Hebrews 11:29-12:2
11:29 By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as if it were dry land, but when the Egyptians attempted to do so they were drowned. 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. 31 By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace. 32 And what more should I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets— 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, 34 quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. 35 Women received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. 36 Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented— 38 of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground. 39 Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, 40 since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.12:1 Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, 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.
In the latter years of my maternal grandmother’s life (I called her “Ma”), her home on the corner of the Boll Weevil Circle and Bellwood Road was decorated with angels. Now, I don’t mean she had prints of the renaissance masters’ works of St. Michael or St. Gabriel hanging in the living room, nor did she have Christmas tree toppers lining every shelf and occupying every flat surface. No, she didn’t decorate her house with those sorts of angels. It was mostly pictures of those little chubby, curly-headed babies with wings stuck to their backs or images of angels as young, blonde-haired women, usually depicted walking alongside some children on a shaky bridge or through some otherwise treacherous scene. In the last decade of Ma’s life, it seemed she became slightly obsessed with angels. I’d say she was simply a collector of angelic knickknacks, but then there was her interest in Sylvia Browne.
I can remember Ma, on Sundays at lunch, talking about Sylvia Browne on The Montel Williams Show. Ma would tell us about how Sylvia would talk about angels, how angels surround us and seek to communicate with us through people like her. I remember thinking even as a child how gullible Ma seemed when she’d tell us about how Sylvia Browne would take a random stranger in the audience and begin to tell them things about their dead loved ones and about how they were in a better place, not to worry about them, or where to look to find the key to the safety deposit box! Back then, I thought Ma had just gone a little crazy—hadn’t slipped off into the deep end, but her toes could barely touch! Back then, I thought Ma had better sense than to buy into the sort of stuff they push on daytime talk shows and late-night infomercials. But now, as an adult looking back, I think I understand why Ma was so fascinated by what folks like Sylvia Browne had to say about things like angels: looking back, I realize Ma’s interest in such things began sometime after October of 1994, after Pa died.
I remember when Pa died. I was sitting in the floor at my dad’s house, playing Ghostbusters on the Nintendo, when the phone rang, and Dad answered it. I heard him say a few muffled words and heard his steps coming towards me. I paused the game, and Dad said, “Son, your Pa just passed.” I distinctly remember deciding to turn the game off because I thought it was the right thing to do. I remember crying at the visitation. I don’t remember the funeral, but I remember Pa. Pa was a dead ringer for Jackie Gleason, a man who lied about his age to fight in Korea at sixteen and come back with a purple heart, a man that wore a floppy-brimmed hat with all kinds of pins in it, a man who smoked a pipe, wore red suspenders over v-neck t-shirts, waxed his mustache, liked to fish, and take his grandson rabbit hunting in the junk pile behind the house. He was the kind of man who had a ham radio in the kitchen by the dining room table, an old bathtub for raising worms in the backyard, and a rusted Lincoln in a collapsing barn, where he also kept more than one bottle of homemade peach wine. I remember him even now in the few pictures I recall in my momma’s house, and you know something, the funny thing is, I think about him and Ma whenever I see those awful paintings of little chubby babies with wings stuck on their backs, whenever I see angels.
Maybe that was why Ma was so fond of them in her later years, because they reminded her that she wasn’t alone, that Pa and all those who had gone on before were surrounding her—even in her home—like a fog of friendship. Or as the writer of Hebrews calls it in our text this morning, “a great cloud of witnesses.”
Now, to be fair, the author of Hebrews isn’t talking about some paranormal phenomenon; we’re not surrounded by ghosts trying to reach out to us through so-called psychics. To understand what the writer is getting at, we have to start with the beginning of the text before us this morning, in chapter 11, verses 29-40. You see, in these verses the writer is laying out a sort of “who’s who” of heroes and heroines from the Hebrew Scriptures, a litany of faithful folks from the Old Testament: he leads with the people of Israel crossing the Red Sea, how by faith they passed through on dry ground and how (by faith) they brought the walls of Jericho down by walking around it for seven days; then he mentions Rahab, the prostitute, who assisted the Israelite spies and joined them, believing the God of Israel to be the one, true God; then, as if the writer is in a hurry for some reason, he lists Gideon, Barak, Samson, and Jephthah—all judges over Israel who led the people for a time; of course there’s Samuel, the last judge and prophet who anointed both Saul and David as king over Israel, and then David himself, the Psalmist, the one who slew Goliath, the one who was “a man after God’s own heart;” and to be sure the author covers all his bases he adds “and the prophets.” Now, in verses 33 and 34 the writer mentions the great acts of faith accomplished by these folks: they “conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight.” Impressive stuff! Those are the kinds of things that get your name and image set in stained glass, the kinds of things that get your story told over and over in Sunday school rooms and every summer in Vacation Bible Schools. Those are the sorts of things that make one a hero or heroine.
Then, the writer goes on in verses 35 through 38 to describe those who have suffered for their faith, those “Women [who] received their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, in order to obtain a better resurrection. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment [like Paul and Peter]. They were stoned to death [like Stephen], they were sawn in two [as tradition says the prophet Isaiah was], they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented—of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground.” These aren’t the types of folks who become heroes because of their great accomplishments, because of their winning percentage in the battles of territorial conquest. These are the types of heroes and heroines who become so because of their exemplary faith, because of their faithfulness even through torture and death. The writer thinks so highly of these martyrs that he even claims that the world was not worthy of them!
To take things even further though, to prove beyond a doubt the depth of faithfulness possessed by these exemplary folks mentioned in these verses, the author of our text this morning says in verses 39 and 40, “Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect.” In other words, even all these folks listed, all these judges, prophets, kings, apostles, martyrs, and saints—even all of them didn’t receive what was promised to Abraham by God (that is multiple descendants, the land of Canaan, and all that went with the covenant between God and Abraham discussed in the earlier chapters of this letter and found in the book of Genesis), and it wasn’t because they were exempt from the promise, and it wasn’t because God backed out on the promise. No, they didn’t receive that promise because God has something even better in store for them, and not just them, but all of us who follow Christ Jesus.
It is only after these words about these judges, prophets, kings, martyrs, and saints, that the writer of Hebrews pens those more familiar words in chapter twelve: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.” These heroes and heroine, saints of old, surround us as a great cloud of witnesses. Now, I have to tell you, on the one hand I can get pretty excited about that, about this notion that there are those Sunday school icons surrounding me as I go about my daily routine, as I fumble my way through this thing called faith. I can get pretty excited by the thought that these saints go before me, come alongside me, and follow after me as I “run the race set before me.” To tell the truth, it’s a bit encouraging at times to think they’re there, and maybe that’s a bit Catholic of me, but so what; to think that I am in the company of David, of Peter, of Paul as I go about in this life…well, that can be a bit encouraging. I suppose it could be a bit overwhelming too.
I remember as a kid, having not really grown up in church, I just sort of guessed at how things worked in the realm of all things spiritual, things like the nature of the hereafter and the presence of God. For some reason (cartoons I suspect) I always imagined heaven was a place way on up above the clouds, and there was a clearing in the floor where the folks in heaven would be able to look down on their loved ones whenever felt the need to check in on them. I can remember being somewhat startled by that fact when I forgot to take my cap off when I came inside Grandma’s house; I was afraid Granddaddy could see me from heaven, and he wouldn’t be happy. I also used to imagine God was something a bit like Santa Claus: “he sees you when you’re sleeping/he knows when you’re awake/he knows when you’ve been bad or good…” Honestly, the thought of God seeing me at all times was a bit scary as a kid. So I can imagine the notion of a great cloud of saintly witnesses could be a bit overwhelming, that one might feel the weight of their collective judgement bearing down on him or her in those moments of weakness and failure we all endure on life’s journey.
But you know what? These saints listed and alluded to by the writer of this epistle, you know what makes them better than you, what makes them noteworthy and deserving of a place on the Sunday school wall and in the stained glass of holy spaces? Not one, single thing! In fact, I would go so far as to say the more encouraging thing about this “great cloud of witnesses” is that they are all just as messed up as the rest of us. Whether it is David who once raped a woman and had her husband killed, Rahab who likely helped the spies initially because she wanted to save her own life, Samson whose faults and failures seem to be forgotten simply because of his legendary strength, nice hair, and ability to single-handedly demolish a building, Peter with his three-time denial of Jesus and overzealous use of a knife, or Paul and his occasional misogyny and arrogance—pic any saint, any one of the exalted heroes and heroines of Scripture and once you get passed the polished exterior of the stories on the surface and dig down into the core of who they really were, you’ll find they’re no different from us. In fact, you may find, in most cases, they’ve done things you might otherwise find unspeakable!
And why should we expect it to be any other way?! Why do we expect people to be perfect, to live up to the fanciful fiction of righteousness we’ve created? The writer of Hebrews tells us plainly that not even any of these saints were perfect; none of them set the pace in the race we’re all running. No, only one did that: “Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, 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.” You know, I find it encouraging to know that those who make up the “great cloud of witnesses” surrounding us, are folks not unlike you and me, people of faith, who themselves sought to cast off the weight of sin and selfishness and run the race God had set before them. I’m encouraged to know that these fractured and fallen folks make up that cloud of witnesses, because that means there’s room for me among their ranks, there’s a place for me among the saints of God, a place for you and me to be included with those who “run with perseverance the race that is set before us” so long as we keep “looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.”
Surrounding us even now is that great cloud of witnesses, with folks like Abraham, Moses, Rahab, Samson, Gideon, David, Isaiah, Peter, Paul, and Mary. In that cloud are those great martyrs like Stephen and great holders of the faith like Martin Luther, Teresa of Calcutta, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, John Wesley, and Roger Williams. But I also know that in that great cloud of witnesses are folks with names like Oliver, Doug, Roy, Hilda Dean, Rachel, Perry, and Joyce—folks whose lives didn’t unfold in the pages of Holy Scripture but right here among us. That great cloud of witnesses surrounds us—not so we may be intimidated or scared by the prospect of God and the saints watching our every move, but so we may be encouraged by their lasting presence, so we may be encouraged to “lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and…run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, 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.”
May you be encouraged this day by knowing that you are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, saints who have gone on before and call us on ahead in this life of faith, who call us on as we seek to follow Jesus. May you find hope in their mysterious presence, in the divine providence of God, and the hope that God calls you on in this journey and that one day, in the culmination of God’s kingdom, we will be caught up in that great cloud to dwell in eternal relationship with God and all the saints. May you listen and bear witness to those—even those who have passed on—who are even now calling you on, calling you to follow Jesus. Amen.
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