Proper 14 – Year C

Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16

Church of the Atonement

August 10, 2025

The Rev’d Charles Everson

As I live right next door, I often have the opportunity to sit in

silence in this beautiful church. I can almost hear the prayers and

hymns of those who came before. Sanctified by the worship of generations

of Atonement parishioners, and consecrated by the power of the Holy

Spirit via the hands of a bishop, this is holy ground. Our forbears in

the faith knew that this building – despite feeling like a spiritual

home – was not their final home. They were seeking the city of God.

That conviction—that we are strangers and pilgrims here on the earth—is

at the heart of today’s reading from Hebrews. The writer recalls Abraham

and Sarah, Isaac and Jacob, and all the faithful of old, who lived and

died not clinging to the assurances this world offers, but longing for a

homeland beyond it.

The chapter begins with the definition of faith: “Faith is the assurance

of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith is not

wishful thinking. It is not blind optimism. The Greek word

hypostasis—translated “assurance”—means something solid, a firm

foundation. And the Greek word for “onviction” (elegchos) means inner

persuasion or proof. In other words, faith is holding fast to what God

has promised, even when the evidence is not yet in sight.

We live in an age of instant gratification—same-day grocery delivery,

breaking news updates on your phone, the pressure to respond to texts

and emails immediately. But faith calls us into a slower, deeper rhythm.

Our faith asks us to trust in what we cannot yet see, to live today in

light of a reality that will only be revealed in God’s time.

The writer begins with creation itself: “By faith we understand that the

worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made

from things that are not visible.” What we see is shaped by what we

cannot see. The same Word who ordered the stars and seas is the One who

calls us, like Abraham, to set out toward a promise whose fulfillment

lies beyond what we can perceive.

Abraham obeyed God’s call to set out “not knowing where he was going.”

We want clarity before we commit—clear directions, a detailed itinerary,

assurances about safety and comfort. Abraham got none of that. He left

home because God said, “Go.”

When he arrived in the land of promise, he didn’t build a palace—he

pitched a tent. Isaac and Jacob did the same. Their way of life itself

testified that they were not settling down permanently. They were living

as those “on the way.”

Sarah, too, is held up as an example. She received the promise of a

child despite being well past child rearing years. From them—two people

as good as dead, the Scripture says—came descendants “as many as the

stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.”

The writer continues, “All of these died in faith without having

received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them.”

They didn’t live to see everything God had promised fulfilled. And yet

they died in faith, confident in God’s promises. They confessed that

they were “strangers and foreigners on the earth.” The Greek words we

translate as strangers and foreigners mean both outsiders, and temporary

residents. They were not at home here; for them, home was elsewhere.

They desired “a better country, that is, a heavenly one.”And then comes the conclusion: “Therefore God is not ashamed to be

called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them.” God is not

ashamed of them—not because they were perfect, but because they trusted

Him enough to keep walking toward his promise of the joys of the city of

God.

Our beautiful church is a holy place where heaven and earth kiss. Here,

the saints who came before us were nourished by Word and Sacrament.

Here, they were strengthened for the journey. But they knew this was not

the journey’s end. Every Eucharist was a foretaste of the great wedding

feast of the Lamb awaiting them in the city of God, giving them food for

their journey, and reminding them that they were strangers and pilgrims

destined for our ultimate homeland in heaven.

We, too, are strangers and pilgrims. We belong to Christ, and our

baptism has given us a new homeland. Our citizenship is in heaven—a

citizenship that reshapes how we see everything else. Thanks be to God,

we are not alone on our pilgrimage here on earth. In baptism, we are

clothed with grace for the way we should go. In the Eucharist, we are

given food for the journey—the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.

Like the manna in the wilderness did for the ancient Israelites, these

holy gifts sustain us one step at a time. They may not smooth every path

or still every storm, but they anchor us in the unshakable promise that

Christ goes before us, with us, and after us. Every time we gather here,

we join not only with those physically present, but with “angels and

archangels and all the company of heaven”—including those saints who

once knelt at this very altar.

What does it mean, then, in practical terms, to live as strangers and

pilgrims on the earth? Loosen your grip on possessions, status, and

comfort. Know that your money and your assets belong to God and you’ve

been given temporary stewardship over them. Stay alert to where God

might be calling you to step out in faith, even if the destination is

unclear. Invest in the treasures of heaven—acts of love, justice, mercy,

and prayer—rather than things temporal that will pass away. Pray for

your enemies. Call your lonely friend, even though you know the

conversation may be one sided. Let your feet bring you to this holy

place week after week, even when you’d rather do something else, so that

you can receive the grace you need to face the trials and temptations

you’ll face as a pilgrim.

In a moment, as we prepare to bring our gifts to the altar at the

offertory, we will sing of those saints whose praises once echoed within

these walls, who confessed they were strangers and pilgrims, and who

sought the city of God. Their journey is complete; ours continues in

this our vale of tears. They sought God here and found Him, and now the

dangers of the journey are behind them. Friends, as we continue on our

earthly pilgrimage, may their example strengthen us to believe in faith

that God will indeed fulfill his promises. And as we receive the bread

of life and the cup of salvation as they did so often, may we receive it

as a comfort in our affliction, and a pledge of our inheritance in that

kingdom where there is no death, neither sorrow nor crying, but the

fullness of joy with all the saints. Amen.