November 2, 2025
A Chorus of Faith
Hebrews 11:29-12:2
Rev. Caitlin C. T. Johnson
Our second reading comes from the book of Hebrews, a book written for people who were disillusioned and weary. Tom Long writes that they were “tired of serving the world, tired of worship, tired of Christian education, tired of being peculiar… tired even of Jesus.” They had committed themselves to the Christian faith, but now they seemed close to walking away – the ground beneath them had shifted, and they couldn’t find their bearings.
In response, the author of Hebrews calls the roll of those who have gone before to remind these weary ones that they are not alone. They are surrounded by a great “cloud of witnesses” – a chorus they already belong to.
Listen now for the word of God:
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. By faith the walls of Jericho fell after they had been encircled for seven days. By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had received the spies in peace. 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, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. Women 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. 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—of whom the world was not worthy. They wandered in deserts and mountains and in caves and holes in the ground.
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.
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, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of 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.
This is the word of the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
These past few weeks I’ve spent some time in the archive room at church. Truth be told, I got the key one day from Liz Thurston and marched off to explore. I came back about ten minutes later and said, “Liz, I don’t think I actually know where the archive room is!”
Down a hall, tucked away, there is a tiny unassuming room filled with files and session minutes and newsletters and newspaper clippings. So much of it rightly celebrates incredible people who have been part of this church over so many years. But what captured my imagination was a collection of photos, some of which are on the cover of your bulletin.
Over one hundred years ago, the pastor of FPCA requested that families send in photos of their children along with their birthdates. In return, he committed to pray for each child, for all those who had influence on the child’s life, and to send them a birthday card with a verse of scripture to learn for the year ahead.
The photos are compiled in a leather-bound book. Some have names carefully written on the back, others have faded with time. What I love most is that there is so much beautiful humanity captured here: a child playing with their dog, another peacefully sleeping, siblings laughing and others side-eyeing each other, parents with a child on their lap. All of these moments captured at a time when the future, though hoped for, was unknown.
These children represent the hopes and dreams of FPCA in the early 1900s. The city was vibrant. The Grove Park Inn had just opened its doors. The church was growing and strong. But still, the pastor and people of FPCA were preparing these children for a future they could not see or anticipate. In just a few years’ time the flu pandemic would touch nearly every family in the church, the world would be at war and when these children you see smiling on the cover came of age the country would be plunged into a depression.
The roll call of faith in Hebrews works in a similar way. We usually assume it’s a list of role models to follow, people who got it right and saw God’s timing completed. But listen again to what the text says: “Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised.”
The promise of God’s coming kingdom wasn’t for them to see fully realized in their lifetime. It was for them to be part of.
By faith the people passed through the Red Sea… and then they wandered for 40 years. By faith the walls of Jericho fell and the people entered the Promised Land… and then they fought battle after battle. By faith Rahab welcomed the spies and did not perish…. But her entire community did. Gideon. Barak. Samson. David. Samuel. The prophets and on and on. Some of these conquered kingdoms. Some escaped the sword. Others were tortured. Others suffered mocking and flogging. They were stoned to death. They were destitute, persecuted, tormented.
They lived by faith and faith, the writer tells us, “is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen”
That faith has enabled people throughout history to take hold of a promise they would not see fulfilled in their lifetime. The writer of Hebrews doesn’t just list names or tell history. She is sharing these names to exhort and encourage people to live in their time, to have faith in their time.
And so on All Saints Day, we do the same. We call the roll of those who have gone before – not to escape the present, but to live in faith now.
Some of us are sitting here this morning weary. Not just tired – but weary. Maybe unsettled is a better word.
Maybe it’s worry about children or grandchildren.
Maybe it’s waking up to news that makes your stomach drop – or worse, realizing your stomach has mostly stopped dropping because there’s too much.
Maybe it’s seeing coverage of Hurricane Melissa.
Maybe it’s knowing that SNAP funding is frozen and reading accounts of families losing access to groceries (some have recently said that is an old-fashioned word, but there is nothing more timely, more current, more relevant, more morally imperative, more in line with the gospel of Jesus Christ than feeding the hungry).
Maybe it’s financial worry – looking at retirement accounts or medical bills and wondering how you’ll make it work, worried in ways you hoped you wouldn’t be at this stage of life.
Maybe waves of sadness about your empty nest come at unexpected moments.
Maybe it’s the relentless pressure of living in a world that values money over mercy, success over service, comfort over courage.
It is wearying.
We are not the first ones to feel this way. The people Hebrews was written to felt it. The people who took these photographs felt it. And yet they ran the race. All Saints Day is meant to encourage us to run, too.
We remember those who lived faithful lives – the strong ones illustrated in children’s Bibles of our youth and the ones who lived hidden and quiet lives of faith. People who built strong foundations but never saw the house finished. People who never entered the promised land, never knew for certain what the next chapter would bring.
So let us call the roll of those before us. Let’s start with some we’re already familiar with:
Robert Campbell was pastor of FPCA from 1892 to 1937. We gather here in the Campbell Chapel, named for Dr. Campbell. Our youth speak with affection for Sally Campbell, his first wife, for whom our church house at Montreat was named. He not only gathered the photographs on your bulletin. But his long tenure was a time of great growth, as the church planted other congregations in the area.
Marguerite Morgan joined the church staff as church visitor in 1966. A lifelong member and former school teacher, she visited those who were homebound, keeping them connected through regular visits. She connected newcomers to Asheville and families to the life of the church. The room on the second floor – currently housing the music library of All Souls Episcopal – is named in her honor.
Alan Gardner was pastor in the 1960s. We gather in the Gardner Fellowship Hall downstairs. We know his name because his great-grandson, Gardner Moss, is part of our youth group and his family worships here. Dr. Gardner preached for civil rights from this sanctuary when it was dangerous to do so. He and his family received threats. But he kept preaching.
There are so many more names – some we can know, some whose work is hidden from us.
But even today, in this very room, we can call the roll of faith:
Some of you marched with Dr. King, with or without the support of your family. You understood then what the gospel demands, and you’ve kept that understanding alive through decades of setbacks and slow change. Some of you march now for justice in the streets of Black Mountain and Asheville.
Others of you have given your life to the care and nurture of children with disabilities. You protected their dignity, gave them support in times when that was not always the popular choice. Some of you even now give your time and talent to your children – getting them into programs that support their specific needs, ordering your family life to support every member.
Some of you sought ordination at a time when that was not even close to the traditional path for women. You entered seminary when you might be one of only a handful of women in any given class. You learned to use your God-given voice even as you were told to preach like a man, lead a meeting like a man, and dress like a man if you wanted to be taken seriously. Even today, some of you mentor younger women in ministry, opening doors you once had to break down, making the path a little less lonely for those who come after
Some of you leaned in during the AIDS crisis and provided compassionate care when many were afraid and unwilling to help. You sat at bedsides when others wouldn’t enter the room. Some of you continue that faithful presence now – caring for aging parents with dementia, sitting with the chronically ill, advocating for healthcare access, refusing to let anyone die alone or forgotten.
Some of you advocated for inclusion and welcome of LGBTQ folks in the church when such advocacy cost you dearly, professionally and personally. Because of that painful history, some of you still know how much courage it takes to show up in a church, even today.
Others of you have changed career pathways, leaving behind high-powered jobs to align your life with advocacy for the poor. Some of you work alongside those navigating immigration or spend Saturdays with neighbors experiencing homelessness.
This is the roll we call on All Saints Day. Ordinary folks who followed Jesus and who still follow today.
And so though we are tired and weary, we have a legacy to live up to: a legacy of imagination and fortitude, of patience and courage, of compassion and glass-ceiling-breaking. You do not need to be anyone else, nor do you need to live in any other time than this moment to run the race set before you in faith.
The children on the front of this bulletin remind us that we don’t just need the headliners with perfectly mapped paths: We need you, children and youth. We need your way of living in faith. We need your fresh eyes on these old stories. We need your witness to love, justice, hope, mercy. The work of being faithful in your time – it’s not about being like us or like those who came before. It’s about being faithful in the moment you’re in, with the gifts you have, in the ways that are yours to give.
Parents: We need you. We need you to tell the stories, but more than that, to let your children see your faith lived out loud, to show them what it looks like to run this race, to follow Jesus in your life.
Elders: We need you. We need your gifts, your expertise, your experience. We need the wisdom of years that opens one to gracious humility. We need you to keep showing up, keep telling the stories, keep making space for new voices.
The ground beneath us has shifted. We know that just as the early Christians knew it. The parents who gathered up photos to send to the pastor knew that. But here’s what All Saints Day teaches us: when the ground shifts, we do not run alone.
We run this race together, writing new stories of those who live and work and march and nurture and speak out and share meals and include all – in faith. Those are the stories that will inspire and uplift the lives of those who will come after us.
In just a moment we will sing together – one voice, many stories, a chorus of faith.
And if you listen closely, you may hear the voice of your grandfather or mother nearby, you may feel the hand of your child slip inside your own, or another loved one you desperately miss. But those aren’t the only ones that surround you.
You, First Church, can hear the voices of hundreds and thousands who have run this race in this place, in their own time, in their own way, and who now raise their voices to encourage you to run in your time, and in your way, the race that Jesus began and that Jesus will surely finish – the promise that one day God’s kingdom will come in fullness, that justice will roll down like waters, that every tear will be wiped away, that love will have the final word:
And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph song, And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong, Alleluia! Alleluia!
Amen and Alleluia.