Homily 16 — Hebrews 9, verses 15 to 23

“And for this reason he is the mediator of the new testament, so that by means of death, for the redemption of the transgressions that were under the first testament, those who are called might receive the promise of an eternal inheritance. For where there is a testament, there must also of necessity be the death of the one who made it. For a testament takes effect after people are dead; otherwise it has no force at all while the one who made it is alive. Hence not even the first testament was dedicated without blood.” [a]

It was likely that many of the weaker ones would distrust Christ’s promises above all because he had died. So Paul, giving them more than enough, brought in this illustration, taken from everyday custom. What kind of illustration is it? He says, “Indeed, this is the very reason we ought to take courage.” For what reason? Because testaments are established and take effect when the people who made them are not living, but dead. “And for this reason,” he says, “he is the mediator of the new testament.” A testament is made with an eye to the last day, the day of death.

And a testament is like this: it makes some people heirs, and leaves others disinherited. So it is here too. “I want them to be with me where I am,” Christ says (John 17, verse 24). And of the disinherited, hear him say again, “I do not pray for” all, “but for those who believe in me through their word” (John 17, verse 20). Again, a testament concerns both the one who makes it and those who inherit under it, so that they have some things to receive and some things to do. So it is here too. After making countless promises, he also asks something of them, saying, “A new commandment I give to you” (John 13, verse 34). Again, a testament must have witnesses. Hear him again: “I am one who bears witness about myself, and the one who sent me bears witness about me” (John 8, verse 18). And again, “He will testify about me” (John 15, verse 26), speaking of the Comforter. He also sent out the twelve apostles, saying, “Bear witness before God.”

“And for this reason,” he says, “he is the mediator of the new testament.” What is a mediator? A mediator is not the owner of the thing he mediates. The thing belongs to one person, and the mediator is someone else. For instance, the go-between in a marriage is not the bridegroom, but someone who helps the man who is about to be married. So it is here too. The Son became mediator between the Father and us. The Father did not want to leave us this inheritance; he was angry with us and displeased with us, because we had become estranged from him. So the Son became mediator between us and him, and prevailed upon him.

And then what? How did he become mediator? He brought words from the Father and brought them to us, carrying over to us what came from the Father, and adding his own death to it. We had offended; we ought to have died. He died for us, and made us worthy of the testament. That is what makes the testament secure: from then on it is not made for the unworthy. In the beginning, indeed, he made his arrangements as a father does for his sons. But after we had become unworthy, there was no longer any need of a testament, but of punishment.

“Why, then, do you set your mind on the law?” That is what he would say. For the law left us in so great a state of sin that we could never have been saved if our Lord had not died for us. The law would not have had the power, for it is weak.

And he proved this no longer from everyday custom only, but also from what happened under the old testament, which carried special weight with them. No one died there; how, then, could that testament be firm? In the same way, he says. How? There was blood there too, as there is blood here. And if it was not the blood of Christ, do not be surprised, for it was a type. “Hence,” he says, “not even the first testament was dedicated without blood.” [d]

What does “was dedicated” mean? Was confirmed, was ratified. The word “hence” means “for this reason.” The sign of the testament had to be a sign of death as well.

For tell me, why is the book of the testament sprinkled?

Verses 19 and 20: “For when Moses had spoken every commandment to all the people according to the law, he took the blood of calves, with water and scarlet wool and hyssop, and sprinkled both the book itself and all the people, saying, ‘This is the blood of the testament which God has commanded you.’” Tell me, then, why are the book of the testament and the people sprinkled, if not because of the precious blood, foreshadowed from the very beginning? Why “with hyssop”? Because it is dense and holds the liquid. And why the “water”? It points also to the cleansing by water. And why the “wool”? This too was used so that the blood would be held. In this place blood and water point to the same thing, for baptism is his suffering.

Verses 21 and 22: “Moreover he sprinkled with blood both the tabernacle and all the vessels used in the service. And by the law almost all things are cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” Why the “almost”? Why did he qualify it? Because those rites were not a complete purification, nor a complete forgiveness, but only half finished, and in a very small degree. But here he says, “This is the blood of the new testament, which is poured out for you for the forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26, verse 28). [f]

Then where is “the book”? He purified their minds. So they themselves were the books of the new testament. And where are “the vessels used in the service”? They are themselves. And where is “the tabernacle”? Again, it is they; for “I will live in them,” he says, “and walk among them” (Second Corinthians 6, verse 16).

But they were not sprinkled with “scarlet wool,” nor “with hyssop.” Why was that? Because the cleansing was not bodily but spiritual, and the blood was spiritual. How so? It did not flow from the bodies of animals without reason, but from the body prepared by the Spirit. And it was not Moses but Christ who sprinkled us with this blood, through the word that was spoken: “This is the blood of the new testament, for the forgiveness of sins.” This word, dipped in the blood in place of hyssop, sprinkles everyone. [g]

There, indeed, the body was cleansed outwardly, for the purification was bodily. But here, since the purification is spiritual, it enters into the soul and cleanses it, not simply sprinkled over it but gushing up within our souls. The initiated understand what I am saying. In their case, one sprinkled only the surface, and the one who was sprinkled washed it off again; he certainly did not go about stained with blood all the time. But with the soul it is not so. The blood is mixed into its very substance, making it strong and pure, and leading it to that beauty no one can approach.

From here on, then, he shows that his death is the cause not only of the testament’s being confirmed, but also of cleansing. Since death was thought a hateful thing, and the death of the cross above all, he says that it cleansed, and that this was a precious cleansing, and in greater matters. That is why the sacrifices came first: because of this blood. That is why there were the lambs. Everything was for this reason. [h]

Verse 23: “It was necessary, then,” he says, “that the patterns of the things in the heavens should be purified with these, but the heavenly things themselves with better sacrifices than these.”

And how are they “patterns of the things in the heavens”? And what does he mean here by “the things in the heavens”? Is it heaven? Or is it the angels? None of these, but what is ours. It follows, then, that our things are in heaven, and heavenly things are ours, even though they are carried out on earth. For although angels are on earth, they are still called heavenly. The cherubim appeared on earth, and yet they are heavenly. But why do I say “appeared”? More than that, they live on earth, as they did in Paradise; but that makes no difference, for they are heavenly. And “our citizenship is in heaven” (Philippians 3, verse 20), and yet we live here.

“But these are the heavenly things”: that is, the philosophy that exists among us, those who have been called to it.

“With better sacrifices than these.” What is “better” is better than something else that is good. So “the patterns of the things in the heavens” were good as well. Not even the patterns were evil; otherwise the things of which they are patterns would have been evil too.

If, then, we are heavenly and have received such a sacrifice, let us fear. Let us no longer stay on the earth; for even now anyone who wishes can be not on the earth. Being on the earth or not being on it is a matter of moral disposition and choice. For instance, God is said to be in heaven. Why? Not because he is confined by space, far from it, nor because he has left the earth empty of his presence, but because of his closeness and intimacy with the angels. If, then, we too are near to God, we are in heaven. For what do I care about heaven when I see the Lord of heaven, when I myself have become a heaven? “For,” he says, “we will come,” I and the Father, “and make our home with him” (John 14, verse 23). So let us make our soul a heaven. [j]

Heaven is bright by nature. Not even in a storm does it turn black; it does not change its own appearance, but the clouds gather and cover it. Heaven has the sun; we too have the Sun of Righteousness. I said it is possible to become a heaven, and I see that it is possible to become even better than heaven. How? When we have the Lord of the sun. Heaven is pure and spotless throughout; it does not change in a storm or in the night. So let us not be shaken either by distress or by “the schemes of the devil” (Ephesians 6, verse 11), but let us remain spotless and pure. Heaven is high and far from the earth. Let us do this with ourselves too: let us draw away from the earth, raise ourselves to that height, and put ourselves far from the earth. Heaven is higher than the rains and the storms, and none of them reaches it. We too can do this, if we choose.

It seems to be affected by them, but it really is not. So let us not be affected either, even if we seem to be. In a storm most people do not see the beauty of heaven and think it has changed, while philosophers know it is not affected at all. So it is with us in afflictions: most people think we change along with them, and that the affliction has reached our very heart, but philosophers know that it has not touched us.

Let us become heaven, then. Let us climb up to that height, and we will see people differing in nothing from ants. I do not mean only the poor, or the many; even if a general is there, even if the emperor is there, we will not tell the emperor from the private citizen. We will not know what is gold, or what is silver, or what is silk or purple clothing. We will see everything as if it were flies, if we are seated at that height. There is no uproar there, no disturbance, no shouting. [k]

“And how is it possible for someone who walks on the earth to be raised up to that height?” I do not tell you in words; I show you, in fact, people who have reached that height. Who are they?

I mean people like Paul, who spent their lives in heaven while they were on earth. But why do I say “in heaven”? They were higher than heaven, yes, than the other heaven too, and climbed up to God himself. For “Who,” he says, “will separate us from the love of Christ? Will trouble, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or the sword?” (Romans 8, verse 35). And again, “while we look not at the things that are seen, but at the things that are not seen” (Second Corinthians 4, verse 18). Do you see that he did not even see the things here? But to show you that he was higher than the heavens, hear him say it himself: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of Christ” (Romans 8, verses 38 and 39).

Do you see how his thought, rushing past everything, lifted him higher not only than this creation, not only than these heavens, but than any other as well, if any other there were? Have you seen the height of his mind? Have you seen what the tentmaker became because he was willing, the man who had spent his whole life in the marketplace?

For there is no obstacle, none at all, to our rising above all people, if we are willing. If we succeed so well in skills that are beyond the reach of most people, how much more in this, which does not take such great labor!

For tell me, what is more difficult than walking along a tightrope as if on level ground, and, while walking up high, dressing and undressing as if sitting on a couch? Does the performance not seem so frightening to us that we are not even willing to watch it, but are terrified and tremble at the very sight? And tell me, what is more difficult than balancing a pole on your face, setting a child up on it, and performing countless feats that delight the spectators? And what is more difficult than playing catch with swords? And tell me, what is harder than searching out the bottom of the sea? One could mention countless other skills.

But easier than all of these, if we are willing, is virtue, and going up to heaven. For here we need only to be willing, and all the rest follows. We may not say, “I cannot,” nor accuse the Creator. For if he made us unable and then commands us, that is an accusation against himself.

“How is it, then, that many are not able?” How is it, then, that many are not willing? For if they are willing, all will be able. That is why Paul too says, “I wish that all people were as I myself am” (First Corinthians 7, verse 7), since he knew that all could be as he was. He would not have said this if it had been impossible. Do you want to become such a person? Only take hold of the beginning. [l]

Tell me now: with any skill, when we want to master it, are we content with wanting it, or do we also take up the work itself? For instance, someone wants to become a helmsman. He does not say, “I want to,” and stop there; he also sets his hand to the work. He wants to become a merchant; he does not just say, “I want to,” but he also sets his hand to the work. Again, he wants to travel abroad; he does not say, “I want to,” but he sets his hand to the work. In everything, then, wanting alone is not enough; work must be added too. And when you want to climb up to heaven, do you merely say, “I want to”?

“How, then, did you say that being willing is enough?” I meant willing joined with deeds: taking hold of the thing itself, laboring at it. For we have God working with us and acting with us. Only let us make our choice, only let us apply ourselves to the matter as to a task, only let us think about it seriously, only let us take it to heart, and everything follows. But if we go on sleeping, and expect to enter heaven while we snore, how will we be able to obtain the heavenly inheritance?

So let us be willing, I urge you; let us be willing. Why do we carry on all our business for the sake of this present life, which we will leave tomorrow? Let us choose, then, virtue, which will be enough for us through all eternity, in which we will live forever and enjoy the everlasting good things. May we all obtain them in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom be glory, power and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always and forever and ever. Amen.