The year was 431.  The Christian Church had called an ecumenical council at Ephesus to address the teaching of its Archbishop of Constantinople, Nestorius.  Nestorius taught that although Mary was the mother of Christ the man, she was not the mother of Christ, the Son of God.  Rather, Mary gave birth to a mere mortal who was subsequently “occupied,” as it were, by God.  Under the leadership of Cyril of Alexandria, pictured above, the council declared this teaching heretical and affirmed a doctrine known as the hypostatic union – that Christ is completely God and completely man.  He is not merely occupied by the Divine, he is the Divine.

The word “hypostatic” is from the hypostasis, meaning “substance.”  The hypostatic union, then, is a doctrine that declares that two natures – Christ’s divine nature and his human nature – are contained in his one person, or substance.

It is this Greek word which we encounter today in our reading from Hebrews 11: “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see” (verse 1).  The Greek word for “sure” is hypostasis.  Thus, this verse might be translated, “Now faith is hope with substance.”  Accordingly, faith is not just wishful thinking, it is substantive.  It hopes in something, or more precisely, someone, who is tangible and true.

The church father Bernard of Clairvaux comments on this passage thusly:  “The substance…of things hoped for [is] not a fantasy of empty conjectures…Under the name of substance something certain and fixed is put before you” (Some Letters of Saint Bernard, 272-273).  What is this “certain and fixed” substance put before you?  The One in whom the hypostatic union comes together, of course – Jesus Christ.  This is why the preacher of Hebrews finishes his exposition on faith by exhorting us to “fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).  Jesus is the one who gives substance to our faith.  Therefore, he is to be fixed before our eyes at all times.

It is fashionable these days to extol a faith which, rather than having Jesus as its substance, finds its substance elsewhere.  Pastor Josh recently shared with me an article from USA Today in which a researcher from the Pew Foundation hailed the syncretism of Americans as a sign of “spiritual and religious openness.”  This article chronicled how more and more people are meshing nominal Christian beliefs with other false beliefs, such as a belief in reincarnation, or Kabbalah, or pantheism.  These people take a smorgasbord approach to faith – you choose whatever doctrines from whatever religions you desire and then synthesize them into your own personal faith.  This kind of faith does not find its substance in Jesus, but in the personal whims, preferences, and desires of its believer.

The orthodox Christian faith is most certainly different than this kind of cafeteria Christianity.  For orthodox Christian faith finds its substance in Christ and Christ alone, as the apostle Paul passionately declares: “For I resolved to know nothing…except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2).  This is the faith for which those at the Council of Ephesus, and many since then, have so earnestly contended.

What is the substance of your faith?  Is it your own personal whims, which can change and shift according to your mood and will?  Or is it the rock solid, never-changing, ever-faithful Jesus Christ, who is both God and man?  I hope it’s the latter.  For faith in Christ – and faith alone in Christ – is the sole source of true hope for salvation.

Thursday is laundry day at our house.  When we get home, Melody and I throw a couple loads of laundry into the washer, into the dryer, and then dump the freshly washed clothes onto our bed to fold and put away.  It’s usually a team effort.  But every once in a while, if one of us has a commitment, the other is left doing laundry alone.  Indeed, this happens to me from time to time.   However, I never mind doing laundry myself.  I wash, dry, fold, and put away the clothes.  At least, I used to put away the clothes.

It’s happened again and again.  I would fold the laundry, put away my clothes, and then put away Melody’s clothes – except I could never remember which articles of Melody’s clothing went where.  I would inevitably put things in the dresser I should have hung in the closet and hang things in the closet I should have put in the dresser.   Melody, upon noticing that her clothing was not where it should be, would chide me:  “You’ve seen me put my clothes away a hundred times!  You can remember all sorts of theological minutia, but you can’t remember where my clothes go?”  And as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.  To this day, I cannot remember which articles of Melody’s clothing go where, although I can remember lots of other, more complex, information.

I suppose like many guys, I suffer from selective memory.  There are certain things which seem to naturally lodge themselves in my brain while there are other things I cannot recall, no matter how hard I try.

In our reading for today from Hebrews 10, we are met with a case of selective memory.  The preacher of Hebrews begins with that which is easily remembered:

The law is only a shadow of the good things that are coming – not the realities themselves. For this reason it can never, by the same sacrifices repeated endlessly year after year, make perfect those who draw near to worship. If it could, would they not have stopped being offered? For the worshipers would have been cleansed once for all, and would no longer have felt guilty for their sins. But those sacrifices are an annual reminder of sins, because it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. (verses 1-4)

The preacher says that the very Old Testament sacrifices which were meant to cleanse from sin, sadly, served only as a “reminder of sins” (verse 3).  In other words, these sacrifices lodged in the brains of the ancient Israelites the sins they had committed against God.  Indeed, the Greek word for “reminder” is anamnesis, meaning “remembrance.”  To sacrifice is to remember the very things you would most like to forget.

Thankfully, in the New Testament, we receive another anamnesis:

The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” “In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” (1 Corinthians 11:23-25)

The Greek word for “remembrance” in these verses is anamnesis.  A new sacrifice has been given to help us remember.  But it is not the sacrifice of “bulls and goats” (verse 4) which only serves to remind us of our sins.  Instead, it is sacrifice of “the body of Jesus Christ once for all” (verse 10) which reminds us that we have a Savior.  It is this sacrifice that we remember in Communion.  And marvelously, through the reception of Christ’s body and blood, there is not only a remembering, but also a forgetting.  As the preacher of Hebrews promises, “Their sins and lawless acts God will remember no more” (verse 17).  God, it seems, has a selective memory.  He remembers his love, his faithfulness, and his grace toward us, but forgets all our sins.  And there is no greater and more blessed selective memory than that.

The story is told of a pastor who had a group of children gathered around him one Sunday morning for a special children’s message.  He asked the kids, “Who wants to go to heaven?”  Every child raised their hand eagerly.  “And what do you have to do to get to heaven?” the pastor continued.  The expected answer, of course, was, “You must believe in Jesus Christ who died on the cross and rose again for the forgiveness of sins.”  But that is not the answer little Timmy had in mind.  No, Timmy pursued a different route.  What do you have to do to get to heaven?  “You have to die!” Timmy proudly pronounced.

Death is never a desirable thing.  And yet, there are some instances in which death is a necessary thing.  If I want really good deer sausage, a deer must die.  In order for us to enjoy beautiful foliage in the fall, leaves must enter into senescence, on their way to death as they eventually fall to the ground.  And in my house, if I don’t want pesky ants raiding my kitchen, I must put out ant baits so that the ants will die.  Death is not desirable.  But it is sometimes necessary.

In our reading for today from Hebrews 9, we read of something else which necessitates death:  “Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness” (verse 22).  Death – the shedding of blood – is a prerequisite for sins to be forgiven.  As the preacher of Hebrews explains:

For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance – now that he has died as a ransom to set them free from the sins committed under the first covenant. In the case of a will, it is necessary to prove the death of the one who made it, because a will is in force only when somebody has died; it never takes effect while the one who made it is living. (verses 15-17)

The Greek word for “covenant” in verse 15 and “will” in verses 16 and 17 is the same:  diatheke.  This word describes a last will and testament.  In other words, it is a word connected to death.  The covenant of forgiveness that God has made with us, therefore, can only be put into effect upon a death.  In this case, it is the death of God’s Son that enacts God’s covenant.  Death is necessary to our forgiveness.  Yes, death is at the very heart of the gospel.

But it’s not just Jesus’ death that is at the heart of the gospel.  No, our deaths are vital as well.   As the apostle Paul says in Romans 6:8, “We died with Christ.”  But this death, counter-intuitively enough, leads to life:  “We died with Christ so that we will also live with him.”  Death to sin, death, and the devil is a prerequisite for eternal life with Christ.

I suppose Timmy was right after all.  You do have to die to go to heaven.  But the good news is, when you die, you don’t stay dead.  For you are raised to new life in Christ!

I know I really should, but I don’t always update my computer and other electronic devices as regularly as possible.  It seems that every time I log on, my laptop is asking me to download a software update or my iPhone is asking me if I want to update a whole host of apps.  Speaking of my iPhone, I have a “restaurant app” which gives me nutritional information for a slue of popular restaurants to assist me in making healthy choices when I got out to eat.  I had not used this app in quite a while, but the other day, I decided I wanted to look at some information on a burger.  So I brought up the app.  No sooner did the program appear than I was met with a message:  “There is updated restaurant information available, would you like to download it now?”  I hit “download.”  Next came the message, “Downloading 1 of 2734 items.”  “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “Maybe I don’t need to know the nutritional information on that burger after all.”

In our reading for today from Hebrews 8, the preacher of Hebrews speaks of an update.  But this update is not for some computer program; rather it is an update for the covenant God has made with his people:

The time is coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah.  It will not be like the covenant I made with their forefathers when I took them by the hand to lead them out of Egypt, because they did not remain faithful to my covenant, and I turned away from them, declares the Lord. This is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after that time, declares the Lord. I will put my laws in their minds and write them on their hearts.  I will be their God, and they will be my people.  No longer will a man teach his neighbor, or a man his brother, saying, “Know the Lord,” because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more. (verses 8-12)

God has declared, “It is time for an updated covenant.  A better covenant.  A covenant which cannot be broken by the sins of men, but instead is written on the hearts of men and is upheld by my forgiveness as I remember the sins of my people no more.”  And this updated, better, new covenant, of course, is fulfilled by Christ.  The preacher then concludes concerning this new covenant:  “By calling this covenant ‘new,’ God has made the first one obsolete; and what is obsolete and aging will soon disappear” (verse 13).  The updated covenant has superseded the old.

A few key words need to be noted in order to understand the full punch of the preacher’s polemics.  First, the Greek word for “obsolete” is palaio’o, which carries with it the sense of something that is worn out and used up.  This is the word Jesus uses in Luke 12:33 when he says, “Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out (Greek: palaio’o), a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.”  The old covenant, then, is worn out and broken down.  It is time for a new model.  But the preacher is not done yet.  He also calls this covenant “aging.”  The Greek word here is gerasko, from whence we get our English word “geriatric.”  This old covenant is so old that it belongs in the geriatric ward!  Finally, the preacher says this covenant will “soon disappear.”  The Greek word for “disappear” is aphanismous, loosely related to our English word “phantom.”  Upon the coming of Christ, the old covenant becomes nothing but a phantom.

All of this is to say that the old covenant has received a major update in Christ.  Indeed, it has not just been updated, a whole new model has arrived!  But in a world where updates race toward us so fast that we could probably spend days just updating our electronics, this may hardly strike us as good news.  However, this update in Christ, blessedly, is the only update there is, for it is given by a “Son who has been made perfect forever” (Hebrews 7:28).  No more updates are needed.

This time of year, we celebrate the advent of God’s updated covenant.  For God’s updated covenant came not as a download off a website, but as a baby in a manger.  And this updated covenant does not need our maintenance, for it is maintained by Christ’s faithfulness and not ours.  Praise be to God for his updated – and forever perfect – covenant!

To this day, people still think of him every time they hear the finale of Gioachino Rossini’s William Tell Overture.  You know who I’m talking about.  He was one of six Texas Rangers, riding in the sun.  They rode into an ambush, and all were killed but one.  This single survivor laid there on the trail, and was found by Tonto and lived to tell his tale.  He wore a mask as a disguise and thus began his fame, and rode a silver stallion – the Lone Ranger is his name.

For all of the Lone Ranger’s fame, his identity has remained a mystery.  Some people think that behind his trademark mask is the historical Western hero Wild Bill Hickok.  And yet, in episode after episode, distressed damsel after distressed damsel would be rescued without ever learning his name.  Indeed, it even became customary at the end of each episode to ask, “Who was that masked man?”  And the answer would always be the same:  “Why, he’s the Lone Ranger!”

In our reading for today from Hebrews 7, we are introduced to a lone ranger of sorts.  He is a curious and cryptic fellow, being “without father or mother, without genealogy, without beginning of days or end of life” (verse 3).  At least we know his name, though:  Melchizedek.  Melchizedek was the king of Salem, an ancient name for Jerusalem.  In Genesis 14:17-20, after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Melchizedek appears to Abraham and brings his some bread and wine and blesses Abraham.  In gratitude, Abraham offers him a tithe.  After this, Melchizedek simply recedes into the pages of history.

Who is this masked man?  And how can he be without father or mother, without genealogy, and without beginning of days or end of life?  Such obscurity has led some biblical interpreters to the conclusion that Melchizedek was a Christophany.  That is, he was a preincarnate appearance of Christ.  This is why, these interpreters would say, he is described so mysteriously by the preacher of Hebrews.

I am not sure this is the best interpretation of Melchizedek’s identity.  A common Jewish interpretive principle – and really, a common Jewish interpretive trick – involves looking at what is not mentioned in a text and then assuming that because it is not mentioned, it did not happen.  The Jewish philosopher Philo, for instance, argued that since Cain’s death is not mentioned in the Scriptures, Cain did not die.  Such arguments are, of course, utterly arbitrary since no written account contains every possible detail of any given happening.  But this seems to be the tact that the preacher in Hebrews is taking.  Because Melchizedek’s origins, birth, and death are not mentioned, he must not have any origins, birth, or death, says Hebrews’ preacher.  This description of Melchizedek, in turn, helps him connect Melchizedek’s identity closely to Christ’s:  “[Christ] has become a priest not on the basis of a regulation as to his ancestry but on the basis of the power of an indestructible life” (verse 16).  Like Melchizedek, Christ has no beginning and no end.  He is our ultimate high priest who “does not need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for the sins of the people. He sacrificed for their sins once for all when he offered himself” (verse 27).

We will never get full insight into the identity of Melchizedek.  He will forever remain a “masked man.”  The good news, however, is that while Melchizedek the priest remains masked, Christ the priest does not.  For Christ has been “revealed in these last times for your sake” (1 Peter 1:20).  The mask is off.  Jesus’ goodness, life, and salvation have been revealed.  That is why the preacher of Hebrews later says, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).  We can fix our eyes on Jesus because he is not enigmatic and hidden, but glorified before our very eyes through the cross.  He is our great, unmasked high priest.