Times of transition create tenderness, tension, and
trepidation. The shift from one chapter of life to the
next, from one place to the next, brings a dizzying
array of possibilities and much uncertainty.
Transitions in leadership are particularly charged.
There is the understandable desire to cling to the way
things were and the person who brought us there.
There is skepticism about the new leader and the
inevitability of change on the horizon.
The reality is that we are always in some kind
of transition. It is as true of individuals as it is of
communities. Change is the only constant. Change is
rarely welcomed. Change is never easy.
Moses was dead. The great leader with a direct
line to God, the liberator of the oppressed, the one
who had stood toe-to-toe with Pharaoh, parted
the waters of the Red Sea, and guided the people
through the wilderness to the very edge of the
land of promise, was gone. It was as if the center of
the web had been removed and God’s people left
flapping in the wind. Anxiety was high. There was
tenderness, tension, and even trepidation. The eyes
of the people turn to the leader chosen by God to fill
some very big sandals.
The book that bears his name begins with the
announcement to Joshua (my servant Moses is dead)
followed immediately by instructions for what comes
next (now cross the river Jordan into the land that I
have promised you).
That’s one way to do transition. Moses is dead. Get
on with it. There are only two problems that I can
find. Joshua has never been a leader, and there are
already people living in that land. Surely there were
whispers, maybe murmurs. I like Josh, but he’s no
Moses. Good kid, just not sure he has what it takes.
I’d like to see him part a river. I remember when he
was a teenager.
Like every leader in a time of change, Joshua has his
own insecurities, exacerbated by the long shadow of
his prominent predecessor. And this is why this first
encounter is so instrumental. God speaks directly
to Joshua, and the message is not ambiguous. If
it wasn’t clear the first time, God repeats it twice
more. Here it is:
I will be with you. Be strong. Have courage.
Courage is this Sunday’s virtue. When we think of
the word, when we read it in the stories of scripture
or the narratives of history, we are tempted to
lift it beyond our reach. The courageous in our
imagination are those heroes whose stories we
remember for centuries, whose one act of bravery
turned the course of world events.
But what if courage is less about a single dramatic
act and more about daily decisions?
To be sure, Joshua’s encounter with God this
morning is high drama, but it is only the beginning of
a long journey these two will share. The instruction
to be strong and courageous—like the promise of
divine presence—is meant to last, to be lived out
a little each day in small ways that might seem
insignificant.
So let me suggest to you this morning that there is
more to courage than audacity, or Herculean acts of
strength, or superhuman bravery. Let me suggest to
you this morning that the kind of courage that God
demands of Joshua is not exercised in brute force or
reckless confidence, that courage is an inclination of
the heart shaped by practice.
Ironically, courage begins with the kind of selfexamination that might first appear as weakness. Let
me explain. For Aristotle, the virtue of courage stands
between the vices of rashness and cowardice. Both
extremes result from insufficient attention to our fear.
Courage requires self-examination that reckons with
our stifling anxieties. For Joshua, this means coming
to terms with external fears (There are giants in the
land) and internal fear (Am I strong enough to lead?).
Those fears are real, and minimizing or ignoring
them will not serve Joshua well. He must name
them. He must face them. And then he must find the
courage to move, not around his fear but through it.
Lent is a time of self-examination. These holy weeks
allow us to name and face the fears we are tempted
to hide, even from ourselves. What is it that holds
you back, that keeps you from living courageously?
Which fears do you need to acknowledge so that
you are no longer constrained by them? Is it the fear
of failure? Of judgment? Of shame? Do you harbor
the fear that you are inadequate? That your faith is
simply not strong or consistent enough? Are you
afraid of stepping up or speaking out and being left
to stand and speak alone? This is the season to face
those fears in our own hearts…and in the church.
Remember the words spoken to Joshua. There is
the command. Be strong and have courage. But the
command is never separated from the promise. I
will be with you. And then, perhaps addressing the
specific fear of this young, burgeoning leader—just
as I was with Moses so I will be with you. Listen to
this truth. It is faith that makes us brave. It is the
assurance of God’s presence that gives us the
courage to stand and to speak. I am absolutely
persuaded that true courage is not the absence of
fear, for fear is endemic to the human condition.
Courage is the refusal to allow our fear to control us.
In my experience, this is a daily—sometimes hourly—
decision. It involves reminding myself that I am not
alone. That I am part of a larger story, a grander
vision. That my words and my actions matter.
Remember that all virtues are cultivated over time
by repetition and the accountability of community.
I would suggest that most of the time courage does
not simply materialize or appear in our lives. That it
is grown. That it is deepened by prayer and practice.
That it is supported by the presence of others
seeking the same.
Think of Joshua. This one moment stands out, but
it is just one moment. Joshua has been shaped by
the community that surrounds him. Joshua’s gifts
have been encouraged and affirmed. Joshua has
been mentored in intentional ways throughout his
life, seemingly small moments that build those
courage muscles so that they will be ready when he
needs them most. Beloved pastor Eugene Peterson
summarized this practice as “a long obedience in the
same direction.”
It occurs to me that most of the time our battle is not
the high stakes drama between doing good or doing
evil. Most days, our real choice is between doing
good or doing nothing, speaking or remaining silent,
risking action or sitting on the sidelines.
I confess that I worry the community of faith has
been characterized by a regrettable lack of courage.
I can understand why. We live in a time of such rapid
and uncontrolled change. Fear is the very air we
breathe. Uncertainty surrounds us. And in such times,
we tend to turn toward timidity, hunker down, focus
on our own survival, or reminisce about the glory
days of old. Do you remember when Moses parted the
Red Sea? The temptation to live in the past may be
understandable, but it is not faithful. The call of faith
compels courage rooted in the promise.
Like Joshua, we are promised the presence of God in
those moments when we must act bravely or speak
boldly. Author Marilynne Robinson speaks of this
presence as “prevenient courage.” I love that—the
idea that courage is a gift of God’s grace that goes
ahead of us.
So here are two questions we might wrestle with this
week.
What would be different if you were not controlled by
your fear?
What would you do if you were confident God was with
you?
I think I might be willing to step out in faith and
dream a little bigger. I think I might be willing to
risk a broader and a bolder love. I think I might be
brave enough to believe and work for a city that
more closely resembles God’s vision of beloved
community, where the needs of neighbors are
met, where the abundance received is extended,
where compassion is the starting place for all our
interactions, where we are always curious before we
are judgmental.
Joshua stands on the cusp of a new chapter,
called to lead with courage, promised the constant
companionship of God.
I hear it everywhere I go. Second Presbyterian
Church is a leader in our city. We have been given
the same call and the same promise. What is this
influence and capacity for if it is not to be used to
further God’s work in our city? What is this gift of
grace all about if not to make us brave?
Listen, my friends. Religious faith is being misused
and manipulated in ways that only serve to divide
us, that prey on our deepest fears. We are taught
and told to be anxious for the future, wary of our
neighbors. We are encouraged to listen to the loudest
voices, and the quiet stirring of our hearts that
speaks of a better way is muted. We are tempted
to believe the prognosticators who see only doom,
demise, and despair. But we do not have to believe it.
Courage looks like naming our fears and moving
through them to a faith that brings us together
in pursuit of a larger goal. Friends, that is what
communities of courageous leadership do. So, what
is that goal? The promised land. A community, a
beloved community, for all God’s children.
I read somewhere that courage is fear that has
said its prayers. The fear remains. But confidence
in God’s strength urges us on, compels us to act
and speak. Sometimes this takes the shape of
public proclamation and protest. Other times it
involves more subtle displays of strength, refusing
to participate with harmful acts or give your assent
to hateful words. When you are afraid and the future
is uncertain, remember the One who always goes
before you, who has conquered the world.
Have courage. God is with us. Amen.