Staying power
For all of you who see yourselves as creatures of habit, who don’t make more changes than you need to, who are unlikely to quit anything once you’ve started it — I want to speak a word of encouragement. You have a secret resource. Perhaps you thought your aversion to drastic change was a weakness or vulnerability. Or maybe evidence of a lack of conviction or boldness. Not so! You may just have a secret resource and a special calling, if you choose to accept it: staying power. This is your ability to endure and remain effective over a long period. It is also indicative of a potential for lasting positive influence, despite challenges, setbacks, and mistakes.
While some might be tempted to throw in the towel after a few tiresome years or a particularly disappointing spell in their career or personal life, staying power characterizes those who inexplicably continue to give it another go. In keeping their hand to the plow for just a bit longer, they may discover to their surprise that they are in fact reaching their goals anyway, even if by another route or in a way they couldn’t have imagined. This inspirational trait is a common thread in the life stories of all kinds of historical figures from Olympic athletes to medieval saints.
Here on the eve of the 250th anniversary of the American revolution, my thoughts naturally turn to George Washington. I gained new appreciation for the art of staying power recently by pondering Washington’s legacy as it was depicted in two documentary films, one on “The American Revolution” by Ken Burns (2025) and the other on George Washington, “The First American” by Kevin Knoblock (2016). Despite clear editorial differences, both films included commentary by historians that was remarkably unified in its appraisal of the secret to Washington’s success. He was not, as it turns out, a brilliant offensive strategist. Instead, he understood that winning the revolution simply meant outlasting the British attempts to crush it.
There were, of course, criticisms of Washington’s leadership and the sagging morale of his troops at low points, such as the retreat from New York or the winter at Valley Forge. Despite this, he won wide respect because of his ability to keep going for six long years, cleverly evading the British and never overplaying his hand. The combination of his persistence and the consistency of his moral character resulted in raising the spirits of the troops at decisive moments. In the end, the Continental Army prevailed because it drew out the revolution longer than the British were willing to fight. Britain was overextended and repelling the opportunism of rivals France and Spain became more vital than retaking the American colonies.
Historians typically also identify Washington’s decision to voluntarily leave the presidency after two terms as his most important legacy with regard to the establishment of American democratic norms. In surrendering power despite his ongoing popularity, he modeled purposeful restraint. Discerning when to keep going and when to stop are perhaps the most essential decisions that we all face.
Two of the essays in this issue of Pietisten touch on this dilemma about when to engage or disengage in conversations about community values. Kaleb Nyquist addresses this in the context of the statistical rise of unaffiliated voters in America, which he argues is not indicative of healthy, moderate politics. Instead this is more likely an indication of atomized individualism and disengaged nihilism. As an alternative, Nyquist encourages us to consider what “good partisanship” might look like, namely by renewing our commitment to engage in important conversations about our common life, deeply informed by our religious and political values.
Lynnea Miller’s sermon on Jesus’s lament over Jerusalem considers what his prophetic critique of his own beloved community might mean in our own context. How do we help our communities grow and make essential changes when this involves the risk that speaking prophetically may alienate us from the very people we love? There are certainly times when it is necessary to change jobs, affiliations, locations, and tactics for the sake of our own health, safety, and ability to flourish. But if we leave completely, we lose our voice.
Knowing when to pick up responsibilities and roles and when to lay them down is one of the hardest skills to learn. Merely observing that “to everything there is a season,” as the author of Ecclesiastes quips, doesn’t exactly help us much when we have urgent or consequential decisions to make about our future. What we need are more real-life examples to emulate, people who model for us what it looks like to find and stick with their life’s calling for the long haul. This may be exactly where you come in.
Guds frid—God’s peace.