Hebrews — themes & analysis

The opening four verses of Hebrews are one of the most carefully constructed sentences in the New Testament, and they state the thesis of the entire book. Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.

The sentence does enormous work. It establishes a contrast between the previous revelations of God — at many times and in many ways, through the prophets, to the fathers — and the definitive revelation in the Son. It identifies the Son with the divine nature (the radiance of the glory of God, the exact imprint of his nature, the one through whom the world was created) in language as elevated as anything in John's prologue. It makes the Son's atoning work — making purification for sins — the basis of his exalted status. And it introduces the comparison with angels that the rest of chapter 1 will work out in detail through a string of citations from the Hebrew Bible.

Why begin with angels? Because in second-temple Jewish thought, angels were the mediators of the law at Sinai (Galatians 3:19, Acts 7:53, and a long Jewish tradition). The author wants to argue that the new word God has spoken in the Son is greater than the law because the Son is greater than the angels who mediated it. The structural argument is therefore not just christological but covenantal: a greater mediator brings a greater word, and a greater word constitutes a greater covenant.

What chapter 1 establishes is the basic move that the rest of the book will repeat in different keys. There is a previous mediation; there is a definitive mediation in Christ; the definitive is greater than the previous; the greater calls for the response of attention and trust that the previous, however genuinely from God, did not finally produce. The pattern will be repeated with Moses (chapter 3), with the high priesthood (chapters 4–7), with the covenant itself (chapter 8), with the sanctuary (chapter 9), and with the sacrifices (chapter 10). Each comparison adds a layer to the cumulative argument.

Where to follow it: Hebrews 1 (the Son above the angels), Hebrews 3 (greater than Moses), Hebrews 7 (the superior priesthood), Hebrews 8 (the main point announced).

Melchizedek, the writer points out, was king of Salem and priest of God Most High, and he met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him, and Abraham gave him a tenth of everything. The figure is significant first because he predates the Levitical priesthood — he is a priest centuries before Aaron. He is significant second because his genealogy is not given in Genesis: without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, the writer says, drawing a positive theological inference from the fact that Genesis is silent on the question — a typically rabbinic move.

He is significant third because Abraham gave him a tithe, which means Levi, who was still in the loins of Abraham, paid tithes through his great-grandfather to Melchizedek; the Levitical priesthood is therefore subordinate, structurally, to the Melchizedek priesthood. He is significant fourth because Psalm 110 places the messianic king in the order of Melchizedek, not in the order of Aaron, which means the messianic priesthood is of a different and superior kind from the Levitical.

From this exegetical foundation the writer builds the central argument. Christ is a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. His priesthood is therefore not Levitical, not bound by the law of physical descent, not interrupted by death (he holds his priesthood permanently because he continues forever), and not occupied with the repeated offerings of bulls and goats. He has offered, once and for all, the sacrifice of himself, and has entered the heavenly sanctuary not made with hands.

The figure of Melchizedek, almost invisible in the Hebrew Bible, becomes through Hebrews one of the central christological images of the New Testament — a figure of the priesthood that does not depend on lineage, that does not end with death, and that is exercised once and forever rather than year by year.

Where to follow it: Hebrews 5 (Melchizedek introduced), Hebrews 6 (the anchor before the argument), Hebrews 7 (the Melchizedek chapter).

The chapter opens with the closest thing the New Testament gives to a definition of faith — now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen — and then runs through the entire history of Israel as a sequence of figures who endured by trust in what they could not yet see. The structure is anaphoric: by faith Abel, by faith Enoch, by faith Noah, by faith Abraham, by faith Sarah, by faith Isaac, by faith Jacob, by faith Joseph, by faith Moses, and then a sweeping summary — and what more shall I say? for time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets.

The chapter then turns to the unnamed: those who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire; women received back their dead by resurrection. Others were tortured, refusing to accept release, that they might rise again to a better life. Others suffered mocking and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword. They went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, mistreated — of whom the world was not worthy.

The chapter works on multiple levels at once. As a catalogue, it gives the entire Hebrew Bible as the prehistory of the Christian community — the same God, the same faith, the same pattern of trust in promises not yet fulfilled. As a literary structure, it builds cumulatively, with the by-faith refrain establishing rhythm and the unnamed sufferers at the end giving the chapter its emotional weight. As a theological argument, it makes the case that the faith now required of Christians is not a new thing but the same trust that has always been required of those who would walk with God.

The closing is one of the most quoted passages in the New Testament. And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect. The cloud of witnesses — gathered at the boundary of vision in chapter 12 — consists of all these figures, watching the present generation as it runs the same race they ran. The image has shaped the way Christians think about the communion of saints, the continuity between Hebrew and Christian scripture, and the long cost of fidelity.

Where to follow it: Hebrews 11 (the great catalogue), Hebrews 12 (the cloud watching).

There are four major warning passages — at 2:1–4, 6:4–8, 10:26–31, and 12:25–29 — and they share a common structure. The new revelation in Christ is greater than the previous revelation through the angels and the prophets. If those who disobeyed the previous revelation faced consequences, how much more will those who turn away from the greater? The argument is a fortiori: from the lesser to the greater.

The most severe is in chapter 6: it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt. The passage has been a major proof text for strict penitential disciplines and a source of sustained theological debate. The chapter ends with the writer's confidence that his readers are not in the situation he has just described — yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things — but the warning has done its work.

The warning at 10:26–31 is similarly severe. If we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful expectation of judgment. The chapter ends with a famous line: it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. The warning at 12:25–29 closes the long argument of the book on the same note: see that you do not refuse him who is speaking.

The book itself does not allow either a purely gracious or a purely severe reading without qualification. The warnings are there, in their full weight. They are also balanced, on the same pages, by some of the most reassuring passages in the New Testament — the high priest who has been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin (4:15); the throne of grace that we may approach with confidence (4:16); the assurance that God remembers their sins no more (10:17). The reader who takes the book whole gets both, and the tension is not resolved, only inhabited.

Where to follow it: Hebrews 2 (first warning), Hebrews 6 (the most severe), Hebrews 10 (fearful expectation), Hebrews 12 (the final warning).

The image that runs through the centre of Hebrews and gives the book its distinctive christology is the figure of Christ as the great high priest. Like the high priest, Christ has been chosen by God for the work; he represents human beings before God; he offers a sacrifice for sin. Unlike the high priest, his sacrifice is himself, not a bull or a goat; it is offered once and forever, not yearly; and it is offered in the heavenly sanctuary, not the earthly tabernacle.

The structural argument is built around the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), the one day a year on which the high priest entered the Holy of Holies to sprinkle blood on the mercy seat for the sins of the people. Christ, the writer argues, has entered once and for all into the true sanctuary, with his own blood, and has obtained eternal redemption (9:12).

The most pastorally important passage in the book is not the abstract christology but the application. We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin (4:15). The verse has been a foundation of Christian devotional life for two thousand years. The Christ of Hebrews is not the distant divine figure of some early heretical christologies; he is fully human, fully tempted, fully able to enter into the experience of the worshippers he represents. He is also, simultaneously, the radiance of the glory of God and the one through whom the world was made.

The consequence the writer draws is the consequence the book is built on. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need (4:16). The image of approach — drawing near, with confidence, into the holy place where one would otherwise be unwelcome — is the image that runs through the whole book and gives it its distinctive devotional tone. Everything else in the book is in service of that access.

Where to follow it: Hebrews 4 (the throne of grace), Hebrews 7 (the eternal priesthood), Hebrews 9 (the heavenly sanctuary), Hebrews 10 (the once-for-all sacrifice).