The True & Greater Message (The True & Greater #21)

I had a thought this week that I can’t quite shake: we love new things. A new car in the driveway, a new job, a new restaurant in town, the Amazon package waiting on the porch. Even people who swear they hate change, the ones who eat the same lunch every day and still listen to the music they liked in high school, even they light up when their team wins a new championship or the church finally fixes that broken window. We like new.

Here’s why, though. It’s a dopamine hit. Something about the new thing feels exhilarating for a minute. But then the new thing ages into old. It becomes routine, regular, forgettable. And once the hit fades, we go hunting for the next new thing. It’s why people move cities without a plan, leave a perfectly good job for a different one, or go into debt chasing the next upgrade. We are wired to crave new, and new almost never delivers what it promised.

I bring this up because it’s exactly the problem the author of Hebrews is untangling in chapter 13, verses 8 through 16. We’re near the end of this series walking through Hebrews, and this passage makes a case I think we need badly: the new message isn’t better. Neither is the old message. There’s something else, something true and greater, and it’s worth settling for nothing less.

The New Message Is Not Better

Verse 9 says it plainly: “Do not be led away by diverse and strange teachings, for it is good for the heart to be strengthened by grace, not by foods which have not benefited those devoted to them.”

If you’ve ever watched an old western, you’ve seen the scene. A snake oil peddler rolls into town selling a tonic that supposedly cures everything that ails you. Of course it’s just flavored water or grape juice. It does nothing. As a kid I remember thinking, man, people back then were so gullible. As an adult, I’ve had to admit I’m not that different. How many things have I bought because an ad promised it would make me healthier, sharper, better looking, more likeable?

We do the same thing spiritually. If I just read that book by the hot new author, if I just go to that conference, if I just pick up that prayer technique everyone’s talking about, then surely God will be pleased with me. He’ll like me more.

That’s exactly what was happening to the original readers of this letter. Religious agitators were dangling secret spiritual knowledge in front of them, the kind of thing that works like a cult: the church hasn’t told you everything, there’s more behind the curtain, and if you’ll just do this ritual, pay this amount, sign here, we’ll let you in on the real truth. Our minds hate an unsolved mystery, so the pitch is irresistible. But the author’s answer is simple: don’t fall for it. God has already unveiled the mystery of Christ. There’s nothing hidden behind a curtain that he hasn’t already given you in full.

That’s why the verse ends the way it does: be strengthened by grace, not by foods. Every time someone tells you that you have to do this ritual or eat this diet or hit this spiritual milestone before God will love you, you’re piling weight onto yourself, not strength. Those things don’t lift you, they crush you. Christ came to take the weight off, not add to it. So let his grace pour over you and lighten the load, because his yoke is easy. Don’t get tricked by the new. It isn’t better.

The Old Message Is Not Better Either

Now if you’re a traditionalist, you might be cheering at this point. Yes, give me the old, not the new fads. And you’re right, sometimes. But not always, and the author turns to that next in verses 10 and 11: “We have an altar from which those who serve the tent have no right to eat. For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the holy places by the high priest as a sacrifice for sin are burned outside the camp.”

This is a callback to the tabernacle system described earlier in Hebrews, chapters 8 and 9: the priests, the daily animal sacrifices, the blood brought into the holy place. The point being made is that it didn’t work, not permanently. Jesus died on the cross and the old covenant was washed away. Done. Completed.

Let me try an illustration. I am so tired of political ads. I barely watch TV, so it’s not even there, it’s my mailbox and my phone, spam texts from candidates I’ve never heard of. I’m about ready to sell my house and hide my number. Now imagine a candidate ran on a platform of outlawing cars altogether. All of them, cars, trucks, buses, semis. His reasoning: crashes, deaths, insurance costs, environmental damage. So what’s his alternative? Horse and buggy. Animals build relationships, people will be happier, and since buggies are slower, the crashes won’t be as bad.

How many votes does that get? Maybe a few, but mostly no, because our entire culture has moved past that point. Our houses, our economy, our daily lives aren’t built for it anymore. We can’t just switch back overnight.

That’s the argument being made to the original readers, who were being tempted to go back to old Judaism dressed up as something new. Something far better has already come. Going back would be a massive step backward dressed up as faithfulness.

Notice the wording in verse 10: “we have an altar.” That altar is the cross. Just as animals were sacrificed on the tabernacle altar for the people’s forgiveness, Jesus was sacrificed on the altar of the cross for ours. But then it says those who serve the tent have no right to eat from it. The old Levitical priests served the tent, the tabernacle. If you go back to that system now, you’re saying Jesus’s sacrifice wasn’t enough, that you still have to earn it through ritual and good works. Ephesians 2 settles that: it is not by works that you’re saved, it’s by grace, by faith, as a gift. We don’t get to insult that gift by trying to pay it off.

There’s also a wordplay happening here that ties back to verse 9’s mention of “foods.” The author is now pointing at communion, the Lord’s Supper, where we remember Christ’s body broken and his blood shed for us. If you’ve come to the altar of the cross, putting your faith in him, you’re invited to participate in that. But if you haven’t yet, if you’re still serving the tent in some form, whether old religious ritual or just your own desires, you don’t yet have the right to eat.

This is part of why communion works the way it does for us: if you’ve put your faith in Jesus, come to the table and remember him. If you haven’t yet, we’d simply ask you to hold off, not because anyone’s trying to exclude you, but because what you need first isn’t the bread and the cup, it’s Jesus himself. Come to him first. Then come to the table.

The True and Greater Message

So neither the new message nor the old one is better. What is? Verses 12 through 16 lay it out: “So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. Through him then let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name. Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.”

I love Impressionist painting, Monet especially. It amazes me that a painter could lay down nothing but dots and little dashes of color and somehow, when you step back, an entire image appears. One of Monet’s most famous paintings, Haystacks, sold anonymously at Sotheby’s in 2019 for 110 million dollars.

Picture this: the buyer of that painting decides he wants to gift it to me, since I like Monet. He flies out, and when he arrives he says I have a choice. I can take the original, or I can take a cheap black-and-white photocopy of it. Which one do I want?

That’s obviously a ridiculous question. Nobody chooses the photocopy over the real thing worth 110 million dollars. And yet that’s exactly what we do every time we chase the new spiritual fad or retreat into old ritual instead of holding onto the real, true, and greater Jesus. We trade the original for a copy.

Verse 12 explains why he’s the real thing: just as the sacrificed animals were taken outside the camp and burned, Jesus suffered outside the gate to sanctify us through his own blood. Not through animal blood, not through our own effort, but through his work on the cross. And when you come to that altar and cast your identity on him, it changes you.

It changes your citizenship first. Verse 14 says we have no lasting city here, we seek the one to come. This earth is fading. If you’ve put your faith in Christ, your citizenship has shifted from earth to heaven. That’s home now. That’s where you belong.

It also changes how you speak. Verse 15 calls it a sacrifice of praise, the fruit of lips that acknowledge his name. In a culture that’s fine with private faith as long as you keep it to yourself, don’t be embarrassed to say his name out loud. Paul says in Romans 1 that we’re not to be ashamed of the gospel, because it carries the power of salvation. If you’ve put your identity in Christ, let your words show it.

And it changes how you act. Verse 16: do not neglect to do good and to share what you have. This isn’t just a head and heart thing, it’s a hands and feet thing. Go find somewhere to serve, somewhere to give your time. And sharing what you have means admitting that none of it was ever fully yours. Your bank account, your calendar, your energy, your house, your schedule, all of it belongs to the one who purchased you with his blood. The question becomes how you’ll use what’s his to help others and bring him glory.

Why the Message Is the Same as the Person

All of this is why the message is better than anything new or old. But the author saved the best line for last, even though it opens the passage. Verse 8: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” It’s the kind of verse that gets put on a wall, and we’ve had it up in our own space for weeks now as we close out this series.

Here’s something worth sitting with: the verse doesn’t say the message is the same yesterday, today, and forever. It says Jesus is. And the reason that distinction barely matters is that the person and the work of Jesus are the gospel. You can’t separate them.

Ask most people what the gospel is and they’ll say it means good news, correctly. Push further and ask what the good news actually is, and most will land on “Jesus died on the cross for our sins.” Also correct, and absolutely essential. Take that piece out and you don’t have a gospel left. But stop there and you’re incomplete.

Because just as critical as his death is the life he lived before it. Jesus is the only person who ever lived a completely sinless life. If he had sinned even once, his death on the cross would have paid for his own sin, not ours, because the penalty for sin is death. His sinless life is what makes his death able to stand in for ours.

And it’s more than his life and death, because everybody dies, and thousands of people died on Roman crosses in that era. Death alone doesn’t set Jesus apart. What sets him apart is that he rose. The resurrection is the thing that changes everything. So the gospel is his sinless life, his willing death on the cross, and his resurrection, all three, inseparable, all wrapped up in who he is. That’s why I can say with confidence that the message is the same yesterday, today, and forever, because the message and the man are one and the same.

Same Yesterday, Same Today, Same Forever

If you’ve put your faith in Christ, I think this truth is meant to give you three things: peace, comfort, and courage.

He’s the same yesterday, meaning he existed before time itself. There has never been a moment when Jesus wasn’t. In John chapter 8, Jesus gets into an exchange with some Jewish leaders about Abraham. He tells them that Abraham rejoiced to see his day. They’re stunned, pointing out he’s not even fifty years old, how could he have known Abraham, who lived thousands of years earlier? Jesus answers with one of the most startling claims in all of Scripture: “before Abraham was, I am.” That name, I AM, is the very name God gave Moses at the burning bush. Jesus is claiming to stand entirely outside of time, because he does. Whatever you’re walking through right now, he has already seen it. Ecclesiastes 1:9 says there’s nothing new under the sun. That alone should settle you.

He’s the same today. The Jesus who taught and healed people in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John is the same Jesus present with you right now. The one who loved people enough to die their death is the one who still loves you through whatever this particular moment holds. That should comfort you.

And he’s the same forever. You don’t get to see tomorrow, but he already has. He’s not just watching what’s coming, he’s already in it, waiting. Whatever shows up next week, next year, next decade, he’s already there. That should give you courage.

Come to the Altar

So here’s where all three movements land. The new message, chasing the next teaching or technique or hip author, will not make your life better. The old message, retreating to rituals and good works to earn what’s already freely given, will not make your life better either. Only Jesus, the true and greater message, does.

Come to the altar of the cross. Cast your identity and your self onto him, and let him do in you what he wants to do, for his glory, for your joy, and for the good of the people around you. He is the true and greater message, and he’s not asking you to settle for anything less.