Hebrews 2:9-18
9 But we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
10 In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered. 11 Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters. 12 He says,
“I will declare your name to my brothers and sisters;
in the assembly I will sing your praises.”13 And again,
“I will put my trust in him.”
And again he says,
“Here am I, and the children God has given me.”
14 Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— 15 and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. 16 For surely it is not angels he helps, but Abraham’s descendants. 17 For this reason he had to be made like them, fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. 18 Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.
Welcome Home!
“Welcome home!” Those two words can change your day. The stress of your week can dissolve in an instant once you cross the threshold of your safe space and someone you love is there to greet you: “Welcome home!” After you travel – or maybe after you move away – when you come back to your childhood home and grandma is there with a plate of cookies, “Welcome home!” are just the words to make you forget the long hours in a car or on a plane, the sleepless nights on unfamiliar beds. There’s power in those words.
If you’ll forgive me, I’d like to get a little autobiographical today. I hadn’t really thought of it this way until I was presented with this text for this Sunday. My life has been kind of nomadic. In just over 30 years, I can count 14 different mailing addresses. So, for me, “home” is an interesting word.
But this was my revelation this week. As much as I’ve moved around, there’s at least one place in my life that’s always felt like home. My brother recently sent me a picture of my nephew and niece next to the fireplace of my grandma’s cabin in northern Michigan. I’ve never lived there. I can probably count the number of times I’ve visited with just my fingers and toes. But I look at that picture and I can smell the wood paneling. I can feel the spring in the seat of that chair and the heat coming from the hearth. I know that if you look around the corner, you have the perfect view of her private lake.
Do you have a place like that? No matter where you are, no matter how far away or how long it’s been, you can walk in those doors and feel at home. Why do you think these places feel that way?
I mean, I have more comfortable chairs in my house here. There are spiders in the basement of that cabin that make me want to cry. There’s the distinct smell of mothballs in all the bedrooms.
And apart from the facilities, there are memories that aren’t all that great either – bloody noses caused by cheeky comments; family squabbles, grudges, drama and hurt feelings.
The cabin up north is far from perfect in my memory, but it still feels like home because of something that is built into the foundation of that house – a love that overcomes and persists, a love that comes back and wants to be there with family members who get under your skin, a love that makes me want to share it with my friends.
I’m sure each of us has our own cabin up north – this place where you feel completely at home – not because of the location or the aesthetic but because of what that place means to you and because of the people who populate it.
“Welcome home!” Those are the words I used to greet you this morning – and it wasn’t just because that’s the title that was given to this service or because that’s the emphasis of this synod-wide initiative. That’s legitimately how I feel, but, more than that, it’s how God wants you to feel whenever you step foot in his house.
This place has had drastically different looks. If you were here at the beginning, then you remember how we used to gather in the dining room of the parsonage. Then there was the purple shag carpet and the bare concrete walls. Now it’s this beautifully remodeled space. But it’s not the place that matters. We could go back to the dining room and be just as much at home, because there’s something about our gathering that transcends our location.
It’s the people who fill it. Families – generations of people – who are still here. Familiar faces that greet you with a smile and a hug at the door. Friends in Christ who know just how to pray for you.
But that sword can swing both ways, can’t it? Your Christian friend can stab you in the back. You can feel neglected, passed over, unwelcome. Maybe you walk in those doors and you don’t feel at home because you don’t have enough history here, or maybe because you have too much.
If you don’t feel at home when you walk in these doors, I don’t doubt that you have legitimate reasons for feeling that way. We all carry scars and sadly sometimes it’s the church and the brotherhood of believers that inflict them.
But that’s why God takes our attention today and focuses it on his Son: “But we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.”[1]
Jesus had a home in heaven where everything was good and right – where there was no strife, no family feuds; it’s exactly where he belonged. But “he was made lower than the angels for a little while.” He gave up his comfy seat in heaven; he set aside his glory and honor; he was born of a woman to wander in this world with you and me, because he saw the problems here. He knew the issues we create with each other. He felt the sins we committed against him. And he knew all too well the death that we all deserve to taste.
I’ll never forget it. We had been in the car for 7 hours – 8 of us in one full-size van. I had been pestering my older brother for probably 6 of those 7 hours, and, finally, as we’re pulling into the drive to grandma’s cabin – when I think I’m safe – I say the one thing I know will get his goat. I didn’t have to see it coming to know that it was – a fist aimed squarely at my nose. I could taste the blood before I felt the punch. And as much as I protested, I knew I deserved it.
Do you ever feel that way? You let loose your verbal barbs. You know exactly how much they’re going to hurt. At first you feel a sense of vindication: “Good! I hope you feel devastated.” But then the shiver runs down your spine, a sinking feeling in your gut – if only for a moment – reminds you how horrible it is to treat anyone that way, let alone a family member or a brother or sister in the faith. We can get pretty adept at silencing those pangs of conscience, but even if we can sleep at night that doesn’t mean that what we said and did to each other was right in God’s sight.
Luther has a helpful tool to remind us of God’s expectations for us. He calls it the Table of Duties, and in it he uses Scripture to explain what we owe to each other – parents to children and vice versa, to spouses or society, government, pastors, teachers and so on. He says, “Fathers do not exasperate your children. Do not embitter them, or they will become discouraged. Instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.”
“Young people, be submissive to those who are older. Clothe yourselves with humility.”
“Husbands, be considerate as you live with your wives.”
“Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord.”
On and on the list could go. How do you live up to it? Do you love your brothers and sisters the way God wants you to? Or do you wait to love them until they show love and respect to you first? How quickly do you grow resentful? How often do you take offense at someone else’s good intentions, or give offense with careless words or actions?
Whether we like to admit it or not, we are often the ones who leave emotional scars on others. And it does more than hurt our relationship with them; it destroys our relationship with God. That’s why Jesus had to intervene. That’s why he had to be made lower than the angels and leave his heavenly home to enter ours here on earth.
You’d think our Father in heaven might be like our fathers on earth, who get angry when their children are fighting, who threaten to pull the car over or worse, when one brother bloodies the nose of another. But he doesn’t. He loves us by sending Jesus. He loves us and bloodies his Son for us.
We see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while… so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.[2]
When we get in trouble, we deserve punishment, but that’s why Jesus came – to be punished for us so that we could be forgiven – and this passage demonstrates that point over and over again:
To taste death for everyone.[3]
To bring sons and daughters to glory.[4]
To pioneer our salvation through suffering.[5]
To share our humanity so that he could die.[6]
To free us from our slavery to sin.[7]
To be our merciful and faithful high priest who makes atonement for our sins.[8]
Jesus left his heavenly home to become our brother in flesh and blood here on earth. As true man he was tempted in every way, just as we are. He had people challenge him, question him, spite him. He had people ignore him and reject him and overlook him. He felt every stimulus for anger that we feel, but he resisted every one. He never grew angry, resentful, bitter or frustrated; he never held a grudge or withheld his love. He always did exactly what we should do.
And, do you know what I think is the most amazing part of it all? After having resisted every temptation and after having suffered death on a cross, he didn’t resent us for making that sacrifice necessary for our salvation. The writer to the Hebrews puts it this way: Both the one who makes people holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters.[9]
Lord knows what you’ve done wrong. Lord knows how you’ve hurt or neglected your brothers and sisters here. Lord knows the dysfunction in our earthly families. But he welcomes you into his family by the blood of his Son who became our brother and died as our Savior. He has removed our sin and guilt. He has reconciled us to himself, and as a result has gathered us in this place, into this family where he still lives with us.
Maybe you didn’t notice, but Jesus, your brother, is here today. He makes the promise to his Father and ours in heaven, “I will declare your name to my brothers and sisters; in the assembly I will sing your praises.”[10]
Wherever two or three are gathered in his name, there he is with us, and that’s what makes this place home.
You may have things going on in your family that make your house feel hostile and unwelcome. You may have had differences of opinion and exchanged choice words with your brother or sister in the faith in this congregation that make your interactions with them now feel more than a little awkward. But in this house, we have Jesus. In this place, we live by grace. Here we all fall under the shelter of God’s forgiveness through our Savior who suffered death to set us free. Here we are united by the sacrifice of Jesus and bonded together in his blood.
His love is more than enough to overcome our dysfunction, and even when we fall back into it, his forgiving arms are there to lift us up again, until the day when we hear those two words in a completely different setting.
“Welcome home!” That’s what this place and these people are meant to be for you – a home away from home, a community that needs and relies on each other, so that no matter where you grew up, no matter how long it’s been, you can walk through these doors and feel the love of your brothers and sisters, of your Brother Jesus and our Father in heaven, until you close your eyes in the sleep of death and open them again at the gates of heaven, where Jesus – and all these faces – will be waiting for you with these same two words, “Welcome home!” Amen.
[1] Hebrews 2:9
[2] Hebrews 2:9
[3] Hebrews 2:9
[4] Hebrews 2:10
[5] Ibid
[6] Hebrews 2:14
[7] Hebrews 2:15
[8] Hebrews 2:17
[9] Hebrews 2:11
[10] Hebrews 2:12