Take Heart, Take Courage

Back when I was around seven years old, my family and I were on a trip to Silver Dollar City in Tennessee—Silver Dollar City would eventually become Dollywood.  My parents were busy watching a candle being made or something—one of those demonstration booths, places like that have—it was, of course, super boring to me, so I begged to go to the playground which was in sight of where they were.  And this being the early 1980s, my parents were perfectly fine with me heading out on my own.

Playgrounds made in the 1970s and 80s seemed designed to bring pain and suffering to children, with metal structures and concrete pads being the consistent feature.  I had broken my arm at a playground just the year before, but still my parents let me go.

It was Tennessee and the sun was hot that day.  I climbed up the slide and then pushed off, not considering that the metal slide and the hot sun might be conspiring to ruin my day.  I felt the scorch on my legs almost immediately and popped up to my feet, thinking I would just run my way down the rest of the slide.

Nope.  My feet slid out from under me.  I landed hard on my back, slid down the rest of the way and landed again on the ground, hard on my back.

The shock of the landing was compounded with the fact that suddenly I couldn’t breathe.  I gasped for breath, helplessly.

An older couple—I remember thinking they looked like someone’s grandparents—ran over to me.  I guess I managed to point to where my parents were and I think the man must have been the one that ran off to get them.  My memory is bit foggy—it was a long time ago. 

But the woman stayed.  She looked down at me and softly spoke to me as I continued to struggle to breathe.  “You have the wind knocked out of you,” she told me.  “It’s okay.  You’re going to be all right.  Just breathe.  It’s okay.  Just breathe.”  I remember her putting her hand on my abdomen as she spoke.  “Just breathe.”  All these years later, it seems like a dream to me.  But I remember her kindness more than anything and I remember feeling safe.

If you have ever had the wind knocked out of you, you know it can be terrifying, especially if you’re a child and you don’t know what’s happening.  Simply it’s just a spasm in the diaphragm and it does resolve on its own, but for those brief seconds, you feel like you’re going to die.

Today’s reading from Mark 6:47-56 is very similar to last week’s reading.  Once again, we find the disciples on a boat, struggling.  Last week it was with a storm.  This week it’s with a stiff wind.  They are really struggling with the oars.  But while it was a storm last week that frightened them, in this week’s reading it is Jesus, Himself, who is not on the boat, but, from shore, sees the disciples struggling and decides to walk out to them—to walk on water, to the disciples, who when they see this mysterious figure walking out on the sea, predictably freak out, thinking they are seeing a ghost.

Jesus says to them in verse 50, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Now here is where I’m going to turn into a bit of word nerd and punctuation nerd, because when I first read this verse which is the NRSV, I noticed a couple of things.  First, the overall feeling in this verse is one of tenderness and calm.  It’s as if Jesus were talking to the disciples as if they were a wounded animal caught in a trap.  He doesn’t want to scare them, but He wants them to know they are safe.

“Take heart,” he says, which is such an interesting phrase that I thought, I wonder what the other translations say.  Because the whole verse here is one of calm, even with its punctuation.  Take heart comma it is I semicolon do not be afraid period.  Pause, longer pause, stop.

But let’s see what other translations say.

The NIV for example.  I heard someone on Facebook the other day call the NIV the khakis of Bible translations, inoffensive and just fine.  Depending on how you grew up, what denomination, especially if you were in a mainstream protestant church, you probably grew up with the NIV version.

So, let’s look at what they do with verse 50.  The NIV reads, “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

Take courage exclamation point.  It is I period.  Don’t be afraid period.

This is a different Jesus than the NRSV.  I call this Jesus, Gaston Jesus—Gaston from “Beauty and the Beast.”  This is Warrior Jesus.  This is I Am Here to Save You Jesus.  This is Arnold Schwarzenegger Jesus, carrying all twelve disciples on His back as He walks across the sea.

Let’s look at another translation, this time the World English Bible, which might be a new translation for you.  I am familiar with it because it is in the public domain and if I want to include Bible quotes in my books, this is the version I’m going to use.  The World English Bible is basically a modern version of the King James Version.  So no thee’s and thou’s.

Here’s their translation of verse 50, “Cheer up! It is I! Don’t be afraid.”

Cheer up exclamation point.  It is I exclamation point.  Don’t be afraid period.

The King James Version actually says, “Be of good cheer.”

And so I can’t help but call this the Charles Dickens’ Jesus.  I seriously hear Jesus with a British accent in this version.  Incidentally, Dickens did write a book on Jesus’s life for his children.  It was recently turned into an animated movie this past year.  But this is a Jesus who is always smiling, a Slap You On the Back, Best Friend, Jesus. 

I could go on and on with the various translations.  I will give you one last one—this from The Living Bible, which like The Message Bible is considered more of a paraphrase than an actual translation.  The Living Bible is the only Bible my mom had and it seems like it was the go-to version for women in the 1970s. 

But verse 50 says this, “It’s all right,” he said. “It is I! Don’t be afraid.”

It’s all right, Jesus says.

Take heart.

Take courage.

Cheer up.

It’s all right. 

So, which Jesus speaks to you?  Because it occurs to me that how we view Jesus may have a lot to do with the Bible translation we have been most exposed to in our lives.  Or maybe it’s the opposite.  Maybe we are drawn to the translation where Jesus speaks in a way that we have already heard Jesus speak to us, to our own hearts. 

I did not start reading the NRSV until I became Episcopalian.  And today, I can tell you that the NRSV translation of verse 50 with Jesus saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid,” that soft measured approach, seems most like the Jesus I know now.

But there have been times in my life when “Take courage!” was how my Jesus spoke.  That Jesus set a fire under me.  Don’t give up!  Don’t be afraid!  Take courage!  I needed that Jesus.  I needed the Jesus who would fight for me and who wanted me to fight for myself too.

And there have definitely been times in my life, like when I was on the ground at the base of that slide in Silver Dollar City, struggling to breathe, when I needed Jesus to say, as that woman said to me, “It’s all right.  It’s going to be all right.”  I needed a soothing Jesus, a loving comforter. 

Jesus speaks to us differently throughout our lives, but always in the way we need to hear at the time.

What words do you need to hear today?

Take heart.

Take courage.

Cheer up.

It’s all right.

Amen.

Naked Walking

It’s called “naked walking” or “naked running” and it’s not what you think it is, but I got your attention, didn't I?

It means taking a walk or going for a run free from any tech.  No AirPods in your ears, no music, no distractions.

Made popular by Generation Z influencers, it is also called “silent walking.”

Or, as a recent New York Post article pointed out, those of us in older generations might simply call it … walking.

But no matter which generation you belong to, no matter how old you are, all of us seem to recognize that we live in a world filled with constant noise and distractions.

Have you ever turned down the radio in your car so you could see better?

Have you ever, like I have, turned down the radio in the car so you can concentrate only to realize the radio is already off and the noise you’re trying to escape is the constant noise that seems to fill our heads these days?  We can’t even quiet our own brains.

There is a reason, after all, that I do a lot of my writing in the middle of the night.

There is a reason that companies are bringing back good old-fashioned word processors, so that writers can write without the distraction of the internet being a click away.

There is a reason why so-called “dumb phones,” meant to curb screentime with limited internet connectivity, are making a comeback.

And there is a reason that I take most of my walks as soon as the sun comes up.  I don’t want to smell the diesel fumes.  I don’t want to hear the pounding and thumping of the roadwork down the block.  I want to catch the faint whiff of honeysuckle.  I want to give the bluejay space to eat his cracker.  I want to freeze like a deer frozen in headlights … when I see a deer frozen in front of me just down the sidewalk.  I want to hold my breath, too afraid any movement might startle the deer and end this perfect moment.  After all, I have watched this particular deer since he was a spotted fawn, and now he has grown his first antlers. 

I want to see things that take your breath away.

I want to appreciate the stillness of the day before the chaos of the day begins.

I want to inhabit—I want to live in those moments when my brain is silent and still.

I want to center myself and root myself firmly in God’s creation, because it is only through this practice that I have any hope of sifting through all the noise that follows and discerning God’s voice in it.

It is in 1 Kings 19:12, in the King James Version where we first hear mention of God speaking in a “still, small voice.”  Just before that, Elijah goes up to the mountain to wait for God.  And while he is waiting there is a great wind, but the Lord was not in the wind we are told.  And then there was an earthquake and then a fire, but the Lord was not in those either.

It is only after all of that noise and turmoil and upheaval that Elijah hears that still, small voice.

But one thing that may get overlooked in all this is what had to happen to Elijah in order for him to be in a place mentally and spiritually to hear that voice.

Remember that Elijah is on the run from Jezebel.  He is exhausted, existentially exhausted, and he sits under a juniper tree and begs God to take his life.  What happens next is one of the sweetest most loving examples of God’s love.  The angel of the Lord appears to Elijah twice, providing Elijah food and water and encouraging Elijah to eat, hydrate and rest.

Only then is Elijah in a place where he can hear God’s word.

And God’s word is not in the wind, not in the earthquake, and not in the fire.  Elijah has to filter all that out and lean in and listen for that still, small voice.

And what does God say to Elijah.  Does He say, “Good job, don’t worry about Jezebel!  You can retire in safety.  She won’t bother you anymore.  Go be a farmer.  Find a wife.  Have lots of kids.”

Nope.

Nor does God allow Elijah to do what Elijah initially asked for, which was to let Elijah die.

Instead, after allowing Elijah time to rest, God sends Elijah back to work.

Elijah’s work was not yet done.

Likewise, our work here is not yet done.

With all the noise of the world these days, sometimes it feels easier to just shut it all out.  We don’t try to hear God because it’s exhausting having to listen for Him, having to pick out His voice in a world where everyone seems to be yelling at you all the time.

I was pumping gas the other day and suddenly a voice came over the loudspeaker.  “Pump Four,” the voice screeched through the speaker, “you need to prepay at the pump or inside!”

My first thought was “Who is screaming at me?”  My next thought was, “Oh, wait I’m Pump Two.”  My third thought was, “Why does it seem like the world can’t stop screaming at us?”  I can’t even pump my gas in peace.

Who has the energy to pick through the cacophony to find God’s voice?

And that is why prayer is so important.  That is why grounding ourselves in God’s Kingdom is so important.  Because we have a job to do.  And the job doesn’t get finished if we give up on hearing God.

In today’s reading from 1 Samuel 12:1-6,16-25, Samuel says, “Moreover as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the Lord by ceasing to pray for you; and I will instruct you in the good and the right way.”

Our job is not just to pray for ourselves but to pray for others.  Our job is not to cut ourselves off from a hurting world, but to engage with it, with the Holy Spirit speaking to our hearts the whole way.

Samuel does not equivocate with his words.  To stop praying for someone, to give up on someone, especially those who are a hot mess of sinfulness, is a sin itself, a sin against God. 

To pray for someone is to show love to someone, unconditional, Godly love.

But first—but first, we have to be discerning.  Who are we supposed to pray for?  What form does prayer take?  Is it silent meditation or is it something more actionable like standing up and refusing to be silent when the weak and the poor among us are made weaker and poorer by society itself.   Among the eight billion people in the world, who are we supposed to turn our attention to? 

We must listen.  We must be still. 

Perhaps we must even look back at Matthew 6:26 in a different way.

Jesus says, “Look at the birds of the air ….”

I can tell you as a birdwatcher that most birdwatchers, even the ones who don’t consider themselves particularly religious, would admit that birdwatching itself is something of a holy experience.  A lot of the time you don’t know what you’re looking for, but you’re there among the trees and you hold real still and even though everything around you is green, green, green, you look for that flash of color, that blue or red that belongs to a bluejay or a cardinal or both colors together in a painted bunting.  Or, if the tree itself is still, you look for movement and you zero in on it and you train your lens on it and you hope.

Or if you’re particularly skilled, you listen.  I once heard what I thought was water, like the sound a creek makes flowing over rocks.  I knew, though, there was no water nearby, so I followed the sound and found the Brown-headed Cowbird—my first encounter with one.  It is the cowbird that weirdly sounds like water.

And I know now whenever I hear that sound and there is no water nearby, it must be the cowbird.

This is how we connect with God, through practice and familiarity.  It’s how we find Him again and again, even when there are thousands of voices competing with His. 

This is prayer.  This is how we recognize God in the midst of life’s craziness.   

Amen.