Lectionary Commentaries for October 6, 2024
Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

Beware this week.¹

As soon as you read the word “divorce” aloud, a whole sermon will appear in people’s heads. Some will hear early sermons that were launched at them or someone they loved when a divorce occurred. Pain will make it difficult to hear the words you actually speak. Others will conjure up their condemnation of others based on this single word. In both cases those jumping to their own conclusions may miss what is said unless you open up to them clearly the complexities of this exchange.

Still caring for the vulnerable

Our lectionary still has us in the section of Mark where Jesus is leading the disciples toward Jerusalem. He is also trying to help the disciples find their way into what God desires. Interestingly, he is not calling them to acts of spiritual prowess. Rather, he is asking them to live well in their common human condition and in such mundane realities as family, wealth, and their gathered community.

Jesus has consistently asked them to use what they have in service of those who are most vulnerable: children, the poor, those denied status. Given the way divorce worked in the ancient world (and often still does today), certain people were disproportionately hurt in a divorce—especially women and the children they cared for. As the Pharisees test Jesus’ ability to respond to their question about divorce, we should remember the women and children who enter at the blessing portion of the text.

While they are named at the end of the assigned Sunday lesson, they must be there all along. In part, at least, Jesus’ commandment against divorce continues the theme of caring for those who are most vulnerable. Many commentators have noticed that within Judaism women did not have the right to initiate divorce, so Jesus’ suggestion that they could suggests that Jesus offers them agency not usually allowed them.

Statute and narrative

The Pharisees cite the rule Moses gave which allows for divorce to occur. But Jesus puts this allowance in tension with the narrative from the “books of Moses” that argues against it. Jesus recalls that God created humankind in God’s image.

Marriages, as well as relationships between adults and children or the rich and the poor, are proposed as spheres where we can live toward the other in the promise of our divine image. Jesus relativizes the law of God in light of the story of God. Jesus argues that God’s creational desire for integrity in our relationships remains. While Moses might have made allowances in some cases, this does not nullify God’s original intent.

Actual divorce in Mark’s gospel

Interestingly, the only other story in this gospel that relates to divorce is that of Philip and Herodias. John the Baptist suffered death because he pointed out that Herodias had been divorced from her husband so that Herod could marry her. John’s prophetic stand led to his beheading. Perhaps the Pharisees’ “test” in this text is similar to their later questions about paying taxes to Caesar. They want a response from Jesus that will anger Rome’s officials. They may wish to see John’s fate repeated for the troublemaker Jesus. Or perhaps the narrator wants us to see how the harm done in divorce is an echo of the regular violence of Rome.

The story of a royally messed-up family seeking the destruction of God’s prophet stands in contrast with today’s story, which ends with the healing practice of Jesus toward those women and children who hover at the edge of the conversation about divorce.² Despite the disciples’ rebuke, Jesus lays his hands on the children. Elsewhere in Mark’s gospel, the laying on of hands signifies healing. Jesus once again turns the older generation’s attention to the little ones in their midst. Women and children, those often hurt when divorce happens, are blessed by Jesus.

A difference in pronouns

Careful attention to the dialogue with the Pharisees reveals one more interesting detail. The Pharisees phrase their question in a general and abstract way: “If a man …” But Jesus responds with the suspicion that they are the ones wanting permission to divorce. He doesn’t respond, “What did Moses say about him?” but “What did Moses say to you?” Their response again moves to the abstract “allow him,” but Jesus refers not to a hypothetical self’s heart, but to “your heart.”

Richard Swanson points out helpfully that often we avoid our own sexual issues by throwing the spotlight on another we feel worthy of attack.³ I recall many such conversations in which heterosexual, middle-aged men who never addressed their own sexuality publicly attacked the sexuality of LGBTQ people. Jesus appears not to allow such attacks on the vulnerable, but finds ways to turn the question around to those seeking to disguise their own fragility. “What about your practice?” Jesus asks.

A final warning

Our relationships that have sexual dimensions inevitably get caught up in the sin within and around us. Sometimes that happens so profoundly that divorce seems the best of the options available to us. In some cases this saves lives of those who are vulnerable. Once the tragedy of divorce enters the life of someone we know, our role is not to refuse them access to Jesus. Instead, we broken people are invited to be healed by the hands of Jesus. Many people will testify that our loving God has healed their broken hearts after the trauma of divorce. So, let our speaking this Sunday not rend asunder the restored heart that God has brought together.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website October 7, 2018.
2. Richard Swanson, Provoking the Gospel of Mark (Cleveland: The Pilgrim Press, 2005), 227.
3. Swanson, 229.

In a passage that differs from the first description of the creation of humankind in Genesis 1:26–27, Genesis 2 gives a variant, more detailed account that most scholars argue stems from a different literary source. In this second account, Genesis 2:7 states that God formed a human being (ha-adam) from the “dust of the earth” (ha-adamah). English translations conceal the complex meanings of this story. 

Despite the usual translation of ha-adam as “man,” what God creates in Genesis 2:7 is not simply a man but a human creature—one that might be both genders, neither gender, or fluid in gender. Indeed, the separation of this human being into two sexes only comes later when God causes this human being to go to sleep and uses their side or part (sometimes translated as “rib”) to create another human being (Genesis 2:21–22). 

It is only after this magical, divine surgery that there is a hint of a distinction between the sexes, with ha-adam, now perhaps constituting only the male sex, naming and declaring the new creature a “woman” (ishah). She is named as such because, as the man explains, ishah, “woman” was taken from the ish, “man” (2:23). Only with the distinction between woman (ishah) and man (ish) post-“surgery” do we get anything approaching distinct sexes in the biblical origin tale.

This story inevitably leads us to consider questions about sex and gender. The first creature that God creates encompasses both or neither or is possibly fluid in gender. The first human creature created by God therefore is non-sex or trans-sex or both sexes. If so, what are the ramifications of this for how we should understand sex and gender? Is this original state the first—the best or ideal—state for human beings? 

Indeed, going further, the separation of the first human beings into two sexes comes about later, immediately before the expulsion from Eden and the formation of human society. Perhaps the timing suggests an acknowledgment in the text of the social constructedness of gender. Indeed, even in Adam’s declaration post-“surgery,” where he distinguishes between ishah and ish, there is an emphasis on the similarity and likeness between ishah and ish as Adam declares the woman “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (2:23).

As an origin tale of humanity, this story opens up space to ponder the relationships human beings have with each other and with the world around them. The creation via separation of the original human being into ish and ishah stems from the human being’s lack of an appropriate partner (ezer)—translated as a “helper” or sometimes “helpmate” (2:18). Scholars, such as Phyllis Trible, have noted the misogynistic mistranslation and misunderstanding of Genesis 2:18. In particular, the translation of ezer as “helper” in English has been wrongly used to defend the subordinate and subservient status of women as natural and prescriptive, despite ezer being a word used to describe the least subordinate being of all, God (Psalm 115:9; 121:2). 

The inability of the first human being to find an equal and fitting partner among the animals also says something about our relationships. Namely, it speaks to the human being’s natural need for company. As human beings, we need each other to survive and thrive. And if so, this narrative leads us into pondering current issues of loneliness and isolation, especially among the elderly. Not being alone, this story shows, is intrinsic to our well-being. It is such an important problem that it is one of the first that God tackles in the biblical text. 

This does not mean, however, that there is a denigration or discounting of the animals who were rejected as an equal partner for ha-adam. Rather, the beauty of this story is that it elevates humanity as special—worthy of a drawn-out creation account and worthy of bestowing names upon the animals. The story, however, also humbles humanity as simply part of the created order. 

Humans (ha-adam) are created from the dust of the earth (ha-adamah). Moreover, God does not seem to view ha-adam as that far above or different from the animals as God initially thinks a suitable partner for ha-adam can be found among the animals. Indeed, some people, in contrast to the first ha-adam, do indeed choose and would deem an animal—a dog, cat, pig, turtle, et cetera—a good and perhaps ideal partner for their lives. 

Finally, this simultaneous elevation and humbling of human beings in Genesis 2 compels us to think about the relationships we have with the earth (ha-adamah). Not only were we, ha-adam, created from the earth (ha-adamah), but we are only a part of God’s greater created order. According to this story, human beings are not that much better than the earth from which we were created or that much better than the animals that we share space with. Rather, all were created around the same time by God and are, therefore, worthy of respect, protection, and awe. 

It’s easy to sit back and admire the faithfulness of Job. It’s harder to sit with the book and grapple with what actually happens in it. We may be inclined to look for ways to make the story seem more palatable—to make God come off a little better—whether by justifying divine acts in the opening scenes or by trying to wrest a happy ending out of the book. But it’s worth resisting that temptation. The profound power of the book of Job comes precisely from the most disturbing aspects of its opening, along with its choice not to resolve the story neatly at the end.

In verse 1, we meet Job, the man whose horrific and unjust suffering we’ll have to sit with for the next 40-some chapters. From the first line of the story, it’s emphasized that Job is an innocent man. He’s “blameless and upright”; he “feared God and turned away from evil” (1:1).¹ Job’s innocence is reaffirmed twice more in the opening narrative (1:8; 2:3).

After the first verse of the book, the lection skips to chapter 2, where a scene is unfolding in heaven. But the part the lection skips is important. The scene in chapter 2 is the second of two meetings in heaven. The scene of the first meeting includes pivotal, if disturbing, information.

The divine council

In 1:6, as in 2:1, the benei elohim assemble before God in heaven. Some Bibles translate benei elohim as “angels,” but that’s not what the Hebrew means. In the Bible, angels are one specific type of divine being among many others (for example, seraphim and cherubim—different from one another, and both only conflated with angels in later theology—spirits of various kinds, and more), and the word for “angels” isn’t used here.² Instead, it’s a Hebrew phrase referring to “divine beings” in general. It literally means the “offspring of God,”³ and just as the grammatically parallel phrase “the offspring of Israel” means “the Israelites,” this phrase means “the divine beings” (or, as I like to say, godlets).

The two scenes of the divine beings assembling before God in heaven reflect a tradition we see in other biblical texts too. Scholars usually refer to this as the “divine council” or “divine assembly.” That terminology is in the Bible itself: “God has taken his place in the divine council; in the midst of the gods he holds judgment” (Psalm 82:1). Divine-council scenes are also prominent in the writing of ancient Israel’s neighbors from Canaan to Mesopotamia, and in those texts, many lower-level divine beings (who serve the chief god) have individual names.

In the Bible, even though most divine beings aren’t given names, they have different recognizable roles, and in some divine-council scenes, one such being steps into the spotlight (for example, the “spirit of falsehood” in 1 Kings 22:19–22). Throughout this tradition, God rules over the divine beings and acts as judge in the divine court. (Heads up: that’s going to be relevant.)

The satan

In Job 1:6 and 2:1, none of the attendees of the divine council have names, but the one who steps into the spotlight has a title: the satan. Satan is a Hebrew noun meaning “adversary.” It eventually becomes a name, but even when Capital-S Satan does make an appearance in the Hebrew Bible, it’s not the same as the devil of the New Testament—there’s no devil in the Hebrew Bible.

The Adversary isn’t evil and isn’t God’s opponent. He’s on God’s staff, and his job is to be an adversary—not to God, but to people (for example, 1 Chronicles 21:1). In the divine-court picture, where God is the judge, the Adversary is essentially the divine prosecutor. (We get to see this in action in Zechariah 3, where the prophet’s vision opens the doors to the court in session.)

So when God turns to the satan and asks, “Have you considered my servant Job?” (1:8), the divine judge has just prodded the prosecutor to look into an innocent man.

This should rattle us. God is not naïve. The satan is only doing his job, and it’s at God’s behest. As one scholar puts it, “Given the Satan’s role, his response can hardly have been unexpected, and of all the beings in heaven and earth, he is surely the one least likely to reply, ‘Yes, he is jolly good, isn’t he?’”⁴

This is why the part the lectionary skips is important. The lection moves directly from the introduction of the “blameless and upright” man to the second heavenly scene, where God tells the satan that Job remains blameless, adding, “… although you incited me against him” (2:3).

“Wait,” you can almost hear the satan say: “I incited you?” When we look back at Job 1, we see something far less comfortable. The Adversary did unconscionable things to Job—but it was at God’s prompting.

The problem

How could God do such a thing?

That is the great unanswered question of the book of Job. It’s not even “Why would God do such a thing?” We know why, and it doesn’t make it better. The first two chapters of the book describe exactly why the innocent man is suffering. God and the satan have a frank discussion about the “why.” Their conversation isn’t about somehow improving upon Job’s already-blameless state, but about finding out if the man has a breaking point. This process—which includes killing Job’s children—is an experiment. If God’s initial nod to the satan should rattle us, this should leave us cold.

It’s tempting to clean up this text, to explain it away as something—anything—that would give spiritual value to Job’s suffering. But finding a way to defend God’s behavior—in a way the ancient writers chose not to—doesn’t do justice to this complex, thoughtful, ancient reflection. What the biblical text actually does here is more profound.⁵

The ancient writer lays the blame squarely at God’s feet. These opening chapters display the divine injustice that Job spends the rest of the book agonizing over. Even the conclusion of the book painfully lacks resolution. (Stay tuned for comments on that lection in three weeks.)

This text gives voice to something—something we might think doesn’t sound reverent, but have probably felt. Like the psalms that accuse God of violently mistreating God’s people despite their steadfastness (for example, You have degraded us and set us up to be slaughtered, we’ve been faithful to you but you’ve crushed us; Psalm 44), this text gives voice to the cry that if God is in charge, God is accountable for our suffering. It gives room for our grief, anger, and protest.

The wisdom of the book of Job is in its refusal to offer an easy out. Instead of reassuring ourselves with solutions that the book never gives, we can learn from the ancient writers, who grappled with the worst possibilities regarding God’s loyalty to us. They wrestled with the injustice of God without resorting to the kind of pat answer that, frankly, none of us cherish in the midst of suffering.

The Bible is full of much more reassuring texts. But what’s disturbing about this text is what makes it meaningful. Job 1–2, unsanitized, set the stage for the book’s poignant expression of the most troubling questions about the nature of God. The ancient writers knew a world full of suffering, and they wrestled and pondered, much as we do now.

Notes

1. All biblical translations are from the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition unless otherwise indicated.
2. Esther J. Hamori, God’s Monsters: Vengeful Spirits, Deadly Angels, Hybrid Creatures, and Divine Hitmen of the Bible (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2023).
3. The translations “sons of God” and “children of God” are both misleading, the first for its implication that the divine beings are male, and the second for its more frequent use referring to human beings.
4. Stuart Weeks, An Introduction to the Study of Wisdom Literature (London: T&T Clark, 2010), 53–54.
5. This essay is based on my fuller exploration of Job and other difficult texts in Hamori, God’s Monsters, especially 75–104, 269–72.

Psalm 8 celebrates YHWH as creator of all and, thus, Lord of all. Since God made the world, God has the ultimate claim of ownership and governance over everything.¹ The psalm begins and ends with this central claim, that God reigns supreme (verses 1a, 9). The rest of the psalm explores the unique place that humans occupy within the cosmos and marvels that God has given humanity a position of honor (verses 1b–8).

An opening refrain

Psalm 7 ended with a vow “to sing praise to the name of the LORD, Most High” (verse 17). Psalm 8 begins, as if it were a response to that call to praise: “O LORD, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth.” The repeated refrain (verses 1, 9) sets the rhetorical goal of this psalm. The refrain is an exclamation: “How majestic!” But it can also be understood as a question: “How majestic?” The rest of the psalm (verses 2–8) provides a response to this refrain, both an answer to the question and an exposition of God’s name.

To refer to one’s “name” in the ancient world was to speak of the fullness of one’s identity. The name captured the essence of someone, the composite value of one’s actions, character, substance. As one can see in numerous biblical narratives, the name can tell a story and give insight into one’s past, present, and future actions (see, for example, Jacob, Genesis 25:26; renamed Israel, Genesis 32:22–32). God’s name is the one word by which divine power can be invoked, and the means by which one can praise God and petition God.

Humanity amid God’s creation

To catalog the majesty of God’s name, the psalm describes the extreme reaches of the cosmos. The ancient reader would have understood the whole world in view as the psalm moved from “the heavens” (verses 1–3) to the lowest points, “along the paths of the seas” (verse 8, New Revised Standard Version). In fact, the psalmist places these elements in a hierarchy. The psalmist imagines a multi-tiered system, in which the highest elements are most important.

There is a special irony in that the Hebrew word hôd, translated as God’s “glory” here (verse 1b), can also be translated “weight” or “majesty.” Ancient economic practices made use of a handheld balance, with two trays suspended by string from one stick.² Heaviness thus conveyed the idea of great value. God’s value is “heavier,” in this sense, than anything else. It would have been arresting for the ancient reader to think of the profound majesty (hôd) of God suspended high, filling the heavens. In fact, as the psalmist describes it, God’s heavy glory is “above the heavens” (verse 1).

The psalm juxtaposes the most vulnerable creatures, “babes and infants” (verse 2), with the most immense and mystifying aspects of God’s creation, “your heavens” (verses 3–4). The vastness of the sky highlights the smallness of humans. The psalmist marvels that God would care about something so relatively insignificant. The smallness of humanity is all the greater mystery because God has empowered humans to maintain all God’s creation.

The scale of God’s majesty exceeds humans’ ability to comprehend it fully. It stands outside our ability to observe it, higher than anything we can see. It is invisible, but nevertheless palpable within the world, for God protects God’s people (verse 2). This paradox of God’s glory as both powerful and incomprehensible is expressed through a unique literary image. The sounds of babbling infants are associated with the strength of a fortress (verse 3):

Out of the mouths of babes and infants
you have founded a bulwark because of your foes.

For the psalmist, God’s glory is ultimately unknowable, like the meaning of baby talk, but also strong enough to repulse an enemy.³

Meditating on this paradox of God’s glory spurs the psalmist to reflect on humanity in the context of God’s creation. In verse 3, the psalmist is moving by increments downward, from above the heavens, through the heavens, and then just a little lower, to the humans whose power lies just below that of the numinous beings. The psalmist describes these numinous beings here as “gods” (’elōhîm), though the New Revised Standard Version translates this term as “God.” Either one is an appropriate translation, though in this context, “gods” is probably more accurate.

In many ancient Near Eastern religions, heavenly bodies like the moon and stars (verse 4) were in fact understood as persons, deities themselves with agency and volition, as evidenced by their constant movement through the heavens. It may be that the psalmist is naming these heavenly forces in speaking about “gods” in verse 3. In any case, the psalm understands these beings as being fashioned by God and thus controlled by God (verse 4), with their movement governed by God. To be sure, the psalm suggests that the heavens are not an object of veneration, as in the rest of the ancient world. Rather, God is “above the heavens” (verse 1). The heavenly bodies only give testimony to the greatness of God (see also Psalm 19:1), who created them.

Humanity’s authority and God’s governance

Psalm 8 makes it clear that the value of humans is not to be equated with that of God. Even so, the psalm has a very positive view of humans, describing them as “just a little lower” than God or “the gods” (verse 5). The hierarchy is filled out, in turn, by God putting all things “under” humans (verse 6). Humans do not have dominion on their own merit, but because of God’s overarching authority. Humans govern the world, but God governs them. Humans have a derived authority. The psalm shows that God has set humans to govern in a way similar to how God has set God’s glory above the heavens (verse 1) and established the moon and the stars in their proper places (verse 3).

An interpretive question for both ancient and modern communities reading this text should be: What kind of sovereignty does God exercise? Human actions and power in the world reflect God’s government, so we are obliged to act toward the world as God acts toward it. In God’s government as revealed in the Word made flesh, the most powerful one is the one who gives up power. God’s government reverses the expectations for what is valuable and who is majestic. As disciples of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, we participate in the paradox of the glory of God. All authority for Christians finally derives from the one who gave up his authority.

Notes

1. Portions of this commentary appear in a slightly different form in “Trinity Sunday, Psalm 8 (Genesis 1:1-2:4a),” in Connections: Year A, Volume 3, A Lectionary Commentary for Preaching and Worship, ed. Joel Green et al. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2020), 8–9.
2. Today most of us are only familiar with a balance like this through the image of justice personified, blindfolded while holding the balance and the sword.
3. This sense of the phrase “out of the mouths of babes” in common English parlance is a keen, surprising insight from a youth. To be sure, kids do say wise stuff! While true, this is not the message of the psalm, or even a straightforward interpretation of this verse, which is exceedingly obscure and difficult to translate.

“Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches” (Revelation 3:22). 

The above recurring words from Revelation 3 (verses 6, 13, and 22) are embedded in the clarion warnings of Hebrews 1:1–4 and 2:5–12. The Judeo-faith disciples of Jesus and early people of the Way who resided in the ancient Roman Empire, as well as 21st-century global believers, are all candidates for relapsing or drifting away from God, the Gospel, and the Holy Spirit, leading to a condition of becoming spiritually dead. Such is the urgent message and warning of the preacher of Hebrews. Regardless of being warned, human beings as creatures of habit and pride suffer greatly from the perennial sin of amnesia. But God’s faithfulness, grace, compassion, and love are available to call us into alignment with the Creator’s heart. 

Hence, Hebrews is in many ways a sermon targeting believers who have settled into their own cultural and traditional ethos yet claim to be Christians. Yes, post-Christendom is a possibility in every generation. The preacher is unknown but the fact that the homily made it into the biblical canon means that its Gospel message is worthy of our attention. Simply put, Hebrews is probably a message of warning to Christians who might be on the cusp of drifting or relapsing into apostasy. Indeed, the sermon is powerfully crafted, is theologically grounded, and summons Christians to be committed to their faith in God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. 

Metaphorically and proverbially, Christians are called to embody God’s message as revealed in the death and resurrection of Jesus our Messiah. Hebrews 1:1–4 declares the identity of Jesus Christ, the one who is one with God from the foundations of creation to eternity. Angelic beings, and even human beings, may claim superiority, but Jesus is greater than all created beings, and he is the embodiment of God (verses 1–4); he reveals the essence of God and sustains all things by his powerful word (verse 3). 

Jesus as the Son of God is indeed the manifestation of God’s shekinah, or the effulgence of the Supreme God. In other words, hearers of Hebrews are invited to live in and with the message that the being of Jesus and his nature of divinity are no different from God. The unity of the Son and the Father is total. This understanding anticipates the main purpose of the sermon and inevitably the basis of the appeal to Christians then and in the present generation. 

As the final atonement, Jesus the Lamb of God whose blood brought human salvation, is both the priest and the king who made purification for our sins. The message of the blood of Jesus is foreign to most in the Western world, but in the Global South, Christian faith is grounded in the understanding that salvation is solely a result of Jesus’ blood shed on the cross and remains available to all who believe in Christ as their Savior and the Messiah of the world. 

Hence, the message of Easter is incomplete without a belief in the blood of Jesus and his second coming (Acts 1:11; Hebrews 7–10; Revelation 7:9–14). Simply put, Jesus Christ is our “YES” to God, and believers are to live with and embody Jesus Christ as the only Lord and Savior (2 Corinthians 1:18–21; Romans 10:9–11). 

As a caution and counsel to Christians on the cusp of relapsing, Hebrews maintains that God is the subject of all creatures and Jesus Christ is the ultimate and absolute voice of God to the Christian church. In our journey of continuity and discontinuity, our faith is always shaped and informed by our unwavering belief in God, who manifested his love to all through the ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Therefore, Jesus is the excellent hope, our covenant, and he summons believers to refuse the lures of worldly idols. 

The message is simple: Do not drift from the Gospel, do not assimilate, do not be complacent, and do not believe the lies of the world. Instead, hold firmly to your salvation faith and do not take your eyes from Jesus Christ (Hebrews 2:1–3). 

Hebrews’ audience was perhaps a second generation of Christians, and for us who are far removed from the early Christian church, the message is addressed to us, that we should be attentive to the “signs, wonders, and miraculous powers of the Holy Spirit” still happening in our lives (Hebrews 2:4–5). For those who might be tempted to drift away, there are four faith and spiritual lessons to be learned from Hebrews 1:1–4 and 2:5–12. 

First, we are to remember that Jesus Christ is the Lord, the one who proclaimed God’s message to the world. Second, Jesus called the apostles, whom he commissioned to be ambassadors of the Gospel to the Hebrews and to believers in the 21st-century world. Third, God as the Father affirmed the truth of the Gospel through signs, wonders, and miracles. Fourth, the Holy Spirit, the advocate, comforter, and friend, ushered gifts to believers and summoned them to grow in faith, love, and building up of the body of Christ (John 14:18; 1 Corinthians 12:7; Ephesians 4:11). 

In a world of affluence, complacency, assimilation, and accommodation to the luxuries of capitalism and national pride, Hebrews 1–2 and 12:1–29 offer a plethora of dangers involved when believers abandon faith in God. The Israelites in the wilderness, under the leadership of Moses, were specialists in disobedience and turning away from God. Vehemently and with a broken heart, Moses exhorted the Israelites with the following words: “And here you are, a brood of sinners, standing in the place of your fathers and making the LORD even more angry with Israel. If you turn away from following him, he will again leave all these people in the wilderness, and you will be the cause of their destruction” (Numbers 32:14–15). 

Similarly, 21st-century global Christians have become worse than the Israelites because nations, clergy leaders, and almost all people have intentionally abandoned faith in God, trusting themselves and even justifying their sinful nature. Poignantly, the warnings of Hebrews are addressed to Christians in the present era, and our shrinking back and abandoning of faith will be followed by both present and eternal punishment. 

The choices we make in this eschatological period determine whether we will enter God’s paradise or be in eternal hell. A gospel of perseverance is urgently needed for the entire believing global body of Christ. May the words of Hebrews call us back from our wandering away from God and point our hearts, minds, and souls to the mission of God, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the calling of the Holy Spirit.