A Great Cloud of Witnesses
Hebrews 11:1, 32-12:2
It was the day I was ordained. They were the last words spoken before I gave the benediction that ended the service…my first act as an ordained minister. The last speaker delivers a “charge” to the newly ordained minister. The charge is intended to be a bracing word of encouragement that will stand during the sometimes-dark days that lie ahead.
“The first time I saw Karen, she walked into the chapel at Louisville Seminary with a daypack on her back and hiking boots on her feet. I told myself, “This one is a sojourner.” Then he told a story. A little boy was playing in a hotel parking lot while his parents were packing the car. He had a toy plastic sword. He was delighting himself by wiping out all the villains in the parking lot. Right up to the moment his father scooped him up on his shoulders. The boy just kept waving his plastic sword, slaying all the enemies. Oblivious to the shoulders that held him up.
Remember, Morgan told me, that we all sit on the shoulders of others. You sit on the shoulders of centuries of faithful people, both living and dead. Their witness will always support you.
Hebrews was written to a people who were discouraged and weary. They were being thrown out of synagogues where they worshipped. They were being persecuted by the Roman government. Would their faith be sufficient for the days ahead? Listen with me to words written to them in Hebrews 11.
The first sermon I ever preached was on this passage from Hebrews. Two weeks before I left for Seminary, my pastor Colette told me I could preach. I already knew what passage I would choose. I had been listening to those words in my heart for months. “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Christ, the author and finisher of our faith who for the joy of the prize set before him, endured the cross, forsaking its shame, and is now seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”
I was an untested middle-aged woman embarking on a brand-new journey. Before I left, I wanted to try my hand at this thing called preaching. After that first sermon, my pastor told me I would eventually learn not to put all my knowledge into a single sermon (sigh). My boss commented on my verse by verse approach…do preachers still preach like that? A bit humbling…that first sermon.
Our passage today is a magnificent sermon that offers us two portraits of faith. One is a picture of faith in victory. The crossing of the Red Sea, the conquering of kingdoms, the obtaining of promises from God, shutting the mouths of lions, the quenching of a raging fire, the escaping from the sword. This is faith found in the presence of victory and success.
But there is another picture of faith. That picture is of persons suffering mocking and scourging. Going about destitute, afflicted, ill-treated…persons of whom the world was not worthy. Wandering over deserts and mountains, living in dens and caves. And, in the case of Jesus, the picture of shame that etched itself into the darkness on a lonely hill. The cross was a thing of horror. The emblem of suffering and shame.
And yet, in Hebrews, Jesus is described as one “who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.”
For the sake of the joy that was set before him…there was something beyond the horizon that Jesus could see. It was the joy set before him. The joy of obeying God, the joy of the full release of his life into the arms of God, the joy of finishing the work, the joy of redeeming the world God so loved.
Faith does not calculate returns. One cannot look at the lot of a person’s life and determine the measure of that person’s faith. We each have a race that is set before us. The reasons for the different circumstances we each face are hidden in the purposes of God.
Hebrews describes the journey of faith as a long-distance race. It is not the kind of race most of us think it will be. If I wanted to run a marathon, I would know what to expect. I know the distance, I know the course, I know what will be demanded of me.
But faith? We do not know the length. We do not know the challenges, the obstacles, the things that will stop us in our tracks. The things that will break our hearts, drive us to despair and threaten to do us in.
There are two things we must remember in the journey of faith. The first is to fix our eyes on Christ. He is always going ahead of us. All the circumstances that clutter, cling, tear away our certainty…we must turn from them and fix our eyes on Christ. That is the biggest lesson ministry has taught me.
The second faith lesson I have learned is to graciously receive the help of others. Let myself sit on their shoulders. The love of others has rescued me from spiritual disaster many times. People like all of you have taught me to stop trying to be in charge or self-sufficient. You have been patient teachers of this pastor of yours. And I am so thankful for you.
In these days when I approach retirement, I find myself back at the place where I started. T.S. Eliot said it best: “We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” On the brink of a new journey, I am reminded of the days before Seminary. Days when I couldn’t see what was ahead.
I have an aunt who has cared for her handicapped son for all the decades of her adult life, and who also cared for her husband through many illnesses. A few weeks ago, she sent an email to the whole family. “Matt (her son) is afraid no one will remember his birthday.” So, we all, probably dozens of us, sent Matt a special birthday message. Many years ago, when her husband Don was having a spell of bad days, she would send out a family missive. Send well wishes!!
We need each other. But we are not alone. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. You have been part of my great cloud of witnesses these many years. And I am so grateful. Amen.