Lectionary Commentaries for October 27, 2024
Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost

Pick up any commentary on the Gospel of Mark that came out in the last 20 years or so and turn to the section on the Bartimaeus story in 10:46–52. More likely than not, the commentator will tell you that Bartimaeus is a model disciple and a paragon of faith. This interpretation has become popular for good reasons. Whereas the rich man in the same chapter does not want to let go of his possessions (10:22), Bartimaeus throws off his cloak (10:50), which must have been one of the few things or perhaps the only thing he had as a beggar.

Bartimaeus has been compared also with the apostles. Commentators have explained how Bartimaeus exemplifies discipleship, unlike the apostles, who utterly fail. At the end of the story, Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way to Jerusalem (10:52). “Following Jesus” and “on the way” are recurring expressions (literary motifs) in Mark that tell us about the theme of discipleship. The apostles are called to “follow” (1:17) Jesus. While they follow him in the literal sense, they fail to understand or trust him. Jesus seems frustrated when he says to them in chapter 4, “Have you still no faith?” (4:40).

Fast-forward to chapter 9, when Jesus gives the second passion prediction (9:31), and the disciples “did not understand what he was saying” (9:32). They then argue “on the way” (9:33, 34) about who is the greatest among them. While “on the way” (10:32) to Jerusalem, Jesus gives the third and last passion prediction. James and John come to Jesus, and he asks, “What is it you want me to do for you?” (10:36). They ask for the right and left seats next to Jesus (10:37). Their request shows how miserably they fail to understand his identity, mission, and teaching.

Jesus asks the same question of Bartimaeus: “What do you want me to do for you?” (10:52). Jesus grants Bartimaeus’s request and recognizes his faith. Eventually, as noted above, Bartimaeus follows Jesus “on the way” (10:52) to Jerusalem, where Jesus is crucified.

I wonder if some commentators have interpreted Bartimaeus in completely positive ways because of the comparison. They comment that Bartimaeus, who is physically blind, truly “sees” who Jesus is, as he calls him “Son of David”—that is, the royal Messiah. Does Bartimaeus truly see Jesus’ messianic identity and mission? I doubt that.

Jesus is the royal Messiah in Mark. One of the passages that illustrates this point is located right after the Bartimaeus story: that Jesus chooses to enter Jerusalem riding on a donkey is an unmistakable allusion to Zechariah 9:9. But the royal Messiah is not here to reestablish the kingdom of David now.

Mark’s Jesus explains his messiahship using the title “Son of Man.” The Son of Man must undergo rejection, suffering, and death now (8:31; 9:31; 10:33–34). The Son of Man will come with power and glory in the future (13:21–27). Who in the Gospel of Mark really understands the twofold nature of Jesus’ messiahship and the implied timeline? No one.

Non-disciples know less than the disciples. People regard Jesus as John the Baptizer, Elijah, or a prophet (8:28). These three figures do not accurately or fully capture Jesus’ identity and mission. Peter correctly identifies Jesus as the Messiah (8:29), even though he and other apostles do not fully understand when and how Jesus’ messianic mission is to be fulfilled.

In Mark, non-disciples cannot fully know Jesus’ identity and mission for two reasons. The first reason is theological: Jesus states that the secret of the kingdom of God is given only to the disciples (4:11). In accordance with the prophecy of Isaiah that Jesus quotes (4:12; see also Isaiah 6:9–10), outsiders cannot comprehend what they hear. The second reason is that Jesus does not disclose his messianic identity publicly (for example, 8:30). Only the disciples get to hear the three passion predictions. A relatively long account of the glorious Son of Man is given only to four apostles (13:3, 21–27).

A rare exception is a brief, public statement of Jesus regarding the coming of the Son of Man in glory (8:38). But here Jesus speaks as if the glorious Son of Man is someone other than Jesus himself, which makes it difficult for the crowd to understand the statement.¹ Thus, for theological and practical reasons, non-disciples cannot fully understand Jesus’ messiahship in Mark.

There is no compelling reason to regard Bartimaeus as an exception. Some commentators point out that in antiquity, blind people were thought to have special insights or a prophetic power. This view of blindness by itself does not settle our interpretation of Bartimaeus because there were other ancient views of blindness (for example, as a divine punishment). Moreover, blind seers were usually figures of authority who gave counsel or oracles. They are portrayed as ones with power to help others, not as ones who desperately ask for help.

No one in Mark is perfect, and I find it oddly consoling. Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” People ask for healing, exorcism, power, political liberation, or other things. Jesus might sigh deeply (see also 8:12), as no one really understands him. Sometimes I feel people are using Jesus. But I know I am no different. If my loved ones needed medical miracles, I would ask for help desperately. I hope Jesus will understand me, even if I don’t fully understand him.

Notes

1. Scholars have usually taken Mark 8:38 as evidence that the historical Jesus distinguished himself from the Son of Man who will come with power. This view implies that the author of Mark was not careful enough to edit the preexisting saying of Jesus. I think the seemingly odd wording in 8:38 perfectly serves the Markan theme that the crowds cannot understand what they hear. In this regard, 8:38 functions like Jesus’ parables in Mark, whose true or full meanings are hidden from people.

Are we in the right book? “Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob …” (Jeremiah 31:7)?!¹ Jeremiah is remembered as the “weeping prophet” (see 9:11; 13:17; et cetera)—not the happy one.² For chapters on end, Jeremiah announces coming judgment and destruction upon the people as a result of their refusal to turn from idolatry, political corruption, and social injustice.³ At several junctures, God even tells Jeremiah not to pray for the people, or simply says that prayers from neither will be heard (7:16; 11:11; 14:11–12; 15:1).

Nevertheless, we find ourselves here within four chapters (Jeremiah 30–33) in the middle of the book that exhibit a marked shift toward future hope.⁴ Further, the first two chapters of this section are a literary unit known as the Book of Consolation.⁵ Here we witness a remarkable and sustained change in God’s disposition toward the people.

It’s not that God’s judgment is nullified, or has been forgotten by God or the people. It remains very much a reality. After telling Jacob to “have no fear” in 30:10, God reminds the people at 30:15, “I did these things to you because your iniquity was so great.” However, it becomes clear that God’s judgment is neither for the sake of itself nor the final word, but has a greater purpose and reveals something crucial about the nature of God.

The reason for God’s urging in Jeremiah 31:7 for Jacob to “sing aloud with gladness” is that something big is about to happen, something that will change Israel’s outlook for the future. God is going to bring all those who have been exiled back to the land promised to them through their ancestors. “See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north, and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth” (31:8). No one will be left out of this great restoration, especially not those who would typically find themselves at the back of the line or the bottom of the pecking order—“the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together” (31:8).

There is even the suggestion that God will no longer refuse to hear the petitions of the people. In addition to “singing aloud” and “raising shouts” in verse 7, God encourages the people to say “Save, O LORD, your people, the remnant of Israel.”⁶

Further indication comes at 31:15–16 that God is in fact listening to the cries of the people: “Thus says the LORD: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more. Thus says the LORD: Keep your voice from weeping, and your eyes from tears; for there is a reward for your work, says the LORD: they shall come back from the land of the enemy.”

That God hears these cries amounts to more than simply the successful transmission of the message, as if over an unbroken telegraph wire. That God hears indicates further that God is open to the content of the cries, such that God may be moved in response to what God is hearing.⁷

There is a further reason the petitions of the people and God’s hearing them matter—why they could conceivably “move” the divine toward some shift or action. A major aspect of Jeremiah’s theology is that of covenant. Covenant constitutes relationship, and the covenant between God and God’s people is one that God initiated and has unwavering faithfulness to uphold. At least 36 times in the book, God refers to Israel as “my people”—even when the context is judgment and impending punishment (for example, 2:11, 13, 31, 32).

In this coming return of the remnant to their ancestral land, God is not going to send a fleet of Ubers. Instead, God is going to personally lead this entourage back: “With consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble” (Jeremiah 31:9). Notice the clear first-person—and not only will God personally accomplish this; God will do so “with consolations.” In other words, God has divine compassion for these people.

That the people will come “with weeping” (31:9) also points to the intimacy of the relationship between God and God’s people that surrounds this return. Are they weeping because of the pain of what they have been experiencing in exile, or are these tears of joy? Perhaps both. In any case, note that it is God who refers to their weeping, and thus it is something God notices.

God’s compassion shown in the announcement and execution of this return is part of God’s covenant faithfulness. The divine compassion continues to show through in verse 9 with God’s self-identification as “a father to Israel” and the identification of Ephraim as God’s own “firstborn.” Elsewhere, we also find a God whose judgment does not overshadow or eliminate God’s covenant love. Jeremiah 31:3 refers to God’s “everlasting love” (Hebrew ahava olam) and faithfulness (Hebrew hesed).

God’s harsh judgment and punishment for this people and God’s compassionate, faithful covenant love shown in restoration are not at odds. In fact, they together show just how deeply God loves covenant partners. This God loves profoundly enough to hear the cries of slaves and free them, to judge and punish and then restore a remnant of a rebellious people, to hear the cries of a blind man and heal him, and even enough to die for those who, even at their worst, are still looked upon as “my people.”

Notes

1. Biblical quotes are from the New Revised Standard Version unless otherwise noted.
2. The Confessions of Jeremiah (perhaps better termed “laments”) highlight the pain and suffering the prophet endures because of the message he bears to the people. Jeremiah 11:18–23; 12:1–6; 15:10–21; 17:14–18; 18:19–23; 20:7–13.
3. See, for instance, the Temple Sermon of chapter 7.
4. Patrick D. Miller, “The Book of Jeremiah: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary 6 (Nashville: Abingdon, 1994), 797.
5. Jeremiah is not without words of consolation elsewhere (for example, 29:11), but never to the sustained degree found in these chapters.
6. While there is some ambiguity regarding whether the verb should be translated as an imperative or a past tense (perfect), the address remains from the people to God, at God’s own urging.
7. Think, for instance, of the multiple indications of God’s awareness of the suffering of the slaves in Egypt in Exodus 3:7. We quickly see that this constitutes much more than the accumulation of divine data. Instead, God is moved to action, to work out the freeing of the people through Moses.

This is the last of four lections from Job. All four portray God in disturbing ways, and this concluding text should be understood in relation to what came before. These remarks build on my comments about the previous lections, especially the book’s disturbing opening and its particular challenges.

Job 42 in context

Over the last several lections, we’ve seen three key moments from the book of Job: part of the opening narrative that lays out the problem of God prompting the satan to torture innocent Job, an excerpt from one of Job’s poems of agony in which he grapples with undeserved suffering in the face of a silent God, and then the beginning of God’s long-awaited speech. By the time we come to the end of the book, we’re likely desperate for resolution—but none comes.

Job’s reply

When God wraps up his litany of rhetorical questions and his poem about the wonder of Leviathan, Job gives a brief reply filled with ambiguities. The beginning can be read as humbly capitulating to God: “No purpose of yours can be thwarted” (Job 42:2).^[1] But we should also keep in mind that in an earlier lection, we saw Job express the same idea, and that there, the sentiment was clearly negative: Job laments that God is going to do whatever he wants—no purpose of God’s can be thwarted—despite Job’s faithfulness (23:13–14). The sense in 42:2 is open to interpretation, especially in light of the verses to come.

If you had last week off, you might want to go back and read the Job 38 lection now (and if you wish, my comments on it, on which these comments now build). Those verses in Job 38 are the beginning of God’s interrogation of Job, which Job is about to quote. The structure of the rest of 42:1–6 is this: twice in a row, Job quotes God and then offers a response.

First, Job repeats God’s opening question of the interrogation (“Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?”—a near-quotation of 38:2). The response Job offers reflects the same humility and piety we saw in Job 1, where Job’s blamelessness is repeatedly affirmed, he even offers sacrifices just in case his children have sinned, and he responds to the first round of divine assault by worshiping God. Job’s words in 42:3 are a humble acknowledgment that he lacks complete understanding. At the same time, think about what would seem a glaring omission in an apology made to you. Job concedes that he didn’t have full knowledge—but he never actually says he was wrong. Is that still to come?

Job then quotes from the next line of God’s interrogation: “I will question you, and you will inform me” (from 38:3, my translation; see comments on Job 38). He responds that previously he had heard God, but now he has seen him—but what is the result of this for Job? The next verse (42:6) is notoriously unclear. The second half of the verse is often translated “I repent in dust and ashes,” but the preposition ‘al doesn’t mean “in”; it means “upon, concerning.” The verb translated “repent” also means “regret, be sorry.” What does “dust and ashes” mean, then, and how do we put it all together?

Edward L. Greenstein addresses the well-known ambiguity of 42:2–6, and especially verse 6. He understands the phrase “dust and ashes,” logically, to have the same meaning it has earlier in the book, where Job says, “I have become like dust and ashes” (30:19), referring to “the debased human condition.” In Greenstein’s reading, Job is “sorry” concerning dust and ashes—that is, he regrets that this is the sad state of humankind.^[2]

Taking a step back, translations of the first half of verse 6 regularly add a word that gives the reader a very different impression than what the Hebrew actually says, which is simply “I reject” or “I despise.” Because we don’t use these words without an object in English, so translations routinely add one: “I despise [myself].” (The verb usually means “reject,” though “despise” is fine too.) But the notion that it’s himself he despises is not in the text. Greenstein notes a sense of this Hebrew verb that fits well here: Job is “fed up.”^[3] He’s fed up, and sorry that this is the wretched human condition.

Greenstein concludes that Job “does not capitulate at all, but continues to express the same despair he has been expressing all along,” and that it’s problematic that interpreters want to see Job contradict his earlier views so much that they assume that’s found in the text itself.^[4]

And sure enough, in the next verse, God affirms that Job had spoken rightly, while his friends did not. Once again, the lectionary has eliminated some uncomfortable material: in between the two excerpts, God states twice that Job spoke the truth about him, and refers to the friends’ “folly” (42:7–8). And what was that truth that Job spoke, which the friends foolishly opposed? That Job was innocent, and that God had indeed brought upon him unjust harm.

A conclusion without resolution

One hopes that God will make good in the end, but the epilogue is just as inhumane as the prologue. It’s nice that Job’s fortunes are restored. But there’s no restoring his dead children, who were killed the first time God prodded the satan to attend to Job, greenlighting attacks on everything in Job’s life but his body. (The death of Job’s children doesn’t seem to faze God, who then prods the satan a second time, now okaying everything up to Job’s life itself.) In 42:12–13, Job is given new animals and new children—as if replacement children. (Translations often add the word “also,” that after being blessed with more animals, Job “also” had more children—perhaps in an attempt to soften the disconcerting effect of the line—but the word doesn’t appear in the Hebrew verse.)

This is not a happy ending. There’s no way to mitigate the loss of the dead children. Not for their parent, and clearly not for the children themselves.

The book of Job powerfully grapples with divine injustice from beginning to end. Even in the last moments of the tale of Job, the narrator refers to “all the evil that the LORD had brought upon him” (42:11).

I began my comments on the first of these four lections from Job by noting that it’s worth resisting the temptation to clean up the story, to read a happy ending into Job and tie it up with a bow. Having come to the end, I reaffirm several of those early points now. The profound power of the book comes from its most disturbing aspects, from the distressing opening scenes to the lack of resolution at the end. The wisdom of this book is in its refusal to offer an easy out. We have so much to learn from the ancient authors, who grappled with the injustice of God without resorting to pat answers.

Throughout my writing and teaching on Job, one hope I carry is that readers will choose to wrestle with the difficult questions the book presents, without supplying simple solutions the book never gives. Every time I study this book, I am blown away by the wisdom and poignancy of letting those questions linger. Instead of sanitizing the book, we can follow in the path of the ancient thinkers as they reflect, ponder, and wrestle with questions of the greatest theological significance.

Notes

1. All biblical translations are from the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition unless otherwise indicated.
2. Edward L. Greenstein, “In Job’s Face/Facing Job,” in The Labour of Reading: Desire, Alienation, and Biblical Interpretation, ed. F. C. Black, R. Boer, and E. Runions (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), 308–12.
3. Greenstein, “In Job’s Face/Facing Job,” 311. Elsewhere, Greenstein translates the whole verse, “That is why I am fed up; I take pity on ‘dust and ashes.’” Edward L. Greenstein, Job: A New Translation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019), 185.
4. Greenstein, “In Job’s Face/Facing Job,” 311–13.

Psalm 126 is among the relatively small number of psalms for which historical context is both fairly certain and highly useful for interpretation.¹

The psalm’s opening line refers to a time “when the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion,” and verses 1–3 describe the people’s memory and experience of that time. Virtually all interpreters see here a reference to the return of Judahite exiles from Babylonia and the rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem during the latter half of the sixth century BCE, which is celebrated in the psalm as an occasion of joy so intense as to be dreamlike, and as an instance of God’s restorative power so impressive that even the surrounding nations took note of it.

This restoration of the people on a grand scale is the essential background of the psalm. All that the people have to say here is conditioned by their memory of this most stunning turn from a life of suffering and exile under the just punishment of God to a life of rejoicing in Zion under God’s favor. It is because the people remember that God has acted in this way in the past that they can pray, in verse 4, for a similar restoration in their own current situation.

Translators differ on whether to construe verses 5–6 as a continuation of the people’s petition in verse 4 or as a statement anticipating the restoration for which they pray, but in either case, it is clear that the recollection of the dramatic events of the return from exile lends confidence to the people’s prayer.

The course to take in exposition of Psalm 126 will depend upon the interpreter’s assessment of the congregation’s particular situation:

• If the congregation is undergoing significant difficulties, it may be helpful to rehearse the historical context of the psalm and to emphasize that it is a confident prayer for help, founded on the evidence and memory of God’s restorative power in times of great crisis.

Similar occasions of God’s intervention can be adduced, from Scripture and possibly from the life and history of the particular congregation, to encourage the people in prayer and in hope.

• In less distressed congregational contexts, the interpreter might draw upon the psalm’s status as one of the “Songs of Ascent,” generally understood to be a collection of psalms sung by pilgrims going up to Jerusalem to observe major religious festivals in the Second Temple period.

This context reminds the reader that prayers for God’s restoration are not only to be offered in times of crisis, but should be a part of the routine prayer life of God’s people, as the need for restoration and renewal is hardly limited to times of visible and flagrant suffering. Regular attention to this sort of prayer is important because even in the best of times, life needs regular doses of God’s renewing power, and because the best of times are, by definition, temporary.

• It is also worth noting that the petition and following verses (4–6) do not seem to envision or even request the sort of world-shaking, nation-realigning intervention that brought about the joyful return of verses 1–3. Instead, the people’s anticipated experience of the restorative power of God is described as being like the flow of seasonal waterways in the arid Negev after the winter rains, or like the growth and harvesting of crops after the sowing of seed into a barren field—something that takes time, but can be confidently expected as a regular feature of life.

Exploration of other such regular or even mundane instances of God’s renewal in the life of the congregation and the lives of its members might yield additional ground for both joy and thanksgiving in the present, and confidence for the future.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website October 25, 2015.

The lectionary texts from Hebrews for the previous week, this week, and the coming two weeks revolve around the identity of Jesus as the great high priest, the manner of his priestly service, and the outcome of his service. The author expands on these topics throughout the middle of the writing (Hebrews 5:1–10:18), a section marked off by verbally and grammatically similar passages (4:14–16; 10:19–25).

Hebrews 7:23–28 returns to ideas first introduced in last week’s lectionary text, Hebrews 5:1–10. In that earlier passage, the author argues from the general to the specific: from the regulations related to the appointment and vocation of “every” high priest to the specific ways Jesus fulfills this role. It is important to recall what the author has said about the high priest’s responsibility for offering sacrifices and dealing gently with the wayward (5:1–3) and, especially, what he has said about God’s initiative in calling and appointing each high priest (5:4–6). 

For the broader argument of Hebrews, it is central that Jesus “did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest” but, rather, “was appointed” by God’s speech (5:5–6). The author applies Psalm 110:4 to Jesus, arguing that through God’s speech, Jesus has been appointed a “priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek” (5:6). In Hebrews 7, the author expands on Jesus’ appointment as a high priest in the order of Melchizedek. Our passage occurs at the end of this broader argument.

In the verses immediately before our passage (7:20–22), the author argues that Jesus’ priesthood is superior because, unlike other priests, his priesthood is confirmed with a divine oath. God has “sworn” and “will not change his mind” in the appointment of Jesus as high priest in the order of Melchizedek (7:21). From this, the author concludes that Jesus is the “guarantee of a better covenant” (7:22). 

The author makes a second point related to Jesus’ superiority in Hebrews 7:23–25: unlike other priests who inevitably die, Jesus holds his priesthood “permanently” (7:24). The Greek word translated by the New Revised Standard Version as “permanently” (aparabatos) occurs only here in the New Testament and does not occur in the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible. The word has the sense of “permanent” or “unchangeable,” and it occurs in both Stoic and Platonic philosophical sources. The permanence of Jesus and his priestly work is a major component of the author’s rhetorical and pastoral purposes (see 1:12; 7:3; 13:8). 

From the permanence of Jesus’ priesthood, the author concludes that Jesus is “able for all time to save those who approach God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for him” (7:25). The Greek phrase sōzein eis to panteles can be translated as “to save for all time” (as in the New Revised Standard Version) or “to save completely.” The first focuses attention on the duration of the action; it denotes that Jesus’ saving work has an unlimited duration or lasts forever. The second focuses attention on the quality or completeness of the action; it implies that Jesus’ saving work is absolute, perfect, or complete. 

In the broader argument of Hebrews, arguing too rigidly in favor of one sense or the other may be unnecessary and unwise. Rather, both are true of the author’s argument. Jesus’ saving work both lasts forever because of his “indestructible life” (7:16) and is absolute because he has offered a single sacrifice for all time (10:12). 

The benefits of Jesus’ saving work are applied to those who “approach God through him.” While the Greek word proserchomai can describe physical movement toward something or someone, it attains something of a technical sense, denoting entry into the presence of God (see 4:16; 10:1, 22; 11:6; see also Leviticus 9:7–8; 21:17–18, 21, 23; 22:3). 

One of the major threads of the rhetorical and pastoral program of Hebrews is that the community can enter into God’s presence—they can approach the throne of grace with confidence—because of Jesus’ saving work. And they do so by maintaining their practice of gathering together (see 10:19–25). The author adds that part of Jesus’ saving work involves his intercession (entygchanein) on their behalf. While permanent and absolute, Jesus’ work is also ongoing, insofar as he intercedes on behalf of believers (see also Romans 8:27, 34).

The final paragraph (verses 26–28) highlights a third element of Jesus’ superiority: because of his sinlessness, Jesus does not need to offer constant sacrifices because of his own sins. The author’s insistence that Jesus lived a sinless life is most clearly expressed by the phrase that he was “separated from sinners.” In addition, the author says that Jesus is holy (hosios), blameless (akakos), undefiled (amiantos), and exalted above the heavens (hypsēloteros tōn ouranōn genomenos). 

The first and third have stronger religious and cultic connotations; the second has a stronger moral connotation, denoting innocence or guilelessness. The fourth recalls a recurring conviction of Hebrews that Jesus has been exalted to the right hand of God (see 1:3, 13, 8:1; 10:12; 12:2). Jesus’ religious and moral perfection results in a superior priestly service: his sacrifice occurred “once for all (ephapax)” when he offered himself (7:27; see also 9:12; 10:10). 

We can admit that the author’s argument in 7:23–28 is nuanced, even technical. Contemporary Christian hearers may struggle to follow the author’s argument or to understand its significance for the life of faith. Many Western Christians in the 21st century live entirely removed from the world of cultic purity, animal sacrifices, and other ritual actions. It is appropriate for the preacher to name how strange this may seem. In an age that seems prone to emphasize God’s immanence and accessibility—something akin to the “buddy Christ” figure in the movie Dogma—the preacher may need to emphasize God’s transcendence and otherness to grasp the argument in Hebrews fully. 

The living God is accessible because of Jesus’ once-for-all saving work, but that does not make God safe or domesticated (see 10:31). The permanence of Jesus’ priesthood and his saving work offers the preacher another pastoral focus. This week’s lectionary text occurs just over a week before the US presidential election. The congregants (and their preachers) likely have a heightened sense of anxiety. The message of Hebrews reminds us, however, that the tumult of this and every election cycle does not threaten the permanence of Jesus at God’s right hand and his ongoing intercession for those who draw near to God through him.