear with courage and faithfully say “yes” to your call. In your holy and loving name, we pray. Amen.

The Message
 
The Gospel of Luke begins in a way that may seem minor to those of us reading it today.
 
But, beginning with, “When Herod was king of Judea…” is significant.
 
With these words, Luke’s Gospel tells us that Jesus was born into a world shaped by violence, occupation, and fear.
 
It would be like starting a story today by saying, “When Adolf Hitler was in power…”
 
Or, “When Joseph Stalin was the leader of the Soviet Union…”
 
Or, “When Benito Mussolini was the Prime Minister of Italy.”
 
Those of us who know anything about the dictatorships of these men know that we are talking about times of violence, of occupation, and of fear.
 
Beginning the Gospel story in this way tells us that Jesus was born in a time of survival under empire.
 
Herod, the Roman-appointed ruler of Judea,
governed with paranoia and cruelty.
 
His power, secured through imperial alliance, was maintained by coercion, surveillance, and brutality.
 
This was not a peaceful or fear-free world.
 
Luke situates the story of Jesus within these political realities.
 
Luke’s Gospel is not merely spiritual – it is also political.
 
We don’t like to hear these words said about the Gospels, but Luke’s Gospel was written as resistance in the face of empire.
 
With this context in mind, Luke introduces us to Zechariah and Elizabeth.
 
Zechariah and Elizabeth are childless. In this context, barrenness was often interpreted as divine judgement.
 
For Elizabeth especially, her childlessness brought not just personal grief but also public shame.
 
And yet, despite the pain and grief and shame, Zechariah and Elizabeth maintained their faith, even through their longing and their waiting.
 
While offering incense in the temple, Zechariah encounters a divine messenger. During this encounter, his response is not relief or joy—but fear.
 
Zechariah is not merely startled by this encounter.
 
It evokes deep inner shaking, a disruption of body and spirit.
 
Fear, in this context, is not failure. It is a natural human response to divine disruption.
 
But fear can become more than a reaction. It can take root and become a way of being.
 
If we aren’t careful, this kind of fear can shape our posture toward the world.
 
Many of us know this kind of fear.
 
This fear can become embedded in our bodies, relationships, and public discourse.
 
It becomes background noise so constant we forget it’s there.
 
Like Zechariah, we may grow so used to disappointment that when hope finally arrives, it startles us.
 
When God interrupts, we flinch.
 
This fear is real—but Zechariah and Elizabeth’s story reminds us that it is not the only truth.
 
God has been listening. God enters the silence, the ache, the barrenness—into the very place where fear has taken root.
 
And God’s response begins not with a miracle, but with recognition: your prayer has been heard.
 
These words are not just for Zechariah – these words are for us, too, this Advent season.
 
In a season of waiting, we are not asked to suppress fear but to face it. To ask:
 
How does fear live in me?
 
What voices has it amplified?
 
What longings has it silenced?
 
Fear can be a teacher. It tells us that something matters.
 
That something is at stake.
 
It is the voice of our vulnerability asking not to be erased, but acknowledged.
 
Advent gives us room to sit with fear—not to banish it, but to listen.
 
What are we afraid to hope for?
What have we stopped praying for?
Where has fear caused us to shrink back?
 
Zechariah’s fear doesn’t disqualify him. It marks the beginning of transformation.
 
“In the time of Herod...” the world was loud with empire’s threats, echoing with grief and longing.
 
And still—God broke in. In the time of fear, God heard a prayer. And responded with presence.
 
This Advent, perhaps the question is not how we get rid of our fear.
 
Perhaps the deeper invitation is this: Can we name our fear honestly—and still believe God is near?
 
So, with all of that in mind, we are going to take a few minutes now to name our fears.
 
This is not a public exercise. It is a deeply personal, private, and spiritual exercise.
 
This is between you and God.
 
You all should have at least one piece of paper.
 
There are markers or pens available – you may need to share.
 
I would like you all to take some time now to name your fears by writing them on your paper.
 
You might be thinking “I don’t have any fears.” This may be true, but remember that fear can sometimes manifest as longing.
 
For example, some people desperately long for a partner, but perhaps this translates to fear of loneliness.
 
Many of us long for more money, more resources, etc. Perhaps this longing is fear of future insecurity.
 
Many of us know exactly where our fears lie: we are afraid for the future, afraid for our children or grandchildren, or afraid of the world we are leaving for future generations.
 
There are big fears and small fears, but none are insignificant to God.
 
So, let’s take 5 minutes now to write our fears.
 
Once you are done, you can fold that paper up as small as you’d like. Then we will each put our paper in this box.
 
This box will be a sacred and confidential box. It will remain in my office during the week, and we will bring it out each Sunday so we can hold space for our fears. No one will see these fears.
 
As we move further into Advent, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, we will symbolically release those fears and then take time to name our hopes.
 
So, please take 5 minutes now to write your fears. I will ring the singing bowl when the time is up.
 
This should be a time of silence, prayer, and opening of heart to God.
 
*****
 
May your fears be held safely in the arms of our loving and gracious God. Amen.
 
 
Let us pray:
 
With-us God, in the time of Moses, you spoke through water in the desert and a pillar of smoke. In the time of the judges, you spoke through the prophets.
 
In the time of Herod, you spoke through angel choruses and unlikely miracles. In every time you have been speaking. So today, in our time, we ask that you would speak again. Break through the chatter and the distraction of our weary minds and speak to us once more. With hope we pray, amen.
 
 
 
This sermon utilized the commentary by Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee  | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org. Used with permission