Homilies
Do Not Be Afraid
If an angel of the Lord appeared to you today, right here, right now, how do you think you would react?
I don’t mean a sweet, softly glowing figure from a Christmas card. I mean a real angel: sudden, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. An interruption. Something that breaks into your ordinary routine and rearranges your understanding of reality.
My guess is that most of us wouldn’t respond with calm confidence or instant faith. We would probably do exactly what people in the Bible do every single time an angel shows up: we would be afraid.
That detail alone should give us comfort. Scripture never portrays people greeting angels with poise and spiritual polish. They are startled. Confused. Troubled. Sometimes terrified. And almost without exception, the first words out of the angel’s mouth are: “Do not be afraid.” Not because there is nothing to fear, but because fear is the most human response imaginable when God comes close.
On this fourth Sunday of Advent, the season when we lean toward mystery and hope, we are invited to sit with those angelic encounters, especially the ones surrounding the birth of Jesus.
Angels appear to Mary, to Joseph, to Zechariah, to shepherds in the fields. Each time, the message is not simply information; it is invitation. God is about to do something new, and the people who hear the message must decide how they will respond.
Mary is told her life will never be the same. Joseph is asked to trust a truth that stretches reason. Shepherds, ordinary workers, overlooked and underestimated are summoned to witness glory. None of them asked for an angelic visit. None of them were prepared. And yet, somehow, each finds a way to say yes.
So what about us?
If an angel appeared before us today, would we even recognise it as an angel? Or would we dismiss it as coincidence, imagination, or inconvenience?
We live in a world that is both saturated with information and strangely starved for meaning. We are conditioned to be sceptical, cautious, and practical. That in itself is not always a bad thing but it does raise a question worth asking during Advent: Are we still listening for messages from God?
Because here’s the thing: angels may not appear to us with wings and dazzling light, but messages from God do still break into our lives. Often quietly. Often unexpectedly. Often in ways that don’t feel particularly holy at first.
A difficult conversation we didn’t want to have.
A truth we’ve been avoiding.
A nudge toward forgiveness when we’d rather hold on to resentment.
A call to care for someone when our energy already feels depleted.
A deep, persistent sense that something in our life needs to change.
These moments can feel unsettling. They disrupt our plans. They challenge our assumptions. They ask something of us. And if we’re honest, our first response is often fear—not the dramatic fear of angels and thunder, but a quieter fear: What will this cost me? What if I fail? What if I’m not enough?
The angel’s words though, still apply: Do not be afraid.
Not because the path will be easy, but because God does not abandon us in what God calls us to do.
Advent reminds us that God’s way of entering the world is not forceful or overwhelming, but intimate and vulnerable. Emmanuel ’God with us’ does not arrive as a distant ruler issuing commands from above, but as a child, dependent on human care. And that tells us something important about how God still works today.
God speaks not only through dramatic signs, but through human voices, human relationships, and human acts of love.
Which brings us to another question: Is it possible that angels are not only the messengers we receive but perhaps they are also the messengers we become?
The word “angel” simply means messenger. Not miracle-worker. Not flawless being. Messenger. Someone who carries a word, a presence, a sign of God’s care.
Think for a moment about the people in your life who have shown up at just the right time. Someone who listened without judgment. Someone who told you the truth when you needed to hear it. Someone who offered help when you were overwhelmed. Someone who reminded you, either by their words or actions, that you were not alone.
Many of us can point to moments like that and say, “They were an angel to me.” Perhaps that’s not just a figure of speech.
What if being an angel to others doesn’t require perfection or certainty, but simply availability? A willingness to show up. To speak hope. To say, “Do not be afraid” in a world that gives people plenty of reasons to be afraid.
We can be angels when we advocate for those whose voices are ignored. When we choose kindness over convenience. When we sit with grief instead of rushing past it. When we offer forgiveness. When we bear witness to suffering and refuse to look away. When we remind someone, through our presence, that God has not forgotten them.
And here’s both the beautiful and the challenging part: when we do that, we often don’t know the full impact of what we’re offering. The shepherds didn’t know how their visit would be remembered. Mary didn’t know how far her yes would echo. Joseph couldn’t see the whole story when he chose faith over fear. They simply took the next faithful step.
Advent is not about having everything figured out. It’s about staying open. Open to wonder. Open to disruption. Open to the possibility that God is nearer than we think and speaking through unexpected voices, calling us into deeper love.
As we have almost arrived at Christmas, we shouldn’t just prepare to remember the birth of Jesus. We should prepare to receive Emmanuel again. God with us; in our uncertainty, in our questions, in our ordinary lives. God with us; not as an abstract idea, but as a living presence that continues to speak and send and love through human hearts and hands.
So if an angel appeared before you today, maybe the message wouldn’t sound so different from the one given long ago: Do not be afraid. God is with you. Love is being born again. Will you help carry it into the world?
May we have the courage to listen. May we have the humility to respond. And may we have the grace to become messengers of that love for one another.
Let us pray
Gracious and loving God, We thank you for drawing near to us, for choosing to be Emmanuel—God with us.
When we are afraid, remind us of your presence. When we are uncertain, speak your word of peace. When we feel unworthy or unprepared, help us trust that you still work through us.
Open our hearts to hear your messages in the voices of those around us and in the quiet stirrings within our own lives.
Make us messengers of hope, bearers of compassion, signs of your love in a weary world.
May your presence dwell among us, within us, and through us, now and always.
Amen.