Lectionary Commentaries for November 3, 2024
Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost

One of the many reasons to love the Gospel of Mark is that it is not a story in which the good characters always do good things and the bad ones always do bad things. Before and after Mark 12:28–34, the scribes are portrayed as “villains” (1:22; 2:6, 16; 3:22; 7:1, 5; 8:31; 9:14; 10:33; 11:18, 27; 14:1, 43, 53; 15:1, 31). Jesus faces a series of challenges from religious leaders in chapters 11–12. The scribes are among the ones who start the challenges (11:27).

Yet, although our passage is the last piece of that series (12:34), this scribe’s question (12:28) is not a challenge or test. The scribe holds a positive conversation with Jesus, and Jesus commends him. After this conversation, however, Jesus critiques the scribes harshly (12:35, 38–40). The sharp contrast between our scribe and other scribes can hardly be accidental. But it is not enough to say that our scribe is one of the good characters. He is one of a kind in Mark.

The scribe “heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him …” (12:28). “Hear” and “see” are recurring expressions (literary motifs) in Mark. As I note in my commentary on Mark 10:46–52, non-disciples are not supposed to understand Jesus’ parables in Mark.

Quoting Isaiah 6:9–10, Jesus says in 4:12 that people out there “may indeed look but not perceive, and may indeed hear but not understand.”¹ The implication is that just like the Israelites who did not listen to Isaiah, the Jewish people in the time of Jesus would not listen to him. The consequences are also implicitly paralleled: just as Israel was destroyed by a foreign power at that time (the Babylonians), so too will Israel be destroyed by a foreign power at this time (the Romans).

It is therefore ironic that Jesus says, “Listen!” (4:3), before giving a parable publicly. He reiterates it after the parable: “If you have ears to hear, then hear!” (4:9). A few chapters later he says it again to a crowd as he gives a parable with an implicit reference to that Isaiah passage: “Listen to me, all of you, and understand” (7:14). But will anyone listen to him and understand him?

Our passage begins as the scribe sees (12:28, Greek idōn, “seeing”) Jesus answer the religious leaders well. In the last verse of the passage Jesus sees (12:34, Greek idōn) the scribe answer thoughtfully. Perhaps the author of Mark is nudging us to pay attention to the literary motif of hearing and seeing in the present passage.

The first thing Jesus says in response to our scribe’s question is, “Hear, O Israel” (12:29). The preceding conversations show, at least partially, how the “tenants” of the “vineyard” (= Israel) reject the “son” (12:1–11). It is ironic that Jesus says, “Hear, O Israel,” after the representatives of Israel refused to listen to the Messiah of Israel. Yet, there is a “tenant” who has listened to Jesus and understood his parables (12:1).

I feel that Mark’s Jesus throws a “curveball” at some of the people he likes. For instance, in response to the rich man’s question, Jesus names some of the Ten Commandments and inserts a command, “You shall not defraud” (10:19), as if that command is as important as the Decalogue. Jesus is implicitly asking him if he has accumulated his wealth justly. The rich man states confidently that he has kept all those commandments since his youth. Jesus looks at him, loves him, and throws him another “curveball,” a harder one (see 10:21).

In our passage, the scribe asks Jesus to pick the first commandment. Jesus gives two commandments, calling them “the first” (12:29) and “the second” (12:31) respectively. Why does Jesus mention the second? Is it because it is good to know it, even though it is of secondary importance? Jesus adds: “There is no other commandment greater than these” (12:31). To say nothing is greater than X is to say X is the greatest. Both Deuteronomy 6:4–5 and Leviticus 19:18 are the greatest. Jesus is giving a riddle: How come there are two first commandments?

I wish to stress that the riddle is not easy. Scholars have noted other examples of identifying the greatest commandments or summarizing the Torah in Hellenistic Jewish and rabbinic literature.² Jesus’ answer surely stands in Jewish tradition, but there is no other example of naming Deuteronomy 6:4–5 and Leviticus 19:18 as the greatest commandments.³ It is not that any Jewish person in the first century would say that the two commandments are obviously one and it is clearly the first commandment. It is just that Christians today have become familiar with the expression “the double love command.”

As commentators have pointed out, the scribe not only regards the two commandments as one but also adds a reference to Hosea 6:6 in his reply: the two commandments “is more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices” (12:33). The scribe would not know that the Jerusalem temple will be destroyed a few decades later. But his answer itself looks to the post-70 period in which sacrifices could no longer be offered.⁴

The destruction of the temple is quite relevant to the literary context of our passage. Jesus alludes to it right before the series of challenges to him (11:12–25). Jesus predicts it explicitly in 13:2 after his condemnation of the scribes in chapter 12 (verses 35–44).⁵ While our scribe speaks to Jesus within Mark, his answer speaks to the present time of the first readers of Mark. The scribe’s answer has enduring significance.

It is therefore no wonder that Jesus regards the scribe’s reply as thoughtful (12:34). The Greek word nounechōs, translated as “wisely” in the New Revised Standard Version, really means “thoughtfully.” This word occurs only here in Mark.⁶ The scribe’s reply is truly exceptional.

Mark’s Jesus throws the hardest “curveballs” at us the readers in many places of the writing—maybe Jesus likes us so much. Here one might wonder why it is a scribe who listens to Jesus, understands his parables, and gives an amazing response to Jesus’ “riddle.” That seems theologically paradoxical because non-disciples are not supposed to be able to do that. Moreover, the scribes are the “tenants” to be destroyed by the “owner” (12:9). They “will receive the greater condemnation” (12:38). It is almost as if our passage is in a direct clash with the rest of the Gospel of Mark.

I believe that Jesus means it when he says, “Listen and understand!” The Isaiah passage is a prophecy on the fate of the nation. What is going to happen is going to happen on the national level. The question is whether we the readers will listen and understand. When we read Mark, it is tempting to feel that we are “better” than the scribes. But do we really understand Jesus?

Notes

1. I am not the first person to relate Mark 12:28 to 4:12. See, for example, Joel Marcus, Mark 8–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, Anchor Yale Bible 27A (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 842.
2. Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 566–70.
3. Adela Yarbro Collins, Mark: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 566.
4. Regarding the relevance of Hosea 6:6 to the post-70 period, Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai’s remark is well known (Avot R. Nat. 4 A). See the text here: https://www.sefaria.org/Hosea.6.6?lang=bi&with=Talmud&lang2=en.
5. The depiction of a poor widow in 12:41–44 is an indirect criticism of the scribes, since Jesus says in the preceding pericope that the scribes “devour” the widows’ houses (12:40).
6. In fact, that Greek word does not occur elsewhere in the New Testament or the Septuagint.

In Deuteronomy 6, we encounter Moses as the great teacher, the one who is about to impart—once again—instructions, laws, and statutes to the people of Israel, who are on the verge of crossing the Jordan River into the promised land. The chapter introduces the theological themes of reward and retribution that are later developed in the curses and blessings of Deuteronomy 27 and 28. God, through Moses, is teaching the people what to do so that life will go well for them in the land. If they follow the instructions and keep them, they will live long and become numerous, fulfilling God’s first command to humankind to be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28).

The heart of this passage is traditionally known as the shema in Jewish traditions:

Hear (shema), O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD alone. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. (Deuteronomy 6:4–5, New Revised Standard Version)

According to Alan Mintz, Jewish traditions emphasize two major concepts in the shema: exclusive loyalty to God and God’s internal unity.

The first demands that no system of value—not just another religion but any ideology, art, success, or personal happiness—be allowed to replace God as the ultimate ground of meaning. God’s unity, conversely, asserts that all experienced moments of beauty, good, love, and holiness are not in and of themselves; they are disparate and scattered signals of the presence of the one God.¹

Christians may be more familiar with the second half of the shema, as this is the teaching that Jesus cites as the greatest commandment in Matthew 25:37:

He said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”²

Jesus adds a second commandment derived from Leviticus 19:18, saying, “And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 25:39).

The remainder of the passage in Deuteronomy teaches the community how to keep Moses’ instructions central in their devotion. They are to write the words on their hearts (Deuteronomy 6:7). They should recite the words when they wake up and when they lie down to sleep (verse 7), keep the instructions on their hands and foreheads (verse 8), and inscribe them on their doorposts and gates (verse 9). In the tradition of Deuteronomy, practice and theory go hand in hand. Moses instructs the people to both “do” the laws (verse 3) and continually meditate upon them (verses 7–9).³

The pastoral task for Christian preachers and teachers, however, is not to simply appropriate Jewish tradition when reflecting on the shema, though a close study of different Jewish practices around the shema can certainly enlighten our understanding of this passage. Rather, the pastoral task here is to determine what the central teaching of particular Christian communities should be and how those particular communities should practice that central teaching.

For many Christian communities, for example, Jesus’ teachings on the Greatest Commandment(s) have become their central mission. Deuteronomy 6 can then challenge pastors in such communities to devise ways to transmit the central mission to love God and neighbor from generation to generation. We might ask ourselves: What practices will keep this central principle on our hands, foreheads, gates, and doorposts?

That said, the timing of this text in the lectionary for 2024 offers its own unique challenges. This is the Hebrew Bible text two days prior to a contentious election in the United States, an election happening under the specter of Christian Nationalism and the ghosts of Manifest Destiny. The first verse of this text assumes that God has sanctioned one people-group to dispossess another people-group from their land.

The context of this passage within Deuteronomy amplifies the dangers of an uncritical approach. The problematic rules for genocide immediately follow the shema in Deuteronomy 7, along with their theologically and ethically problematic rationale. God instructs the people to doom other nations to destruction, “mak[ing] no covenant with them” and “show[ing] them no mercy” (7:2). Laws prohibiting intermarriage follow, citing the danger of foreigners who might lead the people away from their prime directive of worshiping God alone (7:4).

For those of us who have adopted the Greatest Commandments as something of a shema, we may critically engage the problematic ideas in Deuteronomy 6 by asking who our are neighbors (Luke 10:29) and how to love them. The urging in Deuteronomy 6:6–9 to continually meditate on God’s laws can compel us to search the entirety of Scripture as we answer these questions.

As we engage our neighbors throughout Scripture, we may pay a visit to the international sailors in Jonah 1 or the Ninevites in Jonah 3–4. We might sit down and have a conversation with the Moabite woman in the book of Ruth. Our meditations may lead us to accept the eunuch and the foreigner into our community as we read Isaiah 56. Perhaps we will read that chapter in conversation with another eunuch from Africa in Acts 8 after we have broken bread with the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15.

While Deuteronomy 6 does contain some problematic ideas, we can use its urging both to practice God’s good instructions and to critically engage with and meditate upon them.

Notes

1. Alan Mintz, “Prayer and the Prayerbook,” in Back to the Sources, ed. Barry W. Holtz (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1984), 408–9.
2. See also Mark 12:29–31 and Luke 10:27.
3. The Hebrew in verse 3 can be literally translated as “keep/watch/guard in order to do,” which the New Revised Standard Version renders as “observe diligently.”

The book of Ruth, especially the first chapter, illustrates a relationship between migration and food insecurity as the narrator opens by noting, “There was a famine in the land”—the determinant of migration for Elimelech, Naomi, and their two sons, Mahlon and Chilion (1:1–2). Consequently, the family moves from Bethlehem to Moab, where seemingly there is sustenance; yet, after they arrive, Elimelech dies (1:3), leaving Naomi widowed. 

Also in Moab, Mahlon and Chilion find wives (1:4). Chilion marries Orpah, and Mahlon weds Ruth (4:10). But after about 10 years, Mahlon and Chilion die too (1:5), leaving Naomi a bereaved parent and Orpah and Ruth widowed and childless. Experiences of food insecurity and migration bring these three women together, and they become extended family through marriage. Their familial bond is both strengthened and challenged through widowhood, which is certainly disruptive to a family unit primarily composed of migrants and women who likely depended upon patriarchs for safety, food, and economic security.

The strain and strength of the three women’s relationship is likewise illuminated in the first chapter. Naomi hears that the Lord has had consideration for the people in Judah and has given them food, a pull factor for her to migrate back home. So she sets out to return home with her daughters-in-law, who now become migrants as they leave their ancestral home, Moab. However, as they start to travel, Naomi instructs Orpah and Ruth to return to their mothers’ houses, prays that the Lord grant them security in the houses of their husbands, kisses them, and weeps aloud. 

This part of the narrative may shed light on the severe emotional toll that experiences such as food instability, widowhood, and the death of multiple children had on Naomi—particularly male children who undoubtedly would have cared for her after the transition of her spouse. A widow might also receive care from male grandchildren, but her two sons are childless when they die, which may be why Naomi references the process of a Levirate marriage (Deuteronomy 25:5–10) as she mourns the loss of her husband and sons (1:11–13). 

Naomi seems as devastated as the land shattered by famine, and hopeless as evidenced by her utterance, “Even if I thought there was hope for me …” (1:12). She continues, “It has been far more bitter for me than for you because the hand of the LORD has turned against me” (1:13). She has lost her husband, sons, livelihood, almost every sense of security and hope.

It seems that Naomi perceives she is without a lifeline, a way out of this difficult situation, because, after all, Orpah and Ruth are also women, widowed, and without children. They all lack financial security and physical protections and provisions afforded by husbands and sons in patriarchal societies. Because Orpah and Ruth did not birth Naomi’s sons’ progeny, the only way Naomi could seemingly benefit socially or economically from her relationship to either of her daughters-in-law was if one married the nearest kin. If they followed her request to remarry outside of the family, she wouldn’t benefit, which is probably why she attempts to send Orpah and Ruth away. 

Either way, her actions reflect an attitude of despondency. Perhaps her grief causes her to perceive rejection not only by God but also by her daughters-in-law, though none may be intended. 

Undoubtedly, Orpah and Ruth similarly feel the impact of widowhood and food insecurity, which may be exacerbated by their mother-in-law’s grief and attempt to send them away. They weep aloud twice at the command (1:9, 14). First, they both refuse to leave and commit to returning with her to her people (1:10). 

But after Naomi’s second command to return, amid such despair and dispiritedness, Orpah does return to her family and ancestral land, while Ruth clings to Naomi, dedicating herself to Naomi’s well-being (1:14). This is evidence of Ruth’s role as Naomi’s caregiver, which explains why Ruth voluntarily migrates. Contemporary migration studies show that women frequently have more care responsibilities or caregiver roles that affect their choices and ability to migrate. As a caregiver, Ruth puts alleviating Naomi’s fragility and economic instability above her own physical, cultural, and economic stability, as evidenced in her popularized vows:

Do not press me to leave you
   or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
   where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
   and your God my God. 
Where you die, I will die—
   there will I be buried.
May the LORD do thus and so to me,
   and more as well,
if even death parts me from you! (1:16–17) 

Ruth and Naomi migrate back to Bethlehem, and upon their arrival, women in the town ask, “Is this Naomi?” Perhaps her flesh and physical appearance revealed to them that the body indeed keeps score of the trauma we experience. One might imagine her vulnerable and fragile body exposed the psychological distress of multiple losses (of people and of hope) and of multiple migrations. Maybe the pain was baked into her skin by the sun as she journeyed; maybe it was woven into her DNA and seeped into the marrow of her bones with each step she took. 

Naomi voices that God has dealt bitterly with her and instructs the women of Judah to call her “Mara” because she reasons that she went away full, but the Lord brought her back empty. We know she left Judah because of the famine, so it is unlikely she is referencing food satiation. Rather, she may be implying that she went away with a husband and sons, with some sense of economic security, but came back widowed, experiencing perhaps physical and economic depression and crises. “Why call me Naomi when the LORD has dealt harshly with me, and the LORD has brought calamity upon me?” (1:21).

At the close of the chapter, Naomi and Ruth arrive together in Bethlehem at the beginning of harvest, a time when food might be accessible to widows as there was a command, “When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the migrating foreigner, the orphan, and the widow, so that the LORD your God may bless you in all your undertakings.” 

Psalm 119, the first eight verses of which comprise the appointed psalm for this Sunday, is the big dog of the psalter.¹ But the gargantuan size of this massive prayer frequently casts a spell upon its would-be interpreters that results in a flood of trivia:

• Longest chapter of the Bible by verse count (176 verses)
• Longest psalm (over 100 verses longer than Psalm 78)
• Longest acrostic (series of lines/verses whose initial letters form a word, phrase, or—as here—the alphabet)

This last point is usually expanded to further describe Psalm 119 as consisting of 22 eight-verse stanzas (one stanza for each letter of the Hebrew alphabet), in which each of the eight verses in a stanza begins with the same letter. The comprehensive nature of this aspect of the acrostic matrix is said to give readers a feeling of totality and completion, especially as realized in the colossal proportions of Psalm 119. This sense of totality is augmented by the recognition that all but four of the 176 lines of the poem contain at least one of eight regularly recurring synonyms for God’s law/teaching/instruction: “law” (torah); “promise” (imrah); “word” (dabar); “statutes” (huqqim); “ordinances” (mishpatim); “commandments” (mitsvot); “decrees” (edot); and “precepts” (piqqudim).

One wonders why the number eight enjoys such prominence. The sages responsible for the wisdom literature were much enamored of numerology, but recent scholarship has questioned the previous assumption that the sages were ultimately responsible for this consummate “torah” psalm since the understanding of Torah in the psalm differs from that of the wisdom traditions and is much closer to that of Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomistic History.

In Chinese thought, the number eight represents the totality of the universe. In mathematics, eight is the first cubed number (2 x 2 x 2). Biblically speaking, the command to circumcise Jewish males on the eighth day of life, or recognizing the eighth day as the beginning of a new week or cycle after the Sabbath or rest on the seventh or final day of the previous week or cycle, seems more plausible.

So far, so good. One of the rants, to which my unfortunate students are frequently subjected, has to do with the dissing of the acrostic passages of the Old Testament in general and Psalm 119 in particular that seems to go hand in glove with the above comments. This disparagement is far too common in the commentaries and studies that deride the acrostics as rather simplistic, artificial, tedious, unimaginative, or merely derivative exercises whose main purpose was didactic, to teach students a reverence for Torah as they struggled to learn the alphabet.

Such shortsighted approaches miss the inner riches that these psalms offer to those who take the time to read past the scaffolding provided by their acrostic architecture. This is especially true in our text, the “aleph” segment of Psalm 119, as I hope a close reading of the Hebrew, with particular attention paid to matters of structure and repetition, will demonstrate.

In terms of repetition, the first thing one notices in the Hebrew text is the inclusio around verses 1–3 formed by the repetition of “walk” (haholakim, verse 1; halaku, verse 3) and “way” (derek, verse 1; bederakayv, verse 3); and the inclusio framing verses 4–8 formed by the repetition of “keep” [NRSV: “observe”] (lishmor, verse 4; eshmor, verse 8) and “a whole bunch” [NRSV: “diligently” and “utterly”] (meod, verse 4; ad meod, verse 8).

The division into two sections, verses 1–3 and 4–8, provided by the inclusios, is confirmed in verses 1–3, where Yahweh is referred to in the third person (“the Lord,” “his,” “him”) and in verses 4–8, where Yahweh is addressed in the second person (“you,” “your”).

Taking the psalmist’s announcement regarding Yahweh’s command to diligently keep the precepts of the Lord in verse 4 and his prayer that he remain faithful in verse 5 as a pivot yields a paneled structure of three general observations about those in relationship with Yahweh (verses 1–3) balanced by three personal statements of the psalmist’s faithfulness (verses 6–8a) and a “kicker” (verse 8b), to which we shall return. An ABCB’C’A’ pattern of repeated key words in verses 2–7 further binds the unit together and emphasizes the response to God’s commandments:

A “heart” (lev, verse 2)
B “in his ways” (bidrakayv, verse 3)
C “you have commanded” (tsivitah, verse 4)
B’ “my ways” (dirakay, verse 5)
C’ “your commandments” (mitsvoteka, verse 6)
A’ “heart” (levav, verse 7)

Simplistic, artificial, tedious, unimaginative, or merely derivative? On the contrary, one can discern a rather intricate arrangement, carefully worked out apart from the strictures imposed by the acrostic form, that presents a discernible message entirely appropriate for the first stanza of a monumental tribute to God’s instruction.

After observing that those who walk in God’s ways are blessed/fortunate/happy indeed (verses 1–3), the psalmist acknowledges, in a personal address to God, that this is so because God has commanded it (verse 4). Then, following a fervent prayer that he might be counted among those fortunate ones (verse 5), the psalmist promises to be that faithful person (verses 6–8a).

And yet, lest we think that such devotion to the law is easily acquired, or even possible through our conscious decision to be obedient, the psalmist concludes with a marvelously poignant prayer that lays bare the truth of the matter: “Do not utterly abandon me!” (verse 8b). Like the father of the boy with an unclean spirit in Mark’s gospel who prayed, “I believe … help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24), true faith comes with the recognition that we are completely dependent upon God’s grace.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for November 1, 2015.

This week’s passage opens with the conjunction de (“but”), marking a transition to the discussion of the location and nature of Jesus’ priestly work. The text says that Christ “came as high priest.” In Hebrews 9:11, the verb has the sense of making a public appearance. Just like how John the Baptist appeared publicly as the leader of a prophetic renewal movement (Matthew 3:1), Jesus has appeared to fill the role of high priest.

The broader context indicates that Jesus made this appearance as high priest only after his resurrection and did so in heaven. It could not occur while he lived on earth, since the law prescribed a priesthood to which he did not belong (8:4). Instead, Jesus appears as high priest when he enters through “the greater and perfect tent” (9:11). Later, the author explicitly identifies the location of this entrance as “heaven itself” (9:24). 

The author contrasts the “greater and perfect tent” with one that is made with hands (cheiropoiētos) and is of this creation (9:11). The word cheiropoiētos is used often to describe the construction of temples (see Mark 14:58). In Acts, the word is used polemically to differentiate the dwelling place of the “Most High God” from other, lesser deities (see Acts 7:48; 17:24).

The author’s persistent use of the word skēnē (“tent” or “tabernacle”) instead of hieron (“temple”) has been the subject of discussion among scholars. Some have suggested that the author’s deliberate use of “tent” is a conscious choice in light of the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE. Since the Temple is no longer standing, the author must make a comparison with the earlier mobile tent of the wilderness period. Others suggest the preference for “tent” has less to do with whether or not the Jerusalem Temple is still standing and more to do with the broader theme of pilgrimage in Hebrews. 

As highlighted by Ernst Käsemann’s pioneering study, The Wandering People of God, the author of Hebrews imagines the life of faith as a journey. The journey of the Israelites in the wilderness toward the promised land prefigures the journey of Christ-followers to their promised rest (see Hebrews 3:7–4:13). Since priestly services took place in a tent during this earlier time, it would follow that they would take place in a tent during the later time. 

Finally, the author’s preference for using “tent” could be related to the biblical tradition, which is more clear in emphasizing God’s approval and design of the tent (Exodus 25:40) while expressing ambivalence about the Jerusalem Temple (2 Samuel 7:4–7; 1 Kings 8:27; Isaiah 66:1–2).

Having specified the location where Jesus appears as high priest, the remainder of our text centers on the manner of Jesus’ entrance. Once again, the author uses comparison to convey his meaning. First, Jesus entered “once for all” (9:12). The singularity and finality of “once for all” stands in contrast to the continual priestly service in the Holy Place (9:6) and the annual service of the high priest in the Holy of Holies (9:7). 

Next, the author says that Jesus did not enter with “the blood of goats and calves” but with his own blood (9:12). The author compares the effects of the sacrificial blood of animals with that of Jesus. The blood of animals sanctifies (hagiazō) the defiled and results in the purification (katharotēs) of their flesh (9:13). The blood of Jesus, in contrast, secures “eternal redemption” (9:12), purifies (katharizō) the conscience from dead works, and results in the worship of the living God (9:14). 

The author assumes the logic of sacrifice throughout the comparison. Sacrifice serves as a detergent removing sin and defilement in order to restore communion between God and humanity. Jesus’ blood is superior because it works on the conscience and secures eternal redemption, working once for all.

Jesus’ offering of himself without blemish occurs “through the eternal Spirit” (9:14). Some manuscripts have “Holy Spirit” instead of “eternal Spirit,” reflecting early uncertainty about this irregular phrase. The Greek word pneuma occurs 12 times in Hebrews, including five references to the Holy Spirit (2:4; 3:7; 6:4; 9:8; 10:15). In these verses, the Holy Spirit has a dynamic, animating force that distributes spiritual gifts (2:4; 6:4) and speaks through Scripture (3:7; 9:8; 10:15). 

The instrumental use of the preposition dia in 9:14 suggests a similar understanding of the Spirit, even if the adjective “holy” does not modify it. The same Spirit that makes Scripture come alive and animates humans by giving them gifts enabled Jesus to offer himself. This instrumental understanding does not elevate the Spirit to the level of later Trinitarian theology, but it does provide a foundation for such thinking.

Jesus’ self-offering enables those with a conscience cleansed from “dead works” to worship the living God. The same Greek construction for “dead works” occurs in Hebrews 6:1. In both cases, moving away from dead works toward faith in God denotes conversion. In chapter 6, the author speaks explicitly of repentance (metanoia) from dead works and faith in God. 

Taken together, the references to dead works in Hebrews 6:1 and 9:14 may be understood generally as acts of sin or, more specifically, as references to pagan religious practices. As with traditions in the Hebrew Bible (Isaiah 40:18–20; 46:1–9) and elsewhere in the New Testament (Acts 14:15; 1 Thessalonians 1:8), the reference to the “living God” in 9:14 implies a contrast with other gods, which are assumed to be “dead” idols. 

Much of Hebrews 9:11–14 can be and has been used to support narratives of Christian supremacy. The superiority of Christ’s sacrifice held up in these verses has been used to denigrate not only the Levitical priesthood, but also the whole of Judaism. Similarly, the polemical aspects of this passage can be used to dismiss the convictions and practices of other religious traditions. These aspects of the passage present certain problems for the preacher to consider. One generative way to engage this passage is to ask anew how our hearers may slip into “dead works” and fall away from the living God. Such a move would shift the focus away from those outside our communities of faith to those who reside within them. 

What are the idols in our individual and collective lives, and what works do they require of us? How might the Spirit be working to continue to cleanse our conscience so we might more fully worship the living God?