From the Hallock ecumenical men's breakfast. Theme: Courageous men in scripture
I
begin just about every one of the sermons I preach with our reading for this morning from
Psalm 19:14: “Let the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord,
my rock and my redeemer.” Well, that might not seem like a verse that has much
to do with courage, but courage in the Bible is a lot more than picking up a
rock and killing a giant. It’s more than going before Pharaoh and saying “Let
my people go;” it’s more than following Jesus out on to the water and more than
a night in a lion’s den. Those are our primary images of courageous men in
scripture. We don’t have biblical sports stars, but we do have King David,
Moses, Daniel, Abraham, Solomon—religious and political leaders.
And
then there’s Jesus. Of course, it’s easy to talk about courage and Jesus.
Savior of the world, died on a cross for us, gave the ultimate sacrifice;
courageous, no doubt. But the way that Jesus was courageous was not the same as
David or Moses. Jesus was courageous in denying the need to so desperately hold
on to life, humbling himself to the point of death. It takes profound courage to
be humble, especially when you are on the right side of a question,
especially—one would assume—when you are the God of the world.
But
this is where Jesus’ ministry is especially interesting. The people want to
make him a king. In fact, after the feeding of the five thousand his followers
are ready to do it by force, because surely a person who can turn a few loaves
of bread and fish into so much must be a tremendous political leader. However,
Jesus has some serious reservations about being this kind of messiah. Jesus
knows that a king on this earth ultimately saves nobody; a political leader can
make people happy for years but all politics are swallowed up in death. Jesus
needed to be something more.
True
courage is more than great actions or, more accurately, true courage is
choosing the option that is least popular and least attractive because it is
right. If any of you are professional basketball fans you might have seen the
highlight of DeAndre Jordan’s
monster dunk over Brandon Knight last week—if you’re not a pro basketball fan
neither am I for this reason exactly. Brandon Knight could have gotten out of
the way and nobody would have blamed him, but instead he stepped into the path
and tried, and failed, to stop Jordan from his highlight reel play.
That’s courage, because it is a willingness to be embarrassed for the sake of
doing what is right.
Now,
I’m not going to go out of my way to lift up NBA players as models of courage,
except to say that Knight offers an example of how we are all given opportunities
to be courageous in our daily lives. Courage is not dunking the ball—that’s
popular, that will get you on Sports Center and make you famous—courage is being
made to look like a fool in the name of doing what is right.
All of this brings
me back to Psalm 19: “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my
redeemer.” These are words with a rather simple message: it is not about me.
They remind me to practice humility. My words don’t add up to anything without
the OK from the Holy Spirit. In fact, my words are pretty silly if they are
only mine. As a pastor, I never know what to say when somebody comes up to me after worship
and says “nice sermon”, because A) I’m not sure that they are saying that
because they mean it or out of a sense of obligation (as if I just performed a
service for them), and B) honestly, it’s not my sermon. If the
inspiration is mine then this whole pastoring thing is a waste of all of our
time. Only if the words that I’m speaking are inspired by a God who is so much
wiser than me do they matter. Otherwise, I might as well be telling you fairy
tales, since they would have a whole lot more meaning than anything I’d be
preaching.
Courage is
understanding that our gifts are not our own. In Mark’s Gospel when Jesus heals
he is so embarrassed about it he tells the disciples not to tell anybody. I bet
you never read it as Jesus being embarrassed; maybe it wasn’t that at all—maybe
he was pointing out that those miracles weren’t all that important compared to
the big miracle at the cross, but honestly it comes to the same thing: he
understood that the world was never going to be saved through little miracle
after little miracle, just as it will never be saved by our collective wisdom
or goodness. There are too many forces outside of our control, and frankly
we’re too rotten to our core to change from ruining the only world we have been
given. Jesus understood this and that is why he stays humble in the
face of the miraculous, because it is not about the little miracles but the big
miracle of the empty tomb.
Likewise, we are
tempted to make our little accomplishments into a big deal. We are tempted to
talk up all the things we do well because that’s what people do. It’s the
culture of celebrity in which we live. Who are rich and famous in our world?
Actors, athletes, politicians, whatever it is that the Kardashians do. All of
them make a brand out of their success, but all of it is temporary. In the end,
mercifully, all of it will come to nothing. No little person or accomplishment
will alter the fabric of creation. And so, we are left with the choice between
their path—that leads to fame—or the other, lesser traveled path, that leads to
courage.
I will close with
a lengthy quote from Robert Farrar Capon. Capon contrasts right-handed power (by
which he means direct, straight-line, intervening power; shooting someone with
a gun, punching someone in the face, or trying to be the loudest in a room, for
example) with left-handed power (by which he means sacrificial power, or the
power of humility). Capon writes:
“Left-handed
power…is power that looks for all the world like weakness, intervention that
seems indistinguishable from nonintervention. More than that, it is guaranteed
to stop no determined evildoers whatsoever. It might, of course, touch and
soften their hearts. But then again, it might not. It certainly didn’t for
Jesus; and if you decide to use it, you should be quite clear that it probably
won’t for you either. The only thing it does it insure that you will not—even
after your chin has been bashed in—have made the mistake of closing any
interpersonal doors from your side. Which may not, at first glance, seem like
much of a thing to insure, let alone like an exercise worthy of the name of
power. But when you come to think of it, it is
power—so much power, in fact, that it is the only thing in the world that
evil can’t touch.”[1]
That is courage.
It’s humble, it even appears passive, because it recognizes the way that true
power comes—from God, not from us. Thanks be to God for that.
Amen.
[1] Capon, Kingdom, Grace, Judgment: Paradox, Outrage
and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus. Wm. Eerdmans Publishing Co.: Grand Rapids, 2002, p.
19.
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