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 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.
Reverent awe
before our God
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Thank you.