“The Wind Blows Where It Wills” (Acts 2:1-4)

 

It’s probably been a long time since you were in a room with a hundred and twenty people. But I want you to do your best to imagine it anyway. You might even need to close your eyes for a moment—as long as you promise not to fall asleep!

The scene I want you to form in your minds is, of course, the upper room in Jerusalem. There Jesus’ followers had been gathering ever since the day he had been taken up into heaven. You may recall that he had left them with the command to wait for the gift the Father had promised, when the Holy Spirit would come upon them.

Luke tells us that they had faithfully followed Jesus’ instruction, joining together constantly in prayer. Ten days had now elapsed. It was the festival of Pentecost, seven weeks after the celebration of Passover. And next to Passover it was the biggest holiday of the year, marking the beginning of the barley harvest. You might think of it as a little bit like Thanksgiving, with people travelling from all over the empire to celebrate.

The big difference was, though, that instead of going back to their family homes, everybody came to Jerusalem. So the city was chock-a-block with people. And as a result the upper room must have seemed like something of an oasis—even with a hundred and twenty people packed into it!

Then something strange began to happen. Suddenly from out of nowhere the quiet murmur of prayer was overwhelmed by the roar of a violent wind. We’re not talking about a gentle spring breeze here or even a howling gale. Think Dorian. Think Juan. Now start multiplying. This was a wind that tumbles down trees. This was a wind that churns up waves that tower over the masts of ships. And Luke tells us that the roar of it filled every corner of the house where the hundred and twenty were assembled.

What could it all mean? I can only imagine that those first believers were utterly mystified. I know if I had been there I would have been shaking right to the marrow of my bones!

At the beginning of creation (Genesis 1:2)

But let’s stand back for a moment and from the safe distance of nearly two thousand years and let’s try to gain an understanding of what was happening on that Pentecost morning. Because what those first believers were experiencing was in fact just part of a much larger story. So over the next few minutes I want us to try to capture a view of that broader picture—and that will begin by going all the way back to the opening verses of the Bible.

There we are confronted by a remarkable picture. It is one that our human minds really aren’t capable of conceiving: absolute nothingness. The author of these verses uses the words “formless and void”—utter, impenetrable darkness. Yet over it all we find the Spirit of God. The words in Hebrew are Ruach Elohim.

Now that word ruach can mean not only “spirit”, but also “breath” or “wind”. So it is that one translation of this verse runs, “The wind of God swept over the face of the waters.”

Now if you’re a gardener like me, wind is not always a welcome phenomenon. In fact, it can be downright annoying. It’s the wind that blows the snow into three-foot drifts that I have to plow to get my car onto the street in the winter. It’s the wind that blows down the leaves from the trees in the fall and playfully scatters them all over the lawn so that I have to spend hours raking them up.

But the wind of God—Ruach Elohim—is just the opposite. As the ruach sweeps powerfully over the waters, order appears out of chaos. From the swirling formless plasma there begin to appear earth and sky; land and seas; trees and plants; sun, moon and stars; fish and birds and land animals. Then finally, bearing God’s own image, human beings. And like an artist standing back and looking at his work, the Bible tells us that “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good”.

So it is that a primary work of the Holy Spirit is to bring order out of chaos, beauty out of confusion. And that was exactly what was happening in the upper room on the Day of Pentecost.

Just try to put yourself into the minds of the disciples for a moment. Their lives had been a roller coaster. Just eight weeks before, they had been surrounded by a cheering crowd waving palm branches and shouting “Hosanna to the king!” as they made their way into Jerusalem. Five days later they had stood by helpless as they watched the one they had come to believe was their saviour hang dying on a cross as a convicted criminal. Then on the third day after that they had had to get their minds around the fact that the same man they had seen put to death was alive. And yet, while little doubt may have remained on one level, what were they to make of it? What did it all mean?

Enter the Holy Spirit, to bring order out of chaos, to make sense out of what in the eyes of the world would have been (and for many still is!) nonsense.

On the shore of the Red Sea (Exodus 14:10-22)

On to another scene now, this time with the Hebrew people on the banks of the Red Sea. It had been a dramatic time for them. They had lived through the long series of plagues that had afflicted the kingdom of Egypt. And then the worst had struck, taking in its wake the firstborn son in every Egyptian family. But it was this final tragedy that had led to the fulfilment of what had seemed an impossible dream. It was what allowed them to escape from their life of slavery in Egypt and find a land that they could call their own.

They had set up camp near the shore of the Red Sea, when word came to them that the Egyptian army was just over the horizon. Needless to say, they were panic-stricken. “What have you done to us?” they shouted at Moses. “Better to have been slaves than to be slaughtered like animals!” As the sun set, a powerful wind began to blow from the east. It blew all night, so that when daylight returned, the sea had dried up and the Hebrews were able to cross over into safety. As we all know, the Egyptian armies were not as lucky. Their horses and chariots bogged down in the soft ground and before they could escape, the sea had rushed back into its place.

And here we have a picture of a second work of the Holy Spirit: to bring hope into an atmosphere of despair, victory in the face of defeat. That too must have been the experience of Jesus’ followers in the upper room. Yes, they knew that Jesus had been raised from the dead. But realistically what was going to happen to them? Would they remain a tiny cluster of devotees who clung together around some fond memories? It wouldn’t surprise me to find that they were still locking the doors for fear of being found out by the authorities.

But now there was no longer any need for fear (or indeed any possibility of secrecy), as the Holy Spirit caused the sound of their joy-filled praises to flood out onto the street below.

In the Valley of Dry Bones (Ezekiel 37:1-14)

There is a third scene that I want to share, that underlies the events of Pentecost. It comes in what to me is one of the most arresting passages in all of Scripture—in a vision that God gave to the prophet Ezekiel.

Ezekiel tells us that he is led by the Spirit of the Lord (and once again it is that same word, ruach—breath, wind) to find himself standing in the middle of a valley—a valley full of bones. Countless numbers of parched and whitened bones surround him in every direction that he cares to look. As he gazes around at this scene of desolation, God puts the question to him, “Can these bones live?” Then God instructs him to command the bones, “Dry bones, this is what the Sovereign Lord says… ‘I will make breath enter you (and here again it is that same word, ruach), and you will come to life…’ ”

Hardly have the words left Ezekiel’s mouth than he begins to hear a rattling sound as the bones come together. Soon they are being covered with tendons and flesh and skin. But Ezekiel observes that there was no breath, no ruach, in them. Again God tells Ezekiel to prophesy, “Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.” As he does so, they raise themselves to their feet. And God gives Ezekiel the promise, “I will put my Spirit in you and you will live…”

Thus we see a third work of the Holy Spirit: to bring life where there is death. History tells us that, of the eleven apostles in that upper room, all but one would suffer a martyr’s death. But they would go to their deaths in the firm conviction that there was nothing that could separate them from God’s love in Christ. In the words of their future co-worker Paul, “He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.” (Romans 8:11)

As a result, they would go to their deaths in the comfort of the Spirit-implanted conviction that nothing could separate them from Jesus’ love. In Eugene Peterson’s rendering of Paul’s words, “The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less” (2 Corinthians 5:5).

One night in Jerusalem (John 3:1-8)

Let’s shift now to one further scene. It’s a starry night in Jerusalem. Two figures can be seen in deep discussion. “Rabbi,” says one, “we know that you are a teacher who has come from God…” To which he receives the enigmatic reply, “No one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.”

“But how is this possible?” Nicodemus asks. “How can someone be born when they are old?” And Jesus replies, “The wind blows where it wills. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.”

On this festival of Pentecost we remind ourselves that the Holy Spirit continues at work today—in the midst of a confused and increasingly confusing world, in the midst of military wars and culture wars, in the midst of a growing environmental crisis, in the midst of a global pandemic—to bring the assurance that there is a God who reigns over all and whose good and perfect purposes will come to fruition—and that Jesus Christ has won the victory over sin and evil and death.

But it remains to you and to me to catch the wind—to allow God’s Holy Spirit to blow in us and through us. It will be unsettling. And no doubt he will rearrange your life a little. Perhaps more than a little! But the adventure will be worth it…

“Creation—Who cares?” (Genesis 1:1 – 2:1)

It was way back in July 1925 that one of the most famous court cases in US history took place in Dayton, Tennessee. Known ever since as the “Scopes Monkey Trial”, it centred on twenty-four year-old John T. Scopes. He was accused of introducing Darwin’s theory of evolution while acting as a substitute teacher in a high school biology class. Unknown to him, his action was contrary to the state law of the time, which made it illegal to teach evolution in any of its public schools. Scopes was eventually acquitted on a legal technicality. But the case made headlines across the United States and served to fuel one of the most tragic church squabbles of recent times. The Fundamentalist-Modernist controversy was an acrimonious division that continues in some parts of the church right down to this day.

As with so many of the quarrels that have divided Christians over the centuries, it has generated far more heat than light. It has wasted energy and resources that could have been directed to infinitely more useful and God-honouring purposes. And surely the only winner in it all has been the devil, who must rub his hands with glee.

One of the greatest casualties in this controversy is the passage we read from the Old Testament this morning: Genesis, chapter 1. Skeptics scorn it as a hopelessly primitive, pre-scientific description of how the universe has come into being. They point to it as evidence that serious science and Christian faith are incompatible. And I suspect that for many the result has been to regard what the Bible has to teach us about creation with a certain degree of embarrassment—to ignore it or leave it on the shelf to gather dust.

To my mind this is a tragedy of incalculable proportions. For the more I read from this first chapter of Genesis, the more I find myself in the presence of truths so profound I know I can never reach the bottom of them. But let’s give it a try anyway, and open our Bibles to Genesis, chapter 1, where we read, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”

These first words of the Bible take us back to the dawn of time. Cosmologists debate as to whether that means ten or twenty billion years or something in between. But numbers and statistics are not the concern that lies behind them. Rather, it is to communicate the awesome truth that before anything existed, there was God.

It is hard—I want to say that for me it is impossible—to imagine complete nothingness, absolute emptiness. The closest our author can bring us to it is with the words “formless and empty”, utter darkness. It is a stark and chilling picture. Yet even in this utter void, God is present.

The ancient Hebrews were by and large a land-loving people. For them the sea was a place of danger and chaos—and this is surely the picture conjured up by the waters at the end of verse 2. Yet the author gives us the astounding picture of the Spirit of God hovering over it all. Biblical commentators have often commented that that same word “hovering” is used of an eagle in flight.

For a number of years our family used to spend our vacation on an island in St Margaret’s Bay. Needless to say, we shared it with a number of species of wildlife, including a family of ospreys. I remember many times looking up into the brightness of the blue sky to see one of those magnificent birds wheeling silently, seemingly motionlessly, above me, and never ceasing to be fascinated by it. So it is that the stage is being set. God is silently present and about to act to bring his creation into being. And it all happens with a word.

Into the unimaginable silence of complete nothingness God speaks: “Let there be light.” In Hebrew it’s just two words, yehi or. And with those two words the Bible tells us there was light. Creation had begun.

Science

What follows is not, as some maintain, a primitive myth. Rather, it is a carefully structured rhythmic exposition of God’s creative power. Each of the first six days opens with the phrase, “And God said…” And each closes with the words, “And there was evening and there was morning…,” followed by the number of the day.

Then look more closely and you’ll see that there is a correspondence between day one and day four, day two and day five, day three and day six. It has been observed furthermore that on the first three days God introduces order into the chaos, separating light from darkness, waters from waters, land from seas. Then during the second triad of days he fills the void, setting the sun, moon and stars in the sky, causing the waters to teem with living creatures, populating the land with animals of every description. We could go further and note that on the third and sixth day there is a double creation, followed by a triple action on the seventh.

Much more could be said here—and has been. Indeed scholars have devoted their lives to it. Whole books have been written about it. But it becomes clear that what we have in Genesis 1 is not a scientific, but a lyrical representation of God’s creative power. Yet, having said that, I am convinced that the Genesis account of creation opens the door to scientific exploration in at least three ways.

The first of them is by affirming the order that underlies the universe (quantum mechanics aside for the moment). That is, that God’s creation is open to our comprehension.

Secondly, by refusing to ascribe names to the sun, moon and other heavenly bodies, the Genesis account of creation was declaring that these were inanimate bodies. Other ancient civilizations saw the stars and planets as divine beings, possessing a power of their own to affect human life. But the Bible will have none of that.

Thirdly, as we move into chapter 2, we find God parading his creatures before the man to give each of them a name. And that process of cataloguing and naming goes on into our present day, whether it be in the realm of subatomic particles, as yet undiscovered stars, or living beings. Surely this is much of the work of science in bringing understanding and meaning to the world we inhabit.

And so, while Genesis is a pre-scientific document, it is not as some argue, anti-scientific. To the contrary, I think we can rightly affirm that Genesis opens the door to scientific inquiry.

Art

One of the mental images that I take away from Genesis (and I am prepared to admit that this may be fanciful on my part) is of God as an artisan. In my mind’s eye I have a picture of God coming to his creation each day and adding a much-needed detail—dry ground and seas, flowers and fruit on this day, sun, moon and stars on that, fish and sea creatures on the next, animals on the next… And each day, we find God taking a moment to look at what he has done, and declaring, “It is good.”

Five times we hear it said, “And God saw that it was good.” We hear it twice on the third day, once on the fourth day, once on the fifth day, and once on the sixth. Then, after all has been created and his work is complete, we are told, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.”

Now the word “good” in Hebrew can have a variety of meanings. It can mean good in the sense of good for something, useful. It can mean morally good, righteous. It can also mean aesthetically good in the sense of pleasant, delightful or beautiful. And I can’t help but thinking that that sense is at least part of what is meant when we read each of those five times, “And God saw that it was good.”

God takes delight in his creation—in its beauty, its majesty, its complexity. “The heavens declare the glory of God,” says Psalm 19. And in the gospel we find our Lord Jesus speaking lyrically about the flowers of the field, “that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these” (Matthew 6:29).

And so I believe that this first chapter of Genesis begins to lay a foundation not only for investigative science but also for artistic endeavour and for the appreciation of beauty wherever we find it. Creation calls us to stand in awe at the vastness of the night sky, at the whir of a hummingbird’s wings, at the colours of an alpine meadow, and to declare, “It is good.”

Stewardship

All of this brings us to a third lesson that this first chapter of Genesis leaves us with. It comes to us on the sixth day of creation and it has to do with your and my place within it.

In verse 26 we hear God declare, “Let us make humankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule … over all the creatures…” And again in verse 28 we are told that God blessed humankind and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

Perhaps like me you have heard environmentalists rail against these verses, claiming that they have provided justification for an uncontrolled exploitation of the bounty with which God has surrounded us, denuding the earth of its resources. But a careful reading of Genesis 1 reveals that that just is not so. Indeed, if anything, just the opposite is true.

So what does it mean for us to rule over all creation? German theologian and ethicist Helmut Thielicke taught that we can only properly understand our rulership over creation when we place it within the wider context of God’s sovereignty. He wrote, “We are not to rule and subdue the earth because we stand above the other creatures, but only because we stand under God and are privileged to be his viceroys.”[1]

The contemporary American Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann goes a step farther and places our rulership of creation within the context of Jesus’ teaching:

The dominance is that of a shepherd who cares for, tends, and feeds the animals… Thus the task of ‘dominion’ does not have to do with exploitation and abuse. It has to do with the securing of the well-being of every other creature and bringing the promise of each to full fruition… Moreover, a Christian understanding of dominion must be discerned in the way of Jesus of Nazareth… The one who rules is the one who serves. Lordship means servanthood… The human person is ordained over the remainder of creation both for its profit, well-being and enhancement. The role of the human person is to see to it that the creation becomes fully the creation willed by God.[2]

So it is that Eugene Peterson in The Message renders these verses, “Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature so they can be responsible for the fish in the sea, the birds in the air, the cattle, and, yes, Earth itself.”

The point comes through even more clearly when we look at God’s command to fill the earth. The verb for “fill” here has a secondary meaning of fulfilling, bringing to completion. And so part of our calling is to continue God’s work of creation, to enhance its riches, its beauty and its immense variety.

Our gracious God has placed into our hands an enormous gift in his creation. May we never cease to wonder at its vastness and complexity and to be awed by its beauty. And may we be faithful to his mandate to care for it and to tend it until the day when all creation is brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

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[1]     How the World Began, 67

[2]     Genesis, 32-33

“God has spoken” (Hebrews 1:1-4)

Central to our Christian faith is the conviction that our God is a God who speaks. The first picture that the Bible gives us is one of chaos and emptiness. And into that emptiness God speaks: “Let there be light.” And no sooner were those words spoken than the Bible tells us there was light.

So it continues over the six days of creation: “God said…”, “God said…”, “God said…” And each time we hear the refrain, “And it was so.” “And it was so.” And it was so…”

Our psalm this morning affirms that God’s voice, which brought everything that is into being—from the farthest reaches of the universe to the tiniest subatomic particle—continues to echo through his creation:

The heavens declare the glory of God;
     the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
     night after night they reveal knowledge.
They have no speech, they use no words;
     no sound is heard from them.
Yet their voice goes out into all the earth,
     their words to the ends of the world…

The vastness of the night sky, the daily warmth of the sun: these and a countless array of natural phenomena all work together to reveal the God who is behind them. “Lord, our Lord,” we read elsewhere in the Psalms, “how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory in the heavens.” (Psalm 8:1)

John Polkinghorne, who enjoyed a long career as a theoretical physicist at the University of Cambridge, would agree. He has written,

The universe, in its rational beauty and transparency, looks like a world shot through with signs of mind, and, maybe, it’s the ‘capital M’ Mind of God we are seeing … an origin in the reason of the Creator, who is the ground of all that is.[1]

If John Polkinghorne observed God’s creation from a macro-level, Francis Collins has investigated it on a micro-level. He is the geneticist who led the team that sequenced the human genome. He has observed, “The God of the Bible is also the God of the genome. He can be worshipped in the cathedral or in the laboratory. His creation is majestic, awesome, intricate, and beautiful.”[2]

Is it any wonder then that Jesus used the things of nature to unfold the secrets of the ways of God? A mustard seed that grows to be the largest of garden plants, a measure of yeast that is folded into a lump of dough to make it rise, the buds on a fig tree announcing that summer is near, a cloud rising in the west heralding rain, the lilies of the field more beautifully arrayed than King Solomon in all his splendour…

Yet studying the phenomena of the natural world can lead us only so far. Job acknowledged this way back in the Old Testament. After reflecting on the remarkable works of God’s creation, he proclaimed,

These are but the outer fringe of his works;
     how faint the whisper we hear of him!
     Who then can understand the thunder of his power?
(Job 26:14)

So, as we move into the latter half of Psalm 19, we find that there is an additional, fuller, way in which God has chosen to reveal himself, and that is through the words of Scripture:

The law of the Lord is perfect,
     refreshing the soul.
The statutes of the Lord are trustworthy,
     making wise the simple.
The precepts of the Lord are right,
     giving joy to the heart.…
They are more precious than gold…
they are sweeter than honey…
     in keeping them there is great reward.

Classic Christian teaching has always acknowledged that God addresses us both through his creation and through his divine word. One of the basic formularies of the Christian Reformed Church is the Belgic Confession, written in 1561. Here is what it says about the ways in which God reveals himself:

We know God by two means: First, by the creation, preservation, and government of the universe, since that universe is before our eyes like a beautiful book in which all creatures, great and small, are as letters to make us ponder the invisible things of God: God’s eternal power and divinity… Second, God makes himself known to us more clearly by his holy and divine word, as much as we need in this life, for God’s glory and for our salvation.

Creator

All of which brings us to the opening verses of the letter to Hebrews, from which we read these words a few moments ago: “In many fragments and in many fashions in the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets,”—and here comes the critical word—“BUT in these last days he has spoken to us through his Son.”

Yes, God reveals himself through his creation. Yes, God has revealed himself through the words of his prophets. But it is in Jesus that we find God’s fullest and final revelation. Then the author (who is anonymous) goes on to list a series of astounding claims as to why this is so—why we look to Jesus as God’s ultimate expression of himself. I think we can summarize them under three headings.

The first is “Creator”. Somewhere along the way, as they walked with Jesus (and I suspect it was at a different point for each of them, or perhaps more accurately through a whole series of experiences) those first companions of Jesus came to the conclusion that this man, though made of flesh and blood as they were, was also something more—considerably more. Dare I say, infinitely more?

We see it in the gospels when Jesus asked them, “Who do people say I am?” The answers quickly rolled out. “Some say John the Baptist,” said one. “Others say Elijah,” piped up another. “And there are others who say you are Jeremiah or one of the prophets,” added yet another. Then Jesus looked them in the eye. “But what about you? Who do you say I am?” It’s not there in the gospels, but I always imagine a long silence at this point, until Peter, who seems always to have been the first to speak, blurted out, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” (Matthew 16:13-16).

The events that followed Jesus’ crucifixion only served to heighten and confirm this growing conviction. “My Lord and my God!” were the astounded Thomas’ words as he gazed on the wounds in Jesus’ hands and side (John 20:21). And as Jesus met with his followers for the final time, Matthew tells us that they worshipped him (Matthew 28:17).

So it is that scarcely a generation after all these events the apostle Paul could write to the believers living in Colossæ,

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. (Colossians 1:15-17)

Radiance

We look to Jesus, then, as a participant with the Father and the Holy Spirit in the creation. To add to this, the author of Hebrews tells us that Jesus is “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being”. That word “radiance” is found only in this one place in the New Testament. It is related to the word for dawn. So the picture we are given is of the clear brightness of the morning sun with its spreading rays gleaming over the eastern horizon, bringing light to a world that has been shadowed in darkness.

Yet even that image fails to convey anything like the fullness of the radiance that is found in Jesus. What we are talking about here is nothing less than the shekinah glory of God. It is what Moses witnessed as he stood before the burning bush. The Bible tells us that he had to hide his face because he was afraid to look at God (Exodus 3:6).

Many years later, as he met with God again on the peak of Mount Sinai, Moses made a bold request—that God would show him his glory. To this the Lord replied, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the Lord, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion. But, you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” (Exodus 33:18-20)

Such is the indescribable radiance of the glory of God. And that is the radiance that we find in Jesus. “No one has ever seen God,” writes John in the introduction to his gospel, “but the one and only Son, who is himself God, who is closest to the Father’s heart, has made him known” (John 1:18).

Peter, James and John caught a momentary glimpse of that radiance as they stood with Jesus on the mount of the transfiguration. The gospels tell us that there Jesus’ face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white, as bright as a flash of lightning.

The apostle Paul observed that when Moses returned from God’s presence to meet with the people, the change in his face was such that he had to cover it with a veil. “But,” Paul adds, “whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away… And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit” (2 Corinthians 3:18). It is impossible to experience the radiance of Jesus and not find ourselves being profoundly changed.

Sacrifice

The picture of Jesus that the letter to the Hebrews gives us, then, is a glorious and exalted one: Jesus the mighty author and sustainer of creation; Jesus, the pure radiance of God’s indescribable glory. You might think there would be nothing left to say, but there is. And that is this: that this same Jesus came into our world for one purpose—to bring us purification from our sins.

Jesus, whose power brought galaxies into being, emptied himself of all power to offer up his life for you and for me. Jesus, whose radiance shines into eternity, willingly submitted to the ugly darkness of the cross. As Graham Kendrick has put it in the words of his powerful hymn, “hands that flung stars into space to cruel nails surrendered…”

This is the message that rings through the entire thirteen chapters of the Letter to the Hebrews. Indeed it has been described as the crimson thread that runs through the whole of the Bible. “I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” wrote the apostle Paul to his fellow believers in Corinth (1 Corinthians 2:2). And again, to the Galatians, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Galatians 6:14).

One of the last pictures that the Bible gives us is of a vast crowd of people—women and men and children beyond counting, from every tribe and nation, race and language. They stand around the throne of the Lamb of God and together their numberless voices thunder,

Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb. (Revelation 7:10)

Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
and honour and glory and praise! (Revelation 5:12)

From its opening words to its last, the letter to the Hebrews is a call to worship, but not just the formal worship that we offer here on Sunday mornings (although that is a vital part of it). It is the worship of a heart overwhelmed with gratitude to the Lord of all creation, who shines with the pure radiance of the uncreated God, and who has trodden the road of pain and death, and by his sacrifice to claim for himself the likes of you and me.

Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

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[1]     Quarks, Chaos & Christianity, 25

[2]     The Language of God, ch 10