On “O Little Flock, Fear Not the Foe”: A Hymn for Reformation Day and Halloween

An art reflection by Liv Booth on the hymn "O Little Flock, Fear Not the Foe" (LSB 666). This is one installment of a series providing reflections on works of art and music from a Lutheran perspective.

Halloween and Reformation Day fall on the same day each year: Oct. 31st.

At its best, Halloween — or All Hallows’ Eve — offers us an opportunity to confront our mortality. Yes, whether you’re honoring your dear departed before All Saints’ Day on Nov. 1, or handing out candy to the milling masked masses, you can’t help but think about death. At the grave of your loved one or in a costume on your porch, it’s in front of you. Knocking on the door. And you and I are powerless. Happy Halloween.

Let’s celebrate Reformation instead! But, actually, Reformation Day is no less scary. At the heart of the Reformation is our powerlessness in the face of mortality. The unknown country calls all of us, and how do we know we’ll meet a welcome there? Justification (under attack in Luther’s day) is all about our standing before God in the judgement. Each of us alone, before the Great Judge. And nothing I can think, say or do (or buy) will prop up my case in that courtroom. … Happy Reformation.

I offer (or rather, our arsenal of hymns offers) this powerful, and pretty cheeky, response to our proper fear and trembling (Luther’s famous Anfechtung) in the face of death. You’ve likely sung it. But have you really heard it? I invite you to read this hymn with me as devotional poetry. Later, I hope you’ll sing it aloud (fast, please! This is not a dirge!) and hear that the singer smiles, sticking out his defiant chin and narrowing his eyes at that three-headed beast: sin, death and the devil, that would try to terrify God’s lambs. After you absorb this hymn, you’ll look death in the eye and dare it to say “boo.”

A most blessed All Hallows’ Eve, Reformation, and All Saints’ to you, dear lambs!

“O Little Flock, Fear Not the Foe”

LSB 666 (spooky); TLH 263. Some punctuation lightly edited. Source material for this beautiful poem: Luke 12:32, 2 Tim. 4:18, Luke 18:7–8a, Rev. 7:9–17, Ezek. 47.

1. O little flock, fear not the foe who madly seeks your overthrow; dread not his rage and pow’r. And though your courage sometimes faints, his seeming triumph o’er God’s saints lasts but a little hour.

2. Be of good cheer; your cause belongs to Him who can avenge your wrongs; leave it to Him, our Lord. Though hidden yet from mortal eyes, His Gideon shall for you arise, uphold you and His Word.

3. As true as God’s own Word is true, not earth nor hell’s satanic crew against us shall prevail. Their might? A joke, a mere facade! God is with us and we with God — Our vict’ry cannot fail!

(Note: I am partial to TLH’s translation of two of the above lines: “A jest and byword are they grown. God is with us: we are His own!”)

4. Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer; Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare. Fight for us once again! So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise a mighty chorus to Thy praise forevermore. Amen!

Here we go. My heart is already pounding! Let’s listen closely to what we are singing, stanza by stanza:

Stanza 1

I see you all around me, my fellow sheep. We don’t know what we’re doing. And there’s an enemy out there. Glowing eyes and snapping jaws. It’s so sneaky too; sometimes I think I hear a friendly purr at the edge of the field, but when I wander away to investigate I see that I’m suddenly alone, and it isn’t a friend, and it isn’t a purr! It’s a growling, furious, hungry wolf! I’ve made a terrible decision; and I don’t run very fast on these little legs. It’s going to get me! There’s no way to win!

I can’t save my own hide, let alone yours, my herd-fellows.

But not to worry. That thing may be raging and powerful, but only for this moment. Only until the shepherd gets back. The shepherd, with a big stick. Hang on. He’s coming.

Stanza 2

Of course it’s we who are the sheep, but enough of metaphors. Sometimes I feel hopeless. I can’t stand up to the pressure of being perfect, to the judgment that looks into my deepest heart and finds tangled desires, slippery with the rotten sludge of ancient shames, embarrassments, humiliations, and the hurts not caused by me: the neglect, the abuse, the loneliness. As true as it is that I’ve harmed others, I have also been wronged. But it’s not my job to right those wrongs, any of them. Trying only hurts me deeper. I’m not up for that fight.

But there is One who will fight for me. Avenge my wrongs? Oh yes. All will be made right, and He can do it perfectly, thoroughly, with the finality that comes from wisdom with power. He supports my cause; He’s on my side. I can let go. He can do it better than I can. And I can’t wait to see what He does.

I can’t see it yet, but He promised. He has brought rescuers before. He will do it again. Gideon, but more than Gideon. He’s coming.

Stanza 3

Here’s where I see Him laugh as the stone rolls away from the tomb! Here’s where He gathers the children to Him, telling them to have every confidence that He is for them. He already defeated death, even chasing it down into its lair before He rushed back up from the grave like a geyser of living water, back into the earth and among us like the river that runs from under the door of the temple, watering to the ends of the earth.

He’s going to win. He has already, and He fights for me now. The shadows, the shames — He’s burned them all up in His inexhaustible light. It’s a joke that the squirmy little demons, stupidly having chosen self over Him, could even poke Him with a pitchfork anymore. The devil got his mouthful of Divine Heel. And that’s all he gets. The rabble of hell can do what they will, and they will try, but He dove under with me into the baptismal flood. He held my sin nature under the water and drowned it. I have risen with Jesus — the real me, who is His own! Only His! There is nothing else.

My life is hid with Christ in God. I’m inside His armor. I get to peek out and see Him fight, fight, fight for me.

Stanza 4

Oh Jesus, with or without armor, You’re bigger, better, stronger than all the darkness, the accusations, the lies. Bare Your arm. Let me see You pick up Your sword again and saunter toward the remnant of the enemy. Clean up the field. Pick off the retreating cowardly shadows. I love to watch You fight. Your church, your beloved, loves to watch You scythe the field of demons for us.

We shout out to You! We cry and cheer to see Your strength flatten sin, death and the devil. We read it, we feel it, we taste it. This is my forever: Your strong embrace when the fight is over.

Is death scary? Is powerlessness scary? No, Lord, no. I’ve been drowned and dragged back up by the strong arms I long to be powerless in. Amen.

Cover image: “The Good Shepherd,” Robert Zünd, 1867–1872.