Hebrews 9:1-15

I’m not sure that the theologians who built the Narrative Lectionary aren’t at least a little bit sadistic. You may remember that last year at this time we were working our way thru Ruth. It’s a great story but how do you tell it without acknowledging what was actually going on under his cloak on that threshing floor? Two years ago we were romping thru the book of Revelation. If that’s their idea of light summer reading I’d hate to see what they regard as heavy.

And I think I got my answer to that thought this summer. I believe Hebrews to be the densest, heaviest, hardest to unpack presentation of simile and metaphor and proclamation that you are likely to find in all of scripture.

So my first task as I prepared for this morning was to try to unpack this dense image laden text. Let’s see how I did.

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I. This is a symbol of the present time, during which gifts and sacrifices are offered that cannot perfect the conscience of the worshiper.

Bill finished the last of his too expensive cup of coffee and set it carefully on the china saucer. He looked across the table, watching Mary for a sign. What should he say next? What angle could he use? He had a pretty good idea of the size of donation he should be aiming for, and he was sure that she had her own concept of its size as well.

She gazed into the middle distance, thinking, calculating. In her immaculately tailored suit, perfect hair, expensive nails, she looked right at home. This was her place. These were her people. In his best suit, worn shirt, and last year’s tie he felt distinctly out of place. She smiled and looked back at him.

“Let’s cut to the chase Bill. You need my money. And while we both know how much the kids will benefit from my donation we also know that the real reason we’re sitting her is that I need to feel like I’m doing something useful my ill-gotten gains. Here’s what I’m thinking.”

She opened her notebook, extracted a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Bill. He looked at it. And Swallowed. Words wouldn’t come, though a single tear did. He took a breath.

“This is incredibly generous. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Then he looked up. And was shocked to see in Mary’s expression something he had not expected. She looked almost bored.

II. But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption.

Leaving the restaurant they stopped at the curb, both trying to ignore the fact that Bill would wait there for his bus. They said their good byes, Bill once again thanking Mary for her generosity and she turned, walking the short distance around the corner to her high-rise apartment building.

She never made it. The attack came out of nowhere, swift and savage. They wanted her purse. She wouldn’t give it up in spite of the beating that was sure to leave bruises and contusions, if not broken bones.

As suddenly as the attack started it ceased. The quiet and lack of pounding flailing fists seemed almost as out of place as the attack itself. She lay there for a moment, dazed. Then she heard the voices.

“Don’t move. An ambulance is on the way.”

She turned her head toward the speaker and wished she hadn’t. She lay still. In a small croak of a voice she asked;

“What happened?”

“You were attacked.” A lady’s voice this time.

“And they stopped.”

“This guy stopped them. They had a knife. He grabbed the blade and they ran.”

The surreal conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics. In short order they assessed Mary’s wounds, loaded her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. She slept.

She woke up on the hospital room. A single bouquet of flowers sat on the stand by her bed. The card from the Children’s Outreach program was signed by Bill. She pressed the nurse’s call button and was surprised when a chaplain came in with the nurse. While the nurse checked her vitals and did other “nurse things” the chaplain asked how she was feeling.

“I hurt all over. How should I be feeling?”

“Did you know the man who stopped the attack?”

“I didn’t see him. Do you know his name?”

“He didn’t have any identification. We’re trying to find anything we can about him, but without a name it will take some time.”

“Why don’t you just ask him.”

“Well, that’s the problem, you see. He has died from the injuries he sustained stopping your attack.”

III. For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God!

“I want to see him.”

“Mary, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t you understand? I need to say thank you. I know he can’t hear me, but it’s something I have to do.”

The chaplain wheeled her down to the hospital morgue where the attendant opened the locker and pulled out the drawer. Mary took a deep breath and nodded. The attendant pulled back the sheet uncovering the face. Mary took one look and, turning away, closed her eyes tightly. She knew that face. She didn’t have a name to go with it but she had seen him, often, sitting on the corner with a sign propped up on his knees. “Will work for food. God Bless.”

Later she sat in the hospital cafeteria, a cup of lukewarm coffee, untouched, in front of her. She looked at the chaplain. “I want to pay for his funeral. He saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

The chaplain was sympathetic. “Of course. That will be a good way to honor his sacrifice, especially if we can’t find his family.”

But Mary wasn’t done. “I don’t understand. He sacrificed his life for me. He didn’t even know me. Why would he do such a thing?”

“Who knows why people do what they do? Maybe he simply saw a wrong being committed and did whatever was necessary to set it right. For some people, righting wrongs is a strong motivator, you even might say it’s what gives their life purpose.”

IV. For this reason he is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, because a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions under the first covenant.

The next morning Mary was discharged. A taxi took her home but she couldn’t stay there. She was too restless. So she found herself wandering. Coffee in a coffee shop – not her usual one, passing by a playground – she hated children but seemed to be drawn to their carefree innocence.

When the rain started she sought shelter in a church. She was by no means religious. It was just the first door she could duck into. It was so quiet and peaceful. The glass windows masked the storm outside. But not even the light playing in the brightly colored glass could mask the turmoil inside. Why did he sacrifice everything for me?

A voice woke her from her reverie.
“At a guess I’d say you were escaping from more the rainstorm.” She was shocked to see a priest sitting next to her.

“I’m not religious.”

“I can see that – based on where you’re sitting right now.” “I don’t know what to do. How can I be worthy?”

“You are worthy. You just don’t know it. By the way, what exactly is it that you don’t think you’re worthy of?”

He was so easy to talk to. The kind and gentle type of person who made it seem like you were actually doing them a favor by pouring out your soul to them. Eventually she ran out of words.

It was his turn.

“So the question isn’t whether or not you are worthy. We’ve already established that you are. The question is how do you respond. If I had to guess I’d say that you are fighting a battle inside because you need to do something. You need to respond. You need to, perhaps, change your life so that you can reflect the (I’m going to use a technical religious term here.) reflect the grace you have received.

We usually talk of grace in God terms. But it’s pretty clear to me that the gentleman you described as saving your life was demonstrating an act of grace himself. And that’s hard to accept. We expect grace from God. But we humans normally deal in terms of “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.” So you feel this great need to do something – something big – in response to the grace he gave you. Am I right?

Mary nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But what? What can I do? How can I ever repay him for this grace that you talk about?”

He smiled. “Well that’s the thing about grace. It’s freely given. There is no expectation of a response, and certainly not something on the same scale as what he did. That’s a matter for your heart. What I want you to do is to think about how you can respond. How can you live so that your life honors his sacrifice? How can you offer grace to others?”

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Marci will not be at all surprised that I have taken today’s text and found in it a call for us to respond to grace. She may even go so far as to suggest that this is the only sermon that I ever preach. But, hey, when you’ve got the answer why not use it.

As I read the Bible, I see, over and over again, this theme. By grace you have been saved. Now act like it. Respond. Share it. We hear the benediction every Sunday, over and over again.

Give voice to the silent. Who in our community, in our country, in our world isn’t being heard? Who is crying out for help, for compassion, for understanding? Who needs someone with voice, someone like us, to stand up and say; “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

Give strength to the weak. Who do we see, but don’t see? Who needs a kind word, a helping hand, a cool glass of water – not just a handout to get through the next meal, the next night; but the support required so that they can lift themselves beyond their present state of hopelessness and despair?

Give hope to those who sorrow. Who needs a hug? Who needs a shoulder to lean on, to cry on? Who needs to know that there’s someone who can’t possibly know the depth of their despair but is willing to be there with them anyway?

This is our calling. This is how we live out the grace we have received.

See one another. Hear one another. Love one another.

And yes, it’s sometimes hard. Sometimes it’s easier to pass by on the other side of the street. Jesus knew that. That’s why, in one of his last acts before his arrest, he made sure that his disciples would have a reason to gather together, to draw strength from his abiding spirit, to strengthen one another for the work he had called them to.

So he gave them this meal. It’s a simple thing, really; More of a snack than a meal. But the point isn’t the size of the banquet laid before us. The important thing is that we do it together. Because this work to which we have been called isn’t a lonely task. It’s the work of the church – all of us working with each other to bring about the promised kingdom – that gigantic, huge, wonderful, joyful banquet that he has promised, if only we accept the grace we have received, and respond in like measure.

I leave you with this quote from Rev. Fred Rogers, the long time host of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. “We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It’s easy to say ‘It’s not my child, not my community, not my world, not my problem.’ Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.”

Amen