NOTES for Heb 11:1-19

Speaking about faithfulness to God ("faith"), the author of the letter calls it "the foundation of what we hope for and assurance of things unseen" (v. 1; in the Synodal translation, "the realization of what is hoped for and assurance of what is unseen"). This definition of faithfulness implies not only trust in God, but also a certain activity on the person's part within the context of the relationship that binds him to God. The author of the letter gives examples of this kind of relationship, which he finds in the Old Testament books (vv. 2-5, 7-12). All of them are united by that attitude toward God which he calls "faithfulness" (the corresponding Greek word means first of all "faithfulness," although it can also be translated as "faith") and without which one who comes to God cannot become worthy of Him (v. 6; in the Synodal translation, "please God").

Continuing his thought, the author of the letter rightly observes that, when coming to God, it is important not only to believe that He exists, but also to believe that He rewards those who seek God's will; and here what is needed is not only belief in God's existence, but also trust in Him, unthinkable without a personal relationship with Him. Only such a relationship can give the faithful both the firm foundation for hope of which the author of the letter reminds his fellow believers, and confidence in what has not yet come, but will certainly come because God has promised it.

Of course, no deeds or acts in themselves can make a person worthy of God in the sense in which a person can become worthy of a human reward. Speaking about rewards for those who seek God and about those who deserve them, the author of the letter has in mind first of all precisely the fact of trust in God, which gives meaning to everything done in fulfillment of God's will. All the examples he gives are vivid witnesses to this: neither Abel, nor Noah, nor Abraham, with all that they did, can be imagined without complete and unconditional trust in the God who revealed Himself to them and whom they knew. Like his teacher, the author of the letter understands that the righteous person becomes righteous only through a trusting relationship with God, while his deeds are only the outward expression of this relationship. Such was the path of the ancient righteous, and such is the path of those who seek the Kingdom now, when the One who opened it to every seeker ready to trust and follow Him has come into the world.

Paul calls faith that which, having previously remained invisible, now reveals itself. Of course, if by faith he meant some theological concept or even simply a worldview, this phrase would sound mysterious. But judging by the context, by faith the author of the letter understands, first of all, unconditional faithfulness to God and to the covenant once concluded with Him. With this understanding of faith, much becomes clearer. Of course, if we based our hopes only on something human, even deep faith, these hopes would still hang in the air: for the course of history would hardly change radically because of our faith, even the deepest, and the Kingdom would not draw one iota closer to us.

Faithfulness to relationships with the One on whom both earthly history and the Kingdom depend is another matter. Such faithfulness truly becomes a pledge that everything promised to us by God, everything we hope for on the basis of His words, will one day truly become the reality of our life. And not simply become so in the future, but is already becoming so: for faithfulness to God also means participation in the fulfillment of His plans, those very plans with which the promises He has given are connected. Our faithfulness becomes His instrument, and then it turns out that the formerly invisible designs of God are being fulfilled and becoming visible, including through our faithfulness. And this faithfulness opens the road into the Kingdom for us, becoming the pledge of the fulfillment of our chief hope.

Today we understand faith in very different ways. Most often the matter is a firm confidence in the truth of something, whether a theory, concept, views, or convictions. Even faith in God today, for many sincerely religious people, is reduced to confidence that God exists and that He is exactly as the sacred books of the corresponding religion describe Him. Meanwhile, the author of the letter is speaking about something else.

He speaks about the realization of what we expect according to our faith, and about proof of the existence of invisible things, "assurance of things unseen," as the Synodal translation renders it. It turns out that faith begins with a certain confidence, and with confidence based on experience; the corresponding Greek word literally means "proof," something whose existence can be verified precisely by experience. This, however, is no surprise: real faith, which presupposes real communion with God, is impossible without experience.

Of course, trust is no less important here, both toward God and toward oneself - naturally, toward one's true self, toward one's heart, which becomes the spiritual organ that makes real communion with God possible. But trust opens precisely the possibility of real, experientially lived communion with God, who just as really and tangibly enters a person's life, renewing it. And the renewal of life changes it both inwardly and outwardly, often quite radically, as is evident from the examples given by the author of the letter.

Yet all such changes are a divine-human process; they are impossible without the active and conscious participation in them of the person led by God. This is how the realization of what is expected, of which the author speaks, takes place. Faith now turns out to be not only convictions or confidence in God's being; it becomes, on the one hand, a process, and on the other, a spiritual path. A process connected with the realization of God's plans, and a path of spiritual becoming walked by the person participating in God's plans. This process and this path are true faith - the very faith that leads to salvation.

The author of the epistle calls faith "the basis of our hopes and the invisible foundation of what is manifested", calling the "manifesting" what formerly remaining invisible, now reveals itself. Of course if he understood by faith a certain theological concept or even just an ideology, this phrase would have sounded mysteriously. But, according to the context, the author of the epistle understands by faith, above all, an unconditional faithfulness to God and the alliance once concluded with Him. With such understanding of faith several things become more comprehensible.

Certainly, if we based our hopes only on something human, even if it is a deep faith, these hopes would always be suspended in the air: for the course of the history would hardly change radically because of our faith, even the deepest, and the Kingdom wouldn’t come nearer us, even for an iota. It is a different thing, faithfulness towards the relations with the One, on Whom depend and the earthly history, and the Kingdom. Such faithfulness becomes indeed the pledge of the fact that all which was promised to us by God, everything we hope on, from His words, will really become one day a reality of life.

And will not just become in the future, but already becomes: because faithfulness to God also means participating in the realization of His plans, these same plans, with which are connected the promises made by Him. Our faithfulness becomes His instrument, and then turns out that God's formerly invisible projects come true and become visible, and this also thanks to our faithfulness. And this faithfulness opens to us the way to the Kingdom, becoming the pledge of the realization of our main hope.

In today's reading the apostle Paul offers a very interesting interpretation of Abraham's behavior. For us, who grew up in Christian culture, it may be completely obvious that if we believe in God, then we also believe in the resurrection of the dead. Yet even in Paul's time this was by no means obvious. It was still less obvious in Abraham's time. Strictly speaking, Abraham had no special grounds for believing in resurrection. For a person of that time and culture, immortality was found precisely in children; Abraham could not imagine any other continuation of life. But Paul says that Abraham trusted God, who had promised that Isaac would be the father of a great nation, so completely that he did not doubt for a second that the promise would be fulfilled, even if Isaac were offered as a sacrifice. How can this be? Does the how really matter? Abraham does not think about how it will happen. He simply accepts as fact that God's words cannot contradict one another, and therefore they will somehow fit together... And this trust is credited as righteousness.

What is the faith of the Patriarchs, and what is our faith in comparison with it? But perhaps we simply do not quite understand what faith is. It appears to us that faith, especially the faith of the patriarchs, is something unshakable, a certain rest for their great souls that enables them to do their great deeds. But let us look more closely at what the Apostle tells us today: "...they said of themselves that they were strangers and exiles on the earth; for those who speak this way make it clear that they are seeking a homeland." In these words, on the contrary, there is a certain unrest, a search. And according to the logic of our language, this is something opposite to faith. Searching is associated more with doubt than with faith. We even have expressions such as "established in faith" and "firm faith." And although in the first word the root is "firm," not "faith," this consonance shapes us apart from our conscious awareness.

But in reality, the faith of our fathers consisted precisely in not letting their thought find rest in anything earthly, and in general in not letting it rest in anything at all. For "if they had had in mind that homeland from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return." If we have something formed in our thoughts, not necessarily something strictly defined, concrete, and material, even if it is only an idea, it draws our actions toward itself, and we find time to realize it. But faith is something else. Faith is always striving; it is dynamism, impulse, and at times even wandering, but not meaningless wandering; it is wandering with hope in Him. And this very hope must be our stronghold. As soon as we stop hoping, we cut ourselves off from the vine and dry up. We shut off the oxygen of grace for ourselves.

And therefore doubts must exist. But these must be doubts not about God, but about our idea of Him. This small clarification is always forgotten when people speak of doubts in faith. Only one thing must be unshakable: the One who created me loves me, because: "You love all things that exist, and loathe nothing that You have made, for You would not have made anything if You had hated it" (Wis 11:25). What is there to doubt here? The fact that I exist, and therefore someone wanted me to exist, is obvious. It is also clear that He created responsibly, not as a childish amusement: since such a complex world stands, and everything in it is so beautiful, its Creator cannot be irresponsible. Therefore, He loves. That is all. That is all of faith.

And doubts about dogmas, about people, even those vested with rank, about the structure of the Church... all this is the very wandering of which the Apostle speaks to us today when he speaks about the descendants of the patriarch Abraham and his wife Sarah. And let us not cling too tightly to the earthly, for "they desired a better country, that is, a heavenly one; therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared a city for them."

Paul says that every faith is connected with the Kingdom, with its life, with the prospect of participating in this life. Otherwise it is meaningless. A little earlier he calls faith "the realization of what is hoped for and the assurance of what is unseen." An assurance that is not abstract, not theoretical, but experiential, when the invisible is revealed to a person in the process of communion with God as something completely real.

But in that case it becomes obvious that the matter concerns different layers of reality, which is itself many-leveled. If one has in mind the level with which fallen man usually deals, then here everything the author lists as deeds of faith is quite meaningless. At this level of reality it is more expedient to act in a way directly opposite to the one chosen for themselves by people of faith. And to act as they acted is possible only at the level of the Kingdom, which, it would seem, in the times not only of Abraham, but also of Moses or David, still lay ahead.

At the same time, when saying of the Kingdom that it was still ahead, that its time had not yet come, it is important to take into account that the matter once again concerns reality open to fallen man, not the reality of the Kingdom. For God, the world always remains His Kingdom. It was such from the beginning, already on the first day of creation, when the light of God's presence permeated the whole universe so that there was no place for darkness in it at all. It was later, when a will opposing God appeared in the world, a will to which God preserved freedom and the right to oppose Him, that creation became divided, losing its wholeness. And only in the part of creation separated from God and from the fullness of God's world does the little world of fallen man exist, from which God's throne is not visible and where the Kingdom therefore turns out to be not present, but an indefinite future in time and space.

But to people of faith, when they entrusted themselves to God, that great world of God was opened, the world that had always remained the Kingdom. And they lived in this Kingdom, not absolutely, of course, but with limitations conditioned by fallen human nature not yet transformed. Still, they lived in it and shared in its life insofar as it penetrated the little world separated from God by the evil will of fallen people and fallen spirits. The reality of the Kingdom was for them the reality that determined their life and their choice. A choice that could not be otherwise, for then they would have lost forever the life of the Kingdom which God, who called them after Himself, had slightly opened to them.

Continuing the discussion of faithfulness and trust in God, the author of the letter says of the righteous of antiquity that they died without receiving what was promised. This, however, did not drive them to despair and did not make them betray promises once given or the covenant-union once made with God: they did not abandon hope for the Kingdom whose coming they awaited (vv. 13-14). And this hope and faithfulness were expressed above all in the fact that none of them ever thought about the possibility of turning back and returning to the former life they had left when they believed the God who had revealed Himself to them and followed Him (vv. 15-16). The author of the letter gives numerous examples of such faithfulness, well known to every reader of the Old Testament books (vv. 17-31).

These reminders, of course, were not accidental: the righteous of antiquity were to become examples of faithfulness and hope for the Kingdom for the author's contemporaries, many of whom apparently possessed such qualities to a far lesser degree than their great spiritual predecessors. The crisis experienced by the church communities after the catastrophe of AD 70 was first of all a spiritual crisis: many of those who had expected the imminent triumph of the Kingdom were disappointed in their expectations, and along with that, in messianism as such, turning, perhaps, to the traditional Jewish way of life as a kind of religious refuge in which they could live through an inner crisis and the collapse of hopes that had not come true. Certain signs of such a crisis had appeared already during Paul's lifetime, when representatives of the first generation of Christians began to die, people who, like their fellow believers, were certain that the Savior would return and the Kingdom would triumph during their own lifetime. But after AD 70, one may think, it intensified sharply. And the author of the letter gives examples of those who believed in the coming of the Kingdom even when centuries still remained before its coming; they believed while knowing with complete certainty that they themselves would not have to see it, and they hoped that they too would not be left out of its triumph, even though they had no exact ideas about the resurrection of the dead, just as they had none about their own fate after death, and therefore had no guarantees that they themselves would become participants in this triumph. And if, despite all this, the ancient righteous did not despair, how could those to whom the Kingdom had not only been promised, but who had already been joined to it, lose hope merely because the triumph promised by the Savior turned out not to be as near as it had seemed to those who were waiting?