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Courage is easiest to see in hindsight.  It has a tail, like the wake of a ship. It is best seen looking back and gathering all the little hints to it along a pathway, even though some parts of the pathway are blood-stained, some little hints red-speckled.

We have courage the way we have insight and discernment.  It is imbedded in us by a God whose life is love – coeur – the french for “heart.”  Courage is simply love which has engaged the daily, the mundane, the regular and so won the day simply by showing up.  It may seem like the stuff of medals and ceremony, of war memorials and certificates of merit. But it is not.  No.  Courage is just showing up with all we have even when what we have is bullet-ridden, weary, leaking, sagging.  Courage is leading with one’s broken heart and its opposite is not fear, as one might think.  The opposite of courage is retirement, safety in a bunker of a protected half-lived life.  I do not mean the kind of retirement in which a job is ended and a pension is engaged by old people in a Floridian bungalow .  I mean retirement in terms of withdrawing, retiring as a drawing-back or withholding of life-force, of staying afraid. Suicide is a good example but so too is too much TV or a beloved art form unexpressed or internet surfing or just about any addiction – especially the worst addiction of all – the addiction to our own thoughts.

Courage is getting back in the ring when you feel like that last punch is one from which you may not recover.  Courage is getting up and getting back into that very thing which so deeply broke your heart – that failure, that dissolution of relationship, that deep disappointment, that failed marriage, that chilly silence between siblings or parents and children.  Courage is like lighting the fire again with wet wood and one match – it starts small, just a few crackles and a tiny trail of smoke like ivy or the black hair on a baby’s forehead. But it grows and crackles more, and soon there is a blaze of life and love and heat again.

Courage is the willingness to ask yourself, about yourself, the best question that has ever been asked, stepping back and looking at oneself from a slight distance and saying to one’s self: “I wonder what he/she will do next?” And doing so with great expectation.

The church grieves as it faces a new generation of people less inclined even to notice that it exists.  The church is a bit like a dowager countess – vaguely aware that at one time she was a great, rich and impressive figure but weighed down under the reality of a new humility brought on by old age and a greatly reduced pension.  She is forced into a kind of humility.  She must chose between  the Victorian glory in which she pretends to exist is ongoing and embracing the new reality that the church is entering into a time of molting and testing. To be authentic one must summon all one’s courage.

Perhaps there was a time in which the church was deeply noticed by the people around her.  Certainly in ancient times like the dark ages and the middle ages the church was impressive and provided some logistical and social protection – even advancement.  And it is also true that the birth of the Episcopal Church in America was in large part church as a social-climbing tool.  But today, the humility into which we are now stepping will, I think be good for us.  It will force us into a reality check.

Young people are longing for spirituality and authentic ways in which to express that spirituality.  And the church loves to bristle at the embrace of spirituality without the embrace of religious devotion.  Our membership growth committee at the cathedral struggles with this issue on a daily basis.  What do we do when Generation X demands the authenticity of Jesus’ mission to the poor and the humility of a church which has finally accepted its disgraceful history of manipulation, cruelty, arrogance and profligacy? (For more on this issue of ecclesial authenticity go to a recent simulcast on ecclesial courage by Charles LaFond at

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qtmHRVrvTo#t=171   )

Watching this man walk by this sculpture of Jesus, I was reminded that the images of our ancestors may not be the images which will attract young people too our church.  And I agree with Robert that what we have already – beauty, mystery, silence, holy awe, gorgeous music – these are still deeply attractive to young seekers.  We have everything we need to survive this generational change.  We simply need to prune away any remaining ecclesial arrogance, misuse of funds and silly distractions from serving the poor. We need to do what we do well – beautiful liturgy without fussiness, beautiful pastoral care without preference to the rich, beautiful hospitality without manipulation.  Liz’s ordination this weekend is the way forward.  As we ordain and send out missionaries to the poor and marginalized whose heart is humble and whose psyche authentic, we will be ready for these new generations without abandoning older generations.  Our Saint John’s Day celebrations this year (September 7) will be a good example: a great, huge party for the neighborhood with amazing, simple food, gut-busting laughter, warm hugs and doors open for tours.