In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (Luke 12:32)

These words of Jesus are quietly beautiful, aren’t they? There’s no bluster or threat—just gentleness, assurance, and deep, divine kindness.

“Do not be afraid, little flock.” Jesus knows our fears: fear of the unknown, fear of the future, fear of lack, fear of being forgotten. But he speaks to us not as a stern master, but as a shepherd—tender, personal, present. And he reminds us: “It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Not sell you the kingdom. Not withhold it until you’ve earned it. But give it, freely, joyfully, because you are beloved.

This promise—that God delights in giving—echoes all the way back to our first reading from Genesis 15. God comes to Abram in a vision and says: “Do not be afraid… I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram is full of questions. He has no heir. He sees no path forward. And yet—he believes.

“And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.”

Faith, in Abraham’s case, meant trusting in the promise, even when everything around him suggested otherwise. He looked up at the stars and chose to believe that the God who created them could also fulfil what He had spoken.

It’s that kind of faith that the writer of Hebrews reflects on: “The assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Abraham sets out, “not knowing where he was going,” but trusting the One who called him. He lives not for what he can grasp now, but for a better country—a heavenly one.

And this, too, is our calling: not simply to believe in God in a general sense, but to walk forward each day with that same trust—that God is good, that his promises hold, and that he is leading us, even when we don’t yet see the destination.

In Luke 12, Jesus invites us into that same pattern of trust. “Sell your possessions… make purses for yourselves that do not wear out… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

He’s not condemning possessions or planning, but calling us to loosen our grip. We live in a world that teaches us to hold tightly—whether it’s to money, time, reputation, or security. But Jesus invites us to let go—to live lightly, generously, freely—because the Kingdom we belong to is not one of scarcity, but abundance.

“It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” There’s no earning here. The Kingdom is not a prize for the pious or a reward for the morally elite. It’s a gift. And because it’s a gift, we can live without fear. We can open our hands and our hearts.

And so Jesus says: “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit.” This isn’t a call to anxiety or panic, but to readiness. It’s the posture of those who expect God to move, who are attentive to his presence, who watch for his coming—not with fear, but with hope.

There’s a difference between busy worry and faithful readiness. The latter comes from love. A servant who watches for the master not because he’s afraid of punishment, but because he longs to welcome him. That’s the kind of readiness Jesus invites us to.

And then he says something astonishing: “He will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.” The master becomes the servant. This is Jesus’ way. This is Eucharistic language—Christ, our Lord, coming to serve us at his table.

And how fitting it is that we reflect on these things just days after the Feast of the Transfiguration, which the church celebrated last Wednesday. On the mountain, Jesus was transfigured—his face shining, his clothes dazzling—and the disciples glimpsed, just for a moment, the glory that had always been hidden.

That moment was given to sustain them. It was a reminder that, even when they came down from the mountain into the valley of struggle and suffering, Jesus remained the beloved Son. Glory was not behind them—it was ahead.

So it is with us. In this Eucharist—this simple, sacred meal—we glimpse the glory of Christ. Hidden, yet real. Veiled, yet present. In bread and wine, we are given the Kingdom.

This table is where we bring our fears and receive God’s peace. Where we lay down our need to control and take up the posture of faith. Where we come not because we are ready, but because God is ready to meet us.

Here, we are reminded: Do not be afraid.
Here, we hear again: The Father gives you the kingdom.
Here, we are fed for the journey: like Abraham setting out, like pilgrims seeking the city of God, like servants waiting in joyful hope.

Let us come with faith. Let us watch with hope. And let us live lives that bear the quiet fruit of the kingdom.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.