I'm not much of a movie-goer. If I view more than half a dozen films in the course of a year, that would be unusual. But over the holidays I managed to see two: Lord of the Rings, the cinematic adaptation of the J. R. R. Tolkien novel, and A Beautiful Mind, the story of mathematician John Nash and his struggle with schizophrenia.
While it is perhaps heresy to say it, I did not enjoy Lord of the Rings. I know, I am fantasy challenged. The mythological corner of my right brain needs stimulation. Why didn't I enjoy the heroics of the Hobbits and the all the rest? First of all, I couldn't stand the gratuitous violence - however fantastical it was - despite the deeper moral meanings of this eternal battle between good and evil. I know, I should have liked it; I should get out of my sober reality and treat myself to the miracle of myth. But the sequels will not find me in the audience. This parable was just too far removed from the ordinary courage which I observe from day to day.
A Beautiful Mind, on the other hand, was a moving story about a genius haunted by mental illness - with fictional characters dominating his consciousness. To be sure, in the movie his life was somewhat glamorized and his receipt of the Nobel Prize in economics was a good old-fashioned happy Hollywood ending. Yet, the story reminded me of the ordinary courage human beings exhibit when they go through the simple ritual of getting out of bed in the morning when the day promises little but problems.
We hear a great deal of talk about courage and heroism these days in the wake of 9/11. The daring rescue efforts of uniformed workers and others has become legendary - we even have that controversial statue of three heroic firemen raising the American flag over the ruins of the Trade Towers, reminiscent of those brave marines who raised the flag on Iwo Jima - both examples of extraordinary - heroic courage.
But does it take a disaster to exhibit courage? What about the quiet courage of the everyday? How about spiritual and moral courage? As one writer puts it, "Courage to live in the face of danger is noble; the courage to live well in ordinary times may be even more noble."
From the virtual world of the Internet I was sent an intriguing piece called the "Charles Schulz Philosophy," in the form of a values clarifying quiz. I think it a worthwhile exercise - a mind experiment.
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world. Now, probably most of us could do that - Bill Gates, the ruling family of Saudi Arabia, The Waltons of Wal-Mart, the now infamous Kenneth Lay. Most of us can scarcely imagine that kind of wealth.
2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners. Now, with a little stretching I might be able to name a couple. But even as a rabid football fan, I'd have trouble.
3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America contest. There you have me. I couldn't name a one and I couldn't care less.
4. Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer prize. There I could do fairly well. I could name Kofi Anan, John Steinbeck, Martin Luther King, Jr., and a few others, but I would still have some difficulty naming 10 unless I really put my mind to it.
5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress. As an occasional movie-goer I haven't a clue. I don't even watch the Academy Awards because I have seen so few films.
6. Name the last decade's World Series winners. After I name the New York Yankees, who account for several years, and the Arizona Diamondbacks, who unseated the Yanks this year, I could probably name most of them, but hardly all. But what does it matter unless you have a few friends who live and die by the Yanks?
Well, how did you do? Despite the fact that the answers to these questions point to some rather famous people, I suspect that most of us had some trouble. After a while, my e-mail concludes, "the applause dies. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten. Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners."[1]
Now, by contrast, try another mind experiment.
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school. Lucretia Shafer and Katherine Phales, my first teachers in that little one-room schoolhouse in Bristol; Bill Newkirk, my high school history teacher and baseball coach; Marion Clapp, my high school math teacher; Harry Reife, my college government teacher; a seminary professor, Bob Tapp, who launched me into social action - I could go on and on.
2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time. Angus MacLean, my seminary dean, who counseled me in a major college decision; Peter Van de Water, who helped me through many a rejection by college co-eds; Fred Ward, a Unitarian Universalist minister and lifelong friend. Many people in this sanctuary.
3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile. My father and mother, of course; Clarence Aikey, my high school football coach; Henry Olmstead a 100-year-old neighbor I used to visit; Frank Frantel, my high school basketball coach; Bob Cope, another seminary professor, who helped me see the joy of preaching.
4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special. A woman in the Cleveland church who helped me when I visited her dying husband; a couple in the Ithaca church as I worked with them through the death of their baby; unnamed people in this congregation who have graced my years here.
5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with. My wife and sons and daughter in law; my football-watching buddies; my skiing friends with whom I happily spent Wednesdays on the slopes; my ministerial colleagues on retreat when we let our hair down in often riotous and hilarious ways.
I rather suspect that most of us would do much better on this second quiz than on the first one. These are real people - characters who have peopled our lives - made them better - helped us enjoy the good times and endure the bad. These are the folks who have made a difference. Most of them are unknown - few are famous - but they have been or are absolutely central to our lives. They have exhibited what I call an ordinary courage. They are the ones who care.
The ministry is a privileged position from which to view ordinary courage. For 32 years it has been my good fortune to observe it here, expressed by what some would call ordinary people. Quite obviously, I cannot name names, but many of you know who you are. Let me simply suggest a few illustrations:
The spouse who remains with the beloved during severe sickness - mental or physical. I can hardly comprehend what is required of people to be with those who are a shadow of their former selves. I remember most vividly a woman in this congregation who tended her dying husband at home and shepherded him into a gentle death.
I think of a ministerial colleague whose daughter was on drugs and asked him for money - money which he was afraid she would use to feed her habit. I think of his torment and the courage he possessed to refuse to do it. I'm not sure I could do that.
I think of a parishioner - no, several parishioners - who are not necessarily happy with some of my views on social issues, whose loyalty in the face of disappointment and even anger is unquestioned. I think particularly of Sam Agnew in the Cleveland church who warned me against going to the 1963 March on Washington - it would split the church - who had the courage to congratulate me after I preached on my experience.
I think of the parents who patiently tend to the obstreperous child who tests their patience to the very brink of anger. And of parents who deal gently and lovingly with children with multiple problems and do so with joy and grace.
I think of the people - and there are a number of them here and in other congregations I have served - who shared with me the sure knowledge of their imminent death and helped me navigate with them through those troubled waters.
I think of those who have lost their jobs - good jobs - through no fault of their own, who do not wallow in the unfairness of it all, but who persevere in continuing to be joyful human beings even while their anxiety level soars.
I think of the lonely souls who think no one cares, and yet participate in building the Beloved Community by their acts of thoughtfulness and kindness, who reach out, even as few reach out to them.
I think of the creative ones - artists of the human spirit who risk revealing what is in their hearts for all to see and hear and experience. Red Smith, a premier sports writer, said: "Writing is easy. You just open a vein and begin."
I think of the steady ones who do their jobs as best they can through the good days and the bad days, often with little recognition or thanks.
I think of one Roman Catholic seeker, worried what she had been told about the fate of her immortal soul should she affiliate with this church. She took what was for her a great risk and embraced a new and untried faith.
I think of people who have wronged another and have the courage to accept culpability and say two of the most difficult words of all, "I'm sorry." And those who simply tell the truth when it hurt.
I think of people who have quite simply failed in what they wanted to do with their lives, and yet keep on putting one foot in front of the other in their walk through the labyrinthine paths of existence.
I think of a colleague who had a serious back operation which required her to be prone for weeks on end. I cannot imagine her patience - or that of other friends and members of this church who have suffered through operations that have not worked, through sicknesses that cannot be cured, who maintain a cheerful attitude toward life.
I think of my mother, who at 90, still lives her life with zest and joy. What must it be like to be alive at such an age? With a little bit of luck, I'll find out one day - and hope to live my life as she lives hers now.
These are examples of ordinary courage - not the bravery of military combat or extreme sports or political intrigue - but the everyday courage to persevere - to keep going. There is in the everyday the courage of patience, of enduring unmerited suffering, of grief, of struggling with meaningless and despair.
The challenges of the saints and martyrs and heroes of history were overt; ours are much more subtle. Their dangers were physical; ours are spiritual and moral. Their crises tore them out of their normal lives; ours are woven within them. Their tests had to do with the currents of history; ours have to do with being human in a materialistic and technological age.
I remember the sometimes cynical cartoonist Jules Feiffer's words, "Getting out of bed in the morning is an act of false confidence." Sometimes, for all of us, it isn't easy.
Minister/writer Robert Fulghum once suggested this bumper sticker be affixed to his car: "If I could only get through this week." So say we all. This is what theologian Paul Tillich called "the courage to be" and it is the most difficult and important courage of all.
As I stand here surveying this congregation week after week, I am struck with the sudden realization that every one of us will die one day - sooner or later. And I wonder at the courage among us even as we acknowledge this inevitability. So many people with so many problems, so much anxiety, so difficult a life - and yet displaying in our many ways the simple - but demanding - courage to be. Courage, as Ernest Hemingway succinctly put it, is "grace under pressure."
I was intrigued by a story told about Winston Churchill. "In the summer of 1941 Sergeant James Allen Ward was awarded the Victoria Cross for climbing out onto the wing of his Wellington bomber, 13,000 feet above the Zuider Zee, to extinguish a fire in the starboard engine. Secured only by a rope around his waist, he managed not only to smother the fire but also to return along the wing to the aircraft's cabin. Churchill, an admirer, as well as a performer of swashbuckling exploits, summoned the shy New Zealander to 10 Downing Street. Ward, struck dumb with awe in Churchill's presence, was unable to answer the prime minister's questions. Churchill surveyed the unhappy hero with some compassion. "'You must feel very humble and awkward in my presence,' he said. 'Yes, sir,' managed Ward. Churchill then said, 'Then you can imagine how humble and awkward I feel in yours.'"[2]
Churchill was in awe of heroic courage; I am awe-struck at ordinary courage.
When we are overwhelmed with the world and cannot find our way;
When life seems a struggle between tedium and apathy
or frenzy and exhaustion;
When today seems a punishment and tomorrow a torment;
May we find ordinary courage.
We know stories of prophets and seers, heroes and heroines
Who muster courage for the ultimate challenge.
We know common people who exhibit uncommon courage in the struggles of the everyday.
May we experience courage in ourselves and our companions
That is not dramatic, that elicits no fanfare,
That commands little notice by the world,
That is forgotten, taken for granted.
May we know the ordinary courage exhibited by those who live one day at a time,
Who see the long path of life - its ambiguity and anxiety -
and do not despair,
Who inspire us by their patient courage
when we are impatient and afraid.
May we experience this ordinary courage
and quietly celebrate its presence among us.
"Are we courageous? You bet we are."[3]
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