Yours, O Lord, is the day. Yours also is the night.

Yesterday we had Christmas brunch at our President's house. The warm hospitality of Dr. Husbands and Becky, and their generous spirits, give me continued hope and role models for how Christian lives are lived out in the warmth of encouragement, blessing, and fellowship for greater causes the Lord has called us to.  Both of them model this, and the executive team received a liturgical devotional book titled "Every Moment Holy".   I started reading it and have been glued to it, and the author Douglas McKlevey's words from one particular liturgy for the "One who works the night shift" spoke to me in my quiet time this morning. Having, in the past, managed teams globally after a day job at night, this resonates somehow... though the prayers are so good they could work for all laborers, day or night. Both belong to the Lord :) 

Yours, O Lord, is the day. Yours also is the night. 

While others have moved through
The work of the day, I have slept, keeping a counter rhythm
as the bustled hummed around me. 

Now, as the day declines and I rise,
Bless the rest I have had, O Lord,
and multiply its effects in my body,
For I am weary, and the fog of sleepiness seems always to hang about me. 

The edges fray, O Lord, for I am one
who keeps time in two worlds:
a hand in the day,
a hand in the night, 
circling, circling.
The evening is as morning to me, and the morning marks the dawn of the night. 

But all hours you are with me.
At all hours, you are at once working and resting as you rule over your creation.
Somehow, by the mysterious working of your Holy Spirit, let me be at work and also
at rest in you this night. 

O Christ Our Light, 
all hours belong to you.
You made the sun to rule the day and the moon to govern the night. 

Help me to find an ally in the moon-
that light that shines because it mirrors
a greater light. May my own life reflect,
however partially, you, O Light of the World. 

Often, work is itself a mirror,
reflecting to me something about myself
I would not otherwise notice.
Help me to see myself more honestly,
both my strengths and my weaknesses,
and to trust that you are at work in my life
As I work this night. 

Yours O Lord,m is the day,
Yours also is the night. 

And I pray you would meet me, O Lord,
As you often meet your children,
in the night hours:

Under a dark sky, you gave
Abraham your promise
All night long, Jacob wrestled with you to receive a blessing. 
Nicodemus came to you under the cover of darkness,
Lord Christ, seeking to know you better.
And you, Jesus, labored in prayer through the night
and knew the loneliness of those hours:
       "Watch with me," you said.
Even you had to steel yourself for the work
That was yours to do. 

And so, I join the company of those who have gone
before me into the labor of the night hours,
which is also the vigil.
May my work be prayer, and in and through it
May I keep company with you, Lord Christ?

Be with me and my beloved ones (my insert)
O Christ, for the work of this night.
Bless them and keep them.
Make your face shine upon them.
And be gracious to them.
Turn your face towards us and give us your Shalom.

I lift to you the work ahead, that which is known, 
and that which is unknown to me. 

There is nothing that comes tonight (or this morn/day)
That is a surprise to you; all is known to you.
So I entrust myself to you, Lord God:
Heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

I trust you with those I love, from whom?
I am absent as I work. Bless their day or sleep that they enjoy,
Keep watch over them while I am away. When they feel afraid 
or are gripped by worry for my well-being
and are tempted to imagine the worst,
May your Spirit minister comfort, like
a warm hand on their back. 

And when we feel the pain of aloneness begotten by our opposite schedules,
May we find a way to turn toward one another, reach through the fatigue, and
show each other loving attention and gentleness. 

Grant me then the grace to be ware of your faithful presence: You who are always at once working
and resting as you rule over your creation.
And when the daylight comes,
Help me receive from your sleep, I need.
to wake at nightfall (or in the morn), and again
keep watch with you. 

Yours, O Lord, is the day.
Yours also is the night. 

Amen Amen  

May this prayer be a blessing to you as it has been for me. Dr. Sam Kurien

The Ancient Enemy: What Bondi Beach Reveals About a Battle That Never Ended

 The Ancient Enemy: What Bondi Beach Reveals About a Battle That Never Ended

The images from Bondi Beach stopped me cold. Jewish families celebrating Hanukkah—the Festival of Lights—were attacked in broad daylight in Australia. Not in some conflict zone. Not in a dark alley. On a beach, in December, in one of the most cosmopolitan cities on earth.

We're witnessing something that defies purely sociological explanation.

Antisemitism is surging globally, and while hatred against any people group demands our complete condemnation and swift action, there's something uniquely persistent about this particular hatred. Something that has survived every civilization, every century, every attempt at eradication. As someone who studies patterns and root causes, I've come to believe this isn't merely a matter of cultural inheritance or political positioning. There's a spiritual dimension operating here that transcends rational analysis.

An Old Story Made New

This morning in church, the reading came from Exodus 17, and I couldn't escape the parallel. The Amalekites attacked the children of Israel as they emerged into the wilderness—specifically targeting the weak and vulnerable at the rear of the procession. Then came a second assault at Rephidim. This wasn't opportunistic raiding. This was systematic hatred aimed at annihilation.

God's response reveals something profound about His character: He declared He would wipe out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. The Almighty—patient, merciful, slow to anger—drew a line. There are forms of evil that provoke divine judgment precisely because they prey on the defenseless.

But here's what strikes me about this account. The battle wasn't won by Moses alone on the mountain, or Joshua alone in the valley. Victory required partnership—warriors fighting, intercessors praying, and Aaron and Hur holding up weary arms when Moses could no longer sustain them himself. God orchestrated triumph through collaboration, not isolation.

The Consequences of Incomplete Obedience

The story doesn't end in Exodus. It never does.

Centuries later, King Saul received explicit instructions to finish what Israel started—to eliminate the Amalekite threat completely. He failed. He spared King Agag, who fled to Shushan in Persia. Fast forward again. Haman the Agagite—a direct descendant of the king Saul should have executed—rises to power and engineers a plot to exterminate every Jew in the Persian Empire. The seed of Amalek, preserved through disobedience, became an existential threat once more. This is the pattern that haunts me: mercy extended to evil that refuses transformation becomes mercy weaponized against the innocent. God's patience creates space for repentance. When that space is exploited rather than honored, the consequences compound across generations.

The Vulnerability Factor

There's another thread in Exodus 17 worth examining. Just before the Amalekite attack, the Israelites were complaining about thirst. Their hearts had shifted from grumbling to contending—from frustration to pride. It was precisely in this moment of spiritual vulnerability that the enemy struck. I've seen this pattern in organizational leadership, in personal struggles, in spiritual warfare. The enemy doesn't attack when we're strong and vigilant. He waits for exhaustion, for distraction, for the moment when our defenses drop and our hearts turn inward.

The wilderness wasn't just a geographic location for Israel. It was a crucible that revealed what was inside them. And it's in our own wilderness seasons—when physical, emotional, or spiritual resources run thin—that we're most susceptible to attacks we'd otherwise deflect.

The Cost of Silence

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing from the heart of Nazi Germany, understood something about complicity: "Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."

Martin Luther King Jr. echoed this insight from a different vantage point: "The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people."

Both men paid for these convictions with their lives.

The battle against antisemitism—and against hatred in all its forms—isn't fought only by those on the front lines. It's fought by those who refuse to look away. By those who speak when silence would be easier. By those who, like Aaron and Hur, position themselves to strengthen weary arms.

Raising the Banner

Exodus 17 closes with Moses building an altar and naming it *Yahweh-Nissi*—"The Lord Is My Banner." Then comes this declaration: "The Lord will have war with Amalek from generation to generation."

This isn't fatalism. It's clarity. Some battles persist across ages because the enemy's hatred endures. The question isn't whether we'll face this ancient adversary. The question is whether we'll stand.

Edmund Burke reportedly said, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Whether those exact words were his or not, the sentiment has proven true across every generation that's been tested.

The Jewish families on Bondi Beach weren't asking for special treatment. They were lighting candles and celebrating their heritage. They were doing what their ancestors had done for thousands of years, despite every attempt to stop them.

Our response—intercession, advocacy, solidarity, and refusing the comfort of silence—isn't peripheral to our faith. It's the substance of it. God invites us into partnership with His purposes, and those purposes have always included defending the vulnerable and standing against darkness.

The Lord is still my banner. And this war continues from generation to generation.

The question is simply this: which side of the battle line will we stand on?

Thoughts this Sunday morning - 

Shalom

Dr. Sam Kurien