Spiritual Courage
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Many years ago I learned this poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
The courage that my mother had/
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;/
Now granite in a granite hill.
The golden brooch my mother wore/
She left behind for me to wear;
I have no thing I treasure more:/ Yet, it is something I could spare.Oh, if instead she’d left to me/ The thing she took into the grave!-
That courage like a rock, which she/Has no more need of, and I have.
My mother is not dead, and she will assure you proudly in her Southern accent that she is not any kind of rock from New England! Yet somehow this poem always reminds me of her.
My mother will be the first to tell you she is not brave. She is afraid of flying and not crazy about heights. No, my mother is not brave. Then why does a poem about courage make me think of her?
Courage and bravery, in my view, are not necessarily the same thing. Bravery, as I understand it, suggests a kind of fearlessness. Brave people face danger willingly, even eagerly, for they are not afraid.
But courage is different. Courage is less about fear and more about something deeper, something, I think, that has to do with one’s spirit or soul. Courage is doing the right thing, even in the face of those who tell us we are crazy or stupid. Courage is taking a stand and living with it. Courage is also about growth: about a willingness to change one’s mind if that is the right thing to do. A brave person may fight when called upon. A courageous person may choose not to fight even if it means certain death.
My mother, and many of the mothers and others I have known, are not noticeably brave. But their courage can be astonishing. My mother, for instance, in defiance of the times and her Southern heritage, became, alongside my father, a worker for civil rights for all Americans. My seemingly-typical-suburban-housewife Mom regularly testified for abortion rights when she served on the Unitarian Universalist Women’s Federation board, and taught me and my sisters never to let anyone raise a finger to hurt us no matter how much he might say he loved us. We listened, and grew strong under her care.
My mother’s courage is not unique. Perhaps you have stories of your mother, or your father, or other people in your life who have taught you the meaning of courage. But it is not enough just to remember and celebrate those who are courageous. It is essential, I believe, to understand why courage, in particular moral courage, develops in people, and how it is lived out in ordinary and extraordinary times.
Some years ago I had the opportunity to read Conscience and Courage – Rescuers of Jews during the Holocaust by Eva Fogelman. The book is a collection of stories of people who showed tremendous moral courage during the most difficult of times.
Here was courage and bravery all rolled into one. Here were people who did things that most of us pray we’ll never have to do. Here were people whose choice to act courageously not only saved the lives of Jews during the Second World War, but also transformed their own lives forever.
The acts of courage described in this book are tremendous. Here are just a few: a 17-year-old Polish girl who hid 13 Jews in a small apartment; a young boy who took only half of his medicine at the hospital so his Jewish “brother” could have the other half as he lay sick in hiding; and an entire village in France who hid and saved hundreds of Jewish children for the duration of the war. All these acts and many more were the deeds of children, women and men who, for some reason, displayed extraordinary moral and physical courage. While others participated in the violence, or watched and did nothing, these people risked their lives to help others. Why? What made these people courageous and others not?
The author, Eva Fogelman, is hesitant to draw too many generalizations. Much depended upon the circumstances. But there are a few important things she noticed in her interviews with hundreds of these rescuers of Jews during the Second World War that allowed her to draw at least some tentative conclusions about how and why people are courageous in the face of injustice.
Most of these rescuers, she says, were raised in homes that honored difference. Our own religion suggests we do the same. A small personal example from my family speaks to this. My grandmother Stella Sumner was born and raised in the Deep South, only two generations removed from the Civil War. Yet during the 1930s and 40s, when the social segregation of black Americans was the accepted custom in her small town in Georgia, she nonetheless taught my mother to call all black men Mister and all black women Missus and to treat them with respect. This may sound like a small thing, but in those days and in that town it was not. All black men were called Uncle, and all black women Aunt. For my grandmother to teach my mother to give these men and women the kind of respect usually given only to white people seared into my mother the notion that all people have worth and dignity.
Role models are critical. Eva Fogelman’s research on rescuers of Jews during the Second World War showed that an astonishing 89% “had a parent or adult figure who acted as an altruistic role model.” One of the rescuers described her mother as “a wonderful woman who always had an open heart for anybody who needed help.”
A woman told Fogelman of her mother’s willingness to barter away all their valuable goods to provide supplies to political prisoners. One day she watched as her mother opened up a box that held 12 beautiful place settings of silver that had been a treasured wedding gift.
I was with her when she opened the box…she took out one of the spoons and I saw her hold and weigh it in her hand, apparently far away in thought.
“Wouldn’t you rather keep it” I asked, and anxiously waited for her reply.
“Keep it?” she repeated after a long silence.
The spoon was engraved with her initials. She looked at them and suddenly smiled as if something had occurred to her. Putting the spoon down, she turned to me and took my hand…
“You must learn to understand that only what you give, you’ll have.”
That daughter learned to value people over things. This instilled in her the courage to stand up to others who would deny human rights to those who were different. By modeling selfless love, this mother taught her daughter a profound lesson about moral courage.
If we human beings are going to develop moral courage, we also need to be taught to be independent, able to make decisions on our own, willing to do the right thing even if it means breaking the rules.
Rescuers in Nazi Germany broke laws that, had they been captured (and many were), would have led to their deaths. Throughout history people have made decisions to disobey authority even if it meant punishment. I think, for instance, of Unitarian Henry David Thoreau, who, because he was opposed to the Mexican War, refused to pay his poll tax and was thrown in jail.
The story goes that Ralph Waldo Emerson came to see him in the Concord jail and asked him what he was doing in there. Thoreau replied, “What are you doing out there?” Most of us, we hope, will never have to test our courage the way these people during the Second World War did. Yet courage is still needed today. In our own country, hate crimes against gay and lesbian people still happen far too often. Immigrants from other lands are being imprisoned and denied human rights on our borders. Racism still engenders fear and violence. Where is our moral courage today?
I believe that we are going to need moral courage in ever greater amounts as we move deeper into the 21st century. Our world and our nations are becoming ever more diverse. Competition for scarce resources will increase. Hate and the actions hate engenders did not go away with the Nazis. We need to ask ourselves, “What will be my response? Will I be able to show moral courage when necessary?”
I like to think that if the need arises, we will be able to respond. But I also believe we can’t do it alone. We need to trust in each other. We need to know that the values we affirm are shared by others. Knowing that others share our deep-seated belief in the dignity of human life and the sacredness of creation, we can feel strong and capable even if circumstances demand we act alone. Once I stood in the National Cathedral along side scores of Muslims, Christians and Jews, and for a moment I believed that the insanity of hatred that seems to thrive among religious groups might just disappear. I don’t believe it will happen in my lifetime, but the seeds we plant today can blossom in our children and in their children—if we will do our part to make the world a little more just
every chance we can.
When Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote her poem about her mother’s courage many years ago, she might have been speaking to me. There are times when my heart is deeply burdened, when I think there is nothing strong in me, no ability to respond with courage to the challenges of life. Yet, like the poet, I can remember my mother, and be grateful to her for instilling in me a sense of what is good and right and true. I can reflect on those brave souls who took their lives into their own hands and did the right thing by rescuing Jews. And I can think of my religious community. When I think of you, and remember I am not alone, I discover in myself seeds of courage.
Are they growing in you? Who has planted them? Who will water them? When called upon, how will you respond? These are religious questions no one can answer for you. But I believe our faith is a strong one that will sustain us even in times of devastation. Let us commit to growing that courage in our children, and in ourselves, so that one day the world may be more just, more kind, and more loving.
Barbara has a Master of Divinity degree (granted in 1985) and a Doctor of Ministry degree (granted in 2007) from Meadville/Lombard Theological School. She is a “homebred” UU whose father was also a UU minister.
Barbara has served in leadership positions on UUA and UUMA committees and was active within both the Pacific Northwest District and the Joseph Priestly District. She has led worship services at General Assembly, was the 25 year speaker at the annual gathering of UU ministers at General Assembly in 2010 and has spoken at many large gatherings of UUs across the country. She is considered an expert in UU worship and teaches worship and preaching skills to ministers, seminarians, and lay people.
Outside of the church, Barbara has volunteered in food banks and prisons, continues to participate actively in community theatre and musical groups and reads a lot of mystery novels. She is a loving sister and aunt and has many good friends. She and husband Jaco have been married since 1990 and have just retired to Bellingham, WA where they live in the Bellingham Co-Housing Community with their cat, Sophia Lion Paws.
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