Hebrews 9:23-28
23 Thus it was necessary for the sketches of the heavenly things to be purified with these rites, but the heavenly things themselves need better sacrifices than these. 24 For Christ did not enter a sanctuary made by human hands, a mere copy of the true one, but he entered into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf. 25 Nor was it to offer himself again and again, as the high priest enters the Holy Place year after year with blood that is not his own; 26 for then he would have had to suffer again and again since the foundation of the world. But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the age to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself. 27 And just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment, 28 so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.
In 1981, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers told the world, “The waiting is the hardest part.” While I’m sure Tom Petty was referring to love or something more fitting for an early eighties pop song, his words are no less true—waiting can be the hardest part of nearly any ordeal you face in life. After all, most people (if not all people) hate to wait.
Think about it: you make a quick stop at the grocery store on your way home to pick up a gallon of milk (especially after you had to check and be sure it wasn’t buttermilk you poured on your cereal that morning). You park in the closest spot you can find, make a beeline for the dairy section, hustle towards the register, just to come to the front of the store to find that only two registers are open, and it seems like everyone in Calhoun County is buying groceries for the week! So you get in line and wait, and what was supposed to be a quick dash into the store turns into a practice of patience as you stand in line…waiting.
Or have you ever been driving down Quintard Avenue, either heading towards or coming from Oxford, just to get stuck at a red light? Then, as if getting caught in the inevitable sequence of stop-and-go traffic wasn’t enough, the car in front of you at the traffic light lurches and bucks as the light changes from red to green. Turns out you’re stuck behind someone trying to teach their kid how to drive a stick-shift and they’ve stalled the car—through the green light, then the yellow, and back to red. Of course, none of the other drivers coming down the road give you a break to get over, so you’re stuck there while an embarrassed parent quickly switches seats with his or her child. You’re stuck there…waiting.
Most of us don’t like waiting; we’re impatient, always in a hurry to get to wherever it is we are going, always ready for the next item on the “to-do” list, and we surely don’t have time to wait for something to slow us down or bring us to a halt. It’s been that way for generations; the only difference I suppose between this generation and those that have gone on before is that our impatience is regularly appeased. We don’t have to wait for the right season for our favorite fruits and vegetables. We have mobile phones that can not only let us make calls when we’re away from home, but they can tell us when we have an appointment, send emails, pay bills, and all other sorts of menial tasks that might otherwise slow us down. We can pay for gas at the pump without ever walking inside the gas station; we can get lunch without ever putting our car in park; we can receive mail electronically within a matter of seconds. We have all sorts of tricks and technology that have helped us avoid waiting, and yet somehow we still find ourselves in those situations that are out of our control, where we are forced to wait.
I know I tend to look at the season of Lent that way. For six weeks we have been listening to the preacher in the book of Hebrews, and for six weeks we’ve been on our way to this day—Easter Sunday. Some, however, have wanted to “jump the gun” (especially since it is so late this year) and assume that Easter has already taken place. Some wanted to just get the day over with so life can go back to something like normal. Some folks just wanted Easter to get here so they can get dressed up and come to church at least once so their parents or grandparents will leave them alone (at least until Christmas). They all just wanted this day to hurry up and get here, but we all had to wait.
You know, those first followers of Jesus had to wait. For around three years they followed Jesus, and during that time Jesus seemed to be testing their patience with words like those in John 7:7-8 "My time has not yet come…my time has not yet fully come.” They were just going to have to wait for that time to come. They had to wait as they heard Jesus say all those wonderfully confusing parables about the Kingdom of God and what it was going to be like. They had to wait as Jesus went from village to village, teaching and healing and serving. They had to wait despite all the affirming miracles and all the telling signs. They had to wait until that night finally came, that night when Jesus was betrayed and arrested. They had waited and then things didn’t go the way they had hoped. They waited to hear the verdict—crucifixion. They waited for the sentence to be carried out on that first Good Friday, and then…they waited.
I suppose that Saturday, that Sabbath, was the longest of all. They waited to see what would happen: would Rome come after them next? Would the Sanhedrin find them as co-conspirators in the blasphemy of which they accused Jesus? Should they run? Should they hide? Should they relent? Should they fight? Or should they just…wait? I imagine the waiting was the hardest part, waiting through the long hours of Saturday, hoping to hear something from someone concerning Jesus. I imagine some of them, in the midst of their waiting, thought it was over, just a pipe dream they had been duped into chasing. I imagine some of them felt defeated and some of them felt let down. Waiting can do that to you, you know. It can take away your hope, whittle down your desire and cool your emotions. Waiting can distract you or cause you to give up. It really can be the hardest part.
Thankfully, those first disciples only had to wait one day. The good news of that first Easter morning spread like the pollen in the spring as Jesus’ disciples heard it and witnessed the resurrected Jesus. Then others heard the disciples’ testimonies, and then others heard their testimonies, and so on and so on. It wasn’t long before the news of Jesus’ resurrection had spread, and the followers of the Way (the title given to the earliest followers of Jesus, before they were called Christians) were growing in great numbers. The apostles had taken their eye-witness accounts all across the Roman Empire; a former threat and new brother called Paul was taking the good news of Christ’s resurrection to people who weren’t even Jews; and the growing Church was beginning to separate from the Jewish faith that had bore it. It was in that atmosphere, an atmosphere of waiting, that many of the books of the New Testament were written, including the book of Hebrews.
Throughout Hebrews we have heard how Christ is our ultimate sacrifice; we have heard how he intercedes on our behalf as the great high priest in the order of Melchizedek; and we have heard how the old ways, the old covenant, were merely a shadow of the heavenly ways and the new covenant in Christ—all wonderful, glorious realities that we have heard time and time again in a part of the world that is (as Flannery O’Connor said) “Christ-haunted.” In the text before us this morning, however, there is something that ought to catch our attention, words that ought to stand out to us this day as we remember that first Easter morning and the hope that came with an empty tomb.
In verses 27 and 28 the author writes, “And just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” “Christ…will appear a second time…to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” What’s this about waiting? We hate waiting! Of course, by the time the early Church was able to take hold of the truth of Jesus’ resurrection they had to turn their attention to what he said would come next. He said he’d be back, but when?! Some in the early Church panicked: Paul had to write to the congregation at Thessalonica at least twice trying to straighten out their misunderstanding of what the return of Christ would look like. It’s a similar trend that has continued down through the history of the Church to the present day, as in every generation there is always some wide-eyed preacher with the courage and/or ignorance to proclaim “I know that Christ will return in my lifetime!” It’s no accident that both believers and non-believers alike love to talk about what the end times will be like. They write books, create movies, and make predictions, stringing together loosely interpreted passages of Scripture in order to prove their point. Why do they do it? Because of uncertainty, the uncertainty that comes with waiting.
But hold on a minute. Aren’t we done with the whole waiting thing? After all, isn’t that what Easter is all about: Jesus came, he died, and he rose again? That’s it, right? No more waiting. Well, yes. However, there is still Jesus’ promise to us that he will return, that he will once again come to earth bringing an end to this world by bringing the beginning of the next. There is still the hope of eternity that lies out ahead of us, beyond our reach, that began with that first Easter morning and grows closer with each passing day. You see, when it comes to the expectation in waiting for Christ’s return, waiting is no longer a passive annoyance. It is an expectant action! We do not wait as those first disciples did on that Saturday before the Christ’s resurrection, for we know that Christ is coming again: he told us he would, and he has yet to break his word! We do not wait like so many who tap their feet and keep their eyes on the clock, for we know the day is coming and we have work to do before it does. Waiting, for us, is the hardest part not because it means we are stuck here biding our time until Christ calls us home, but because there is an uncertainty as to how much time we have left! Christ may return today; you might die today; nothing may happen, and we may all live long, happy lives. But in the mean time, while we are waiting Christ calls us to himself. He calls us to accept the grace that was poured out on that cross on that first Good Friday. He calls us to accept the hope that came with the empty tomb on that first Easter morning. And, as our Scripture tells us this morning, “just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.”
What are you waiting for this morning? Are you waiting for a sign? Something to tell you that today is the day for you to turn your life over to the One who knows you better than you can ever know yourself? Are you waiting for things to get better, for your life to get straightened out so you can be “acceptable”? What are you waiting for today? Let me tell you that there is nothing worth waiting for more than Christ, and there is nothing that can keep you from him. There is no sign clearer than the conquered cross and the empty tomb. So what are you waiting for today? This day we have heard the Good News that Jesus has conquered death and has risen from the grave, and he offers you the free gift of salvation. So won’t you take that first step towards Christ? Won’t you begin to follow the path of a life lived waiting for him? If you do, you will see that the waiting, while it may be the hardest part, is indeed what makes life worth the living.
Let us pray...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Obsolete
Hebrews 8:1-13
1 Now the main point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, 2 a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up. 3 For every high priest is appointed to offer gifts and sacrifices; hence it is necessary for this priest also to have something to offer. 4 Now if he were on earth, he would not be a priest at all, since there are priests who offer gifts according to the law. 5 They offer worship in a sanctuary that is a sketch and shadow of the heavenly one; for Moses, when he was about to erect the tent, was warned, "See that you make everything according to the pattern that was shown you on the mountain." 6 But Jesus has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises. 7 For if that first covenant had been faultless, there would have been no need to look for a second one. 8 God finds fault with them when he says: "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will establish a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; 9 not like the covenant that I made with their ancestors, on the day when I took them by the hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt; for they did not continue in my covenant, and so I had no concern for them, says the Lord. 10 This is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 11 And they shall not teach one another or say to each other, "Know the Lord,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. 12 For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more." 13 In speaking of "a new covenant," he has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.
In a recent story from NPR titled, “The Triceratops Panic: Why Does Science Keep Changing Its Mind?” Robert Kluwich discusses the way in which the public has responded to some of the recent announcements from the scientific community. Over the last several years we’ve been told that the Brontosaurus doesn’t exist (it was just another dinosaur called the Apatosaurus), Pluto isn’t actually a planet (it’s just some lesser, planet-like rock at the edge of the solar system), and just this past year we were told Triceratops (my favorite among the dinosaurs) wasn’t really its own dinosaur, just an immature form of another dinosaur. People have been surprisingly vocal about their feelings regarding these recent so-called “discoveries.” T-shirts have been printed with slogans like “Save Pluto,” and Facebook groups have been formed with the expressed purpose of keeping the triceratops around. Yes, people are practically taking to the streets in protest over the latest news concerning triceratops, and they’re up in arms about the demotion of Pluto.
But why? Who cares if the brontosaurus was never really a dinosaur? Who cares if Pluto isn’t really a planet? What does it really matter if triceratops didn’t really look like that toy you had when you were ten? Aren’t those sorts of things only really important to astronomers, paleontologists, and curators of museums? After all, people don’t get worked up into a frenzy when news breaks about the latest advancements in quantum physics or molecular biology. So who cares about Pluto and a couple of dinosaurs, right? Well, I have a thought…people care because they have a hard time dealing with things that are different than what they already accept as true. We were taught as children that there are nine planets (“My Very Eager Mother…”), brontosaurus was the biggest dinosaur, and triceratops was the coolest looking dinosaur with three horns in the middle of its head. It was the truth we accepted, but now those truths (despite their relative unimportance to our lives) have been altered and people are reacting in surprising ways.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise though to anyone who’s been involved with congregational ministry; I can’t tell you how many times after proposing a direction for ministry I’ve heard these words: “Yeah, but that’s the way we’ve always done it.” You’re comfortable with the old, with the familiar. It’s what you’re used to, what you’ve grown to accept as the only way, as the truth. Honestly, it’s why I think popular Christian pastors and authors like Rob Bell find themselves embroiled in controversy so often. Perhaps you’ve heard bits and pieces in the news about Bell and his latest book Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person who ever Lived, and how it’s worked people up into a tizzy simply because he challenges the modern understanding of heaven and hell. I’ve read the book, and (as it turns out) Bell simply poses questions to how a modern understanding of heaven and hell jives with ancient teachings and other contemporary perspectives on the subject. People aren’t really upset because he’s rejected what they’ve believed to be true; they’re upset because he’s dared to question what they have accepted as truth for so long. He’s pulled the horns off the theological triceratops.
I have to think that in the hours leading up to Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the disciples and the crowd that had been following him were looking forward to what they commonly accepted as truth: Jesus was the promised messiah, and now he was going to lead them on a march through the gates of Jerusalem into the heart of the city to kick out Pilate and all the Roman rabble, to take back the city of David and get things back to the way they were supposed to be (Pluto was a planet…). They had an accepted truth, something they had been taught since they were children, and something they held so tightly to that when Jesus blows their minds by taking a different route—a different way—they don’t know what to think. He doesn’t march on Jerusalem; he doesn’t plan some great militaristic revolt; he doesn’t even so much as shake his fist in the direction of the Roman governor. In seven days, all of those supporters, all of those disciples with all of their expectant truths would abandon Jesus and leave him to die the death of a criminal at the hands of the government they assumed he had come to overthrow. He had shattered their expectations because he did not do things the way people wanted or expected. He did things in the way of the Kingdom—he did things a better way!
It is this better way that pulses as the beat to the background music in the epistle to the Hebrews. As we have seen throughout our journey through this book, the author is always bringing us back to the better way of Jesus. It’s why we read the words in verse one: “Now the main point in what we are saying is this…” There is a main point to all of this the author tells us, and that point is found in the supremacy of Christ and the way he has made through the cross and his subsequent resurrection. Throughout these thirteen verses of chapter eight, the author is sure to remind us that the way things were, the way things were accepted and expected to be, was becoming obsolete.
The author tells us in verse six, “But Jesus has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises.” “More excellent…better covenant...better promises” this is the reality of Christ. He offers a better, more excellent way. For the first century audience of this epistle, there was still some attachment to the Old Covenant, the old sacrificial system of the Temple, “the way they always did it.” Therefore, the author of Hebrews calls his audience’s attention back to the promise of the prophet Jeremiah from their Hebrew Scriptures in verses ten and eleven: “This is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall not teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more." Even in the midst of their accepted truth they needed to be reminded that it would one day be obsolete as God would establish a new, better way. That’s why the author goes on to tell us in verse 13, “In speaking of ‘a new covenant,’ he has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.”
“What is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.” It’s amazing how difficult those words can be to hear. We don’t what to hear that things are obsolete, and we sure don’t like to hear that things are growing old. We don’t like it when it comes to the things we own, when something we have suddenly becomes outdated; we don’t like to be reminded that we ourselves are growing old and inching closer to our last days; and people surely don’t like it when you tell them that the way they do church is “growing old” or “obsolete.” The truth is, folks have become complacent with what they have accepted as their own truths, whether it’s the idea that they’ll never really grow old, or whether faith is simply about getting into heaven, or the notion that being a “good Christian” simply means showing up on Sunday morning, not drinking alcohol, and always having a smile on your face. People just don’t like it when their accepted norms are shattered.
But that’s what this week, Holy Week, is all about, Jesus shattering our accepted norms. Jesus didn’t simply fall in line with the old, accepted understanding of what the Messiah was supposed to be. He didn’t fulfill everyone’s idea of conquering the bad guys and installing heroes. On that first Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem knowing that he was headed to his death, making a new way, despite the expectations of the old way. On this Palm Sunday, as we have heard these words from the epistle to the Hebrews, we are reminded that Christ’s way is THE way, the new way, the way that surpasses your own accepted truths, your own comfort. Jesus’ way is more than a mere religious transaction—it is a way of living, and not simply making sure you play by some religious rules. The way of Christ is exemplified in the ultimate sacrifice he has made, in the sacrificial life he lived, and in the ultimate truth of that gospel which you are called to proclaim.
There are things in your life that will grow old, things that will become obsolete. There are ways of doing things that will become ineffective and useless. But in the end, if you are truly seeking the will of God, truly living in the always new reality of Christ, you will find that the new covenant in the blood of Christ will not be obsolete, and the work of the kingdom will never grow old. And that, my brothers and sisters, is the only unchanging, eternal truth.
Let us pray…
1 Now the main point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens, 2 a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up. 3 For every high priest is appointed to offer gifts and sacrifices; hence it is necessary for this priest also to have something to offer. 4 Now if he were on earth, he would not be a priest at all, since there are priests who offer gifts according to the law. 5 They offer worship in a sanctuary that is a sketch and shadow of the heavenly one; for Moses, when he was about to erect the tent, was warned, "See that you make everything according to the pattern that was shown you on the mountain." 6 But Jesus has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises. 7 For if that first covenant had been faultless, there would have been no need to look for a second one. 8 God finds fault with them when he says: "The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will establish a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; 9 not like the covenant that I made with their ancestors, on the day when I took them by the hand to lead them out of the land of Egypt; for they did not continue in my covenant, and so I had no concern for them, says the Lord. 10 This is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 11 And they shall not teach one another or say to each other, "Know the Lord,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. 12 For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more." 13 In speaking of "a new covenant," he has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.
In a recent story from NPR titled, “The Triceratops Panic: Why Does Science Keep Changing Its Mind?” Robert Kluwich discusses the way in which the public has responded to some of the recent announcements from the scientific community. Over the last several years we’ve been told that the Brontosaurus doesn’t exist (it was just another dinosaur called the Apatosaurus), Pluto isn’t actually a planet (it’s just some lesser, planet-like rock at the edge of the solar system), and just this past year we were told Triceratops (my favorite among the dinosaurs) wasn’t really its own dinosaur, just an immature form of another dinosaur. People have been surprisingly vocal about their feelings regarding these recent so-called “discoveries.” T-shirts have been printed with slogans like “Save Pluto,” and Facebook groups have been formed with the expressed purpose of keeping the triceratops around. Yes, people are practically taking to the streets in protest over the latest news concerning triceratops, and they’re up in arms about the demotion of Pluto.
But why? Who cares if the brontosaurus was never really a dinosaur? Who cares if Pluto isn’t really a planet? What does it really matter if triceratops didn’t really look like that toy you had when you were ten? Aren’t those sorts of things only really important to astronomers, paleontologists, and curators of museums? After all, people don’t get worked up into a frenzy when news breaks about the latest advancements in quantum physics or molecular biology. So who cares about Pluto and a couple of dinosaurs, right? Well, I have a thought…people care because they have a hard time dealing with things that are different than what they already accept as true. We were taught as children that there are nine planets (“My Very Eager Mother…”), brontosaurus was the biggest dinosaur, and triceratops was the coolest looking dinosaur with three horns in the middle of its head. It was the truth we accepted, but now those truths (despite their relative unimportance to our lives) have been altered and people are reacting in surprising ways.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise though to anyone who’s been involved with congregational ministry; I can’t tell you how many times after proposing a direction for ministry I’ve heard these words: “Yeah, but that’s the way we’ve always done it.” You’re comfortable with the old, with the familiar. It’s what you’re used to, what you’ve grown to accept as the only way, as the truth. Honestly, it’s why I think popular Christian pastors and authors like Rob Bell find themselves embroiled in controversy so often. Perhaps you’ve heard bits and pieces in the news about Bell and his latest book Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person who ever Lived, and how it’s worked people up into a tizzy simply because he challenges the modern understanding of heaven and hell. I’ve read the book, and (as it turns out) Bell simply poses questions to how a modern understanding of heaven and hell jives with ancient teachings and other contemporary perspectives on the subject. People aren’t really upset because he’s rejected what they’ve believed to be true; they’re upset because he’s dared to question what they have accepted as truth for so long. He’s pulled the horns off the theological triceratops.
I have to think that in the hours leading up to Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the disciples and the crowd that had been following him were looking forward to what they commonly accepted as truth: Jesus was the promised messiah, and now he was going to lead them on a march through the gates of Jerusalem into the heart of the city to kick out Pilate and all the Roman rabble, to take back the city of David and get things back to the way they were supposed to be (Pluto was a planet…). They had an accepted truth, something they had been taught since they were children, and something they held so tightly to that when Jesus blows their minds by taking a different route—a different way—they don’t know what to think. He doesn’t march on Jerusalem; he doesn’t plan some great militaristic revolt; he doesn’t even so much as shake his fist in the direction of the Roman governor. In seven days, all of those supporters, all of those disciples with all of their expectant truths would abandon Jesus and leave him to die the death of a criminal at the hands of the government they assumed he had come to overthrow. He had shattered their expectations because he did not do things the way people wanted or expected. He did things in the way of the Kingdom—he did things a better way!
It is this better way that pulses as the beat to the background music in the epistle to the Hebrews. As we have seen throughout our journey through this book, the author is always bringing us back to the better way of Jesus. It’s why we read the words in verse one: “Now the main point in what we are saying is this…” There is a main point to all of this the author tells us, and that point is found in the supremacy of Christ and the way he has made through the cross and his subsequent resurrection. Throughout these thirteen verses of chapter eight, the author is sure to remind us that the way things were, the way things were accepted and expected to be, was becoming obsolete.
The author tells us in verse six, “But Jesus has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises.” “More excellent…better covenant...better promises” this is the reality of Christ. He offers a better, more excellent way. For the first century audience of this epistle, there was still some attachment to the Old Covenant, the old sacrificial system of the Temple, “the way they always did it.” Therefore, the author of Hebrews calls his audience’s attention back to the promise of the prophet Jeremiah from their Hebrew Scriptures in verses ten and eleven: “This is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will put my laws in their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall not teach one another or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,' for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more." Even in the midst of their accepted truth they needed to be reminded that it would one day be obsolete as God would establish a new, better way. That’s why the author goes on to tell us in verse 13, “In speaking of ‘a new covenant,’ he has made the first one obsolete. And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.”
“What is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.” It’s amazing how difficult those words can be to hear. We don’t what to hear that things are obsolete, and we sure don’t like to hear that things are growing old. We don’t like it when it comes to the things we own, when something we have suddenly becomes outdated; we don’t like to be reminded that we ourselves are growing old and inching closer to our last days; and people surely don’t like it when you tell them that the way they do church is “growing old” or “obsolete.” The truth is, folks have become complacent with what they have accepted as their own truths, whether it’s the idea that they’ll never really grow old, or whether faith is simply about getting into heaven, or the notion that being a “good Christian” simply means showing up on Sunday morning, not drinking alcohol, and always having a smile on your face. People just don’t like it when their accepted norms are shattered.
But that’s what this week, Holy Week, is all about, Jesus shattering our accepted norms. Jesus didn’t simply fall in line with the old, accepted understanding of what the Messiah was supposed to be. He didn’t fulfill everyone’s idea of conquering the bad guys and installing heroes. On that first Palm Sunday, Jesus rode into Jerusalem knowing that he was headed to his death, making a new way, despite the expectations of the old way. On this Palm Sunday, as we have heard these words from the epistle to the Hebrews, we are reminded that Christ’s way is THE way, the new way, the way that surpasses your own accepted truths, your own comfort. Jesus’ way is more than a mere religious transaction—it is a way of living, and not simply making sure you play by some religious rules. The way of Christ is exemplified in the ultimate sacrifice he has made, in the sacrificial life he lived, and in the ultimate truth of that gospel which you are called to proclaim.
There are things in your life that will grow old, things that will become obsolete. There are ways of doing things that will become ineffective and useless. But in the end, if you are truly seeking the will of God, truly living in the always new reality of Christ, you will find that the new covenant in the blood of Christ will not be obsolete, and the work of the kingdom will never grow old. And that, my brothers and sisters, is the only unchanging, eternal truth.
Let us pray…
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Great High Priest
Hebrews 4:14-5:10 14
Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. 16 Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. 5:1 Every high priest chosen from among mortals is put in charge of things pertaining to God on their behalf, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. 2 He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness; 3 and because of this he must offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people. 4 And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was. 5 So also Christ did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, "You are my Son, today I have begotten you"; 6 as he says also in another place, "You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek." 7 In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. 8 Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; 9 and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him, 10 having been designated by God a high priest according to the order of Melchizedek.
If I were to ask you, “What does God look like?” what would you say? Perhaps you’d point to the fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and say, “Well, God looks like that, with flowing white hair and beard, a stern expression of power on his face as he tells the moon and the sun where to hang in the sky, and with outstretched arm touches off the spark that would jump start humankind. Yeah, that’s what God looks like.” Or would you look to the popular images of God, like those illustrated by the likes of Monty Python, a God with an overwhelming ego, a crown upon his head, fire flashing from his eyes, and the booming voice of one irritated with humanity? Of course there are always those wonderful Sunday school pictures of God in Jesus with his disco-era feathered hair and sparkling blue eyes, looking like one of the lost members of the Bee Gees. I wonder what God looks like to you.
What if I asked you: “What does God sound like?” I have a feeling you haven’t been asked that question near as many times as the other. Well, what does God sound like to you? Is his voice found in the ground-shaking boom of a thunderstorm? Or does his voice carry softly on the wind? Does God have an accent, or when he speaks is it even with words? I wonder what God sounds like to you.
Well, let me ask you a different question. How do you think God feels? I’ll ask you again (just in case you didn’t quite catch it the first time): how do you think God feels? Is he a proud, divine engineer, rocking back in his chair, propping his feet up as he watches the mechanisms of creation running like clockwork? Is he standing on the floor of heaven, shaking his head with the look of a disappointed father as his children continue to disobey him? Or, perhaps, is he filled with the arrogant power of a divine dictator, casually flicking the unsuspecting sinner into the great, eternal chasm of hell? I wonder how you think God feels.
Try this out: what if God feels the way you feel? What if God experiences the great cocktail of emotions you experience day in and day out: your pain, your joy, your depression, your loneliness, your excitement? What if God actually feels hungry, tired, thirsty, or well-rested? I suppose that isn’t the easiest pill to swallow, or the easiest story to buy, considering you may have an image of God as an aloof deity with his eternal throne somewhere among the stars in the universe. It isn’t necessarily easy to think of God as being sympathetic when you see him as some removed, all-powerful being that dresses in dazzling white robes and floats on the cloud covered streets of heaven. But just imagine it, God feeling the way you feel, able to actually sympathize with you in the midst of wherever you may be. Perhaps your ordinary image of God makes it difficult to find such a connection of feeling with the Almighty.
Well, does the image of a high priest help in making such a connection? Honestly, it doesn’t for me...at least it doesn’t at first. I’m a Baptist, and even though I know better, the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words “high priest” is an image of a man in excessive clerical garb with a pointy hat and possibly a bedazzled walking stick. The image comes to my mind of one who wears a white collar on a black shirt or one who recites words from an otherwise forgotten language as he breaks an oversized wafer over a goblet of wine. When I hear the words “high priest” my mind immediately flashes to those days of studying ancient Judaism and the elaborate process of cleaning and dressing of the high priest on the Day of Atonement, and how this one individual had to slaughter a bull and a goat and sprinkle the blood in various places in the Tabernacle. It’s honestly an image I can’t relate to anymore than the image painted in plaster and pigment on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. However, it is just the image that our author chooses here in our passage this morning from this sermon to the Hebrews.
It’s the first image we get in verse 14: “Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession.” Despite our unfamiliarity with the image of a high priest, the author’s original audience would have been quite familiar with the office and all of its practices: the vestments, the offerings for sins, etc. The image of Jesus, therefore, as a great high priest, is actually quite powerful, at the very least, from a religious point of view for the author of our text today. In fact, the author is so familiar with the office of the high priest, that he or she goes on to give us a few of the qualifications of a high priest.
In verses 1 and 4 of chapter five the author describes how the high priest was chosen and what he was chosen to do: “Every high priest chosen from among mortals is put in charge of things pertaining to God on their behalf, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins… And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was.” So the high priest was chosen (as opposed to himself choosing the profession at a job fair), and his primary role was to serve as a mediator between God and God’s people: he had the responsibility of making sacrifices on behalf of the people and mediating forgiveness to the people on behalf of God. Of course, since the high priest himself was a mere mortal, he too had to make sacrifices for his own sins: (verse 5:3) “and because of this he must offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people.”
Now, one could imagine that the person chosen to be high priest could have a tendency towards arrogance, seeing as how he and he alone would have exclusive access to God. In fact, however, the high priest had to be able to sympathize with the people for whom he made sacrifice—his was not an office to lord over the people. Our author says in verse 5:2, “He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness.” So, in short, according to the author of Hebrews, the high priest was one who acted as a mediator between God and his people while sympathizing with the people—in other words, he felt what the people felt. With that in mind, we see how the author begins to use such an image to describe Jesus.
In chapter 4, verses 15 and 16 he says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” The author of Hebrews makes the claim that we have in Christ a high priest who is able to “sympathize with our weaknesses.” Christ, the Son of God is able to sympathize with us? He’s actually able to understand where we come from, where we are, where we’re headed? Scripture responds with a resounding “Yes!”
Of course, there is more to it than that. The author tells us in chapter five, verses five and six, “So also Christ did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, ‘You are my Son, today I have begotten you’; as he says also in another place, ‘You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.’" In other words, this was not something Jesus jumped at the chance to do simply for the glory of it all; Christ became our great high priest as God, his father, had appointed him. He has “been designated by God as high priest according to the order of Melchizedek (5:10).”
Christ is able to serve as our great high priest because he has actually walked in our shoes! That’s what the Incarnation—God becoming flesh in Christ—is all about! When the Bible says in John 1:14, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us,” it is saying that God has indeed become like you. He looks like you, sounds like you, feels like you. And because the Word has become flesh in the Son Jesus, he is able to serve as your great high priest, offering prayers and supplications on your and my behalf just as he did “In the days of his flesh…with loud cries and tears (5:7).” Of course, our text goes on to tell us in verse eight that “Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.” Christ, in the flesh, learned what it meant to be obedient to God, even to the point of death! Therefore, Christ as our high priest is not only able to sympathize with us in our temptations and grief, he is able to make total absolution on our behalf in his perfection.
The author tells us in verse nine, “and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” Unlike the mortal high priests of old, Christ had endured the temptations of sin and evil and had been made perfect; therefore, there was no need to make atonement for his own sins. Furthermore, the sacrifice that Christ offered was not the blood of bulls or goats, but his very own blood! Christ, having become the perfect high priest, became the perfect sacrifice—the ultimate sacrifice—for all of creation. This Son, God Incarnate, our savior who looked like us, sounded like us, and felt like us, gave his very life for us.
That’s what God looks like! Like a great high priest who lovingly sacrifices himself in his perfection to atone for my and your imperfections. That’s what God sounds like! Like the eternal Word made flesh interceding on our behalf before the Almighty. That’s what God feels like! Like one who has walked on the hard roads of this world, who’s felt the pain of heartbreak and a sore back, like one who knows the threat of sin and the peril of evil. Christ, your great high priest, the one who has made a way for you in his perfection, knows your every feeling—because he has felt them. That is why he is our perfect high priest; that is why he is our ultimate sacrifice; and that is why he is a savior deserving of your love, your worship, and your very life’s devotion. That, my friends, is truly what God feels like!
Let us pray…
Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. 15 For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. 16 Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. 5:1 Every high priest chosen from among mortals is put in charge of things pertaining to God on their behalf, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. 2 He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness; 3 and because of this he must offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people. 4 And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was. 5 So also Christ did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, "You are my Son, today I have begotten you"; 6 as he says also in another place, "You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek." 7 In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. 8 Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; 9 and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him, 10 having been designated by God a high priest according to the order of Melchizedek.
If I were to ask you, “What does God look like?” what would you say? Perhaps you’d point to the fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and say, “Well, God looks like that, with flowing white hair and beard, a stern expression of power on his face as he tells the moon and the sun where to hang in the sky, and with outstretched arm touches off the spark that would jump start humankind. Yeah, that’s what God looks like.” Or would you look to the popular images of God, like those illustrated by the likes of Monty Python, a God with an overwhelming ego, a crown upon his head, fire flashing from his eyes, and the booming voice of one irritated with humanity? Of course there are always those wonderful Sunday school pictures of God in Jesus with his disco-era feathered hair and sparkling blue eyes, looking like one of the lost members of the Bee Gees. I wonder what God looks like to you.
What if I asked you: “What does God sound like?” I have a feeling you haven’t been asked that question near as many times as the other. Well, what does God sound like to you? Is his voice found in the ground-shaking boom of a thunderstorm? Or does his voice carry softly on the wind? Does God have an accent, or when he speaks is it even with words? I wonder what God sounds like to you.
Well, let me ask you a different question. How do you think God feels? I’ll ask you again (just in case you didn’t quite catch it the first time): how do you think God feels? Is he a proud, divine engineer, rocking back in his chair, propping his feet up as he watches the mechanisms of creation running like clockwork? Is he standing on the floor of heaven, shaking his head with the look of a disappointed father as his children continue to disobey him? Or, perhaps, is he filled with the arrogant power of a divine dictator, casually flicking the unsuspecting sinner into the great, eternal chasm of hell? I wonder how you think God feels.
Try this out: what if God feels the way you feel? What if God experiences the great cocktail of emotions you experience day in and day out: your pain, your joy, your depression, your loneliness, your excitement? What if God actually feels hungry, tired, thirsty, or well-rested? I suppose that isn’t the easiest pill to swallow, or the easiest story to buy, considering you may have an image of God as an aloof deity with his eternal throne somewhere among the stars in the universe. It isn’t necessarily easy to think of God as being sympathetic when you see him as some removed, all-powerful being that dresses in dazzling white robes and floats on the cloud covered streets of heaven. But just imagine it, God feeling the way you feel, able to actually sympathize with you in the midst of wherever you may be. Perhaps your ordinary image of God makes it difficult to find such a connection of feeling with the Almighty.
Well, does the image of a high priest help in making such a connection? Honestly, it doesn’t for me...at least it doesn’t at first. I’m a Baptist, and even though I know better, the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words “high priest” is an image of a man in excessive clerical garb with a pointy hat and possibly a bedazzled walking stick. The image comes to my mind of one who wears a white collar on a black shirt or one who recites words from an otherwise forgotten language as he breaks an oversized wafer over a goblet of wine. When I hear the words “high priest” my mind immediately flashes to those days of studying ancient Judaism and the elaborate process of cleaning and dressing of the high priest on the Day of Atonement, and how this one individual had to slaughter a bull and a goat and sprinkle the blood in various places in the Tabernacle. It’s honestly an image I can’t relate to anymore than the image painted in plaster and pigment on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. However, it is just the image that our author chooses here in our passage this morning from this sermon to the Hebrews.
It’s the first image we get in verse 14: “Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession.” Despite our unfamiliarity with the image of a high priest, the author’s original audience would have been quite familiar with the office and all of its practices: the vestments, the offerings for sins, etc. The image of Jesus, therefore, as a great high priest, is actually quite powerful, at the very least, from a religious point of view for the author of our text today. In fact, the author is so familiar with the office of the high priest, that he or she goes on to give us a few of the qualifications of a high priest.
In verses 1 and 4 of chapter five the author describes how the high priest was chosen and what he was chosen to do: “Every high priest chosen from among mortals is put in charge of things pertaining to God on their behalf, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins… And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was.” So the high priest was chosen (as opposed to himself choosing the profession at a job fair), and his primary role was to serve as a mediator between God and God’s people: he had the responsibility of making sacrifices on behalf of the people and mediating forgiveness to the people on behalf of God. Of course, since the high priest himself was a mere mortal, he too had to make sacrifices for his own sins: (verse 5:3) “and because of this he must offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people.”
Now, one could imagine that the person chosen to be high priest could have a tendency towards arrogance, seeing as how he and he alone would have exclusive access to God. In fact, however, the high priest had to be able to sympathize with the people for whom he made sacrifice—his was not an office to lord over the people. Our author says in verse 5:2, “He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness.” So, in short, according to the author of Hebrews, the high priest was one who acted as a mediator between God and his people while sympathizing with the people—in other words, he felt what the people felt. With that in mind, we see how the author begins to use such an image to describe Jesus.
In chapter 4, verses 15 and 16 he says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” The author of Hebrews makes the claim that we have in Christ a high priest who is able to “sympathize with our weaknesses.” Christ, the Son of God is able to sympathize with us? He’s actually able to understand where we come from, where we are, where we’re headed? Scripture responds with a resounding “Yes!”
Of course, there is more to it than that. The author tells us in chapter five, verses five and six, “So also Christ did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, ‘You are my Son, today I have begotten you’; as he says also in another place, ‘You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.’" In other words, this was not something Jesus jumped at the chance to do simply for the glory of it all; Christ became our great high priest as God, his father, had appointed him. He has “been designated by God as high priest according to the order of Melchizedek (5:10).”
Christ is able to serve as our great high priest because he has actually walked in our shoes! That’s what the Incarnation—God becoming flesh in Christ—is all about! When the Bible says in John 1:14, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us,” it is saying that God has indeed become like you. He looks like you, sounds like you, feels like you. And because the Word has become flesh in the Son Jesus, he is able to serve as your great high priest, offering prayers and supplications on your and my behalf just as he did “In the days of his flesh…with loud cries and tears (5:7).” Of course, our text goes on to tell us in verse eight that “Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.” Christ, in the flesh, learned what it meant to be obedient to God, even to the point of death! Therefore, Christ as our high priest is not only able to sympathize with us in our temptations and grief, he is able to make total absolution on our behalf in his perfection.
The author tells us in verse nine, “and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.” Unlike the mortal high priests of old, Christ had endured the temptations of sin and evil and had been made perfect; therefore, there was no need to make atonement for his own sins. Furthermore, the sacrifice that Christ offered was not the blood of bulls or goats, but his very own blood! Christ, having become the perfect high priest, became the perfect sacrifice—the ultimate sacrifice—for all of creation. This Son, God Incarnate, our savior who looked like us, sounded like us, and felt like us, gave his very life for us.
That’s what God looks like! Like a great high priest who lovingly sacrifices himself in his perfection to atone for my and your imperfections. That’s what God sounds like! Like the eternal Word made flesh interceding on our behalf before the Almighty. That’s what God feels like! Like one who has walked on the hard roads of this world, who’s felt the pain of heartbreak and a sore back, like one who knows the threat of sin and the peril of evil. Christ, your great high priest, the one who has made a way for you in his perfection, knows your every feeling—because he has felt them. That is why he is our perfect high priest; that is why he is our ultimate sacrifice; and that is why he is a savior deserving of your love, your worship, and your very life’s devotion. That, my friends, is truly what God feels like!
Let us pray…
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