“Belief” is a funny thing.  In today’s world, the degree of your belief is often seen as a reflection of your character.  Specifically, we tend to admire those who make a “leap of faith,” and the greater the leap the higher the admiration.  Faith, we assume, is about making a commitment independent of intellect.  And it’s no wonder, then, that Christianity’s harshest critics have specifically targeted this aspect of Christianity.  In his book Letter to a Christian Nation, Sam Harris defines faith as “nothing more than the license religious people give one another to keep believing when reasons fail.”

But historically speaking, Christianity has not rested on “blind faith.”  Rather, faith was deeply, intricately connected to the human experience, touching our intellects, our emotions, and our actions.  God’s earlier followers had been commanded to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might” (Deuteronomy 6:5)—that is, to connect faith to our thoughts, feelings, and actions.

Later in Christian history, the “reformers” of Christianity (the guys that brought us the Protestant reformation, that is) defined faith as having three essential components: (1) knowledge—that is, the knowledge of God, (2) agreement with that knowledge, and (3) a trust—usually a trust that emphasized some sort of response.  So Christianity has no history of “blind” faith or leaps in the dark.  On the contrary; Christianity has historically emphasized a holistic form of faith, one that defies our tendency to compartmentalize ourselves—or worse, to overemphasize the intellect to the neglect of obedience.

Tragically today’s North American church has done precisely that: we have overemphasized emotion above all else, and in many ways rendered ourselves indistinguishable from a culture in which “feeling is believing.”  In his book Bad Religion, Ross Douthat of the New York Times cites religious scholar Mark Lilla, who notes the way Christianity has turned not downward, but inward:

“A half-century ago, an American Christian seeking assistance could have turned to the popularizing works of serious religious thinkers…Those writers were steeped in philosophy and the theological traditions of their faiths, which they brought to bear on the vital spiritual concerns of ordinary believers…But intellectual figures like these have disappeared from the American landscape and have been replaced by half-educated evangelical gurus who either publish vacant, cheery self-help books or are politically motivated.”  (Mark Lilla, cited by Ross Douthat, Bad Religion, p. 177)

So what does this have to do with “signs and wonders?”  Well, if we take another look at Hebrews 2:1-4 (yes, the passage from yesterday), we see that the author of Hebrews places and emphasis on “signs and wonders and various miracles:”

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. 2 For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, 3 how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation? It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard, 4 while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.” (Hebrews 2:1-4)

Biblical writers used the phrase “signs and wonders” in several different ways.  It was a term used to describe God’s deliverance of his people from Egypt (Exodus 7:3, 9; 11:9-10), it was used to describe true prophecy (Isaiah 8:18; 20:3), and to describe the works of Jesus (John 20:29-31; Acts 2:19, 22). In his commentary on Hebrews, F.F. Bruce notes that the emphasis the New Testament places on such activities is “impressive in its range.”

But what’s it doing here?  In her commentary on Hebrews, Marie Isaacs helps us understand that such “signs and wonders” “are the means whereby God corroborates the truth of the definitive word spoken through his Son…the verbal testimony of those who originally heard Jesus’ proclamation of the gospel and the Spirit-inspired deeds of his contemporary followers validate the truth of his message.”   In other words, God’s Spirit was active in that climate as God’s way of “proving it.”

No doubt such miraculous signs had an impact on the community.  But if we understand this text correctly, the focus remains on what was “declared at first by the Lord”—a message of “such a great salvation.”  The gospel remained the primary focus.  The “signs and wonders” were a means to a much greater end.

Here is the point.  I know many people who have had tremendous religious experiences.  And I would never wish to rob them of these memories or from this intense joy.  I’m reminded of a fellow grad student who came to know Jesus after “meeting” him in a dream.  But the writer of Hebrews never made these experiences the focal point of his faith or ministry.

And neither should we.

Now mind you, I’m not suggesting our experiences should not be shared.  In fact, there is enormous value in sharing your faith story—what we often call our “testimony.”  But if our story never moves beyond our subjective experience to God’s objective truth, then spiritual outsiders might politely respond by saying: “That’s good for you.”  Only an emphasis on the gospel—the concrete truths of our need for Jesus and God’s power to forgive—can reach into someone’s heart and bring those far from God near to him.

If I were to identify any one significant problem with today’s Christianity, it would be the corrosive nature of spiritual boredom.  So much of contemporary Christianity seems bent on chasing an experience.  For some it might be literal miraculous encounters.  For others it might be chasing the spiritual “high” you felt when you first encountered God.  Is there any wonder why our Christian bookstores are bulging at the seams with the latest (and thereby greatest) books, worship albums, and DVD studies?  Whether we recognize it or not, we’ve put God inside a box: he’s only as real to me as his ability to keep impressing me with his tricks.

What, then, is the solution?  The solution is not to dismiss our experiences—this only stifles us emotionally and runs the risk of ignoring God entirely.  Rather, we must continually learn to connect God’s truth with the larger wealth of human experience—our own, as well as that of others.  Think about this for a second: how did you encounter God?  Maybe it was through a Sunday School lesson, a close friend, maybe even through some miraculous encounter.  But how did you come to understand God?  To encounter God without understanding him is to anchor one’s faith to the unstable moorings of human experience.  But to understand God without encountering personally is to pin him down to a lab table, treating the life-giving Savior as if he were a med-school cadaver.  We need both, you see.  We need knowledge.  We need feelings.  We need men and women of action.  And, as the writer of Hebrews continues to tell us, we find this radical unity by following in the footsteps of Jesus.

Taken from: http://www.ttf.org/news/what-were-reading-stephen-colbert-meets-his-maker

Most of us know Stephen Colbert as the former host of the popular late-night comedy show The Colbert Show—and still more will come to know him this Fall as Letterman’s replacement on CBS’s Late Show.  But only a handful of 7-year-olds know him as their Sunday School teacher.  In a 2009 interview with Rolling Stone magazine, Colbert revealed that he teaches Sunday School at his Catholic church.

Colbert was raised Catholic, but by his own admission he’s “highly variable in [his] devotion:”

“From a doctrinal point of view or a dogmatic point of view or a strictly Catholic adherent point of view, I’m first to say that I talk a good game, but I don’t know how good I am about it in practice. I saw how my mother’s faith was very valuable to her and valuable to my brothers and sisters, and I’m moved by the words of Christ, and I’ll leave it at that.” (Neil Strauss, “Stephen Colbert on Deconstructing the Colbert Nation” in Rolling Stone Magazine, September 2, 2009)

You see, there was a time when Colbert had lost his faith.  In a separate interview, he describes it initially as “a college angst thing,” but when pressed by the interviewer he goes a bit deeper:

 “I had very sad events in my childhood. The death of my father and my brothers was understandably a shattering experience that I hadn’t really dealt with in any way. And there comes a time when you’re psychologically able to do so. I still don’t like talking about it. It still is too fresh.” (Neil Strauss, “The Subversive Joy of Stephen Colbert”)

For many, suffering proves the crucible in which faith is tested.  I use Stephen Colbert as a positive example, in that while he’s gone through a period of questioning his faith, he’s on an upward journey.  We could easily name others—celebrities and otherwise—that aren’t so lucky.

The writer of Hebrews understands this all too well.  Recall that we’ve been examining an early Christian community that experienced enormous pressure from the surrounding culture.  The author of Hebrews intends to encourage his readers to endure, to maintain a clear focus on the gospel even as they were increasingly regarded as social outcasts.  But, as Marie E. Isaacs notes in her commentary, the author’s encouragement is “both carrot and stick.”  Some of his encouragement comes in the form of several “warning” passages, such as the one we’ll look at today:

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. 2 For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution,3 how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation? It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard, 4 while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.” (Hebrews 2:1-4)

If you read closely, we’ll see hints of the two dangers that dominate the writer’s thinking.  First, we see a clear warning against those who become spiritual burnouts—that is, who “drift away” from “what we have heard” (v. 1).  Second, we see a (subtle) warning against those who become functional atheists—that is, who “neglect such a great salvation” (v. 3) and live life as if God were never present.  These themes reappear in a total of (at least) five distinct warning passages throughout the book (2:1-4; 3:7-4:11; 6:4-8; 10:26-31; 12:14-29)—though we could probably name more depending on our exact interpretation of “warning.”

What point might we make here?  The author understands that the gospel is something that we either cling to or drift from.   What about you?  Would you define yourself as clinging to the gospel, or do you find yourself drifting now and again?

The good news is actually embedded in the very structure of the book—though we have to take a step or two backwards to notice it.  If you look at the larger context here, we see this “warning” embedded in the book’s larger scope of the majesty of Jesus.  Take a look:

HIGHER THAN THE ANGELS (1:5-14)

• The Son of God (1:5-6)
• The King of Israel (1:7-14)

WARNING! (2:1-4)

LOWER THAN THE ANGELS (2:5-18)

• The nature of the incarnation (2:5-9)
• The purpose of the incarnation (2:10-18)

The author is making a broader point about the person of Jesus—the One who steps from heaven’s glory to the sullied streets of humanity.  We’ll address this a bit further next week, but for now do you see how this “warning” serves as something of a “hinge” between these two themes?  It’s as if the author of Hebrews is saying: Keep holding on!  Jesus—though worthy of honor—endured the same shame you’re going through.  Keep going.  Endure. 

Sadly, we can all think of those who slip away far too easily.  The good news is that through God’s grace each of us can find our way home again.  Stephen Colbert had this experience earlier in his life:

“…once I graduated from college, some Gideon literally gave me a box of The New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs on the street in Chicago. I took one and opened it right away to Matthew, Chapter 5, which is the opening of the Sermon on the Mount. That whole chapter is essentially about not worrying. I didn’t read it – it spoke to me, and it was an effortless absorption of the idea. Nothing came to me in a thunderbolt, but I thought to myself, ‘I’d be dumb not to re-examine this.’” (Strauss, “The Subversive Joy…”)

If I sat down with Stephen, I don’t know that he and I would find perfect agreement on Christian doctrine.  Still, we may rejoice at the trajectory he seems to be on, and being “moved by the words of Christ” has often been a first step into a larger world of faith.  It will be interesting to see what influence—if any—this will have on CBS’s future Late Show comedian, but for now we can say simply this: there are many for whom faith is a prolonged journey.  Along its path there are many ups and downs, the ratio of which depends entirely on the person.  But what endures—what we cling to—is the person of Jesus, who stands fast regardless of culture or circumstance.  Wherever you are on your journey, my prayer is that you find joy, find life, find hope in the message of Jesus, whose death and resurrection provide the promise of forgiveness and transformation.

Jesus is my homeboy.

Or, at least, that’s what a popular t-shirt reads.  They sell them not at Christian bookstores, but at places like Urban Outfitters, right next to ones that say things like: “Jesus surfs without a board.”  But Jesus isn’t just relegated to a t-shirt slogan.  Rap artist Kanye West made waves a few years ago when he appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone wearing a crown of thorns.  And—most recently—“Jesus” has actually appeared onstage at Kanye’s performances, offering forgiveness and love.

Today’s world has a genuine fondness for Jesus.  It’s just that they fear his message has been perverted and corrupted by institutional Christianity—an organization that has co-opted Jesus’ message and bent it for a personal and political agenda.

The love for Jesus fits broadly into a post-everything world, one wear “spirituality” has more fashionably superseded “religious” as a means of describing oneself.  A generation or so ago, we lived in a modern world.  We asked modern questions, like: “Should I believe in Jesus or not?”  Scholars told us of a “Christ of history,” so different from the “Christ of faith” we grew up admiring.  These two “Christs” were separated by what one scholar called “an ugly, broad ditch.”  But in a postmodern world, we’re asking different questions.  We’ve crossed that “ugly, broad ditch” only to find ourselves standing in a hall of mirrors.  If yesterday’s question was: “Should I believe in Jesus or not?” today’s question is: “What kind of Jesus should I believe in?”  We long for a vision of Jesus that is not merely a distant shadow cast by the dim light of religious tradition.  We want a Savior that can empathize directly with our experience.

Appearing in http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/5318718/Jesus-in-jeans-sculpture-unveiled.html

We’ll find this Jesus in Sussex, England.  Above the door of a church hangs not a panel of stained glass but a seven-foot-tall statue of Jesus sporting a pair of jeans.  Many—including journalist Steve Case—readily identify with this “Jesus in jeans.”

“I’d like to have a cup of coffee with Jesus someday,” Case writes.  “Not the guy in the clean white robe who speaks in King James English…just a ‘guy.’  A son of God who laughs, hangs out with the outcasts, breaks the rules that need breaking, and calls the finger-pointers on the carpet.”

For Case, this earthy version of Jesus is essential to the future of faith.

“If we can find a way for people to see and touch and hear and smell Jesus, it might make it a little easier when we ask them to have faith in a Jesus that is beyond our senses.  Yes, what Jesus did…was an act of immeasurable compassion and love.  But isn’t it easier to hug someone whose arms aren’t nailed down?”

The writer of Hebrews gives special attention to explaining who Jesus is to his readers.  After his introduction (Hebrews 1:1-4) he turns his focus to the splendor and majesty of Christ.  More specifically, the author of Hebrews takes the time to explain that Jesus is superior to the angels.  Why?  Some have speculated that the original readers had become preoccupied with the worship of angels.  Others have speculated that maybe—in their confusion—they might have suspected that Jesus had been an angel.  But we really don’t have any historic basis for either suggestion.  Instead, we can read between the lines to see that the author of Hebrews is simply trying to further reveal the incredible supremacy of Jesus.  And he does so in two distinct ways.

THE SON OF GOD

First, the writer uses scripture to point to the reality of Jesus as the Son of God:

5 For to which of the angels did God ever say,

“You are my Son,
today I have begotten you”?

Or again,

“I will be to him a father,
and he shall be to me a son”?

6 And again, when he brings the firstborn into the world, he says,

“Let all God’s angels worship him.”

Mind you, “Son of God” was a term used frequently of ancient kings.  In neighboring cultures, kings saw themselves as either the gods’ representatives or some sort of demigod come to earth (if you saw the film 300, the Persian King Xerxes was an example of this—even in spite of Hollywood’s creative license).  But here the author of Hebrews cites three specific passages (Psalm 2:7; 2 Samuel 7:14; and Deuteronomy 32:43) to directly point to Jesus.  Even if kings like David had ever been “sons of God” in some political sense, only Jesus is the “Son of God” in the divine sense.  Even the term “firstborn” is heavy with meaning, showing that Jesus is the emphatically eternal revelation of God.

THE KING OF ISRAEL

Secondly, the writer points to the reality of Jesus as the true King of Israel:

7 Of the angels he says,

“He makes his angels winds,
and his ministers a flame of fire.”

8 But of the Son he says,

“Your throne, O God, is forever and ever,
the scepter of uprightness is the scepter of your kingdom.
9 You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness;
therefore God, your God, has anointed you
with the oil of gladness beyond your companions.”

10 And,

“You, Lord, laid the foundation of the earth in the beginning,
and the heavens are the work of your hands;
11 they will perish, but you remain;
they will all wear out like a garment,
12 like a robe you will roll them up,
like a garment they will be changed.
But you are the same,
and your years will have no end.”

13 And to which of the angels has he ever said,

“Sit at my right hand
until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet”?

14 Are they not all ministering spirits sent out to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?

This section begins and ends with a brief reflection on the nature of angels.  Yes, he says in verse 7, they are powerful and devoted servants (he quotes Psalm 104:4 to illustrate this), but they pale in comparison to the king of Israel.

So in verses 8-13 the author again draws from the wealth of scripture to reveal that Jesus is the ruler of all (Psalm 45:6-7; Psalm 102:25-27; and Psalm 110:1).  Psalm 110—the last psalm quoted—is a favorite among writers of the New Testament to emphasize Jesus’ superiority.

CLOTHED IN HIS GOSPEL

In one of his works on the life of Christ, N.T. Wright devotes considerable attention to the ways that the early Jews longed for two specific things to happen.  First, they longed for a day when God would physically be among them.  Second, they longed for the day when—once again—a King from the line of David would rule over them.  But, Wright observes, in the years surrounding the arrival of Jesus, no one seemed to ever expect that both of these expectations would be fulfilled in the same person.

Why should this matter?  Because Christianity insists that the identity of Jesus is anchored not in popular imaginations or t-shirt slogans, but instead it is deeply embedded in Israel’s history.  When we open the pages of Scripture, we find not a “Jesus in jeans” but instead what John Calvin once called a “Christ who is clothed in his gospel.”  The good news for folks like Steve Case is that we still get a Savior who identifies with us, who shares in our every human experience—both bad and good.  But if Jesus identifies with me it’s not because he’s “just another guy.”  I don’t want just another guy I can have coffee with.  Left to my own devices, I can only make my life a greater disaster.  I need a Savior with the capability and desire to lift me from the ruins and expand my vision of his Kingdom.  I need a Jesus clothed in his gospel.

“We’re never gonna win the world,” sings contemporary blues artist John Mayer.  “We’re never gonna stop the war.  We’re never gonna beat this if belief is what we’re fighting for.”  Mayer’s 2006 song resonates with much of America’s contemporary spiritual state.  With so many religious and spiritual voices out there, why even bother trying to unite everyone under one belief system?

The irony, of course, is that much of America has at least begun to unite in their beliefs—the only difference is that we’re largely unwilling to give it a name.  According to data from 2012, roughly 1 in every 5 Americans is “religiously unaffiliated”—though the number will soon skyrocket, as roughly 1 in 3 Americans under 30 also considers themselves “unaffiliated.”  Mind you—these people believe earnestly in God; they’ve just lost their faith in traditional religion.  For many, religion is the problem—not the solution—to our social problems.

What we’re left with is what New York Times columnist Ross Douthat calls our “populist creed”—the beliefs that largely unite those who’d prefer to label themselves “spiritual” than overtly “religious.”  In Douthat’s 2012 book Bad Religion, he says that this “populist creed” takes the following form:

• No religion offers a complete picture of God. Therefore God is not experienced through manmade teachings, but personal encounters.
• God is everywhere—but he is best encountered by looking inside oneself. Self-discovery marks both the means—and the destination—of man’s spiritual quest.
• Sin and evil—if they exist—will one day be reconciled, rather than defeated. Douthat cites Elizabeth Gilbert’s bestselling memoir Eat, Pray, Love, in which she writes: “There is no such thing in this universe as hell, except maybe in our own terrified minds.”
• Perfect happiness is available right now—not in some distant heaven. What’s important is taking care of the world we currently inhabit.

Understandably, Christianity runs against the current of today’s culture.  Christianity teaches that only in Jesus do we see a complete picture of God.  God is found not within ourselves, but in the Truth he reveals most specifically in the Bible, and in Jesus.  Christianity teaches that sin and death are realities defeated through the work of Jesus, and that perfect happiness awaits us when God finally sets the world right.

This is hardly the first time in which Christianity has experienced conflict with the broader culture.  As we explore the book of Hebrews, we begin to see the ways in which early Christianity generated conflict with the culture around them.

You may recall that in the first century, the Roman government tolerated the Jews—but only barely.  So when Christianity emerged, it did so under threat of persecution from the Romans (who didn’t tolerate this new faith) and from the Jews (who feared a new faith would upset their uneasy peace with Rome).  At one point, Rome reacted against this “Jewish cult” by expelling Jewish Christians from their homes.  But regardless of whether any particular incident sparked the writing of Hebrews, one thing is certain: the early culture—one that placed high value on the categories of honor and shame—generated enormous external pressure for early Christians.

This culture pressure gave birth to two dangers addressed in the letter to the Hebrews.  First was spiritual burnout—that the time seemed long between God’s promises and fulfillment.  What joy was there to be found in being social outcasts?  Second was functional atheism—that is, believing that God is real, but acting as if he’s not.  The early church struggled with those who abandoned the gospel for a life of pleasure-seeking.

Sound familiar?  Today we face similar kinds of cultural pressure.  It’s tough standing for the gospel in a world that sees Christianity as a social threat.  We may similarly face spiritual burnout—after all, is there any real value in going to church these days?  Aren’t I just as well-off staying home with my family?  Alternately we may face our own form of functional atheism.   We go to church faithfully, but our lives are ruled by devotion to the lesser gods of career, sexuality, money, power, and so on.

Thus the message of Hebrews is as clear as ever: endure.  But how?  Over the years a long litany of solutions have been raised, all of which seem to focus on technique.  But in his book God in the Wasteland, David Wells observes that this focus has been woefully inadequate:

“[T]he fundamental problem in the evangelical world today is not inadequate technique, insufficient organization, or antiquated music, and those who want to squander the church’s resources bandaging these scratches will do nothing to staunch the flow of blood that is spilling from its true wounds.  The fundamental problem in the evangelical world today is that God rests too inconsequentially upon the church.  His truth is too distant, his grace is too ordinary, his judgment is too benign, his gospel is too easy, and his Christ is too common.”  (David Wells, God in the Wasteland, p. 30)

What we need, then, is an “uncommon” Christ.  A Savior that transcends the boundaries of rationality and inward-gazing spirituality.  So it’s only fitting that the letter of Hebrews opens by directing our full attention at the person of Jesus:

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, 2 but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. 3 He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, 4 having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs. (Hebrews 1:1-4)

In his commentary on Hebrews, Paul Ellingworth takes note of how the author opens with “an interweaving of themes, as in musical composition.”  There’s music to be heard here, if we listen closely enough.  What is the writer saying?  He’s saying that the Bible serves us well in its ability to reveal God—but now that we have Jesus, we no longer see God embedded in a text, but embodied in flesh and blood and sinew.

Of course, this cuts both ways.  Why?  Because it also tells us that if Jesus is the perfect embodiment of God, then it doesn’t render our scriptures obsolete.  On the contrary; it infuses them with new meaning, because they all point to this magnificent Son.

To know Jesus is to know God, and what you think about Jesus you also think about God.  The original Greek here uses the term charakter—translated in verse 3 as “the exact imprint of [God’s] nature.”  It’s easy to see where we get the English word “character” here, though in the ancient world they also used the term to refer to the stamps on coins.

The whole passage resonates with other early Christian thought, such as that of Paul in writing to the church in Colosse:

¹⁵ He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. ¹⁶ For by^[f]him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. ¹⁷ And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. ¹⁸ And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. ¹⁹ For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, ²⁰ and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1:15-20)

Barry Taylor—artist and professor at Fuller Seminary—has observed that today’s world seems bent on “rescuing” Jesus from the clutches of religious conservatives “who, the consensus s seems to say, have done Jesus a grave injustice by making him out to be just like them – uptight, overly religious in the pejorative sense, lacking a sense of humor, and disconnected from the way things really are.”  (Barry Taylor, Entertainment Theology, p. 153)

But in the world of the New Testament we find a Jesus who is fully and emphatically God.  In the sixteenth century Philip Melancthon—one of Luther’s students—wrote that “God indeed dwells in other holy people, but dwells spiritually.…But in Christ he dwells bodily…the very divine nature has poured itself into the flesh, with all its power.”  He eternally exists.  He is intimately involved in creation.  He holds authority over his followers—the church.  And only through his saving work can man find his way back to God.

Douglas Coupland is best-known for coining the term “Generation X” back in the 1990’s.  But he has also written a number of other books, including Life After God, a collection of short stories of what life looks like through the eyes of an atheist.  But at the book’s conclusion, he startles readers by revealing his “secret:”

“My secret is that I need God—that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.” (Coupland, Life After God, p.359)

Do you need God?  Then read on.  The book of Hebrews may have something significant to say to you…