A View From A Pew: It’s Our Turn; A Black History Month Reflection

You may not have done a deep dive into the book of Hebrews, but I know you’ve heard Chapter 11.

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

And somebody taught you verse 6 early on: “Without faith it is impossible to please God.”

That chapter starts calling roll—Moses, Rahab, Abraham, Joseph, Jacob—men and women who walked by faith, lived by faith, and died in faith. Chapter 11 is Faith’s Hall of Fame.

But the real turn happens in Chapter 12.

After naming them, the writer says, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…” In other words, the ones who ran before us are not just resting—they’re watching.

That image would have landed like a packed stadium. Former champions in the stands. Elders leaning forward. Ancestors on their feet. Cheering the next generation still in the race.

And that image hits different during Black History Month.

Because our cloud of witnesses doesn’t just include biblical names—it includes ancestors whose faith never made it into textbooks. People who prayed in whispers because freedom hadn’t arrived yet. People who trusted God while picking cotton, scrubbing floors, building railroads, and raising children in a country that refused to see their full humanity.

They walked by faith when laws were written against them. They lived by faith when opportunity was denied them. They died in faith believing that what they couldn’t reach, we would.

They endured chains, lynching trees, Jim Crow signs, underfunded schools, stolen wages, broken promises—and still believed God was not finished.

And now Hebrews reminds us: they are at rest—but they are watching.

Every one of us will lose someone we love. Every one of us will one day sit on the front row of a funeral. And the writer says if they fought the good fight, finished their course, and held to God’s unchanging hand, then they are not gone—they are witnesses.

This life is not all there is. There is a crown of righteousness. There is a house not made by human hands. There is a place where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.

And from that place, they are watching us.

Watching how we steward the vote they died trying to secure. Watching how we use the education they were denied. Watching how we treat one another when they survived by community. Watching whether we build—or abandon—the bridges they started crossing.

And they are cheering us on.

Because now—now—it’s our turn.

Our lives are the continuation of a story God started long before we got here. We are living in the legacy of prayers we didn’t pray, sacrifices we didn’t make, doors we didn’t open.

God has done too much for us to quit now. Brought us through too much for us to give up. Answered too many prayers for us to sit down and check out.

So hear the message clearly this Black History Month: You can’t take all that baggage into the future. You can’t carry bitterness into the next generation. You can’t haul fear into a moment our ancestors only dreamed about. You can’t drag old grudges onto a new assignment.

Some things must be released so purpose can take flight.

Because it’s our turn to run. Our turn to fight. Our turn to lead with courage. Our turn to protect what was hard-won. Our turn to live boldly, love deeply, and stand firmly.

Heaven is watching. The ancestors are cheering. The cloud is leaning forward.

The gate is open. History is calling.

It’s our turn.