All Saints Sunday is the one morning a year when we read names aloud. Some of them are names everyone in the room knew; some are names only one family will recognise. Hebrews calls them a great cloud of witnesses — not spectators in the stands, but runners who have finished and now cheer the rest of us on.
The question the passage leaves us with is not whether we will be remembered. It is who we are running for: the child in the nursery who will one day sit where we sit, the neighbour who has never set foot in a church, the friend who needs someone to keep pace beside them for a while.