A few weeks ago, I sat down to find some words of courage. You might see that each month I write a reflection for our monthly packets on our theme. If you haven’t seen what I’ve written this month, check it out when you leave this place. When I first sat down, I couldn’t think of anything to say. What stories do I have to tell about being brave? I don’t have any great stories to tell about saving people in burning buildings, or marching on the frontlines of protest. I couldn’t think of anything I had done that felt exceptionally courageous. The truth is, I rarely feel like a brave person. But I do often feel afraid. I know you do too.
I feel afraid of the future world we are wittingly and unwittingly preparing for our children. I feel afraid for the future of our faith, and what ministries our future will require. I feel afraid that I will go to the grocery store in a dress after work and someone else will decide that my luck has run out. And yet, I wear the dress to and from work, grateful for my queer gender. I minister to our faith’s present while I imagine its future. I take as many steps as I can to make our present world a place fit for Her future inhabitants. And I “do it scared,” to take a piece of wisdom I have found on the Internet. You see, I may not feel brave most of the time. But I do see, reflecting with you now, that I am a persistent person, no matter how afraid I feel. However afraid, I try my best to be present with my fear and discomfort, and not to flinch away from it.
It’s one thing for me to be vulnerable and stand here before you all and say that I am persistent, and present, and maybe even brave. But that leaves something very critical unsaid, which is that I am none of these things on my own. However afraid I might be, there are people who love me, principles that guide me, and practices that ground me so that I can face the world, even though I tremble.
I remember how afraid I was when I began stewarding our Faith Formation and Congregational Life ministries two years ago. Honored, delighted, excited, and also very afraid. I was afraid that I had bitten off more than I could chew. I thought I could not possibly live up to all the dreams and hopes of our people as we stumbled out of a pandemic lockdown into a new world, strange and familiar. I felt like any idea I had of what this ministry would contain was vanishing. But as those old ideas, and fears rooted in old ideas, began to vanish, they opened up room in me to embrace new ideas, new possibilities. That did not happen alone. Our people and their gifts and wisdom eased those fears, and I joined so many of our lay leaders to dream and design new ways of being together.
So many of you are in this room today, and in a moment I want to take stock of all our gifts and generosity. If you taught our children and youth this year, please stand or raise your hand.
If you led your peers in adult programming, in small-groups, and classes, and book-studies, please stand or raise your hand.
If you welcomed someone new this year, please stand or raise your hand.
If you cared for or about in this community, please stand or raise your hand.
Just look at us! Look at all of the love, and the care, and the gifts of this community. Please give yourselves a hand, a hug, a handshake.
We could not be as brave as we have been without one another. I keep returning to these great gifts that have helped me, have helped us, face the world scared, and embrace the world and each other anyway. And so, I know we will all be OK when we part ways soon, however afraid we may be.
In our story earlier this morning1, a little leaf was afraid of change. I love to say how much I love and long for change, but I won’t lie and tell you that I’m not afraid of it. If you have ever changed jobs, or changed schools, watched your body change, watch your relationship change – and I know all of you have experienced something like that – you know that whatever amount of intellectual excitement the change brings you, it also brings a measure of fear and trepidation with it. So it was with our little yellow leaf. Our little friend was so resistant to change that they would not let go of their branch, of their same-old life, no matter what happened around them. It was not until they realized that they were not alone that they could let go. It was another leaf, scarlet red, who helped them find the courage to change, to face whatever lay ahead of them.
So who will our little scarlet leaves be? Chances are they are somewhere here beside you. Your leaves might be the person sitting next to you, or in a classroom, or watching from home, or still tucked gently in bed. They have gifts to share with you, and you have gifts to share as well, when the time comes to make this leap. I know that Faith will be here beside you as well. She has many gifts, and you have so much of yourselves to share with her and one another.
As for myself, my leaves will blow away with me, wherever the wind will take me. They are my spouse, Dylan. They are my friends and colleagues in formation. They are my teachers and mentors. Though we say goodbye for now, I know the gifts we share with one another will carry us.
Thank you all. Peace, Khaire, Amen.
1. Carin Berger, The Little Yellow Leaf (New York: HarperCollins, 2008).