RCL Proper 19A [i]
9 August 2026
Saint Helen’s Anglican Church
Vancouver BC
Flight is not an option.
I’m not sure when it began, but at some point in my life I adopted penguins as my favourite animal. I think penguins are like the clergy: we dress up in snappy black and white, sometimes with a little extra colour; we waddle around slippery terrain and fall down – but get back up. Penguin is one of the few Welsh words adopted into the English language and means ‘white head’, a name given to the birds by the Welsh sailors of Sir Francis Drake when they rounded the Cape of Magellan.
Penguins are not solitary creatures; they live in large colonies and often form life-long relationships, both heterosexual and homosexual ones. While they are ungainly on land and, as you may know, flightless, penguins are remarkably agile in the water and will travel great distances to forage for food.
Now I think that the algorithms that shape our social media feeds have caught on to my love of penguins. Recently on Facebook an ad popped up for t-shirts, hoodies and mugs that featured penguins. My favourite one was a hoodie with a penguin holding a drawn sword. Underneath was the caption: ‘Flight was never an option!’
Flight or fight
At some point in our evolutionary history, our brains developed what is known as the ‘fight or flight’ response to an external, and I think, internal threats. It is a response that we make with little or no thoughtful reflection. We size up the situation in the blink of an eye and decide what we’re going to do. This ‘fight or flight’ response is not only present in individuals but also in communities.
In some ways this ‘fight or flight’ plays a role in today’s familiar story of Jesus walking on the water to join his disciples who are struggling in troubled waters. Faced with something that they have never seen before, a human being walking on the surface of the waves, the disciples hunker down – with the exception of Peter. In one of his finer moments, Peter chooses to ‘fight’ the moment, to take the risk to cross over to Jesus. But, as we all know, that choice to ‘fight’ soon gives way to ‘flight’ as the reality of the situation grips Peter. I know what Matthew puts into the mouth of Peter, but I am tempted to think that Peter said something more like this: ‘Jesus, what was I thinking? Get me out of this!’
Most of the time we don’t pay close attention to what Jesus says once he and Peter are in the boat. Jesus does not say that Peter and the others have no faith; Jesus says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” [ii] In those few words I see Jesus doing two things – (i) he acknowledges the power of fear and (ii) he proclaims the greater power of faith. Faith, I think, is the choice to dare to take the risk to assess the moment rather than simply react. Faith takes a longer view of a situation, whereas our ‘fight or flight’ response is only concerned with the immediate moment.
Faith and the choice of fight or flight
Some of you may have read Frank Herbert’s now classic Dune series of novels; perhaps you have seen both of the recent screen adaptations. One of the themes that threads throughout the novels is the importance of taking a longer-term perspective on human history. Some characters in the novels look backwards and then seek to ‘do the math’ regarding the probabilities of a strategy achieving their purposes. One character looks forwards and sees all the possible paths, some that overwhelms him and ultimately leads to his doom. But what links all of these characters is their willingness to face their fears with wide open eyes.
If you are familiar with the novels, then you will know that one of the ways the characters face their fear is by reciting what is known as the ‘Litany Against Fear’.
I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. [iii]
While Frank Herbert was not a fan of organized religion of any sort, his words do remind us of a simple truth in a life of faith: Faith is the choice to face our fears.
“Ventures of which we cannot see the ending” [iv]
When Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, they had no idea what they were setting into motion. What they intended as a convenient way to rid themselves of an annoying sibling who enjoyed their father’s favour ends up being the salvation of the entire family. But there’s one thing about Joseph. Throughout his entire ordeal, he believes that God is at work to bring about the divine purposes for Joseph, for his family, for Egypt.
When Paul witnessed the stoning of Stephen, he had no idea what was being set into motion. The martyrdom of Stephen and Paul’s own efforts to suppress the early Christian movement came to no avail, and even Paul found himself caught in the web of the love of God made known in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. Paul the persecutor on behalf of a rigorous fidelity to what he understands to be God’s Law becomes Paul the apostle to those who by that Law are deemed outsiders.
In the more than four decades since I was ordained, I have witnessed communities such as ours react in a communal ‘fight or flight’ response. Some communities have fought against the ending of our privileged place in Canadian society and refused to look courageously at what we might learn from this and how our faith might lead us into a more life-giving response. Other communities have fled and turned inward and then, one day, simply turned out the lights and turned in the keys.
But this has not been the story of this Parish. This Parish has, on more than one occasion, faced its fears and, instead of becoming combative or enclosed, has chosen to learn, to grow and to respond. This is not a Parish that responds instinctually to fear; it is a Parish that prays, reflects and then acts to share the good news of God in Christ in a neighbourhood where that good news is truly needed.
Next Sunday this Parish will enter into a new chapter of its story. No doubt the waters in which we sail are choppy; no doubt there will be moments of uncertainty. But there is more than a little faith here. There is a belief that God is here in our midst, leading us, healing us, challenging us, so that we and all God’s children shall be saved, made whole, in witness to what God can do.
On this Sunday, as I preside and preach for the last time as your priest in charge, I close with a prayer from the Lutheran tradition that I believe in a prayer for such a time as ours, a time in which our boats are shaken but not swamped, a time when our fears are real but need not be paralyzing, a time in which our hopes are greater than our doubts:
O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the endings, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.[v]
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