Some of you probably know the great hymn of the church, "God of grace and God of glory." We sing it to the wonderful Welsh tune, Cwm Rhondda. Let me remind you of the words:

The refrain recurs with variations in subsequent verses. Grant us wisdom; grant us courage… for the living of these days. Grant us wisdom; grant us courage, lest we miss thy kingdom’s goal. Grant us wisdom; grant us courage, serving thee whom we adore. Grant us wisdom; grant us courage, for the facing of this hour.

It was not this morning’s annual parish meeting that brought these words to mind. Nor was it the state of the nation, nor the state of the church. It was today’s Scripture readings that provoked my musings on courage. Both the Old Testament reading and the Gospel are about worship services. Grant us wisdom, the hymn says, grant us courage… Grant us courage for the facing of this hour. It sounds like something Winston Churchill might have said. And when I hear these words, I usually think of "this hour" in a poetic or metaphorical sense. But what if we were to take those words literally? Grant us courage for the facing of this hour. This hour that we are just beginning. This hour of our Sunday corporate worship.

I’ve used a book called The Anglican Vision in adult education classes in the past. One remarkable phrase from the book has always stuck with me. The author writes that one of the traits of our Anglican character is the courage to worship. The courage to worship. Grant us courage for the facing of this hour. O God, grant us courage for the facing of this hour of worship.

Courage is one of those words that we all understand. We all know its meaning. But it would probably be helpful to take a step backwards and review a working definition for this morning. The dictionary defines courage as fearlessness in the face of danger or difficulty. I’d like to put a slightly different spin on the definition. To make courage more a choice than a feeling. I’ve tried several times to read Paul Tillich’s book, The Courage to Be (it’s very heavy going). But Tillich points out that courage always involves risk. Instead of thinking of courage as the absence of the feeling of fear, let us define courage as the choice to accept risk. Courage means volunteering to place ourselves at risk. Not all risk is courageous, of course. The decision to face risk is courageous only if the risk we take serves some worthwhile, greater purpose. To accept personal risk in the service of something greater. This is courage.

Have you ever considered worship in that light? It is our Episcopal theology, it is our conviction, it is our experience that we encounter God in worship. We encounter God. In our Eucharistic worship, we do not just receive communion, we enter into communion with the living presence of God. We offer all that we are, our souls and bodies, to God. We become one body with Christ, united with Christ.

Every time we gather in worship we read and hear readings from Scripture. And we affirm that the words we hear from Holy Scripture are the living Word of God. And when we say "Thanks be to God", we are giving thanks because that Word has the power to affect us, to inspire us, to reveal God to us.

Also, as each of us is united with Christ through our common worship, through our common prayers, we are united with one another, and we become responsible for each other’s sin and each other’s salvation.

Worship is risky business.

God is here. And as we encounter God in our participation in worship, we risk being forever changed. For those of us who believe that God is truly present with us in worship, it does indeed take great courage to worship. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage for the facing of this hour. This hour of worship.

Today’s Old Testament reading and today’s Gospel both describe the experience of worship within the community of God. You might think that the only person who needs courage in today’s reading from Nehemiah is the acolyte who had to tackle all of those Hebrew names. But, seriously, think of the people who assembled that day to hear the law of the Lord brought to them by Ezra. Did they have any idea what they were getting themselves into? Perhaps they did, and with courage, they came anyway. They came to learn, to hear. They probably could not read. But they came because they chose to open themselves to God’s word, to discover whether or not God’s word had truth, had power, in their lives. And through their gathering that morning, God’s word, God’s law, was indeed made alive in their experience. It must have been a captivating worship experience to keep their attention so much more than an hour. But evidently they were captivated, transported, swept away. Through their encounter with God’s Word in worship they came to a new awareness of themselves and their relationship with God. They bowed down to the ground in awe and wept in repentance. They knew the reality of God’s presence with them and they were transformed. Through the experience of common worship.

And what about the people who were at the synagogue in Nazareth on the particular Sabbath that Jesus happened to stop by? Their experience should be a lesson to us. The people who assembled in the synagogue probably came that day for a variety of very familiar reasons… habit, social pressure, guilt, to hear the music, to look for companionship, because their parents made them. For most of them, the decision to attend worship that day was probably not a decision that demanded courage. Then Jesus showed up.  Jesus, who had grown up right there in Nazareth, stood up and read: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor." And, Luke tells us, all eyes in the synagogue were fixed on him. Yes, I imagine they were. They knew. The people who were there in worship that day knew. They knew that the living God was speaking to them… offering them freedom of spirit… assuring them of the Lord’s favor at that very moment. They would never be the same.

That’s the risk. The risk that we will never be the same. It takes courage to know God and to be known by God in worship. God only knows what might happen.

God of grace and God of glory, on thy people pour thy power;
Crown thine ancient Church’s story; bring her bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the facing of this hour.

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