“As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous…” [Joshua 1:5–6]

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation… I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” [Philippians 4:12–13]

I used to run in some fairly serious music circles. When I was a late teen, I studied music in the U.S. and was convinced I wanted to be a professional musician. I’d come from a fairly small musician-pond—I’d rubbed elbows with very talented people and had an excellent teacher—but when I got to music school, I suddenly found myself in a big pond with some really serious talent. And I realized very quickly that I wasn’t guaranteed to rise to the top.

For me, that realization was life-changing. I’d been near the top in high school for so long that I’d lost any sense that I still needed to work—to study, to practice, to hone my musicianship. Hitting that wall was defeating, and before long I made some decisions that brought me back to Canada, licking my wounds and trying to figure out what came next. My whole image of myself had shifted, and I was not at all comfortable with that.

What’s funny, looking back, is that my class in music school wasn’t necessarily made up of the brightest stars or the absolute most gifted players. It was a room full of musicians, like me, with enough skill to make it through auditions. And in terms of raw talent, I wasn’t outclassed. I was right there with the others. The difference, I eventually realized, was my classmates’ ability to withstand disappointment and still stay focused on the work—day after day, toward graduation and beyond. The ones who became successful performers weren’t always the most naturally talented; they were the ones who kept moving forward, eyes on the prize, not letting disappointment define them or destroy their sense of self.

I’ve seen the same pattern outside of music. I’ve known people who’ve faced truly terrible life events—shockingly terrible. Some have been so scarred by those experiences that they still struggle mightily. They’ve lost any sense of self; they’re unanchored, unsure of who they are or what they were made for. And yet I’ve also known people who endured equally awful experiences and are, somehow, well—steady, grounded, even hopeful. They carry a deep understanding of who they are and where they’re going—solid, anchoring, almost immovable.

These are the life events that either reshape you with purpose or leave you floundering, drowning. What makes the difference?

When I think about faith communities facing hard realities—aging membership, higher expenses, buildings that need more than we can give—I wonder if the difference between congregations that curl up and close, and those that show resilience and strength, is simply this: a clear sense of who they are in God’s world. Maybe resilience isn’t about riding on the “talent” in the room—how many gifted volunteers we have, how strong our committees are, or how great the choir sounds. Maybe resilience is about call. A firm, steady conviction that God still has purpose and mission for this people, in this place, right now.

Talent is wonderful, but talent alone can be fragile. Calling, on the other hand, anchors us. Calling tells us who we are, even when the feelings fade or the numbers dip or the applause stops. Calling reminds us that our worth and our work begin and end in God.

And this is where the two scriptures speak so beautifully into our real lives.

In Joshua 1, God speaks to a leader standing on the edge of a daunting future. Moses—the great, trusted leader—is gone. The task ahead is enormous. And into that uncertainty God says, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous…” This isn’t a pep talk about personality or talent; it’s a promise about presence. God doesn’t say, “Be fearless because you’re naturally gifted.” God says, “Be courageous because I am with you.” Courage, in God’s economy, is not the absence of fear—it’s the presence of God.

Then Philippians 4 gives us Paul’s “secret” of contentment. He’s known both hunger and plenty, wins and losses, applause and silence. And he says, “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation… I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Notice the verbs: learned, content, strengthened. This is not denial, and it’s not stoicism. It’s formation. It’s the slow, steady lesson of relying on Christ’s strength rather than our own reservoir of talent or willpower.

Put these together, and we get a picture of what true resilience looks like for people and for congregations:

God’s presence is the foundation for courage. “I will be with you.” That promise is the bedrock under our feet.

Christ’s strength is the source of contentment. “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” That supply does not run dry when our own energy does.

Calling—not talent—keeps us moving forward. Talent may open doors; calling keeps us faithful when the hallway is long.

So if you find yourself where I was in music school—suddenly aware you’re not guaranteed to be the best—take heart. You’re not disqualified. You’re being invited. Invited to shift from performance to presence, from comparison to calling. Let disappointment be a teacher, not a verdict. Let frustration turn into focus. Keep showing up. Do the next right thing. Trust that God’s with-ness is enough to carry you through and shape you into who you’re meant to be.

And since we know that this is a tough time in church-land, we need to stop measuring our future by the size of our“talent pool”, but instead by the size of God’s promise. Ask again: Who are we, in God’s world? What is our call, in this neighborhood, at this time? Then take one faithful step, and another, and another—because resilience is rarely flashy, but it is deeply faithful.

Maybe it’ll mean we close our building.  But it doesn’t mean that our community of faith needs to flounder.  It just means we need to hold tight to God as God carries us into a new way of being.

Blessings today and Remember you are Loved

~Rev. Lynne