Jesu Juva
Hebrews 12:1-3
August 17, 2025
Proper 15C
Dear saints of our Savior~
Let’s run. If you take the entire book of Hebrews—all thirteen chapters—and distill it down to its fundamental message—and refine it into one ripe phrase that pays and inspires and encourages the faithful—what you get is: Let’s run! Or, less succinctly:
. . . Let’s run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.
It’s a beautiful metaphor for the Christian life. This is what the baptized do: They run. They run with endurance the race that is set before them with their eyes fixed on Jesus—stripping off the sin, hurdling every hellacious hazard, making their way to a heavenly finish line, cheered on by a great cloud of witnesses.
My longtime listeners will recall how I often take this text and connect it with my own personal running experiences: races I’ve run, routes I’ve run, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. But today I stand before you as someone who has not run for weeks. I have nothing running-related to pour into this sermon except excuses. All I have are some very good excuses for not running.
Have you been running? Have you been running the race of faith with endurance—with your eyes fixed and focused on Jesus? Or, do you have a lot of good excuses for not running—like me?
The author of Hebrews was very familiar with the races and marathons of the first Century. We don’t know who the author of Hebrews is for sure; but I can guarantee you, that guy was a runner. One significant difference between races then and now is that runners back then always ran naked. It was men only. But you should know that little factoid to fully understand what today’s text means where it says, “let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely.” You don’t show up to run a marathon while sporting the ecclesiastical vestments I’ve got on right now, for obvious reasons. Today’s athletes often wear skin-tight lycra-spandex clothing for the same reason that those first-century guys ran naked: aerodynamics, wind resistance, nothing to slow you down or trip you up.
But down through the centuries, one thing that hasn’t changed in racing is the cheering crowd. As you neared the finish line and your legs turned to jelly, the thing that kept you going was the crowd: parents, friends, teammates, coaches all lined up cheering and shouting, “You can do it. You’re almost there. Give it all you’ve got.”
The author of Hebrews wants you to view your life in Christ in those terms—like a race—like a marathon. But as you run this race he also wants you to take notice of the crowd—the “cloud of witnesses” he calls them. These are the faithful saints of God who have run the race before you—patriarchs, prophets, martyrs, ordinary men and women who kept the faith and crossed the finish line to be with Jesus. We feebly struggle; they in glory shine.
Most of these witnesses you don’t know personally. There’s a long list of them in Hebrews chapter 11: Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Samson, David, and unnamed saints who were tortured, imprisoned, stoned, sawn in two, and killed by the sword. The world was not worthy of them. But they are cheering you on. They know how grueling the race is, because they’ve run it before you.
There at the finish line is Jesus. It’s all by His grace and His strength that your victory is guaranteed. You see, He’s already crossed the finish line as your sacred substitute. He willingly endured the cross and its shame. He did it “for the joy that was set before Him,” for the joy of winning your salvation, for the joy of freeing you from sin and death, for the joy of giving you His perfect, sinless track record of righteousness. You were the joy before His eyes, which led Him to endure the misery of that Roman tool of torture. On that dark afternoon He hung naked; but it wasn’t the proud nakedness of first-century athletes. His nakedness reflected the shame of our sin—the same nakedness that prompted our first parents to get dressed up in fig leaves after the Fall.
Beloved in the Lord, as you run this race, look at Jesus. Fix your eyes on the Christ. Don’t fix your eyes on yourself—on how well or how poorly you are running the race. Too many of us are far too concerned with nailing a perfect performance in every arena of life. Don’t be a perfectionist; but do look to the perfecter of your faith—for in Jesus you are already perfect. Don’t fix your eyes on other people, hoping and longing for praise and approval and love from them. But do set your sights on our Savior—in whom you are fully approved and deeply loved.
Don’t look back at your past with its sin and shame and guilt. Runners who look back over their shoulders are prone to stumble. Look forward. The past is redeemed, reconciled, and forgiven in Jesus. Confess your sin. Repent of it. And look ahead to the finish line—to the resurrection of the body and the life of the world to come.
Beloved in the Lord, let’s run. But know this: The race of faith is not a little 5k fun run. It’s a daily marathon—a grinding, challenging run that involves endurance, perseverance, and prayer. It’s not the easy life—or the life of the spectator. This is why the author of Hebrews warns his readers about suffering and discipline and hardship just a little later in chapter 12. This is why Jesus warned His hearers in today’s holy gospel about division and distress even between members of the same family.
Run this race with confidence, but never with complacency. Throw off whatever hinders, whatever entangles, whatever slows you down in the race that the Lord has set before you. Think spandex. Tear off your immorality, your lust, your laziness. Set aside your love for wealth, for power, for control. Lay aside your anger and bitterness. No more excuses! For when you try to run the race of faith saddled with sin, you might as well have a fifty-pound weight tied around your neck. Instead, run your race clothed in Christ, wrapped in Him, wearing your baptism like a spandex suit of salvation.
And when you begin to think that you can’t do it—that you can’t possibly take even one more step, remember those who’ve gone before—that great cloud of witnesses. Think of the martyrs who were beheaded, or fed to the lions, or burned alive—men and women who could have avoided death just by denying Christ with a whisper. But they didn’t. They kept running in faith to the finish line. They fixed their eyes on Jesus.
Beloved in the Lord, with them in mind, let’s run. And don’t say, “I can’t do it,” because it really isn’t you who does it. You died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God (Col. 3). It’s Jesus who lives in you (Gal. 2) and empowers you to put one foot in front of the other in this lifelong marathon. When we say, “I can’t do it,” what we’re really saying is, “Christ can’t do it.” But if Christ can walk on the water, calm the storm, heal the sick, and rise from the dead—He can do anything He wants. And what He wants is to see you at the finish line.
He wants you to run the race and receive the victory He’s already won for you. Fix your eyes on Him, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.