Homily 32 — Hebrews 12, verses 18 to 27

“For you have not come to a fire that could be touched and that burned, and to blackness, and darkness, and storm, and the sound of a trumpet, and the voice of words — a voice that those who heard it begged might not speak another word to them. (For they could not bear what was commanded: ‘If even a beast touches the mountain, it must be stoned.’ And so terrible was the sight that Moses said, ‘I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.’) But you have come to Mount Zion, and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem; and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are written in heaven; and to God the Judge of all; and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect; and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant; and to the blood of sprinkling, which speaks better things than the blood of Abel.” [a]

Wonderful indeed were the things in the temple, the Holy of Holies; and awe-inspiring, again, were the things done at Mount Sinai: “the fire, the darkness, the blackness, the storm” (compare Deuteronomy 33, verse 2). For, it says, “God appeared at Sinai,” and long ago these things were celebrated. The new covenant, however, was not given with any of these things. God gave it in simple speech. See, then, how he draws the comparison on these points too. And he had good reason to put them last. Once he had persuaded them with countless arguments, and had shown the difference between the two covenants, the one had already been condemned; and so he moves easily on to these points as well.

And what does he say? “For you have not come to a fire that could be touched and that burned, and to blackness, and darkness, and storm, and the sound of a trumpet, and the voice of words, which those who heard it begged might not speak another word to them.”

These things, he means, are terrible — so terrible that they could not even bear to hear them, and not even “a beast” dared to go up. (But the things to come are not like that. For what is Sinai compared with heaven? And what is “a fire that could be touched” compared with God, who cannot be touched? For “God is a consuming fire” — Hebrews 12, verse 29.) For it is said, “Let not God speak, but let Moses speak to us. And so fearful was what was commanded — if even a beast touches the mountain, it must be stoned — that Moses said, ‘I am exceedingly afraid and trembling’” (Exodus 20, verse 19). Why wonder at the people? Moses himself, who went into “the darkness where God was,” says, “I am exceedingly afraid and trembling” (Exodus 20, verse 21).

“But you have come to Mount Zion, and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem; and to an innumerable company of angels, and to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are written in heaven; and to God the Judge of all; and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect; and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant; and to the blood of sprinkling, which speaks better things than the blood of Abel.” [d]

Instead of “Moses,” Jesus. Instead of the people, “tens of thousands of angels.” What “firstborn” does he mean? The faithful. “And to the spirits of the righteous made perfect.” You will be with these, he says.

“And to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, which speaks better things than the blood of Abel.” Did Abel’s blood speak, then? “Yes,” he says, “and through it, though he is dead, he still speaks” (Hebrews 11, verse 4). And again God says, “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me” (Genesis 4, verse 10). It is either this sense or that one: it speaks because it is still celebrated even now. But it does not speak the way Christ’s blood does. For Christ’s blood has cleansed all people, and it sends out a voice clearer and more distinct, in proportion as it has the greater testimony — the testimony of what it has actually done.

Verses 25 to 29: “See that you do not refuse him who speaks. For if they did not escape who refused him who spoke on earth, much less will we escape if we turn away from him who speaks from heaven. His voice then shook the earth; but now he has promised, saying, ‘Yet once more I will shake not the earth only, but also heaven.’ And this word, ‘Yet once more,’ signifies the removal of the things that are shaken, as of things that are made, so that the things that cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be moved, let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. For our God is a consuming fire.”

Those things were fearful, but these are far more wonderful and glorious. For here there is no “darkness,” no “blackness,” no “storm.” It seems to me that by these words he hints at the obscurity of the Old Testament, and at the shadowed and veiled character of the law. Besides this, the Lawgiver appears in fire, terrible and ready to punish those who break the law. [e]

But what are “the sounds of the trumpet”? Probably it is as though some king were coming. This, at any rate, will happen at the second coming too: “at the last trumpet” (First Corinthians 15, verse 52) all must be raised. But it is the trumpet of his voice that brings this about. At that time, then, everything was for the senses — things seen and things heard; now everything is for the mind, and invisible.

And, it says, “there was much smoke” (see Exodus 19, verse 18). For since God is said to be fire, and appeared that way in the bush, he signals the fire even by the smoke. And what is “the blackness and the darkness”? Again he is expressing how fearful it was. So Isaiah also says, “And the house was filled with smoke” (Isaiah 6, verse 4). And what was the purpose of “the storm”? The human race was careless, so they had to be roused by these things. For no one was so dull that his mind was not lifted up when these things were done and the law was given.

“Moses spoke, and God answered him by a voice” (Exodus 19, verse 19), for the voice of God had to be heard. Since he was about to give his law through Moses, he made Moses worthy of their trust. They could not see Moses, because of the thick darkness; they could not hear him, because his voice was weak. What then? “God answered by a voice,” speaking to the multitude. Yes, and his name will be called …

“They begged,” he says, “that no further word be spoken to them.” So from the very first they themselves were the reason God was made known through the flesh: “Let Moses speak with us,” and “Let not God speak with us” (Exodus 20, verse 19).

Those who draw comparisons lift up the one side all the more, to show that the other is far greater. In this respect too our privileges are gentler and more wonderful. They are great in two ways: they are glorious and greater, and at the same time they are easier to approach. He says this in the letter to the Corinthians as well: “with unveiled face” (Second Corinthians 3, verse 18), and “not as Moses, who put a veil over his face” (Second Corinthians 3, verse 13). They, he means, were not counted worthy of what we are. For what were they thought worthy of? They saw “darkness, blackness”; they heard “a voice.” But you too have heard a voice — not through darkness, but through flesh. You were not shaken or troubled; you stood and talked with the Mediator.

And in another way, by the “darkness” he shows that God is invisible. “And darkness,” it says, “was under his feet” (Psalm 18, verse 9). Then even Moses was afraid; but now no one is.

As the people then stood below, so do we. They were not below, but below heaven. The Son is near to God, but not as Moses was. There it was a wilderness; here, a city.

“And to an innumerable company of angels.” Here he shows the joy and the delight, in place of the “blackness” and “darkness” and “storm.” “And to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all.” They did not come near, but stood far off — even Moses; but “you have come near.” [h]

Here he makes them afraid, by saying, “and to God the Judge of all” — not of the Jews alone, and of the faithful, but of the whole world. “And to the spirits of the righteous made perfect.” He means the souls of those who have been approved.

“And to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling” — that is, of purification — “which speaks better things than the blood of Abel.” And if the blood speaks, much more does he who was slain and lives. But what does it speak? “The Spirit also,” he says, “speaks with groanings that cannot be uttered” (Romans 8, verse 26). How does he speak? Whenever he comes upon a sincere mind, he rouses it and makes it speak.

“See that you do not refuse him who speaks” — that is, that you do not reject him. “For if they did not escape who refused him who spoke on earth.” Whom does he mean? Moses, I suppose. But what he is saying is this: if they did not escape when they “refused him” as he gave laws “on earth,” how will we refuse him when he gives laws from heaven? He is not declaring here that he is someone else — far from it. He does not set out one person and another; rather, he appears terrible when he utters his voice “from heaven.” So it is he himself, both the one and the other; but the one is terrible. For what he expresses is a difference not of persons but of the gift.

How is this clear? “For if they did not escape,” he says, “who refused him who spoke on earth, much less will we escape if we turn away from him who speaks from heaven.” What then? Is this one different from that one? Then how does he say, “whose voice then shook the earth”? For it was the “voice” of the one who “then” gave the law that “shook the earth. But now he has promised, saying, ‘Yet once more I will shake not the earth only, but also heaven.’ And this word, ‘Yet once more,’ signifies the removal of the things that are shaken, as of things that are made.” So all things will be taken away and put together anew, and for the better. That is what he hints at here.

Why then do you grieve when you suffer in a world that does not last? Why are you distressed in a world that will very soon have passed away? If our rest were to come in the last age of this world, then one would have reason to be distressed, looking to its end. “So that the things that cannot be shaken may remain,” he says. But what sort of things are “the things that cannot be shaken”? The things to come.

So let us do everything for this: that we may reach that rest, that we may enjoy those good things. Yes, I beg and implore you, let us be in earnest about this. No one builds in a city that is going to fall down. Tell me, I beg you: if someone said that this city would fall in a year’s time, but some other city never would, would you have built in the one that was about to fall? So I say this now too: let us not build in this world. It will fall in a little while, and everything will be destroyed. But why do I say, “It will fall”? Before it falls, we will be destroyed and suffer what is terrible; we will be taken away from all of it. [i]

Why do we build on the sand? Let us build on the rock. For whatever happens, that building stands secure against every attack; nothing will be able to destroy it. And with good reason: that region is out of reach of every such attack, just as this one lies open to them. For earthquakes, and fires, and invasions of enemies take this building away from us even while we are alive, and often destroy us along with it.

And even if it is left standing, disease soon takes us away from it; or if we stay, disease does not let us enjoy it in peace. For what pleasure is there where there are sicknesses, and false accusations, and envy, and plots? Or even if there is none of these, yet often, if we have no children, we are uneasy and impatient, having no one to leave our houses and everything else to; and from then on we waste away, laboring for others. Yes, and often the inheritance passes to our enemies, not only after we are gone, but even while we are alive. What is more miserable, then, than to toil for enemies, and to pile up sins ourselves so that they may have rest? And many cases of this are to be seen in our cities. Yet I say no more, so as not to grieve those who have been stripped of their property. For I could have named some of them, and had many stories to tell, and many houses to show you that have taken as their masters the enemies of the men who labored for them. And not houses only: slaves too, and whole inheritances, have often come around to enemies. For such are human affairs.

But in heaven there is nothing of this to fear — no danger that, after a man is dead, his enemy will come and succeed to his inheritance. For there is neither death nor enmity there. The tents of the saints are lasting homes, and among those saints are exultation, joy, and gladness. For “the voice of rejoicing,” it is said, is “in the tents of the righteous” (Psalm 118, verse 15). They are eternal, without end. They do not fall down with age, they do not change owners, but always stand in their finest state. And with good reason, for nothing there is corruptible or perishable; all is immortal and undefiled.

On this building let us spend all our wealth. We have no need of carpenters or laborers. The hands of the poor build such houses; the lame, the blind, the maimed — they build those houses. And do not be surprised, since they win even a kingdom for us, and give us confidence before God.

For mercy is, as it were, the most excellent of arts, and a protector of those who practice it. It is dear to God, and it always stands near him, ready to ask a favor for whomever it wishes — if only we do not wrong it. And it is wronged when we give from what we have taken by extortion. So if it is pure, it gives great confidence to those who offer it. It pleads even for those who have offended — so great is its power — even for those who have sinned. It breaks the chains, scatters the darkness, puts out the fire, kills the worm, drives away the gnashing of teeth. The gates of heaven open to it with complete assurance. When a queen is coming in, none of the guards posted at the doors dares to ask who she is or where she comes from; they all receive her at once. So it is with mercy. For she is truly a queen, making people like God. For, he says, “You are to be merciful, as your heavenly Father is merciful” (Luke 6, verse 36). [k]

She has wings and rises lightly, with golden feathers and a flight that greatly delights the angels. There, it is said, are “the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her back with the yellow of gold” (Psalm 68, verse 13). Like a golden, living dove she flies, with a gentle look and a mild eye. Nothing is lovelier than that eye. The peacock is beautiful, but next to her it is a jackdaw. So beautiful and so admirable is this bird. She is always looking upward; she is surrounded on every side by the glory of God. She is a virgin with golden wings, adorned, with a fair and gentle face. She has wings and rises lightly, standing beside the royal throne. When we are being judged, she suddenly flies in and shows herself, and rescues us from punishment, sheltering us with her own wings.

God would rather have her than sacrifices. He speaks of her at great length, so much does he love her. “He will relieve,” it is said, “the widow” and “the fatherless” (Psalm 146, verse 9), and the poor. God wishes to be named after her: “The Lord is compassionate and merciful, patient, and abounding in mercy” (Psalm 145, verse 8), and true. The mercy of God is over all the earth. She has saved the human race (see Psalm 145, verse 9). For if she had not pitied us, everything would have perished. “When we were enemies” (see Romans 5, verse 10), she “reconciled” us; she brought about countless blessings; she persuaded the Son of God to become a slave and to empty himself of his glory (Philippians 2, verse 7).

Let us eagerly strive to be like her, through whom we have been saved. Let us love her, let us value her above wealth, and even without wealth let us have a merciful soul. Nothing is so much the mark of a Christian as mercy. There is nothing that unbelievers and all people so admire as when we are merciful. For we ourselves are often in need of this mercy, and say to God, “Have mercy on us, according to your great goodness” (Psalm 51, verse 1). Let us begin first ourselves — or rather, it is not we who begin first. For he has already shown his mercy toward us. But at least let us follow second. For if people have mercy on a merciful man, even if he has done countless wrongs, how much more does God!

Hear the prophet saying, “But I,” in his words, “am like a fruitful olive tree in the house of God” (Psalm 52, verse 8). Let us become like that; let us become “like an olive tree”; let us be laden on every side with the commandments. For it is not enough to be like an olive tree; one must also be fruitful. For there are people who, in giving alms, give little — only once in the whole course of the year, or once each week — or who give away whatever happens to come to hand. These are olive trees indeed, but not fruitful ones; they are even withered. Because they show compassion, they are olive trees; but because they do not do it generously, they are not fruitful olive trees. But let us be fruitful. [m]

I have often said it, and I say it now too: the greatness of almsgiving is shown not by the size of the gift, but by the heart of the giver. You know the case of the widow. It is good to keep bringing this example forward, so that not even the poor man may despair of himself, when he looks at her who threw in the two small coins. Some people contributed even hair when the temple was being furnished, and not even these were rejected (Exodus 35, verse 23). But if they had brought hair when they had gold, they would have been accursed; since they brought it when this was all they had, they were accepted. This is why Cain too was blamed: not because he offered worthless things, but because they were the most worthless things he had. “Cursed,” it is said, “is he who has a male and sacrifices to God a blemished thing” (Malachi 1, verse 14). He did not speak without qualification, but said, “he who has” — and holds it back. So if a man has nothing, he is free from blame; or rather, he has a reward. For what is worth less than two small coins, or more worthless than hair? What is worth less than a pint of flour? Yet these were approved equally with the calves and the gold. For “a man is accepted according to what he has, not according to what he does not have” (Second Corinthians 8, verse 12). And, it says, “As your hand has the means, do good” (Proverbs 3, verse 27).

So, I beg you, let us gladly empty out what we have for the poor. Even if it is little, we will receive the same reward as those who have put in the most — or rather, more than those who put in ten thousand talents. If we do these things, we will gain the unspeakable treasures of God — if we not only hear but also practice, if we not only praise almsgiving but also show it by our deeds. May we all attain them, in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honor, now and forever and ever. Amen.