Hebrews 12:18-29

If not, you can just touch the requisite buttons on your iPhone and get there, I'm sure.

Hebrews 12, 18 through 29.

Let me read this text for us.

Right here to Hebrews says,

For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest.

And the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them.

For they could not endure the order that was given.

If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned.

Indeed, so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, I tremble with fear.

But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem,

and to innumerable angels in festal gathering.

And to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven.

And to God, the judge of all.

And to the spirits of the righteous made perfect.

And to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant.

And to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

See that you do not refuse him who is speaking.

For if they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, much less will we escape if we reject him who warns from heaven.

At that time, his voice shook the earth.

But now he has promised, yet once more I will shake not only the earth, but also the heavens.

This phrase, yet once more, indicates the removal of things that are shaken.

That is, things that have been made.

In order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain.

Therefore, let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken.

And thus, let us offer to God acceptable worship with reverence and awe.

For our God is a consuming fire.

One of the questions you often get asked living in a transient city like New Haven, where people are always coming and going,

is invariably the question, where are you from?

Now, on the one hand, this is just part of polite conversation, isn't it?

But on the other hand, there's a sense in which your place, where you're from,

can perhaps reveal something about who you are, your identity, your way of being in the world.

And of course, stereotypes abound, right?

People in the Northeast are supposed to be fast-paced, direct,

and people from everywhere else in the country would say they're kind of just a little rude.

Come on, Texans, you know that's what you thought when you moved here, right?

Midwesterners are down-to-earth and generally all-around nice folk.

Southerners are incredibly hospitable, but, you know, they know how to hold a grudge.

And those on the West Coast, well, they're just kind of laid back and they love their hobbies and they don't take anything too seriously.

And that's just the U.S., right?

We can keep going and think about how all the different parts of the world tend to get pigeonholed.

But, you know, stereotypes aside, as humans, I do think we tend to develop strong connections to concrete places.

And those connections can have profound, shaping influences on who we are.

It seems as if humans were sort of hardwired to be connected to a place.

And in our text this morning, Hebrews wants to show us that as Christians, we've come to belong to a whole new place, spiritually speaking.

He wants us to see that in our conversion, a great geographical shift has occurred, that we no longer live where we once lived.

He wants us to see that in our pilgrimage of faith, we have come.

As he says in the contrast of verse 18 and verse 22, we have come to a whole new destination.

And this place shapes now who we are.

That's what's going on in the first part of our passage, verse 18 through 24.

And then in verses 25 through 29, he's going to show us how all of that has deep implications for how we ought to hear God and how we ought to worship God.

So that's where we're going this morning.

Let's take a look first at where we have come.

Now, I've heard it said, I don't know if this is actually true, if you're a history buff afterwards, maybe you can correct me on this.

But I've heard it said that in 1638, when the city of New Haven was founded, that the Puritans who established our city intentionally situated us between those two great rock faces that we now know affectionately as East Rock and West Rock.

Now, whether that was intentional or not, I don't know.

But it's true, right, today that no matter where you go in our city, it seems like one of these rocks is almost always visible.

One of these great red cliffs is almost always sort of looming.

In the background.

Now, much like New Haven is sort of situated between these two rocks, between these two mountains, the landscape of the Old Testament is dominated by two mountains.

That is Mount Sinai on the one hand and Mount Zion on the other.

It's these two peaks that form the spiritual geography of nearly the whole Old Testament.

Mount Sinai, you'll remember, was where God gave the law to Israel through Moses, where God entered into a covenant with Israel.

And Mount Zion was where David, 500 years later, established the monarchy and built the city of Jerusalem, and where later Solomon, his son, built the temple.

Sinai, Zion.

And in our passage this morning, the writer of Hebrews is picking up this imagery.

He's picking up this theological landscape, and he's transforming it for us into a way of thinking about where we've come in Christ.

In verses 18 through 21, it's the experience of Israel at Mount Sinai that becomes a vivid picture of living under the Old Covenant.

Now, of course, in these verses, he doesn't mention Sinai by name, right?

But given the description, that's certainly what he's talking about.

And Mount Sinai here comes a way, a stand-in for one way of thinking about and living in a relationship with God.

Sinai.

But Hebrews says in verse 22, that's not where you've come.

No, you've not come to Mount Sinai, but you've come to Mount Zion.

And it's clear as we read through, just scanning through verses 22 through 24, that he means clearly not the earthly city of David located in the middle of Israel somewhere.

He's talking about the heavenly city, the true dwelling place of God, the city that is to come, that that mere earthly city always just pointed towards.

And for Hebrews, this heavenly city stands for the realities of the new covenant, of this new relationship with God.

So there it is.

Hebrews wants us to see in this contrast between Sinai and Zion, the reality of where we've come spiritually.

He wants us to see where we now belong as Christians.

He wants us to see the place now where we are meant to be.

And notice at least three contrasts between these two mountains.

There are three ways at least that I think Hebrews is drawing a contrast.

First, he says, you've not come to a place of fear, but you've come to a place of joy.

Isn't the resounding sense that we get from verses 18 through 21 with the blazing fire and darkness and gloom and the piercing trumpet blast, one of overwhelming fear?

And as we look back at Exodus 19 through 20 and Deuteronomy 4 and 5 where this event is recorded in Scripture, we see that that was indeed the case.

That the people assembled at the foot of Sinai trembled with fear.

And Hebrews, perhaps drawing on some Jewish tradition, tells us that even Moses trembled as well.

The mountain shook with the awesome holiness of God and the people trembled.

Maybe you've been walking down the street and someone drives by in their car and they're sort of bumping their favorite new rap tune.

I don't think they say bumping anymore, but you can tell I went to college in the early 2000s.

And can't you feel sometimes the bass as the car drives by?

Also not going to win any awards for beatboxing.

But you can feel it just rattle your bones, can't you, sometimes?

Now, friends, if that's true of a mere speaker in a car driving down the street,

think of what it must have been like to stand at the foot of Sinai and heaven ripping in to a mountain itself

in something that the biblical writers can only describe as blazing fire and darkness.

And trumpets ripping through heaven and their bones just quaking in the presence of God.

It was a place of fear.

Now compare that to verse 22.

But you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem,

and to innumerable angels in festal gathering.

You see, on Sinai, the angels gather to blare trumpets of warning.

But in Zion, the angels are gathered in festal array.

That is, in celebration, in festivity.

They're gathered in joy.

The language here is of a civic celebration like the ancient Olympics,

or like one of the great annual Jewish festivals.

This place where you've come, Hebrews says, is not a place of fear,

but a place of festive joy.

Joy, C.S. Lewis once said, is the serious business of heaven.

Isn't that a beautiful phrase?

But friends, I wonder how many people looking at our lives, looking at my life,

would be able to guess that our permanent spiritual address, as it were,

the place where we belong, the place where we've come by faith,

is the place whose serious business is indestructible permanent joy.

Do people see joy in us?

Of course, we're not talking about bubbly, outgoing personalities,

or being chipper all the time.

That's not biblical joy.

We're talking about the kind of resilient satisfaction in God,

the kind of current running deep that can rejoice in God's goodness,

even when things are hard.

But when things do get hard,

how quickly our joy seems to fly away.

How quickly we forget where we've come.

You see, friends, we don't live under the dark clouds of Sinai anymore.

We don't live in the gloom and in the fear.

We live in the light of the hills of Zion, the city that is to come.

Not a place of fear, but a place of joy.

But let's push ahead to the second contrast.

Not a place of fear, but a place of joy.

Second, you've come not to a place of distance from God,

but to a place of intimacy with God.

When God gathered the people at Sinai,

his instructions were basically, stay away.

God warns the people in Exodus 19,

if even a beast touches the mountain, stone him.

Now, if that's true for an irrational animal

that accidentally strays onto the mountain,

how much worse for a rational human being

who intentionally decides to go near without God's permission?

At Sinai, the people beg to be kept at a distance.

They beg that no further messages be spoken to them.

Sinai's a place where God is inaccessible and unapproachable.

Even the images have a sense of impersonalness, don't they?

Fire, gloom, darkness, the sound of a trumpet.

But you see, friends, if Sinai says, stay away,

Zion is a place that says, draw near.

Look at the description in the next verse, in verse 23.

You've come to the assembly of the firstborn

who are enrolled in heaven,

and to God, the judge of all,

and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect.

Notice that God is in the center and surrounding him,

gathered around him, welcome before him, are his people.

And on the one hand, there's the assembly of the firstborn,

we're told, gathered to God.

And this assembly of the firstborn refers inclusively

to all those before and after Christ

who belong to the people of God through faith.

Their names are written and ruled in heaven, we're told.

This is the universal church of all times and all places,

Old Testament and new, who belong to Jesus.

And we know from Hebrews that Jesus is the firstborn par excellence.

He is God's one and only son, the heir of all things.

But surprisingly, what do we see here?

That those who belong to him,

they too are called the firstborn.

That through our union with Christ,

the true firstborn,

we too become those

who are rightful heirs

of God's kingdom.

We too become

rightful sons and daughters

in Christ.

Verse 23

goes on to tell of the spirits

of the righteous made perfect.

And this points most likely

to those who have died in the faith.

If the assembly of the firstborn

is all believers everywhere,

then the spirits of the righteous

made perfect refer particularly

to those

who have died in the faith.

The faithful departed,

as it's sometimes put.

And what a comfort to know

that those who die in Christ,

though they are awaiting

the final resurrection,

they are even now,

Hebrews tells us,

made perfect

in God's presence.

That is,

they lack nothing

in their relationship

with God.

Now, in contrast

to the picture of Sinai,

what all this points to

at the very least

is the incredible

intimacy

with God

that is enjoyed

by those

who have come

to Zion.

Surprisingly,

God's character

hasn't changed,

right?

He's still the holy

judge of all.

But now,

instead of distance

and exclusion,

there's intimacy

and fellowship

and even

a familial

relationship

with God.

Think of the White House.

I had the privilege

of going to D.C.

this spring.

You know,

and if you ever sort of

go by the White House,

you'll often see

standing across the lawn,

outside the fence,

crowds of people

gawking,

taking pictures

with their smartphones,

trying to catch a glimpse

of some dignitaries

coming and going.

And in one sense,

many people in that crowd

do have a certain relationship

to the president,

right?

If they're U.S. citizens,

there is a certain bond

between them

and the president.

But we know

that that's nothing

compared

to his actual family,

to his wife,

and to his children.

They enjoy

intimate access.

They don't need to

stand across the lawn.

They don't need to

stand outside the fence.

They don't need to

gawk with a smartphone.

They can approach.

They can draw near.

And of course,

how strange it would be

for the president's daughters

to stand out

with that crowd

across the lawn,

outside the fence.

We would think

that they were playing

some sort of practical joke,

wouldn't we?

That they were doing

some sort of social experiment.

We would think

that was very strange.

And yet,

how many of us Christians,

forgetting that we've come

to Mount Zion,

in our relationship with God,

tend to stand

across the lawn,

outside the fence,

worried that we don't belong,

living in shame and guilt,

when in reality,

we can draw near

as firstborn sons and daughters

whose names are enrolled in heaven,

that when we come

to the gates of God's presence,

he finds our name written there.

You've not come to a place

of distance,

but of intimacy.

But there's a third contrast

at work here,

and we see it in verse 24,

as we work through

this description

of the heavenly Zion.

In verse 24,

Hebrews is telling us

that you've come

not to a place of law,

but to a place of grace.

Sinai, of course,

it goes without saying,

was the place

where God issued

the law to Israel.

The law revealed

not only God's holy character,

but it also gave Israel

the picture

of what holiness

would look like for them.

And in line with that,

the law covenant

at Sinai promised

God's blessing to Israel

if they kept it,

if they obeyed it,

but warned of his curse

if they broke it,

if they disobeyed.

And as we know

from the story

of the Old Testament,

since Israel

could not keep the law,

they fell under the curse

of condemnation.

And before we think

that we would do any better,

we need to realize

that the story of Israel

really is the story

of all of us.

that because of our sin,

this is basically

what Mount Sinai becomes.

A place of law.

A place of condemnation.

A place, as Hebrews has said,

that cannot make us perfect.

A place that can only show us

our deep problem.

And at best,

can point us

to a solution

apart from itself.

And it's that solution

that Hebrews says

we've come to

in verse 24.

You have come

to Jesus,

the mediator

of a new covenant,

and to the sprinkled blood

that speaks

a better word

than the blood

of Abel.

Friends,

haven't you been wondering,

what is it

that makes Zion

Zion,

a place of joy

and inclusivity

and intimacy.

And now finally,

we see why this heavenly city

is this place of fear

and not joy,

and this place of intimacy

and not exclusion.

It's because of Jesus.

You see,

we all fall short

of God's standard,

and under the law,

under our own efforts

at obedience,

we stand condemned.

Under the menacing hill

of Sinai,

we stand ruined.

But Jesus mediates

a new covenant

between us and God.

And this covenant

is not dependent

on our obedience,

but on His perfect obedience.

And this covenant,

we're shown,

is ratified

and made effective

by His own blood,

His own sacrificial death

that pays the penalty

for our sins

and gives us

a clean conscience

with God.

And that's why

Jesus' blood speaks

a better word

than the blood of Abel.

After Abel was murdered

by Cain in Genesis 4,

God said,

the voice of your brother's blood

is crying to me

from the ground.

You see,

Abel's blood

cried out

for vengeance.

And yet,

the blood of Christ

cries out

for forgiveness

and for mercy

and for justification.

everyone who takes hold

of the risen Christ

by faith

can know

that that better word

is spoken over them,

that their sins are covered,

that their conscience

is cleansed,

and that their hope

is secure.

So friend,

let me ask you this morning,

what voice

are you hearing

as you draw back

from the rush

of events

that fill your day,

as the onslaught

of the busyness

of everyday life,

as you take a step

back from that

for a second

and catch your breath,

what voice

do you hear?

Is it the voice

of the law,

the voice telling you

that your sins

are great

and that you stand

guilty

before God?

Of course,

you can try

to deny that voice,

but it won't go away.

You can try

to change your ways

and become a better person,

but you'll never

quite be good enough.

You see,

there's only one

lasting solution.

When you finally

start to see

that the word

of the law

is true,

that we are guilty,

that even our best

selves

aren't acceptable

to God,

then you must turn

from the word

of the law

to the word

of the gospel,

to the good news

that says there's only

one who is innocent

and he died for you,

taking your penalty

for sin

and offering you

his righteousness

and speaking

over your life

by his own blood

a better word,

a word of peace.

And when you turn

to that word,

then you'll find

that you have come

not to Sinai,

a place of fear

and exclusion,

but desire,

a place of joy

and intimacy.

Friends,

this is everything

that Hebrews

has been trying

to tell us

for 12 chapters

and pretty much

everything

that we've been

preaching

for the last year.

Can you believe

we've been in this book

for a whole year?

And this has been

the message.

The old covenant

can never

make you perfect,

no matter how much

you obey,

no matter how many

sacrifices you offer.

but in Christ

the new has come,

that the door

has swung open

and light

is rushing in,

that the path

to Zion

has been blazed

by Jesus,

the pioneer

and perfecter

of our faith,

and that there

is free entry

for all

who take hold

of him

in faith.

Friend,

if you're here

this morning

and you're exploring

Christianity,

if you're new

to spiritual things,

realize that Christianity

is not an invitation

to another Mount Sinai,

to law

and to fear.

Maybe that's been

your experience

of religion

in the past.

Maybe

it's been a lot

of law

and a lot of fear.

But let me tell you

that that

is not true

biblical Christianity.

Christianity

is an invitation

to Mount Zion,

if you're following

the metaphor,

to grace

and to joy

and to intimacy

through the finished

work of Jesus.

And what this means

for those of us

who have come

to faith in Christ

is that we must

press on.

You see,

this vision

of Mount Zion

is meant to spur us

on to run the race

with endurance.

For the last three weeks,

we've been thinking

about this marathon

of faith.

And now that we see

our destination,

it's meant to draw us forth.

Of course,

it's been clear

in Hebrews

that this heavenly city

is still to come.

In chapter 13,

Hebrews will say

that we seek the city

that is to come.

It's still ahead of us,

but haven't we been seeing

in our text today

that in a very real sense

we're already citizens

of that city?

That we already belong there?

That it's already

our address?

It's already our home?

And that means

our goal is secure.

That the finish line

is ahead

and joyful celebration

awaits you.

Indeed,

it's even now

surrounding you

as you run.

So keep running,

Hebrews is saying.

Keep running,

knowing where you've come to

and where you're going.

What's ahead of you

is grace

and joy

and intimacy.

Run

for the joy

set before you.

Now,

what are the implications

of all this?

Well,

the rest of our text

goes on to point out

two in particular.

There are two immediate

applications that Hebrews

makes for us

in light of all that

he's said so far.

And the first is found

in verse 25.

See that you do not

refuse him who is speaking.

We've seen in our study

of Hebrews

that some in the original

audience were in danger

of rejecting Christ,

of going back

to old covenant Judaism.

But Hebrews warns them

and us

that if rejecting

God's law

was disastrous,

now rejecting

God's son

is doubly so.

Let us not think

that God's grace

in the new covenant

means that we can be

flippant

or dismissive

or presumptuous.

all these things

that we've been celebrating,

joy, access, grace,

are found in Christ

and to reject him

and to reject the new covenant

and to turn away from him

is not to go to a place

of neutrality

but go back

to a place of judgment.

In verses 26 and 27,

Hebrews goes on

to speak of the great day

of God's justice.

He quotes a verse

from the prophet Haggai

that speaks of a great shaking

that is to come.

It's not just the earth

that will shake

like what happened at Sinai

but the heavens,

he says,

will be shaken as well.

That is,

the whole created order

will come under

God's holy scrutiny.

And like an earthquake

that lays bare

the foundations

of a building,

shaking it to the ground,

so God's day of judgment

will strip away

all the pretensions

and all the pride

and all the excuses

and leave everything

and everyone

exposed

to his holy gaze.

And there will be

no hiding on that day.

And there will be

no excuses

on that day.

And we'll stand

before our sovereign

creator

and sustainer,

the one upon whom

our entire lives

have depended

and render an account

for what we've done

with the life

he's given us to live.

Does it seem implausible

to you

that God would shake

his creation

in this way?

Perhaps it's more

comfortable to retreat

to a position

of a deist,

you know,

to believe in a God

who's sort of far away,

unable,

or too uncaring

to bring his creation

to account.

Or maybe we shrink away

and back into a more

seemingly comfortable

position of the pantheist

who thinks that

all simply sort of

is God

and that whatever is,

is,

and we all sort of

are accepted in the end

and return

to the one being.

You see,

the reason why

neither of those retreats,

neither of those options

will work for you

at the end of the day

is because everyone

deep down

wants a world

to be put right.

all of us

deep down

want evil

and injustice

to not have

the last word.

And that's something

that only

the biblical view

of God

and his justice

can give you.

In fact,

the Psalms

celebrate the fact

that God

is a just judge

because that means

that there's hope

for a broken world

to be put right again.

that our dreams

of justice,

that our dreams

of a world

made whole

aren't just

fantasies,

but the coming

result

of God

speaking his judgment

into creation

and making things

right again.

But this drives us

to a great dilemma,

does it not?

Because you see,

if on the one hand,

on the one hand,

if there is no divine judgment,

no final shaking,

what hope is there

for the world

that's so weighed down

with injustice

and evil?

What hope is there

for our world

wracked with pain

and suffering

if there is no judgment,

if there is no putting

to rights?

But on the other hand,

if there is divine judgment,

if there is a final

shaking to come,

what hope is there

for me

weighed down

as I am

with sin

and rebellion

against God?

And that is why

Hebrews is so adamant here

that we do not refuse

him who is speaking.

From heaven

comes a word

of forgiveness

and peace

with rebels.

From heaven

comes the better word

of Jesus' own blood

shed for you.

for what would you

trade in this world

for such a better word?

What good is it,

Jesus says,

to gain the whole world

and to lose your soul?

What is it that tempts you

to grow slack

in your confession of Christ?

What is it that tempts you

to abandon him

and his better word?

Is it the pleasure

of a relationship?

Is it the desire

for peer approval?

Is it the prospect

of increased wealth

and the security

and power

that it may bring?

Is it the dream

of building

your own kingdom

and making a name

for yourself?

What good is it

to gain the whole world

and lose your soul?

Why abandon Christ

even for a kingdom

if the kingdoms

of this world

will be shaken

to the ground

and all that will remain

is the kingdom of God?

Why not live

for his kingdom instead?

And rather than refusing

or rejecting him,

rather let us worship him.

That's where the text ends

in verse 28 and 29

and that's the second application

that Hebrews wants us to make.

When God shakes

the created order,

it will mean the removal

of things that are shaken.

All that is opposed to God

will be swept away

but all that is done

in order that the things

that cannot be shaken

may remain.

It's like a great sieve

scooping down

into the sand

from a bed of a river

and shaking

and shaking

and shaking away

the sand

and the sticks

and the stones

and after all that

falls away,

what's left

is the gold.

After all our sin

and pride

and our self-centered pursuits

are shaken down

and fall away,

it's the work

of God's kingdom

that will endure.

It's the work

of God's new creation

that will last.

And in light of that,

Hebrews says,

therefore,

let us be grateful

for receiving a kingdom

that cannot be shaken.

Though everything around us

crumbles and falls,

what God is giving to us

will endure forever.

And thus,

let us offer to God

acceptable worship

with reverence and awe

for our God

is a consuming fire.

It's perhaps

one of the most

beautiful pictures

of biblical worship

in all of Sertre.

Glad gratitude

and reverent awe.

That's worship.

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