Back in the ‘80’s Michele and I were lucky enough to be in a Sunday School class on the Letter to
the Hebrews. We were almost completely oblivious to it at the time, but our teacher, Lincoln Hurst,
was actually in the top tier of experts on Hebrews and on N.T. theology in the world. He’d studied
under a renowned New Testament scholar at Oxford and then became a religious studies professor
at UC Davis. Needless to say, he kindled something of an interest in this epistle, at least in me.
Hebrews has a few enigmas, the foremost of which is that nobody actually knows who wrote it. The
front running candidates for authorship seem to be Barnabas and an Alexandrian Christian leader
named Apollos. New Testament scholars generally think it was written before 70 AD, and it’s pretty
clear that it was written to Jewish Christians who were being pressured to revert back to the old, pre-
Christian way of looking at God.
The nice thing about this letter is that the author gives a pretty tidy and very useful explanation of
Jesus’ work on all of our behalf. And as we’ll see, this dovetails with this morning’s Gospel story
from Mark, which gives us even more insight into Jesus and what it means to be his followers.
Perhaps the best way to show just how amazing all of this is, is to contrast it with the alternatives. In
the belief buffet that is American culture, we can grab any number of spiritual ideas and worldviews
for lunch, and go for a different meal tomorrow. Kind of like “McNuggets of wisdom.”
We have some religions in which God is a stern disciplinarian with high expectations for us, and no
real guarantee as to whether we’ll ever satisfy him, and therefore whether we’ll ever be rewarded
with anything beyond this life. We have systems in which there are multitudes of gods of every
conceivable personality and whim who either assist or interfere with our efforts to climb our way up
the endless ladder to a better spiritual state. We have worldviews which believe that all that we
perceive with our senses is all there was, is, or ever will be, and that any talk of a god or a spirit
world is pure silliness.
The interesting thing is that, in one form or another, these beliefs all were there in the First Century
as well. Hebrews was written to our older siblings in monotheism—the Jews. God gave them a
system which dealt, however imperfectly, with the problem of sin—of not living the way God intended
for us to live. This involved what came to be known as the priesthood— the special group of
people who stood in the gap between the people and God. They performed sacrifices to show the
critical cost of disobedience, and to somehow restore the divine, cosmic system of justice to
balance.
But this was never meant to be the final solution to the problem of sin. It was all pointing forward to
the great day when God himself would, as Paul writes to the Philippians, “make himself nothing,
taking on the nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” And then he’d become obedient
to death on a cross, after which God the Father would exalt him as the great high priest, and give
him the name that is above every name. This is what the writer to the Hebrews describes.
In today’s passage the writer begins by reminding the Jews what they already know with fear and
trembling. God knows everything about us. Hebrews says, “The word of God (or God’s truth) is
sharper than any two-edged sword, and it penetrates even to the point of dividing soul and spirit,
joints and marrow. It judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” OK? Nothing is hidden from
God’s sight. If you’re trying to hide all that yucky, embarrassing stuff, forget about it. Even the
thoughts. Even the darkest and worst thoughts. Are you sweating yet? We can pretend all we want,
but we are a completely open book to God.
How many of you are familiar with the Norwegian phrase, “Uff da”? It’s kind of like “Oy vey,” one of
my favorite Yiddish phrases. It’s sort of hard to explain, except by its usage. Here are a few
examples: “Uff da” is discovering that your ‘male’ dog is pregnant. “Uff da” is forgetting your mother-
in-law’s first name. “Uff da” is waking yourself up in church with your own snoring. Well, you get the
picture. God’s omniscience potentially creates the supreme “uff da” for us.
But then the writer to the Hebrews tells us why it doesn’t pan out that way. He writes,
“Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son
of God, let us hold fast to our confession. Because we don’t have a high priest who is unable to
sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tempted as we
are, yet without sin.”
Are you hearing this? This hearkens back to the very core of the human dilemma. We’ve been
separated from a pure and holy God by the misuse of our free will. In other words, we sin. But after
delivering a message about a holy, perfect, and omniscient God that should probably strike terror
into our hearts, the writer makes clear why there’s no longer cause for fear. Jesus was sent not only
as the payment for all our sins, past, present and future, but God incarnate has lived from within our
feeble frames, been tempted in every way that we are, and fully understands what it is to be a
human being. And on top of that he claims ultimate victory over sin, death, and the grave by his
Resurrection.
So rather than what some have perceived as the great frown in the sky, Jesus shows us the real
nature of God. He’s a God who knows us intimately, sympathizes with our weaknesses, and is
rooting for us to use our free will to yield to his supply of power and meet our God-intended potential
as human beings. We need no longer fear, because as John tells us, “There is no fear in love, for
perfect love casts out fear.” And “what greater love than this, that he lay down his life for his
friends.” For his friends. It’s a new relationship now.
This is illustrated in today’s Gospel Reading. When Jesus speaks with the rich young seeker, he
sees right into his heart. When questioned by Jesus, the rich man answers that he’s kept the
commandments since his childhood. And it’s here that Jesus shows the heart of God. Mark writes,
“Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” What a powerful and almost understated truth. Jesus longs for
this young man to turn to the source of salvation and exchange his earthly riches for heavenly
riches.
But he sees beneath the young man’s claim and says to him, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you
own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”
Jesus knows that this man needs something much deeper than going through the motions of trying
to follow the law. He needs the thorough transformation of heart that can only come about in
response to an invitation by his maker to do a makeover. But the maker has to be in charge to do
this.
Now, at first blush, this expectation of total surrender may sound like an unreasonable add-on.
Because the writer to the Hebrews encourages us to approach the throne of grace boldly, since
Jesus sees all the way down into our hearts and still looks at us and loves us. And Jesus talks all this
stuff about a gentle yoke, and an easy burden, and now we have him saying that we need to be
willing to give up everything for him. What gives? one may ask.
Well, for one thing, this shouldn’t be a major news flash to a Jewish audience. After all,
Deuteronomy says that the foundation of a covenant relationship with God is to love Him with all
your heart, soul and strength. We’re fond of using that word “inclusive” these days. This is about as
inclusive a concept as I can imagine.
But the point is this. We approach the throne of grace boldly, but not with a spirit of false
confidence in our own goodness or in our own abilities. The Prayer of Humble Access in the Rite I
Eucharist proclaims this: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O Lord, trusting in our own
righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up
the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy.”
There’s so much confusion about this in the church today. Where I was serving back East we used
to have clergy conferences in which you’d never know what would pop up to offer itself as a liturgical
form when we’d worship together. We had one service in which the Confession consisted of a lament
about how sorry we all are that we don’t recognize just how very good we are. If the late Hunter
Thompson were to write about these events he might name his book something like “Fear and
Loathing in Ocean City.” That captured what some of us felt like.
And I was told that, before the rector under whom I served, parishioners at our old parish had been
cheerily informed that, if they’d just try to do good, everything would be all right. Nothing about
accessing the grace of God through Christ, and being transformed by Him into his likeness. But the
scriptures are clear. You see, to access the grace issuing from the Lord’s throne, we must do so
recognizing that we don’t have the power to change ourselves in the radical way that holiness
requires. Only God can do that. And in order to do that, he requires that he be the King of our lives.
There’s no other way around this. It may be a throne of grace, but it’s still a throne.
In my view the invitation to the throne couldn’t be more beautiful. The Lord knows everything about
us, loves us so much anyway that he gave his life to save us, offers to take us off the tortuous and
often self-defeating throne of our own hearts and reign there himself as the only one who knows us
well enough to prepare us for the eternal life that he has in store for those who truly surrender. Is
that a good deal, or what?
Because we’re conditioned to be self-centered and not God-centered. We think we need the toys
and comforts of this life, and they become addictions. We become rooted in materialism, and the
thought of being uprooted terrifies us. So then we have to ask ourselves a question. Do we believe
Jesus? Do we believe him when he says, “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters
or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not
receive a hundredfold now in this age—and in the age to come, eternal life.”
Do we really believe that he’ll offer us all we need in this life, and more than we can imagine in the
next? That’s the question. And only we have the answer. My prayer is that we’ll decide, or continue
to decide, day by day and hour by hour, not to go away grieving at Jesus’ terms, but to accept them
gratefully, believing with all our hearts that he keeps his promises. “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.” Amen.
the Hebrews. We were almost completely oblivious to it at the time, but our teacher, Lincoln Hurst,
was actually in the top tier of experts on Hebrews and on N.T. theology in the world. He’d studied
under a renowned New Testament scholar at Oxford and then became a religious studies professor
at UC Davis. Needless to say, he kindled something of an interest in this epistle, at least in me.
Hebrews has a few enigmas, the foremost of which is that nobody actually knows who wrote it. The
front running candidates for authorship seem to be Barnabas and an Alexandrian Christian leader
named Apollos. New Testament scholars generally think it was written before 70 AD, and it’s pretty
clear that it was written to Jewish Christians who were being pressured to revert back to the old, pre-
Christian way of looking at God.
The nice thing about this letter is that the author gives a pretty tidy and very useful explanation of
Jesus’ work on all of our behalf. And as we’ll see, this dovetails with this morning’s Gospel story
from Mark, which gives us even more insight into Jesus and what it means to be his followers.
Perhaps the best way to show just how amazing all of this is, is to contrast it with the alternatives. In
the belief buffet that is American culture, we can grab any number of spiritual ideas and worldviews
for lunch, and go for a different meal tomorrow. Kind of like “McNuggets of wisdom.”
We have some religions in which God is a stern disciplinarian with high expectations for us, and no
real guarantee as to whether we’ll ever satisfy him, and therefore whether we’ll ever be rewarded
with anything beyond this life. We have systems in which there are multitudes of gods of every
conceivable personality and whim who either assist or interfere with our efforts to climb our way up
the endless ladder to a better spiritual state. We have worldviews which believe that all that we
perceive with our senses is all there was, is, or ever will be, and that any talk of a god or a spirit
world is pure silliness.
The interesting thing is that, in one form or another, these beliefs all were there in the First Century
as well. Hebrews was written to our older siblings in monotheism—the Jews. God gave them a
system which dealt, however imperfectly, with the problem of sin—of not living the way God intended
for us to live. This involved what came to be known as the priesthood— the special group of
people who stood in the gap between the people and God. They performed sacrifices to show the
critical cost of disobedience, and to somehow restore the divine, cosmic system of justice to
balance.
But this was never meant to be the final solution to the problem of sin. It was all pointing forward to
the great day when God himself would, as Paul writes to the Philippians, “make himself nothing,
taking on the nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” And then he’d become obedient
to death on a cross, after which God the Father would exalt him as the great high priest, and give
him the name that is above every name. This is what the writer to the Hebrews describes.
In today’s passage the writer begins by reminding the Jews what they already know with fear and
trembling. God knows everything about us. Hebrews says, “The word of God (or God’s truth) is
sharper than any two-edged sword, and it penetrates even to the point of dividing soul and spirit,
joints and marrow. It judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” OK? Nothing is hidden from
God’s sight. If you’re trying to hide all that yucky, embarrassing stuff, forget about it. Even the
thoughts. Even the darkest and worst thoughts. Are you sweating yet? We can pretend all we want,
but we are a completely open book to God.
How many of you are familiar with the Norwegian phrase, “Uff da”? It’s kind of like “Oy vey,” one of
my favorite Yiddish phrases. It’s sort of hard to explain, except by its usage. Here are a few
examples: “Uff da” is discovering that your ‘male’ dog is pregnant. “Uff da” is forgetting your mother-
in-law’s first name. “Uff da” is waking yourself up in church with your own snoring. Well, you get the
picture. God’s omniscience potentially creates the supreme “uff da” for us.
But then the writer to the Hebrews tells us why it doesn’t pan out that way. He writes,
“Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son
of God, let us hold fast to our confession. Because we don’t have a high priest who is unable to
sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tempted as we
are, yet without sin.”
Are you hearing this? This hearkens back to the very core of the human dilemma. We’ve been
separated from a pure and holy God by the misuse of our free will. In other words, we sin. But after
delivering a message about a holy, perfect, and omniscient God that should probably strike terror
into our hearts, the writer makes clear why there’s no longer cause for fear. Jesus was sent not only
as the payment for all our sins, past, present and future, but God incarnate has lived from within our
feeble frames, been tempted in every way that we are, and fully understands what it is to be a
human being. And on top of that he claims ultimate victory over sin, death, and the grave by his
Resurrection.
So rather than what some have perceived as the great frown in the sky, Jesus shows us the real
nature of God. He’s a God who knows us intimately, sympathizes with our weaknesses, and is
rooting for us to use our free will to yield to his supply of power and meet our God-intended potential
as human beings. We need no longer fear, because as John tells us, “There is no fear in love, for
perfect love casts out fear.” And “what greater love than this, that he lay down his life for his
friends.” For his friends. It’s a new relationship now.
This is illustrated in today’s Gospel Reading. When Jesus speaks with the rich young seeker, he
sees right into his heart. When questioned by Jesus, the rich man answers that he’s kept the
commandments since his childhood. And it’s here that Jesus shows the heart of God. Mark writes,
“Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” What a powerful and almost understated truth. Jesus longs for
this young man to turn to the source of salvation and exchange his earthly riches for heavenly
riches.
But he sees beneath the young man’s claim and says to him, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you
own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”
Jesus knows that this man needs something much deeper than going through the motions of trying
to follow the law. He needs the thorough transformation of heart that can only come about in
response to an invitation by his maker to do a makeover. But the maker has to be in charge to do
this.
Now, at first blush, this expectation of total surrender may sound like an unreasonable add-on.
Because the writer to the Hebrews encourages us to approach the throne of grace boldly, since
Jesus sees all the way down into our hearts and still looks at us and loves us. And Jesus talks all this
stuff about a gentle yoke, and an easy burden, and now we have him saying that we need to be
willing to give up everything for him. What gives? one may ask.
Well, for one thing, this shouldn’t be a major news flash to a Jewish audience. After all,
Deuteronomy says that the foundation of a covenant relationship with God is to love Him with all
your heart, soul and strength. We’re fond of using that word “inclusive” these days. This is about as
inclusive a concept as I can imagine.
But the point is this. We approach the throne of grace boldly, but not with a spirit of false
confidence in our own goodness or in our own abilities. The Prayer of Humble Access in the Rite I
Eucharist proclaims this: “We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O Lord, trusting in our own
righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up
the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord whose property is always to have mercy.”
There’s so much confusion about this in the church today. Where I was serving back East we used
to have clergy conferences in which you’d never know what would pop up to offer itself as a liturgical
form when we’d worship together. We had one service in which the Confession consisted of a lament
about how sorry we all are that we don’t recognize just how very good we are. If the late Hunter
Thompson were to write about these events he might name his book something like “Fear and
Loathing in Ocean City.” That captured what some of us felt like.
And I was told that, before the rector under whom I served, parishioners at our old parish had been
cheerily informed that, if they’d just try to do good, everything would be all right. Nothing about
accessing the grace of God through Christ, and being transformed by Him into his likeness. But the
scriptures are clear. You see, to access the grace issuing from the Lord’s throne, we must do so
recognizing that we don’t have the power to change ourselves in the radical way that holiness
requires. Only God can do that. And in order to do that, he requires that he be the King of our lives.
There’s no other way around this. It may be a throne of grace, but it’s still a throne.
In my view the invitation to the throne couldn’t be more beautiful. The Lord knows everything about
us, loves us so much anyway that he gave his life to save us, offers to take us off the tortuous and
often self-defeating throne of our own hearts and reign there himself as the only one who knows us
well enough to prepare us for the eternal life that he has in store for those who truly surrender. Is
that a good deal, or what?
Because we’re conditioned to be self-centered and not God-centered. We think we need the toys
and comforts of this life, and they become addictions. We become rooted in materialism, and the
thought of being uprooted terrifies us. So then we have to ask ourselves a question. Do we believe
Jesus? Do we believe him when he says, “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters
or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not
receive a hundredfold now in this age—and in the age to come, eternal life.”
Do we really believe that he’ll offer us all we need in this life, and more than we can imagine in the
next? That’s the question. And only we have the answer. My prayer is that we’ll decide, or continue
to decide, day by day and hour by hour, not to go away grieving at Jesus’ terms, but to accept them
gratefully, believing with all our hearts that he keeps his promises. “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.” Amen.
Throne of Grace
Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost
Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost
October 11, 2009
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
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