My last word to you all, lay and ordained leaders across this diocese, is to have courage. This post is an edited version of a sermon I preached at a Gathering of Leaders Conference in Lansing, Michigan last month. Peace and love, Rich
One of the most important books I’ve read in the past year or so is a book by Gil Rendle, entitled Quietly Courageous: Leading the Church in a Changing World. Rendle focuses more on the adaptive challenges that face the Church today. This is not a "how-to" on technical fixes. He begins by unpacking a metaphor for the kind of "quiet courage" he believes we need, a story that comes from our Jewish cousins by way of midrash.
You all know the story of the Exodus and the parting of the Red Sea as Moses and a band of slaves escape Egypt. As in Godly Play curriculum, the rabbis like to wonder. What’s not in the text that might make it come to life? The midrash that Rendle shares in Quietly Courageous goes like this:
When the Hebrews got to the water’s edge they sat down and argued about who would step into the water first. Keep in mind the Egyptian army is in pursuit. Finally Nashon, son of Amminidab gets up. This talking could go on forever – he steps into the water, up to his ankles. Nothing happens. He keeps going, up to his waist. Still, nothing happens. Up to his chin but still the waters don’t part. Finally, when he takes the step that puts his nose under water, the waters part.
Rendle suggests that quiet courage is like this and the Church could use a double portion these days. He says that what Nashon remembered was why they were there in the first place. He remembers purpose and knows that what is required is to trust in that and to keep moving.
How are we going to be the church in a changing world? What is the mission in a new reality? Likely it won’t be something that the Bishops or a General Convention does. It’ll take lots of Nashons with quiet courage in ordinary congregations, of all ages. We are at the Red Sea and the only way to go is forward. Through it. And we may have to walk beyond our ankles, beyond our waists, up to our noses before the waters part and we move into the wilderness for forty years or so, in search of the Promised Land. The journey ahead will be a long one. It’ll require quiet courage, not just from Moses but from the Nashons who may or may not be ordained leaders.
Paul Tillich once wrote that “the courage to be” is itself a sign of God’s presence in our midst. Tillich wrote those words at a time that he called “an age of anxiety”—in 1952. The infamous Eisenhower administration. (Don’t you wish you could go back seventy-two years and talk with good old Tillich and tell him, “Paul, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”)
But of course it really was a time of great anxiety. We tend to filter our memories through old episodes of “Father Knows Best” or “I Love Lucy” or “Leave it to Beaver” but in hindsight it’s pretty obvious that the certitudes of that era were coming unglued pretty quickly. The role of women at home and in the workplace were being challenged, the Civil Rights movement was just beginning. And the Cold War was in high gear, with school children practicing hiding under their desks. Sadly “shelter in place” is not a new concept.
This is why we need the courage to be and the courage to stand and the courage to act and the courage to persevere and the courage to get wet as Nashon did: because courage is a sign of God’s presence in our midst. The courage to be alive in the face of death and the courage to love in the face of hate—these are outward and visible signs of God’s eternal presence in our midst and sure and certain signs of God’s Reign breaking in for those who have eyes to see.
I have come to believe, therefore, that one of the most important things we can do for one another in Christian community is to en-courage one another. And conversely, one of the things that destroys community is when we sow the seeds of dis-couragement.
In L. Frank Baum’s book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (the book, not the film) the cowardly lion finally walks into the throne room of the great and terrible Oz. Do you remember why he has come?
"I have come for my courage," announced the Lion, entering the room. "Very well," answered the little man; "I will get it for you." He went to a cupboard and reaching up to a high shelf took down a square green bottle, the contents of which he poured into a green-gold dish, beautifully carved. Placing this before the Cowardly Lion, who sniffed at it as if he did not like it, the Wizard said: "Drink." "What is it?" asked the Lion. "Well," answered Oz, "if it were inside of you, it would be courage. You know, of course, that courage is always inside one; so that this really cannot be called courage until you have swallowed it. Therefore I advise you to drink it as soon as possible." The Lion hesitated no longer, but drank till the dish was empty. "How do you feel now?" asked Oz. "Full of courage," replied the Lion, who went joyfully back to his friends to tell them of his good fortune.
As you know, the truth is that that lion was never really as cowardly as he thought he was. He mistakenly believed that courage was about not being afraid. But what he needed was a new narrative. The fact of the matter is that true courage is about acting in spite of our fears. True courage is about facing our fears and still being brave. His friends saw bravery in him that he couldn’t see in himself, at least not until he had an outward and visible sign of it by drinking that strange elixir.
In the film, as you probably remember, it’s a medal. Medals are great and we’ve just experienced the Olympic games again, but I prefer Baum’s original metaphor. Maybe it’s not even a stretch to think of it as sharing the cup of salvation, the elixir of Christ’s blood that gives us courage to continue the journey. Always with God’s help.
