Hebrews 4:14–16
Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin. Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
The grass withers and the flower fades, but the word of our God endures forever.
Good morning.
When I was much younger, I thought my grandmother was playing a pretty elaborate practical joke on me. Let me explain, because most of the time "grandmothers" and "practical jokes" don't necessarily link up.
I was much younger than most of my cousins, so the rules at Grandma's house were different for me than for the older cousins. They're in their 50s now, and they still carry the baggage of that, it turns out. But I was allowed to run in Grandma's house. I was given free rein.
I remember vividly running around my grandmother's house one afternoon and stopping dead in my tracks. You remember when you were little and everything seemed bigger? I ran up to this side table, and there was a picture on it. In reality it was a tiny little picture, but I just thought, "What is she doing? Why is she messing with me?"
I looked at it, and the eyes, the nose, the smile—it was me. Exactly me. But it was black and white. It was old-timey. I had never worn a bow tie in my life. And I thought, "That's not me. How does my grandmother have a photograph of me that I never took?"
When you're little and you're Grandma's favorite, you can grab the picture off the table, run to her, and say, "I demand an explanation." So I did. I said, "How did you get this picture of me?" She looked at it, laughed, and said, "Sam, that's your dad. Tone it down a little bit. You'll be okay."
It was just a picture of my dad.
The reason I bring up that story is that there are certain traits that run in families. I bet it's true in your family, like it is in ours: there's a family resemblance. The clothes change, the technology changes, but you look and you can still see the resemblance clear as day.
We're stepping into a five-week sermon series looking at the core values of our church—some of the most essential things about who we are. Maybe the clothes look different than they did 20 years ago, or 75 years ago when our church was founded. Maybe the technology is different. Seventy-five years ago there were no laser projectors shining over the pastor's head and no wireless microphones. But there are lots and lots of similarities.
So we're going to spend five weeks looking at the values that have permeated and shaped the culture of our church. But they're more than passive traits that just happen to show up. Often they're intentional practices and habits that we need to work at, pursue, and keep our attention on.
We've written each of these five core values as two words held together. By holding two words together, we hope to get a little more clarity—and maybe a little more contrast.
In photography, there's the idea of a foreground and a background. I'm wearing a dark blue jacket, and the wall behind me is white. If I were wearing a white jacket and a white shirt—and I got to the beach a few weeks ago, so I have a tiny bit of a tan, but if I were super winter-pale—I'd be nearly indistinguishable from the wall behind me. Having two words brings some contrast, and that lets us see more detail in these values. It also keeps them from being so generic that they apply to absolutely everything. Because when a value applies to everything, it doesn't really apply to anything.
The other thing I want to name about core values is that sometimes a core value is purely aspirational. "We wish we could be like this. It has nothing to do with us, and it's too much work to actually be like that, but it's a value we wish we fulfilled."
That's not what these values are. They absolutely come from a desire to say, "This is the best version of who we want to be." But they also recognize, "This is who we have been as a church for a very long time."
It's important to say that these weren't sayings we pulled out of the air in a half-hour elders' meeting one night. When I came to our church about five and a half years ago, a lot had changed. COVID had hit. The church had gone through pastoral and leadership transitions. We recognized we were moving into a season of important change. When I came to this church, there was no need for a nursery. That was literally part of the challenge. They said, "This is where the nursery can be if we need it, but we don't need it right now."
Things have changed, and we knew things were going to change. And in truth, there's no such thing as "settled" in life. You keep hoping things will settle down. No matter how old you get, you think, "Then things will settle down." They never do. Everything is constantly changing.
But even though everything feels like it's constantly changing, there are certain things that can never change. So as elders, we recognized that before we started making the changes our church needed, we had to be crystal clear on the things that do not change about who we are.
I spent several months meeting with people in our church, hearing stories about the ideals, practices, and habits that had embodied our church decade after decade. We brought them together and said, "These really are who we are as a church family."
Now, these are not the only things that shouldn't change in a church. Maybe I need to name that. In a little bit, we'll proclaim the Apostles' Creed together. The Apostles' Creed has been handed down. It's the orthodoxy of the church that Christians have believed for millennia. That shouldn't change.
It should not change that we believe the Bible is God's Word and that we submit ourselves to it as a church.
It should not change that we say only through Jesus Christ can we find salvation, life, and hope.
It should not change that we believe the Holy Spirit actually works in our lives to bring transformation, renewal, and restoration—to our relationships, to us personally, and to the world around us.
So where do these core values sit? I'd say it like this: they're essential pillars that sit on the deeper foundation of the historic church, but they hold up and define our local church.
This week we're looking at the first one: approachable transcendence. And the passage Hunter read unpacks that value in just one line.
Now, "approachable transcendence" might seem a little odd. Even four and a half years ago, when we were talking about it, the word "transcendence" felt funny. We all know what it means to be approachable. But what does it mean to value transcendence?
Webster's defines transcendence as "extending or lying beyond the limits of ordinary experience."
Let's focus on that word for a minute, and here's why we say it. As a church, we believe it's essential to offer everyone more than what they experience on a regular basis—that something deeper and more important is going on. I don't want to say, "Let me lead you somewhere," and then we end up back in the same room we started in. That feels kind of foolish for a church.
We want to lift your vision. We want to open your eyes. We want you to understand that big things are happening, and that there are unique things only the church can do.
There are lots of organizations where you can find community. If you're into a particular hobby, you can find a club online. If you like running, you can join a running club. There are quilting clubs. Those are the only two clubs I can think of right now, but there are lots of others.
There are lots of organizations that care about responding to natural disasters. That's a really good thing.
There are lots of organizations that care about emotional health and want people to be well and whole. That's really great.
There are lots of people who care about handing down values from generation to generation. Those are really good things, and they're all things our church cares about.
But it is so much rarer to invite people into a moment where we say, "God is here."
You will not get that at a quilting club. Maybe running—I like running more than quilting. My mother-in-law isn't here to yell at me. But there's something so special and unique about God's church, and our calling is to bring that to people and help them understand that this is here.
Now, what kind of transcendence are we talking about?
As Christians, we believe that behind, before, and above the whole universe is a God who created everything, cares for everything, and sustains everything.
How big a thing are we talking about? I went to NASA's website to find out how big our galaxy is. They said the Milky Way is 100,000 light-years across. That's big. And then you zoom out and realize all those little swirling things in the telescope are other galaxies. This is a big universe.
One NASA scientist put it this way: as much as we've learned about the universe, science has no reliable estimate of its actual size. We can't even figure out how to measure the cosmos we live in.
And the Christian says, "That's true. But behind, above, below, and all around that created universe—taking care of it—is a God. A God we're invited to interact with." That's a wild claim.
The Bible talks about transcendence many, many times. The word itself doesn't show up much, but the concept shows up over and over, primarily through one word in the Old Testament and one in the New. In English, we translate it "holy." There is a holy God.
In the Bible, "holy" describes something out of the ordinary—unique, special, important. Something set apart from common use.
Earlier this summer, Gus celebrated his 17th birthday. When he turned 16, he didn't get a big party—I think we were away or there was a family thing going on. So he asked, "Can I have a big party this year?" We were a little nervous, but we said yes. He's homeschooled, so this was not a rager, but there were a lot of kids in our house—35 or 40 high schoolers. The amount of food we had to prepare was absolutely insane. My bank account is still recovering two months later.
And while we were getting ready for that party, you know what we didn't do? We didn't go to the corner pantry and pull out Joanna's grandmother's china. We got paper plates.
Why? It was a special occasion. But maybe the teenage girls wouldn't have broken anything—the teenage boys were playing hacky sack. All the china would have been chipped and broken. So even though it was special and important—Gus isn't here to say, "Thanks a lot, Dad"—it was a paper plate day.
Now, if Grandma's china is "holy" compared to the paper plates, the Bible says that compared to God, Grandma's china is really closer to the paper plates.
When the Bible uses the word "holy" to describe God, it often repeats it: holy, holy, holy. It's a way of saying more important, more important, more important—tiers of significance above everything else. If there are paper plates and Grandma's china, God is holy, holy, holy above all of it.
To unpack that idea for the ancient world, the Bible uses the image of a throne room.
In the ancient world, kings had throne rooms decked out with gold and ornaments—everything expensive and precious—so that when you walked in you said, "Whoa." You were overwhelmed by the significance of the place.
We don't have many throne rooms today. We don't have a king, so culturally we don't really know what that would be like. Except—and this is a much lower standard—some of us have been terrified of a formal living room.
You know what I'm talking about. There's the real living room you're allowed to go in, and then there's the formal living room. And its purpose is to impress guests. You don't hang the roller coaster photo where you look like you're sneezing, crying, and yelling all at once, blown up over the fireplace in the formal living room. No. That's a den picture. In the formal living room, you put your best foot forward. If you've been to our house, you know we don't have a formal living room, because we don't have a best foot to put forward.
But you've been in someone's house where they want to say, "This is who I am." In the ancient world, kings did that in an elaborate way: "This is who I am. This is why I matter. This is meant to impress you."
And the Bible says, "That's cute. That's really cute." Because above all the kings is the King of kings. The God who is holy, holy, holy is also the King of kings.
So you come to passages like this in the Psalms:
"Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth. Serve the Lord with fear and celebrate his rule with trembling." (Psalm 2:10–11)
However impressive you think you are, however high your throne, Your Majesty, it's a paper plate compared to the throne of God. His throne room's ornaments are galaxies spinning and twirling, supernovas coming and going, black holes flashing and moving. Compared to that, whatever gilded statue you have isn't much.
And notice there's a bit of a threat in that passage: serve the Lord with fear, rejoice with trembling. Ancient people would have understood something we don't quite know what to do with: going into the presence of any king was dangerous. There were threats baked into it.
We only experience that in a few places. When Charlie and I went to Australia, we filled out all the applications online and got our approval. Then, right before you land, they give you a paper to fill out and a video to watch: you can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this. It's a big island, so there are all kinds of restrictions, including a long list of foods you can't bring in. You're supposed to throw everything out.
And Charlie forgot to throw out the beef jerky sticks.
I'll be honest, there was a moment. There was this sweet customs woman with a big smile—she sounded like a character from Bluey—and I thought, "We're breaking the law right now. She has the right to say, 'You can't come in here.'"
Most of you probably haven't recently been with someone trying to sneak beef jerky into Australia. But have you ever been driving and seen a police car pull out behind you? All of a sudden you look down: "Am I speeding?" Hands at ten and two. You don't hit the brakes, but you let off the gas. There's anxiety and stress about authority.
In the ancient world, coming into the presence of the king was like the moment customs sends you home or the officer writes you a ticket—only far more serious. Kings decided whether you lived or died. They decided whether your family got to keep the land it had held for generations. Your life was decided by these rulers.
So Proverbs basically warns, "If you can avoid being around the king, avoid being around the king." He's scary. There's fear and anxiety you should have when you approach the throne.
So if God is holy, holy, holy, and he's the King of kings, why would our church say that approachable transcendence is something we aim for as a congregation? It seems like the Bible is saying that if you should avoid kings, and if God is so far outside the ordinary, maybe we should stay as far away as we possibly can.
Maybe some of you grew up with that understanding of God. Maybe you grew up believing that God starts off mean—that he starts off frustrated and ticked off at you. Whenever he thinks of you, he's angry, and the best thing you can do is quietly avoid him.
That's not how the Bible talks about God.
Amy read one passage this morning, but Psalm 138 says something similar:
"Though the Lord is exalted, he looks kindly on the lowly." (Psalm 138:6)
It's not that he's so high up and so unapproachable that he's annoyed when we try to get his attention. Even though he's above everything and before everything, even though all of creation is his throne room and all this glory stands behind him, he is thinking about you. In your lowest moment. In that shameful, stupid, embarrassing, wish-I-hadn't-done-it, never-going-to-tell-anyone moment.
He regards the lowly.
That's why we can talk about approachable transcendence as a church. God being above all and before all—holy, holy, holy—doesn't mean he divorces himself from us.
It's 100% true that God is transcendent and above all. But he still cares. And he doesn't just call out from the clouds, "Here's a map. If you can get up here, that would be great."
The Bible says Jesus is called Immanuel, which means "God with us." The God of the universe didn't just call us to climb the hill to find him. He came down to meet us.
The God of the universe rolled up his sleeves—rolled up his glory—for the sake of meeting you and caring for you. And what's so wild and significant is that Hebrews says that when he does this, he doesn't lose his holiness. He doesn't lose his perfection. He keeps it all, and while holding on to his holiness, he meets us so that we can actually approach him.
And then Hebrews says we can approach a throne.
Does it say a throne of anger? A throne of bitterness? A throne of judgment? A throne of wrath? No. It says a throne of grace.
Imagine you get pulled over. The officer asks you to roll down your window—and hands you a $25 Wawa gift card. You weren't expecting that, were you?
Proverbs said, "Avoid the king whenever you can." Hebrews says that because of Jesus—because Immanuel came into our world—it's not "avoid the King." It's "approach the King." Come into his presence not nervously, not anxiously, but with confidence.
Why? Because we need mercy, and we need grace.
So as a church, we value and believe in approachable transcendence. When we gather here, it's more than friends, neighbors, and coworkers showing up in a room. When we gather, God meets us here.
Do we think about worship that way? "I get to meet with God this morning."
Part of that is seriousness. The Bible warns pastors and preachers that when I stand up here—or Pastor Charlie or any other preacher—you should expect to hear from God. That puts weight on what we say.
When we come to the Table, it's not just bread and juice. We come into the presence of God.
When you pray, you're not just speaking into the air. You're talking to the God of the universe.
These things matter. They're weighty.
But it's more than our worship—though our worship is so important, and culturally we've kind of forgotten that. Scripture says, "Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them." There's no clause that says, "on Sunday mornings between 9:00 and 11:45, so the preacher better wrap it up." It says, "Where two or three gather in my name."
That means when we come together around the Word in small group Bible studies, God is there.
When we serve together as a church, God is there. Greg talked last week about our church moving into a season of serving in smaller teams and praying over those teams, because we want to say to each other, "God is here." As we serve, as we work together, as we greet people and make coffee, as we go out into the community—God is here with us. And that matters.
God is here. We can approach him. And he wants us here.
And what's so amazing is that it's not just for me or just for you. This is a core value because we believe the God of the universe desires a relationship with every single person. No matter what you've done, no matter what embarrassing thing has been done to you, no matter what baggage you carry, God invites you into his presence.
And because of Christ, when you enter his presence, you know what you find? Grace, life, and mercy.
People almost never experience that in ordinary life. We carry anxiety into a moment and leave with more anxiety. We carry shame. We carry fear, anger, and frustration.
As a church, we want as many people as possible—we want everyone—to know that there is a God who meets you, who cares for you, and who transforms you.
Let's pray.
Lord, I am so thankful for your holy Word. Even though we only got to look at the smallest glimpse of Hebrews—an amazing, overwhelming, wonderful book of the Bible—we pray that you would open our eyes to see, to hear, and to know what we have been offered in Jesus. We thank you. We praise you. We pray in your name. Amen.