In May 2009, a young playwright stood at a poetry jam at the White House and said he was working on a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton. People laughed. Of course they laughed. On the surface, it sounded ridiculous: founding fathers, cabinet debates, Revolutionary War politics, all set to rap battles and hip-hop beats.

But then Lin-Manuel Miranda started performing, and people stopped laughing. They listened. They leaned in. What had sounded outlandish suddenly sounded alive. Here was a story from the past being told in a language that could shape the future.

That is what boldness often looks like before it becomes obvious. At first, it sounds strange. At first, people laugh. At first, someone says, “That will never work.” But boldness sees a possible future before everybody else can see it.

Miranda had read Ron Chernow’s biography of Hamilton and connected with the story of an immigrant from the Caribbean who used his mind, his words, and his pen to help shape a new nation. In a PBS NewsHour interview, Miranda said the founding was not only a physical fight but also “a war of ideas,” which is why hip-hop, with its density of language and argument, fit the story so well.[1]

The American Revolution was a war of ideas. Because the future is always shaped first in the imagination. Before laws are written, before institutions are built, before movements take hold, someone has to imagine that a different world is possible.

The American Revolution was not guaranteed. It was not inevitable. There were loyalists who wanted to stay with the king. There were colonists who were unsure. There were people who had everything to lose. The revolutionaries had to take their ideals like the rule of law, representative democracy, liberty; and live as if those ideals could become reality.

If they won, they would help found a nation. If they lost, well… it’s only treason if you lose. Nothing was guaranteed. The future had to be shaped.

And that brings us to Hebrews. The early church knew what it meant to live by faith when the future was uncertain. The writer of Hebrews tells them to remember the earlier days, when they endured suffering, public insult, imprisonment, and the plundering of their possessions. They had compassion for those in prison. They stood with those who were being mistreated. They kept going because they believed they possessed “something better and more lasting.”

Then comes the line that for me is the heartbeat of this sermon: “We are not among those who shrink back and so are lost, but among those who have faith and so preserve our souls.”

We are not among those who shrink back. Bold faith does not wait passively for the future to happen. Bold faith helps shape the future God is calling into being.

Now, I know there is a tension here. On one hand, we are not in control of everything. There are limits to our power. There are things we cannot force, outcomes we cannot manage, circumstances we would never choose. I pray, “Your will, not mine.” I believe in human limitation.

And yet, I also believe God calls us to act. We are not puppets. We are not spectators. We are not called to sit on the sidelines while history unfolds without us. An old saying, often attributed to St. Augustine: “Pray as though everything depended on God; work as though everything depended on you.”

That is the kind of boldness I admire in Miranda. He took a familiar story and told it in a fresh way. He helped a new generation care about history. My kids are obsessed with Hamilton. They know facts and songs and names and places. We even took a trip to Lexington and Concord because they wanted to see where the first shots of the Revolution were fired. On spring break in New York City, we visited Hamilton’s grave.

That is why the boldness we need cannot be the boldness of domination. It cannot be the boldness of certainty without humility or religion used as a weapon. And I find myself wondering: what would it look like for us to speak about our faith with the kind of boldness and clarity as Miranda and Hamilton?

We are Congregationalists. We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses. We have inherited a faith that believes that God is still speaking, that conscience matters, that the church belongs not to a hierarchy but to the gathered people seeking Christ together.

But somewhere along the way, many of us learned to shrink back. We became careful. Quiet. Polite. We volunteered because of our faith but hesitated to speak about our faith. We preached the gospel with our lives, and sometimes we used words, but maybe we forgot that sometimes the words matter too. The invitation to a different sort of church.

John 14 is my favorite chapter of all time. Philip says to Jesus, “Lord, show us the Father.” He wants a theophany. He wants God made visible. And Jesus answers, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

Then Jesus says something astonishing: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.”

Greater works than these. That is not permission for arrogance. It is not a blank check for ego. It is Jesus giving his followers permission to be bold: not because we are impressive, but because his work continues through us.

Of course, we know why some of us are cautious. We have seen faith misused and mishandled. We have seen guilt trips instead of liberation, religious trauma instead of healing, control instead of compassion. Women and children have been harmed by people who used holy language to protect unholy behavior.

John Fugelsang’s book, Separation of Church and Hate: A sane person’s guide to taking back the bible from fundamentalists, fascists, and flock-fleecing frauds names this struggle directly: the need to reclaim the Bible and Christian language from movements that use faith to cloak cruelty, exclusion, and the pursuit of power. Whether or not we use his exact words, the point presses on us: if the good news of Jesus has been made to sound like bad news, then bold faith must tell a better story.

This is our work. This is our future. It is not guaranteed. It has to be shaped. And if we are willing to trust God, live our faith, and refuse to shrink back, then maybe we can help build a future where the good news sounds like good news again.

We are not among those who shrink back.

So let us pray as if it depends on God and work as if God has called us into the work. Let us tell the story with courage. Let us live the gospel with clarity. Let us shape the future with boldness. When they find us, may they find us supporting folks. Welcoming, loving, and serving. Building houses. Feeding the hungry. Make sure the poor have good news; rents paid and utility bills helped with. And when they ask why, we say “Because God is love. And more love is needed in the world. It’s what Jesus would have me do.” Let us not throw away our shot. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] PBS NewsHour, “Hip-Hop and History Blend for Broadway Hit ‘Hamilton,’” PBS NewsHour, February 16, 2016, https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/hip-hop-and-history-blend-for-broadway-hit-hamilton.