Sermon: Hebrews 12:18-29, August 24, 2025

Scripture: Hebrews 12:18-29

Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka

Title:

This past week I had the privilege of plopping myself down on our couch and introducing my son to a great 80’s cinema classic: Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.[i]

f you have yet to see this masterpiece, two California dunderheads travel back in time to gather historical figures in order to pass their high school history exam. This is all to prevent one of them from being sent by his dad to military school. Sophisticated stuff.

At one point they travel back to ancient Greece and visit the great philosopher, Socrates (who they refer to as “Sew-krayts”). Socrates is running some ashes through his fingers to demonstrate a philosophical concept, and Ted—a young Keanu Reeves—steps up, runs his own fingers through the ashes. He then offers this explanation. “All we are is dust in the wind, dude…” To which Socrates responds with joyous approval. Some of you may of course known that dear Keanu was simply quoting that great acoustic ballad by the classic rock band “Kansas.”

Now, as silly as the movie is, and as kinda-cheesy as the song might be, the sentiment is absolutely true. All religious traditions teach this. The prophet Isaiah tells us that we human beings are like grass. Science teaches us this, too. One day our own sun will go dark, as will all else we can currently observe. We are here one day, and gone the next.

Not only is this a “Big Truth” about the universe, it’s also a little truth that governs our day-to-day lives. Children grow up. Friendships fail, and marriages fall apart.

There’s death of course, which is on some of our minds more than others, usually to do with age. But death is a painful and difficult thing. Not only do we lose people we love, neither can we escape our dusty nature.

But there’s also the fact that the world, life, these also undergo significant changes, even within our brief lifespans. It’s always been this way. But the time we’re living right now that probably changes faster than any other period before us. The German philosopher Harmut Rosa even goes as far as saying that modern life is characterized by “acceleration.” Not only that life seems accelerate more and more, but that basically we need to accelerate, too, we need to work harder and faster just to stay where we are.[ii] To keep up. It’s no wonder so many of us feel so anxious and exhausted, so fearful about the future. The wind keeps blowing harder and harder at our fragile lives while we little bits of dust find it harder and harder to find something solid to stick to. Before we’re blown away for good.

“All we are is dust in the wind, dude.” And frankly, more often than not… it stinks.

Which brings us, believe it or not, to today’s scripture reading. A little snippet of the 12th chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews. From way near the back of the New Testament, where we’re going to spend this week and next.

It’s traditionally attributed to the Apostle Paul, or possibly one of his assistants like Titus or Timothy. But that’s not entirely clear. And it’s traditionally believed to be addressed to a congregation of Jewish Christians, hence the name “Hebrews.” Which is also not entirely clear.

What is clear, however, is that this letter is more like a sermon. A sermon addressed to a community of Christians undergoing persecution and stigmatization, threatening to blow up their lives. A community of people living in a strange, alien culture under constant threat. Under continual pressure to conform, to change, or face the consequences which might even mean death.[iii] They didn’t know technological acceleration, of course. And we here in Canada don’t know hostile persecution. But like us, they knew what it was like to be constantly prodded and pushed. History, as they say, does not repeat itself. But it often rhymes. They knew what it was like to be dust, blown this way and that, by constantly changing societal winds. Leaving them anxious and exhausted. Fearful of what might be coming next.

And so our author—or perhaps more appropriately our preacher—reminds them of something that once gave them strength. Something that they appear to have forgotten. Something they can cling to while the earth constantly shifts under their feet. And that’s the eternal beauty—and the infinite joy—of the Christian gospel.

Our preacher takes us to a couple mountains. The first is Mount Sinai, a reference to Exodus, the Old Testament. Where Moses and the Israelites received the commandments from God. It’s a bit of a scary scene with darkness and gloom and trumpets and a voice that shook the mountains. If anyone touched—even and animal—they’d be stoned to death. A scene so terrifying that Moses himself shook with fear. Lest he himself get zapped on account of his unholiness.

And you know, this is what a some of us imagine when we talk about eternal things. When you say words like “religion” or “God.” What keeps a lot of people from even considering church or Christianity. Darkness, gloom, judgment. Relentless law. A God like Dana Carvey’s judgmental church lady, or your purest activist friend, just waiting for you to make a wrong move. Makes us like Moses—I ain’t going near that thing, cuz I know for sure I’m getting zapped. Sure, there might be an eternity. But one that’s just itching to gust us little specks of dust away. Like some kind of cosmic leaf-blower.

But that’s not the mountain we’re brought to, says our preacher. No, he says. He brings us to another Biblical mountain. Mount Zion, at the heart of the holy city of Jerusalem.

And you know Mount Zion isn’t just a Mountain. But it’s also a reflection of a reality that we can’t see. The heavenly realm, the dwelling place of the Lord. Unlike Mount Sinai that had God’s people living in fear and dread, on this mountain, the eternal welcomes us in with open arms. A celestial “festal gathering.” A perennial party presided over by a 16 million-piece angelic band. And on that mountain, too, there innumerable voices of the saints, specks of dust who have died in Christ. They’re not only alive, but they are made perfect. Healed, made new, their truest selves. Belting out Handel’s Hallelujah chorus like there’s no tomorrow. Or maybe more appropriately, like there’s endless tomorrows.

Now, at this point, what goes through our mind might go something like this: “sure, that’s all fine and good. But how do we know? Sure, there might be some other reality out there. But how do we know anything about it? Like, where’s the evidence?”

Our preacher doesn’t answer it directly. But the answer is like what one of my oldest said to his little brother when they were younger: “if they ever ask you a question in Sunday School just answer ‘Jesus.’” Fair. He’s your best shot.

And that’s what we’re given here with this line: the answer is “Jesus,” he says. “Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” Why do Christians believe not only in an eternal Creator, but an eternal Creator who has come to draw all of us to himself in an act of sacrificial, forgiving, self-giving love? The answer is Jesus. The language Hebrews uses is mediator. He mediates God’s presence to us.

Jesus is eternity coming out from behind the curtain, saying this is who I am. Jesus is eternity becoming dust like us, and blown in the wind for us. Eternity walking the earth in time, teaching, healing, forgiving, living, dying—that’s the sprinkled blood part—and then rising again to live at God’s right hand forevermore. All for our sake. The answer is “Jesus.” Jesus is how we know that there is a God, this God is good, and that with through him we’re able to partake in eternity. The answer is Jesus. He’s the best shot we got.

Into this fragile, ever-changing and uncertain world, to those consumed by anxiety and fear. Those who have been struck down by life or feel like they are on an endless treadmill with nowhere to rest. Our preacher drops the news that not only is there something eternal but that there is Someone eternal. One who longs to be seen face-to-face. Someone who aches to be close to us, one who is for us, one whose desire is for us to experience true joy. Like, it’s true—we’re here today and gone tomorrow, life is so fragile and fleeting. But there is One through whom is life eternal, even for specks of dust like us. One with whom nothing in heaven or on earth can be blown away. It’s good news. Good news.

It’s good news because it means that whatever your anxieties are—these are momentary. Whatever your fears may be, those are fleeting. Whatever pains and hurts are eating you up, they are all passing away. They belong to everything in heaven and on earth that will one day be shaken away. But you and I? In trusting Jesus, we are receiving a kingdom that can never be shaken.

The great Peter Short, former Moderator of the United Church of Canada, once said that “hope enlarges the present.”[iv] Hope enlarges the present. Hope gives us breathing space when the future is claustrophobic. In Jesus, you and I, we’ve been given this breathing space. This hope that enlarges our lives here and now. It’s what one theologian calls “the Big Relief.”[v] On account of Jesus, we can stop giving ourselves up to the kingdom of death and start giving ourselves over to the kingdom of everlasting life. No longer caged by fear or death or finitude, we can live more fully and love more boldly. Because we are freed from worrying about ourselves and our future, we’re freed to love our neighbours instead.

Friends, brothers and sisters in Christ. It’s true: we are frail, fragile creatures, living in a frail and fragile world. One that is constantly shifting beneath our feet, filled with much heartache and loss, one that will one day come to an end. This is the source of so much anxiety, exhaustion, and fear. “We are all dust in the wind, dude…” This is true.

But the good news, dear friends, is that there is something just as true, something even more true… than even our mortality and our finitude. And that is the infinite love and mercy of the eternal God, the one who we come to know in Jesus Christ. On account of him, the good news is that even if the stars fall from the sky, even if all in life seems lost, even if heaven and earth are shaken away to absolutely nothing at all. No matter what kind of change we might face, no matter what kind of change you might face, you need not be anxious or fearful. Because on account of him, you and I have a future, one without end. The Word of the Lord will stand forever. Believe it. And cast all your weariness on him.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[i] Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, De Laurentiis Entertainment Group, 1989.

[ii] Based on my notes from Harmut Rosa, “The Listening Society: Religion, Music, and Democracy in Resonance,” Annual G. Peter Kaye Lecture at the Vancouver School of Theology, March 2-3, 2024.

[iii] Thomas G. Long, Hebrews: a Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1997.

[iv] I think I heard him say this at a retreat for ministry students at the Vancouver School of Theology, circa 2011/2012.

[v] David Zahl, The Big Relief: the Urgency of Grace for a Worn-Out World (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2025).