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Preaching Hebrews 9:24-28

Our exegete calls Hebrews' author a "christologian." The title is well-deserved. What's telling for preachers, however, is not just that Hebrews dispenses ready-made christology, but that it does christological reflection.

Well, perhaps Hebrews invites us to preach "reflectively," too. After all, it places us smack dab in a christological mystery. True, in the grip of this mystery, Hebrews' christologian reflects back on tangible human worship, but solely as the mystery's "antitype." Fortunately, Hebrews gives us bearings by locating our reflection between a memory of sin's demise through Christ's cross and a hope for eschatological salvation with Christ. Juxtaposing that christological mystery with the antitype of our worship, we see a four-move sermon structure emerge:

Just look at our worship--plain folk gathered `round a table. Yet we remember who saw our way clear to the altar: Christ on the cross. What's more, we look forward to Christ welcoming us at the heavenly table. So with Christ even now we don't worship alone--we've got friends in high places.

The sermon first acknowledges our "antitype" worship. Then it places that awareness within christological mystery, looking back to Christ's cross (move 2) and forward to Christ's salvation (move 3). Finally, the sermon moves to the realization that now Christ "appear(s) in the presence of God on our behalf." "As such, hearers move from an awareness of worship as human activity to worship as a moment in the unfolding christological mystery for us.

If hearers are to reflect on christological mystery, our sermon introductions must be carefully wrought. Perhaps a vivid picture will do. Try imagining some ancient cathedral with a ceiling mural. On the cathedral floor worshipers worship as they always do. On the ceiling, however, a vivid moment of the heavenly liturgy takes place. Below, we do our usual Sunday thing; above, bishops, emperors, saints and luminaries worship before Christ the Cosmocrator. Using this image to heighten contrast, preachers can set up both the christological problem and a reflective hermeneutical frame.

Move 1 prefaces our christological reflection by considering our weekly worship. Surely we know our Sunday services are no great shakes. True, choirs and preachers are robed like the heavenly host, with lay folk decked out in Sunday best. But peel away the paraments and we are but a feeble people worshiping feebly. Our voices strain to hit high notes that hymn-singing angels hit with ease. Our praise to God is usually mumbled, not shouted like the heavenly throng's. Preachers should reflect soberly, yet whimsically, about our all-too-human "antitype" worship.

With the second move we turn from looking at worship now to "looking back" at Christ. With Hebrews christologian, we remember Christ died to open our way to the altar/table once and for all. Yet Christ is not just some dusty, distant historical fact. Christ makes a claim on us--as our memory. No wonder we warble old hymns as if recounting earth-shaking events first-hand:

On a hill far away, stood the old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame; and I love that old cross where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain.

Yet doesn't our christological memory also resemble black-and-white snapshots from civil rights days? In one photo we see white-shirted black college students' straddling stools at a segregated lunch-counter in some downtown department store. The yellowed picture shows students skin seared with cigarette burns, bearing the scorn of a crowd hell-bent on barring their way to the table. Oh sure, thirty-odd years later, we know racism's alive and well. Yet we still dust off photos like old memories to remind ourselves that the world can't be the same again. How much the more with Christ! Christ's cross reminds us how the world was shaken--once and for all--and our way opened to the table of God's presence.

Yet, as we enter move 3, Christ isn't just a memory; Christ is also our hope. We long to sit with Christ at the heavenly banquet. True, we celebrate communion regularly now. Yet we know the Supper's just an appetizer. No doubt the heavenly table will have more than enough to go around. We can practically see Christ at table's head, passin' bread and pourin' wine like there's no tomorrow. We just know Christ's heavenly banquet table will be loaded with platter after platter of justice and mercy, piled high and pipin' hot. No wonder folks sing the old spiritual with such gusto: "We're gonna sit at the welcome table one of these days, Hallelujah!" `Cause for us Christ ain't just memory; Christ is the hope we hunger for.

In the final move we realize our present worship is more than we imagined. For if we talk about the memory of Christ who already dealt with sin on the cross and the hoped-for Christ who'll someday deal salvation, that means there's also a Christ who deals with us now! "But where is Christ?" we ask. We answer with the creed: "ascended to the right hand of God..." Yet according to Hebrews' christologian, Christ ain't just sittin' there. Christ appears in God's presence on our behalf--in a word, Christ intercedes for us before God's throne. Of course, that makes our intercessions but an echo of Christ's intercessions for us. Yet in the rough and tumble life of being faithful to Christ, it's good to know we've got friends in high places.

So where does that leave us worshipers?: soberly aware of our humanity, yet confident in Christ's willingness to see us through. God knows we'll need it! After all, Christ's cross has opened the way to God's presence for all. There's a wideness to God's mercy that won't let us pick and choose table-mates. If our future hope is Christ throwing a lavish banquet, whoa Nellie! You can bet the dinner party will include people who don't look or act like us. But remember this: though we worship in tight enclaves of sacred mainline churches, Christ appears before God--on our behalf! As our closed sanctuaries break open, that's good news indeed.

David Schnasa Jacobsen Vanderbilt University

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