(RNS) — The New Testament’s Letter to the Hebrews urges us to remember the “great cloud of witnesses” who surround us, cheering us on as we run “the race set before us.”
That Scripture resonates deeply with me, reminding me that we who labor for a multiracial democracy are not alone and that the work of justice and transformation is never solitary. It is a relay race, passed from one generation to the next, each running their leg with courage and resolve.
This message should be more present than ever to us, now that the 2024 election cycle has concluded, leaving many grappling with profound disappointment. The new administration promises to decimate hard-won civil rights protections, pass corporate tax cuts that drive income inequalities and introduce reductions to the Affordable Care Act and Medicaid that threaten people with chronic conditions and no insurance. It backs court systems fashioned to streamline policies detrimental to our communities.
As we recall from its first iteration, the Trump administration to come is likely to continue to normalize racially charged rhetoric that threatens the safety and well-being of people of many backgrounds and identities.
Once again, the promise of justice and equity, the fragile dream of shared power, appears to be deferred. As the dust settles, the question hangs heavy in the air: Where do we go from here?
The “great cloud of witnesses” are here to remind us that we are not the first to face this question. Our ancestors have been here before.
History teaches us this truth as well. During the Reconstruction era that followed the Civil War, newly freed Black Americans dared imagine a multiracial democracy. That hope was crushed by the Compromise of 1877, which ended federal protections for Black citizens and paved the way for Jim Crow. The betrayal was devastating. Yet, Black communities responded with resilience, not resignation. They founded colleges such as Fisk, Howard and Spelman, institutions that would nurture generations of leaders. They created music and art that carried their pain and joy. They organized faith communities, built businesses and fought for freedom in every corner of American life.
This history is not distant; it flows in our veins. It reminds us that disappointment is not the end of the story. It is a call to deeper resolve. Our ancestors’ labor was not in vain; it was a foundation. Their vision and courage prepared the ground for the dreams we now hold.
But the work of social transformation is not the labor of a single lifetime. It is generational — and more than that, it is transgenerational.
When we think of the movements we carry forward today, we must remember that they are the fruits of seeds planted not just by our parents or grandparents but by ancestors six, seven or 10 generations ago. The freedom movements of the 20th century, the climate justice movements of today and the resistance to authoritarianism — all rest on the labor of those who came before us.
Consider the wisdom of the Iroquois Confederacy, which teaches us to make decisions with seven generations in mind. Imagine the foresight, the courage, the faith it takes to labor for a future we may never see. Our ancestors did that for us, sowing their lives into the soil of hope. They ran their part of the race, knowing full well it would extend far beyond their lifetimes.
Now, it is our turn. The baton is in our hands.
This is not the work of any single generation; it is the work of every generation alive today. Whether we are Gen Alpha, Gen Z, Millennials, Gen X, Boomers or elders in our 80s and 90s, we are all part of the living body that occupies this planet. Together, we face existential challenges that demand co-creation, what the organization CoGenerate calls “co-generation” — a cross-generational collaboration where each cohort brings its wisdom, energy and experience to the table.
We cannot afford to silo our struggles. Resisting fascist visions of the future and building something better will require the alchemic energy of every living generation. We must leverage the faith and creativity of young people, the endurance and pragmatism of middle-aged folks and the wisdom and perspective of elders. The work is too vast and too urgent for any one group to carry alone.
As we resist, let us also build. Let us create institutions and networks that will outlast us. Let us tell stories and make music that will sustain future generations in their darkest hours. Let us remix the wisdom of our ancestors for the living of these days and deposit new wisdom into the stream for descendants yet unborn.
We are standing in a river, a transgenerational flow of wisdom, struggle and hope. This river carries the teachings of our ancestors and the sacred stories of our traditions. Its waters have the power to nourish us, but they also carry responsibility. What we do today matters. What we need to do today matters. We must live and labor as faithful ancestors, depositing our best gifts into the current so that six, seven and 10 generations from now, those who come after us will find strength in what we leave behind.
The race set before us is not just a sprint; it is a marathon through the ages. Our ancestors are cheering us on from the sidelines, urging us to run with endurance, to hold onto hope and to keep going even when the path seems impossibly steep.
We do not labor alone. We labor in the company of those who came before us and those who will follow. Together, we are part of something larger, something sacred, something unstoppable.
The race set before us is to become faithful ancestors. Let us run it well.
(The Rev. Michael-Ray Mathews is a senior fellow at People For the American Way. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)
