I'm not trying to steal the show. I tend to shy away from - I

Hear, O children of courage, the words of Chris Evans, who once carried the shield of a nation on the silver screen. He confessed: “I’m not trying to steal the show. I tend to shy away from—I don’t want to say the spotlight—how about responsibility? It’s just very daunting. These movies are very intimidating. ‘Captain America.’ This is the stuff I struggle with.” In these words, there is both honesty and humility, for they reveal that even those who seem mighty in the eyes of the world wrestle with fear when called to bear a heavy mantle.

The meaning is clear: Evans speaks of the crushing weight of responsibility that comes when one must embody a symbol greater than themselves. To play Captain America is not only to act in a film, but to become a beacon for millions, a figure of strength, loyalty, and virtue. Yet behind the shield is a man who trembles, a man who doubts, a man who admits that the expectations of the world can feel overwhelming. His words remind us that responsibility, though noble, often comes with fear.

History, too, resounds with this truth. Consider George Washington, who when chosen to lead the American colonies against the might of Britain, confessed his own unworthiness and fear. He did not seek the spotlight; he wished for the quiet life of his farm. Yet destiny called him to stand as general, and later as the first president. Like Evans, Washington knew that greatness is not found in the hunger for glory, but in the trembling acceptance of duty, even when it feels daunting.

So too did Moses in the ancient scriptures shrink before his calling. When tasked to lead his people out of bondage, he protested: “Who am I, that I should go?” He feared the weight of responsibility, the enormity of the mission. And yet it was his very humility that made him fit to lead. For it is not the arrogant who bear the greatest responsibilities well, but those who feel their weight deeply and proceed with caution and reverence.

The deeper meaning of Evans’ confession is this: true strength lies not in those who crave the spotlight, but in those who carry responsibility despite their fear. The shield, the crown, the burden of leadership—these are not toys for vanity, but trials of the soul. And those who admit their struggle are often those most worthy of trust, for they do not take lightly the power they hold.

The lesson, O listener, is timeless: do not believe that fear disqualifies you from responsibility. On the contrary, fear is the sign that you understand the gravity of the task. If you are given a duty—whether to lead, to serve, or to protect—do not shy away because you feel unworthy. Step forward humbly, acknowledging your trembling, but willing to act. For history remembers not those who were fearless, but those who, though afraid, still bore the weight of responsibility.

And so, take Evans’ words as your guide: when life hands you a shield, when you are called to stand in the spotlight of responsibility, do not run. Admit your fear, but let it sharpen your resolve. Be like Washington, be like Moses, be like Evans himself, who though daunted, still took up the mantle of Captain America. For the world does not need flawless heroes—it needs humble ones, who dare to act in spite of their doubts.

Thus let this teaching endure: responsibility is heavy, but it is in carrying it that greatness is forged. To shy away is human; to step forward anyway is heroic. And if you, like Evans, struggle under the weight, know this—you are not alone, and your struggle is the very mark of your worthiness.