Fear keeps us at the edge of the pool even when God is standing in the pool with open arms, waiting for us to jump in. There is a lot to be afraid of these days: political tensions, economic instability, wildfires raging, storms intensifying. Our earth feels fragile. Our communities feel fractured. Our health fluctuates. There’s war. We lie awake at night thinking about worst‑case scenarios. 

And into all of that, Jesus speaks: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s — [your Creator’s] good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

This command, “Do not be afraid,” is not a trite command. Jesus isn’t telling us to toughen up or pretend things are okay when they’re not. He’s not minimizing our anxieties. He’s acknowledging them. Jesus addresses us not as warriors, workers, servants, or faithful giants, but as a “little flock.” It’s an image of vulnerability, dependence, tenderness. Sheep aren’t known for strength; they are known for needing a shepherd. And Jesus, the Good Shepherd, knows sheep are easily frightened. So he draws close and whispers, “Do not be afraid.”

Then we get an invitation to be present, to be alert. “Be dressed for action.” Readiness becomes a way of life. Waiting ready for the unexpected hour isn’t about timing the moment; it’s about transforming ourselves so that we begin to expect God in the unexpected.

So what does it look like to expect God in the unexpected?  It means to be ready to recognize the kin‑dom when it breaks in — whether in the quiet moment of prayer, a neighbor’s cry for help, or the stranger in need crossing your path. Be ready. Be open. Be accepting.  

The most unexpected hour may very well be today, right here, right now. The most unexpected hour is in the hospital waiting room, in the moment between grief and clarity. It may come when you’re folding laundry and find a forgotten note in a pocket, or while you’re scrubbing the dishes and your partner picks up a towel. The most unexpected hour might show up in the silence and stillness of a sleepless night, or the way a stranger smiles at you when you didn’t know you needed it.  

The truth is, we don’t need to go hunting for signs and wonders and big moments. We need to sharpen our vision to the ordinary miracle, the everyday grace. We need to see the kin‑dom in the woman buying groceries for a neighbor who has been sick, in the child offering a dandelion to a tired parent, in the song that brings a tear without explanation. The unexpected hour is the casserole delivered to someone just because, in the gentle, extra hand squeeze during a greeting. It’s in the laugh shared over a kitchen table cluttered with bills, and in the shared silence during a deep and meaningful conversation. These are the unexpected hours in which Christ comes. These are the moments that matter. When we expect God in the unexpected, we become part of something bigger than ourselves. We become signs of the kin-dom for others. We become living reminders that God is near.

— Reflections appears regularly on the religion page. The column features a variety of local writers, coordinated through the Monroe Area Clergy Group. Rev. Christina Schoenwetter is the Associate Pastor of Engagement at St. John’s United Church of Christ in Monroe.