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.