In what sense does the author of the epistle call Jesus high priest? At first glance, this comparison can seem like pure allegory. But if one thinks through the symbol used by the sacred writer, one has to admit that it has a definite spiritual meaning as well, especially in the context of the events during or shortly after which the epistle was written. It was written, it appears, after Paul's death by one of his disciples, and it came to light after the catastrophe of 70 AD, when Jerusalem and the Temple were razed to the ground after the anti-Roman uprising raised by militant messianists, the "zealots." Naturally, Yahwist sacrifices ceased after this, and the history of Yahwism ended: Judaism and Christianity finally separated, nothing any longer bound the Church and the Synagogue together, and each went its own way. Against this background the question inevitably arose: how is one to go on living without the Temple and sacrifices, which for millennia had been the main form of communion with God for Yahwists, and later for Jews and Christians?

The answer to it is the image of Christ as high priest. Of course, the image of the Messiah as high priest was also known to Jewish tradition. But there the issue was that the Messiah, when he came, would take the place not of a ruler, as the earlier and more traditional approach suggested, but of a high priest who would reform temple worship, making it an expression of the fullness of God's presence that would accompany his ministry. The author of the epistle, however, clearly has something else in mind.

He relies on the traditional Yahwist idea of the priestly community as a community of mediators between God and His people. Already in the Book of Leviticus the call sounds for the people "to be holy," to preserve the state of consecration that can be received only at the altar. But the whole people could not remain at the altar constantly; for the overwhelming majority, consecration was only an episode, though a most important one, in their spiritual life. Representatives of the priestly community, however, were at the altar constantly, though of course not all at the same time. And thus a certain part of the people was consecrated constantly, not from time to time as the majority was. And from this small part the whole people, which formed one spiritual body, was also consecrated.

The author of the epistle transfers this traditional idea to Christ: He, unlike any of us, always preserves the full consecration accessible to human nature. Strictly speaking, only He can do this, for sin hinders consecration, and in order to be fully consecrated one must be sinless. And His holiness consecrates the Church, including each of us.

Such a Mediator, of course, the people of God could not have had before Christ's coming: for with all their zeal, priests could not become sinless and be consecrated to the end. With such a Mediator, one did not have to fear even the absence of the Temple and sacrifices: through Him the Church receives the possibility of sharing in the fullness of the Kingdom, which is greater than the fullness of the Temple. And therefore, the possibility of salvation.

The traditional Yahwist, and later Jewish, understanding of sin and its consequences was fairly strict, even severe. One could be cleansed only from a sin committed unintentionally - from weakness, for example, from ignorance or carelessness. Cleansing was not identical with repentance. Repentance meant that a person recognized sin as such, precisely as sin, turned to God, felt remorse, and inwardly renounced what had been done. It was understood that God in any case forgives the one who sincerely repents, but forgiveness did not yet mean cleansing. Cleansing meant the possibility of being freed from the consequences of the sin that had been committed. If no cleansing took place, those consequences continued to weigh on a person, hindering normal communion with God and depriving the person of the prospect of entering the Kingdom of the Messiah, or, as it was also called in those days, the Kingdom of the age to come.

Such strictness was not, of course, the result of some special vindictiveness or formalism among believers. It only reflected the realities of the fallen world with the overpowering rule of evil and sin. Once a person had voluntarily handed himself over to the power of sin, he later found himself powerless before it; he could no longer break free from that power. Tax collectors, that is, collectors of tribute who worked for the Roman administration, were considered precisely voluntary sinners. No one had forced them to do what they were doing, and from the very beginning they knew what they were undertaking. They also knew that there would be no road back for them, since it was impossible to be cleansed from the consequences of a consciously committed sin.

One can imagine what these people must have felt when they learned that they too had the possibility of becoming part of the people of God again, of being cleansed and receiving a chance to begin everything with a clean slate. Many of them had no doubt later repented and regretted the choice they had once made, but there was nowhere for them to go. And then suddenly there appears the One who promises the possibility of what had previously been impossible. No wonder the tax collectors and others of the same sort, people who had once consciously sinned and had now repented, follow Jesus: He is their only hope.

For the devout Pharisees, however, proud of their religious purity, this turn of events is more a cause for irritation than for joy. What meaning do all their efforts to keep themselves pure have now, if those who did nothing of the kind are being given the same possibilities they have? The first reaction of religious consciousness to this situation is: we tried in vain; all our efforts have turned out to be useless.

Jesus speaks directly: He came to call to repentance those to whom it had previously been closed, real sinners and not formally righteous people. What matters to Him is to save everyone who can be saved, not to flatter the religious vanity of those who take pride in their imagined righteousness.

The scribes grumbling against Christ can be understood. Near Him they see people with whom a "normal" righteous believer would never even speak, much less sit at table... Bribe takers and racketeers, collaborators and "ordinary" sinners who are not concerned about scrupulously carrying out rituals... Homeless people and the mentally ill, vagrants and women of dubious reputation: all those who have cut themselves off from God, who have no right to hope for His mercy. And out of these people He wants to gather the Remnant of Israel?

But God's mercy surpasses our understanding. The Lord says, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." And in another place He says that tax collectors and sinners are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you. They simply heard the voice of Jesus, heard His word of hope, and responded to His call to repentance. An important practical conclusion follows from these words of Christ. First, the possibility of repentance and amendment is closed to no one. And second, you can find the Kingdom of God only if you acknowledge that you are no better than those very sinners who are so unpleasant to you yourself.