Full Access, Full Assurance

Hebrews 10:19-25

In his book, A Cup of Coffee at the Soul Café, pastor and author Leonard Sweet tells the story of the making of a film by two people who lived in London. Back in 1971 they began to film street people. They filmed the daily lives of the homeless – their trials and joys. Some were drunk, others were dealing with mental illness. Some were articulate and others they could barely understand. One of England’s leading composers, Gavin Bryars, agreed to help with the audio for the film. As he worked, he realized that there was a constant undercurrent of sound that appeared whenever one certain homeless man was filmed. At first, the sound seemed like muttered gibberish. But after removing the background noise, Bryars discovered the old man was singing.

The composer dug into the man’s life, and learned that he didn’t drink or do drugs, but he also didn’t really socialize with others. He was alone, filthy, and homeless, but he also had a very bright and sunny demeanor. What made him stand out  from the others was his quiet singing. He would for hours sing the same thing over and over. His weak voice was untrained, but it never wavered from pitch. He repeated the simple phrases of the song over and over.

One day at the office the composer looped together the first 13 bars of this homeless man’s song, preparing to add orchestration to the piece. He left the loop running while he went downstairs for a cup of coffee. When he returned, he found his fellow workers listening in subdued silence, and a few were even weeping. The old man’s quiet, trembling voice had leaked from the recording room and transformed the office floor. Here is what he sang:

Jesus’ blood never failed me yet

Never failed me yet

Jesus’ blood never failed me yet

There’s one thing I know

For he loves me so.

Though not a Christian, Bryars created and produced an accompaniment to this homeless person’s song of trust in Jesus. The result was a CD entitled Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet. The orchestra ties in to the melody the man was singing, lovingly dancing around his words. The piece of music is around 24 minutes in length. The old man died before he heard it.[i] I’d like to let you hear a bit of it now.

Play video clip.

That old, homeless beggar knew something deeply that you and I often forget. He had nothing. In the eyes of this world he WAS  nothing. But from deep inside him came a song. A song that is true of you and I, and yet we sometimes forget to sing it. Turn with me to Hebrews 10:19-25. We’re going to start this morning with Vv. 19-22.

The words “let us” appear three times in the passage. They represent three imperatives, directives, you could almost say commands, that our pastor now gives us. He or she has been talking about the glory of Christ and the all-surpassing  sufficiency of Christ, and now, as they reach a crescendo, they want us to know what that all means for us.

The first “let us” appears here. “Let us … draw near” to God. For centuries, humanity’s relationship with God had been marked by distance. They had the tabernacle with them, and then the temple when they had a permanent home, so they could get close. But … not TOO close. There were barriers. Walls. Curtains. Only a select few were allowed behind the veil. But in Christ, all of that changed.

When Christ died, the temple veil was torn from top to bottom. That was more than symbolic. It was fact. The priesthood was no longer necessary. Real, full forgiveness and, because of that forgiveness, access to God, was now available to anyone. Everyone. All. The old barriers had been transformed into open doors.

And that means you and I can come directly into God’s presence, into the real holy of holies – the throne room of the creating and redeeming God of the Universe, with confidence. Not trembling. Not just sort of there, but not really feeling like we belong. No. With confidence. Why? Because in Christ, we belong there.

Look at how our pastor addresses us. Look at V. 19. “Therefore, brothers and sisters …” Remember, the word traditionally translated as “brothers” here is actually a word that refers more to siblings than specifically to either brothers or sisters. Kind of like many people use the word “guys” to mean not just males but “all of you people in a group over there.”

Our pastor considers us all siblings. In Christ, we are a part of a family. Not just a group or an organization. We are brothers and sisters in a family. You and I are part of a faith family. Our pastor has been emphasizing that throughout. In Hebrews 2:11, we are called brothers and sisters, not just of one another, but of Christ. In Hebrews 3:6, we are called “God’s household.” God is our heavenly Father. But unlike some (certainly not all, but some) earthly fathers, God wants us close to him.

You know, I love it when my kids walk through the door. There’s a feeling I get when Aubrey and Bobby walk in, or when Sterling and Kyleigh walk in, or when Eli or Reece come home. There’s an even stronger feeling I get when Becky comes home. Even if I’ve just seen them. I love to be near my family. I like it when my family is close to me, and I like it when they do things together with one another.

And because Christ our brother, who takes the position of eldest, firstborn, trailblazer, has entered God’s throne room, we can too. With confidence. And God loves it when we do! He loves it when we draw near to him in worship and in prayer.

If you or I entered the Oval Office in the White House during ANY presidency, we’d feel a little bit like outsiders. Like we don’t really belong there. I don’t know about you, but I’d be afraid to touch anything there. And if any of us tried to get into the oval office without being invited, we wouldn’t get close. But the president’s children? They’re allowed there. The same secret service members, standing there all intimidating with their dark suits and sunglasses and weapons and imposing demeanor who would tackle you or I simply step aside and let the president’s children in. No questions asked. Why? Because they’re the president’s children!

When we worship, when we pray, when we open our Bibles, we – not symbolically, but actually – walk into the throne room of God. If we could even begin to imagine the indescribable beauty and majesty and holiness of that place, that place we actually enter when we worship and pray and study the Scriptures, we might worship and pray and study with a little more reverence and awe and expectancy. When we draw near to God in prayer and study and worship, we walk into God’s throne room, climb up on his lap as one of his children, and let him love us and love him in return.

Now, look at V. 22. We do that with “true hearts” in “full assurance of faith.” Unlike the unfaithful children of God in the wilderness generation –  the Israelites who wandered in the wilderness, refusing to trust God’s promises to them, who our pastor spent the first part of this sermon describing – unlike them, with their false hearts not fully trusting God, and their unbelief, that eventually led them to turn away, we come to God with true hearts.

Hearts that are sincere, that trust God, that are attuned to God and ready to obey, even when we don’t understand what God is doing. Even when we aren’t sure about things. Even when we’re afraid.

When the great Eastern Orthodox priest John Chrysostom was brought before the Roman emperor, the emperor threatened him with banishment if he remain a Christian. This was his reply …

“You cannot banish me for this world is my father’s house.” “But I will slay you,” said the Emperor. “No, you cannot,” said the noble champion of the faith, “for my life is hid with Christ in God.” “I will take away your treasures.” “No, you cannot for my treasure is in heaven and my heart is there.” “But I will drive you away from man and you shall have no friend left.” “No, you cannot, for I have a friend in heaven from whom you cannot separate me. I defy you, for there is nothing you can do to hurt me.”

With Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the three Jewish boys who refused to bow to the idol the emperor Nebuchadnezzar erected, upon threat of death by fire, we say “ … our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”

When we draw near to God, we have access to the resources and strength we need to be who God wants us to be and do what God wants us to do in whatever situation we face. Now, that doesn’t mean that ever cockamamie idea that pops into our head that we think is from God is actually from God. We need to be discerning and check our thoughts with others in the family of God. But when we draw near to God, we have access to the resources and strength to hold on to him and not turn away when turning away and denying him would be the easier thing to do.

Look at V. 23. “Let us hold fast.” Our pastor has first told us to “draw near” to God, and having done that, he or she now encourages us to “hold fast” to God. Drawing near leads to holding fast. And we hold fast by drawing daily on his strength and provision.

Now, where the key word for “drawing near” is faith, the key word for “holding fast” is hope. The key to hope is the source of that hope – the place in which you place your trust. Faith is trusting God today. Hope is trusting God for tomorrow, and all of our tomorrows too.

It’s no secret that I love sports. Particularly football, but I also like to watch baseball and hockey. My teams, anyway. But with football, I’ll watch anyone play. It’s also no secret that college football is my favorite, especially my beloved Ohio State Buckeyes football. But let me tell you – placing your hope in the consistency of a group of 18 – 23 year old young men (an inherently inconsistent group, by the way), can lead to a lot of anxiety, frustration, and heartburn. They can look good 11 out of 12 games, but one bad game tends to get most teams. That is hope placed in a poor place.

Our pastor reminds us that the only solid place to place our hope is the most constant and consistent force in the universe. The one our pastor will soon remind us is “the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Heb. 13:8). Jesus. God incarnate. The one who reveals what God is like for all to see. God translated so that we can understand who God is and what God is like.

If I place my hope in the wrong place, I’ll inevitably be disappointed. When I place my hope in Jesus, I’m never disappointed. That doesn’t mean life will be easy or always make sense. It means that no matter what I face, even the loss of all that I possess or my life, he is with me, and he will come through. My last breath in this life WILL be followed by my first breath in his presence. He will not fail me. That’s hope.

Faith is always oriented in the present. It is placing my trust in Christ right now, based on Christ’s work on the cross and in my life and in the lives of countless others throughout the ages. Hope is trusting that the promises that haven’t come to fruition yet – namely his final victory, once and for all, over death and eternal life with him, will be mine if I keep hanging on to him today. Hope is faith in the future he has for me. Hope is knowing that he will come through.

Now, look at Vv. 24-25. There’s the third “let us.” “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works.” Let us draw near. The key word there is faith. Let us hold on. The key word there is hope. And let us stir up. The key word there is love.

The word translated as “stir up one another” is actually the word “provoke.” We usually associate being provoked, or provocation, with something negative. My mother used to yell at my bother for provoking me until I snapped and hit him. I’d still get in trouble, but he’d get in trouble too. We say “He provoked me, and I snapped.” I got angry. I exploded. That’s usually the context for being provoked.

The word we use more often today is “triggered.” That triggered me. She triggered me. He triggered me. You triggered me. It’s actually a way of blaming someone else for my bad behavior. Just because I’m triggered, even if I have PTSD, doesn’t give me an excuse for bad behavior. Although not all triggered behaviors are bad. Some are extreme fear responses. But usually, saying “You triggered me” or “You provoked me” is an attempt to explain something bad.

Our pastor wants us to provoke one another, stir one another up, not in anger or bad behavior, but in love and good works. We encourage one another, invite one another into, provoke one another, to love and good works.

Yes, in this digital world we live in, we can cue up some worship music, put on our head phones, retreat into our own little world, and worship God while we work. Yes, we can stream just about any church anywhere and watch messages taught by preachers and teachers from all over the world. And that can be a good thing. It isn’t inherently bad. UNLESS.

Unless it becomes the ONLY way you participate in the spiritual family in which God has placed you. There is something about being in one another’s presence physically. To feeling someone’s hands on your head or shoulder as they pray over you. There’s something about seeing one another’s faces in ways we can’t, even over Zoom. God has designed us for relationship, him AND with one another.

The digital tools we have are wonderful, and can make it easy to stay in contact with one another over great distances. But they cannot and must not replace being in one another’s presence. Yes, we can worship God in the woods, or on the lake. Yes, we can connect with one another via Zoom. But we CANNOT, as children of God and members of the family of God, give up on getting together regularly. Doesn’t mean that you have to be at everything, but at least once a week is a good annual average.

Orthodox Church officials in Russia discovered in 2008 that one of their church buildings had disappeared. Poof – gone! The 200-year-old building northeast of Moscow had gone unused for a decade, but the Orthodox Church, which was experiencing growth, was considering reopening the church building, and that’s when they discovered their building wasn’t there.

They had to get to the bottom of this. After investigating the matter, the church officials did not blame aliens from outer space for the missing structure. Rather, they said the perpetrators were villagers from a nearby town, whom they said had taken and sold bricks from the building to a businessman. For each brick, the thieves received one ruble (about 4 cents).

This two-story church facility did not go from being a building to not being a building in one bulldozing stroke. Rather, the bricks were apparently chiseled out one by one by lots of people.

In the same way, some churches – built not of bricks but of “living stones,” that is of Christians – are not reduced in one fatal stroke but rather by Christians one by one choosing not to be involved. Stay home and watch a TV preacher. Read the Bible and pray, but don’t mess with the organized church. Do your own spiritual thing. Each decision means one less living stone. In the end, the church, intended by God to be the display of Christ’s glory, is chiseled away. Conversely, each person who gets involved helps to build a holy temple in the Lord made up of living bricks, where Christ is glorified.[ii]

Let’s pray.

Play second video/audio clip before worship team concludes service.

[i] Leonard Sweet, A Cup of Coffee at the Soul Café (Broadman & Holman Publishers, 1998), pp. 161-163

[ii] “Russian Orthodox church stolen – brick by brick,” Associated Press, (11-13-08)