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In our Gospel today (Matthew 10:26-33), Jesus assures us that not one sparrow falls to the ground without the Father’s knowledge and that we are worth more than many sparrows. “Even all the hairs of your head are counted,” our Lord says. But sometimes, this feels like an empty assurance.
If God knows each and every strand of hair on our head—the one that flies away, the one split at the end, the one tangled up in knots, and the one about to break—then surely, God knows the weight of our suffering, too. Why is it that sometimes, help is absent? Why do we fall to the ground and sometimes find no hand to lift us up?
In our first reading today from Jeremiah 20:10-13, the prophet laments about the many enemies, some who were once his friends, watching for any misstep and getting ready to pounce on him. But still he trusts in the Lord who is his champion. Throughout his life, Jeremiah faced much opposition. Because of the message God asked him to preach, he was beaten and put in the stocks. He was imprisoned many times. And he was even thrown into a cistern and left there to die. But he was always rescued by God… except from what extra-biblical tradition tells us was his last tribulation when he was stoned to death. If God knows when even one sparrow falls to the ground, where was God when Jeremiah was being pummeled with rocks?
You may not like this week’s reflection. I will not be giving you a definite answer. Instead, I am going to let you wrestle with the question and come up with your own answers.
You may have heard well-meaning people say that when we are suffering, God must be teaching us something. I do not deny that we can learn from suffering, but only the worst teachers intentionally make their students suffer and leave them without any help. Is this the God you believe in?
An oft-used sermon illustration paints the scene of someone complaining to God because of poverty and injustice: “Why haven’t you done anything?” God replies, “I certainly have done something; I created you.” While this may give us agency and remind us of our responsibility to our community, it risks portraying God as indifferent, almost like Pontius Pilate washing his hands. Is this the God you believe in?
People with deep faith might say, “Perhaps it only seems like God is doing nothing. What if we just need to step back and take the larger view? Maybe the rescue is already happening, and we are just not able to see it. Maybe we just have to wait a bit longer to see God’s plan finally come together.” But cynical me would counter, “But let’s go back to Jeremiah’s final fate. He was killed!” The faithful would continue to believe, “But it does not end with death, does it?” Our Gospel today does proclaim: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” So is God’s power revealed only in the afterlife? Is this the God we believe in?
Wandering around this maze of questions, a song from the 1990s found its way into my head: R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion.” There are many ways to interpret this unlikely hit. I think one way is to see it as a dialogue between someone about to give up on faith and God. When we find ourselves losing our religion trying to keep up with whatever God might be doing, God tells us, “Life is bigger; it’s bigger than you, and you are not me.” It’s basically the same message he gave Job when this righteous sufferer asked God for an explanation. But God never abandons us. The song can remind us of “the lengths that [God] will go to” to bridge “the distance in [our] eyes.”
There are many ways to interpret the song, and even more ways to interpret its music video (which incidentally won the Best Short Form Music Video at the 1992 Grammy Awards, as well as a slew of other trophies). In the music video, there is a scene when an old angel falls from heaven. Many people have pointed out that this may be a reference to Gabriel García Márquez’ “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings.”
This short story is about, well, an elderly man with large wings who crash-lands near the home of a poor couple. The townsfolk gather to gawk at the strange sight, trying to figure out what he is. Some call him an angel. The village priest tries to talk to him in Latin and then concludes that he is not an angel because he speaks in a different language. For a while, the old man is the talk of the town until a traveling show arrives. Its main feature is a woman who was turned into a spider because she had disobeyed her parents. The townsfolk flock to the spider-woman because they can explain what happened to her and because she answers their questions.
One lesson from the story is that we do not know how to grapple with mystery. We would rather deal with problems with clear solutions. Another lesson is how we try to put mysteries in boxes made from our expectations: The elderly man cannot be an angel because an angel must speak in Latin. Similarly, God must act this way or that because God must conform to our ideas.
So why do sparrows fall to the ground? Why does God let this happen? And why does God allow us to suffer? As I warned you, I will not be giving any definite answers. Maybe, while we are on this earth, there are no definite answers.
Your prayer assignment this week:
Watch the enigmatic and thought-provoking video of R.E.M’s “Losing My Religion."
Four times, Michael Stipe sings, “I’ve said too much.” But he also follows up with, “I haven’t said enough.” Maybe that is the way it is with mystery. While you may have said much about it already, you will never be able to put it to rest.
Watch how Michael Stipe moves his arms as he sings. It can look like he is just flailing like a drowning man. But it can also look like he is dancing. Maybe this is also the way it is with mystery. While it may feel like you are drowning, if you keep on trying to swim in it, you will find yourself dancing.
To end, one bit of trivia about “Losing My Religion” to encourage you to swim: Peter Buck, the guitarist of R.E.M., chanced upon the main riff and the melody of the refrain while trying to learn to play the mandolin. It is also the instrument he plays for the track. While learning something new, you may just stumble upon a hit song. And you don’t have to master what you are learning before you risk recording it.
While trying some new thoughts about mystery, I hope you will stumble upon God. You will never be able to master this mystery, but I hope you keep trying to dance and make music with it. And you will never be able to say enough.
Fr. Francis teaches Theology, Education and Scripture at both the Ateneo de Manila University and Loyola School of Theology. As a classroom teacher, he is first and foremost a student. As a professor, he sees himself primarily as a pastor.

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