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There is a word that runs like a thread through every reading we have just heard — a word so familiar it may have slipped past us. That word is fear.
Jeremiah knows fear. He hears whispers from every side: "Denounce! Let us denounce him!" His so-called friends are watching, waiting for him to stumble. He is not a prophet celebrated in his time; he is a prophet under siege. And yet, in the very middle of that terror, something shifts. He says, "But the LORD is with me, like a mighty champion." The fear does not disappear — but it no longer has the last word.
Jesus, in the Gospel of Matthew, speaks directly to this same fear. He says it three times, as if he knows we need to hear it more than once: "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:26). "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:28). "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:31). Three times. Because fear is stubborn. Fear is persuasive. Fear has a way of drowning out every other voice.
What are we afraid of today? Perhaps not the same things as Jeremiah — most of us will not be thrown into a cistern for speaking the truth. But the fears are real. Fear of standing out in a culture that no longer shares our values. Fear of saying we are Catholic when that identity is mocked or misunderstood. Fear of speaking up for the vulnerable when silence would cost us so much less. Fear of our own inadequacy — the whispered voice that says: who do you think you are? Into those fears, Jesus speaks the same word he spoke to his disciples on the road to their mission: Do not be afraid.
But Jesus does not simply tell us not to be afraid and leave us there. He gives us a reason. And that reason is worth pausing over. "Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father's knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows" (Mt 10:29-31).
A sparrow, in the first century, was the cheapest thing in the market — two for a penny, Utterly disposable. No one counts sparrows...Except God counts them, and If God's attention and care reaches down to a bird so small that the marketplace barely notices it — how much more does that same attention reach into your life? Into the anxiety you woke up with this morning? Into the grief you are carrying? Into the secret fear that you do not matter?
The God of the universe has counted the hairs on your head. That is not a poetic imagery — it is a theological declaration: you are known. You are not lost in the crowd. You are not a number. You are seen, named and held. This is the foundation Jesus is laying before he sends his disciples out. He is not saying the road will be easy. He has already told them they will face rejection, that they will be dragged before authorities, that division will come. He is not giving them a prosperity gospel. He is giving them something better: the certain knowledge that they are in the Father's hands. Shouldn't this be enough to walk forward, to speak the truth, to live without being paralyzed by fear? Is it for you?
in the second part of the Gospel, Jesus says "Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father" (Mt 10:32-33).
These words have a way of making us uncomfortable — and they should. They are not spoken to frighten us, but to awaken us to the seriousness of what it means to follow Jesus in the world. To acknowledge Christ is not only a matter of saying the right things in church on Sunday. It is more than exclamations of 'Alleluia' and 'amen'. It is more than parroting Bible verses (hey, the devil quoted scripture, didn't he?) It is a way of living. It means that when the conversation turns and someone demeans the dignity of another human being, we say something. It means that when the pressures of the culture push us toward indifference — toward treating our neighbor as a problem to be managed rather than a person to be loved — we resist.
Paul, in Romans, gives us the theological grounding for this. He draws the great contrast: through one man, Adam, sin entered the world and death through sin. But through one man, Jesus Christ, grace overflows, superabounds, exceeds all expectation: "How much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one person Jesus Christ overflow for the many" (Rom 5:15).
Brothers and sisters, we live in the overflow of that grace. We are not trapped in the story of Adam — of hiding, of fear, of shame. We are living in the story of Christ — of redemption, of resurrection, of a grace that is larger than our sin, more persistent than our failure, more powerful than our fear.
Jesus also warns :"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna" (Mt 10:28).
This sounds severe on first hearing. But Jesus is making a liberating distinction. He is saying: stop organizing your life around the wrong fears. So much of what drains our spiritual energy is fear of the wrong things — fear of what people think of us, fear of losing status or comfort, fear of the social awkwardness that comes from standing for something countercultural. Jesus says: redirect that energy. The only fear that is ultimately rational is the reverence owed to God.
In the Catholic tradition, we call this the fear of the Lord — and it is not a cowering terror. It is the awe of a creature before the Creator. It is the recognition that God is God and I am not (thank God) — and that this is actually very good news, because God is not only powerful but loving, not only just but merciful.
Brothers and sisters, as we prepare to bring our gifts to this altar, we bring all of that with us — the fears we carry, the shame we hide, the silence we have kept when we should have spoken. And into all of it, Jesus speaks. Not once, but three times, because he knows us well: Do not be afraid. You are known. You are held. Every hair of your head is counted. The grace of God in Jesus Christ overflows every wound, every failure, every moment you let fear have the last word.
Then go, renewed by this Eucharist and acknowledge him — not in some grand heroic gesture, but in the small, daily, courageous act of living like someone who knows they are loved, and giving freely in return, as we heard last week.
That is enough. That is more than enough. Because the One who counts sparrows counts you too.
Peace.
Deacon Michel
Jesus, in the Gospel of Matthew, speaks directly to this same fear. He says it three times, as if he knows we need to hear it more than once: "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:26). "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:28). "Do not be afraid" (Mt 10:31). Three times. Because fear is stubborn. Fear is persuasive. Fear has a way of drowning out every other voice.
What are we afraid of today? Perhaps not the same things as Jeremiah — most of us will not be thrown into a cistern for speaking the truth. But the fears are real. Fear of standing out in a culture that no longer shares our values. Fear of saying we are Catholic when that identity is mocked or misunderstood. Fear of speaking up for the vulnerable when silence would cost us so much less. Fear of our own inadequacy — the whispered voice that says: who do you think you are? Into those fears, Jesus speaks the same word he spoke to his disciples on the road to their mission: Do not be afraid.
But Jesus does not simply tell us not to be afraid and leave us there. He gives us a reason. And that reason is worth pausing over. "Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father's knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows" (Mt 10:29-31).
A sparrow, in the first century, was the cheapest thing in the market — two for a penny, Utterly disposable. No one counts sparrows...Except God counts them, and If God's attention and care reaches down to a bird so small that the marketplace barely notices it — how much more does that same attention reach into your life? Into the anxiety you woke up with this morning? Into the grief you are carrying? Into the secret fear that you do not matter?
The God of the universe has counted the hairs on your head. That is not a poetic imagery — it is a theological declaration: you are known. You are not lost in the crowd. You are not a number. You are seen, named and held. This is the foundation Jesus is laying before he sends his disciples out. He is not saying the road will be easy. He has already told them they will face rejection, that they will be dragged before authorities, that division will come. He is not giving them a prosperity gospel. He is giving them something better: the certain knowledge that they are in the Father's hands. Shouldn't this be enough to walk forward, to speak the truth, to live without being paralyzed by fear? Is it for you?
in the second part of the Gospel, Jesus says "Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father" (Mt 10:32-33).
These words have a way of making us uncomfortable — and they should. They are not spoken to frighten us, but to awaken us to the seriousness of what it means to follow Jesus in the world. To acknowledge Christ is not only a matter of saying the right things in church on Sunday. It is more than exclamations of 'Alleluia' and 'amen'. It is more than parroting Bible verses (hey, the devil quoted scripture, didn't he?) It is a way of living. It means that when the conversation turns and someone demeans the dignity of another human being, we say something. It means that when the pressures of the culture push us toward indifference — toward treating our neighbor as a problem to be managed rather than a person to be loved — we resist.
Paul, in Romans, gives us the theological grounding for this. He draws the great contrast: through one man, Adam, sin entered the world and death through sin. But through one man, Jesus Christ, grace overflows, superabounds, exceeds all expectation: "How much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one person Jesus Christ overflow for the many" (Rom 5:15).
Brothers and sisters, we live in the overflow of that grace. We are not trapped in the story of Adam — of hiding, of fear, of shame. We are living in the story of Christ — of redemption, of resurrection, of a grace that is larger than our sin, more persistent than our failure, more powerful than our fear.
Jesus also warns :"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna" (Mt 10:28).
This sounds severe on first hearing. But Jesus is making a liberating distinction. He is saying: stop organizing your life around the wrong fears. So much of what drains our spiritual energy is fear of the wrong things — fear of what people think of us, fear of losing status or comfort, fear of the social awkwardness that comes from standing for something countercultural. Jesus says: redirect that energy. The only fear that is ultimately rational is the reverence owed to God.
In the Catholic tradition, we call this the fear of the Lord — and it is not a cowering terror. It is the awe of a creature before the Creator. It is the recognition that God is God and I am not (thank God) — and that this is actually very good news, because God is not only powerful but loving, not only just but merciful.
Brothers and sisters, as we prepare to bring our gifts to this altar, we bring all of that with us — the fears we carry, the shame we hide, the silence we have kept when we should have spoken. And into all of it, Jesus speaks. Not once, but three times, because he knows us well: Do not be afraid. You are known. You are held. Every hair of your head is counted. The grace of God in Jesus Christ overflows every wound, every failure, every moment you let fear have the last word.
Then go, renewed by this Eucharist and acknowledge him — not in some grand heroic gesture, but in the small, daily, courageous act of living like someone who knows they are loved, and giving freely in return, as we heard last week.
That is enough. That is more than enough. Because the One who counts sparrows counts you too.
Peace.
Deacon Michel
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