Hebrews 11:1-3; 12:1-2
Presented September 25th, 2005, by J.D. Kline
The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost
The eleventh chapter of Hebrews offers a roll call of the faithful, examples of those gone before us who chose to base their lives on the conviction that there is something and Someone greater than ourselves. The Message paraphrases the early verses of chapter eleven this way:
The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see. The act of faith is what distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd.
By faith, we see the world called into existence by God’s word, what we see created by what we don’t see.
And then the writer of the letter to the Hebrews continues on, offering a representative list of those who exemplify a risky faith, a faith that demands that we count the cost of discipleship. After citing several of the faithful by name, the writer then turns to unnamed persons who nevertheless have also taken the risk of staking their lives on the call of God.
The list continues right up until today, and this morning we remember those Highland Avenue “saints” of the past generation who have gone before us. Saints not because they attained perfection in their lives, but saints—as defined in the New Testament—as those who have decided that their relationship with God shall be the foundation that makes life worth living.
Tom Long, professor of preaching at Candler School of Theology, Emory University, was one of the speakers at the Festival of Homiletics I attended last spring. Long lamented that the church has lost the art of helping people die well, that we live in the midst of a culture that, on the one hand, is death denying, while on the other hand, is infatuated with death. Death denying, in that we find death such an uncomfortable subject, and we are bombarded with advertising that suggests that if we only use the right products, we may well defy the process of aging. At the same time, our culture reflects a fascination with death. What else could explain the thousands of deaths that fill prime time television each year? One author has asserted that in our culture, death is akin to pornography. We view it as voyeurs, but we don’t want consideration of death entering into the respectable parts of our living.
A town council in Colorado a few years back made the decision to replace all “dead end” street signs in the town limits with signs that announce instead, “No outlet.” Said one resident, “It just isn’t very pleasant to look out first thing in the morning and see a sign that reads dead end.” Intellectually, of course, we all know that we will die, but we little plan our lives with that reality in view.