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 And what is obsolete and growing old will soon disappear.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…