Chapter 10
The Epistle to the Hebrews — The Definitive Sacrifice and the Heavenly Sanctuary

Introduction: The Cathedral of Atonement Theology

If the New Testament were a gallery of paintings depicting the cross of Christ, then the Epistle to the Hebrews would be the largest canvas on the wall — the most detailed, the most carefully composed, and arguably the most breathtaking. No other New Testament writing devotes as much sustained attention to explaining how and why the death of Jesus accomplishes our salvation. Where Paul often states the fact of atonement in compact, creedal formulas, and where Peter and John approach the cross from their own distinctive angles, the unknown author of Hebrews takes the reader on an extended, carefully argued journey through the entire Old Testament sacrificial system and shows, step by step, how every element of it pointed forward to a single, climactic event: the once-for-all self-offering of Jesus Christ, our great High Priest.

Fleming Rutledge captures the significance of this letter well. Hebrews, she notes, "is the only New Testament writing that focuses almost exclusively on Christ's death as a sacrifice for sin."¹ Paul certainly uses sacrificial imagery from time to time — his use of hilastērion in Romans 3:25, for instance, is foundational — but Paul casts a wider net, weaving together justification, reconciliation, redemption, and victory language across his letters. Hebrews, by contrast, zeros in on one grand theme and develops it with a depth and detail unmatched anywhere else in Scripture. Its argument has been called "the longest sustained argument of any book in the Bible."²

In this chapter, I want to walk through the key atonement passages in Hebrews and show how they contribute to our understanding of penal substitutionary atonement as the central facet of Christ's atoning work. We will see that Hebrews does not merely repeat what other New Testament writers say about the cross. It adds something distinctive and irreplaceable: a comprehensive theological framework that interprets Christ's death through the lens of the Day of Atonement, the Levitical priesthood, and the heavenly sanctuary. Along the way, we will discover that Hebrews weaves together multiple atonement motifs — sacrifice, priestly mediation, propitiation, redemption, victory over the devil, purification of conscience, covenant inauguration, and the bearing of sins — into a single, majestic tapestry. And at the center of that tapestry, I believe, stands the substitutionary and penal dimension of Christ's death: he offered himself in our place, bearing our sins, so that we might be forgiven, cleansed, and brought into the very presence of God.

Before we dive into the details, a word about the structure of this chapter. I will move through the key texts roughly in canonical order, beginning with the opening declaration of Hebrews 1:3, then working through the crucial passages in chapters 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, and 10. Along the way, I will draw on the six primary sources that inform this book, paying particular attention to areas of agreement and disagreement. My goal is not simply to catalog what Hebrews says but to show why it matters — why this ancient, mysterious letter remains indispensable for anyone seeking to understand the cross.

1. The Opening Declaration: Hebrews 1:1–3

Hebrews begins with one of the most magnificent sentences in all of Scripture — a single, soaring Greek period that stretches across three verses and establishes the cosmic dignity of the Son of God before a single word about sacrifice has been uttered:

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, 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. 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. (Hebrews 1:1–3, ESV)

Notice what the author does here. He has just described the Son in the most exalted terms imaginable — the one through whom God created the universe, the one who radiates God's own glory and bears the exact imprint of the divine nature, the one who holds all things together by his powerful word. And then, tucked into this cosmic portrait, comes a quiet but staggering statement: this very Son "made purification for sins." As Rutledge observes, Hebrews combines the highest Christology in the New Testament with the most wrenching descriptions of Jesus' suffering humanity, and this opening verse is the first example of that stunning juxtaposition.³

The word translated "purification" is katharismon (καθαρισμόν), a term deeply rooted in the Old Testament sacrificial system. David Allen notes that this word "implicitly refers to the high priestly work of Christ intimated through the Old Testament tabernacle," and that the author develops this theme extensively in the doctrinal heart of the epistle.⁴ The term appears nineteen times in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament) and is concentrated in contexts of ritual purification — particularly in connection with the Day of Atonement. Its use in Exodus 30:10, which describes the annual atonement ritual on the altar of incense, is especially significant given that the author of Hebrews will later develop the connection between Christ and the Day of Atonement in Hebrews 8:1–10:18.⁵

What does this purification involve? In the Old Testament sacrificial economy, sin defiled the person and therefore required cleansing through the sprinkling of sacrificial blood. The threefold result of such an offering was the objective removal of sin, the granting of forgiveness, and the cleansing of the sinner.⁶ By saying the Son "made purification for sins," the author is signaling from the very first verses of his letter that everything in the Old Testament system of sacrifice finds its fulfillment in this one person. He is, as it were, planting a seed that will bloom into the magnificent argument of chapters 7 through 10.

There is one more detail we should not miss. After making purification for sins, the Son "sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high." That image — sitting down — will become enormously important later in the letter. It signals completion, finality, accomplishment. The Old Testament priests never sat down in the tabernacle; they stood, because their work was never finished. But this priest sat down, because his work was done. We will return to this powerful contrast when we reach Hebrews 10.

2. Tasting Death for Everyone: Hebrews 2:9, 14–17

After establishing the supreme dignity of the Son in chapter 1, the author of Hebrews takes a dramatic turn in chapter 2. The one who is higher than the angels became, for a time, "lower than the angels." Why? The answer is breathtaking:

But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. (Hebrews 2:9, ESV)

The phrase "taste death for everyone" is rich with substitutionary meaning. The Greek word translated "for" here is hyper (ὑπέρ), which we explored in detail in Chapter 2 of this book. As we noted there, hyper carries the sense of "on behalf of" and, in many contexts, "in place of." When combined with "taste death" — a vivid expression meaning to experience the full reality of death — the implication is that Jesus entered into death as our representative and substitute. He experienced what we were meant to experience. He died the death that was ours to die. And the scope of this substitution is breathtaking: he tasted death hyper pantos (ὑπὲρ παντός) — "for everyone." Not for some, not for the elect alone, but for every single human being. As Craig notes in his treatment of Christ's representative role, the substitutionary nature of Christ's death in Hebrews should not be overlooked; he is not only the high priest who represents us before God but also the sacrificial victim who dies our death.⁷

A few verses later, the author explains more about why the incarnation was necessary:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. (Hebrews 2:14–15, ESV)

Here we encounter a powerful Christus Victor dimension alongside the substitutionary theme. Christ's death is a victory — a decisive, destroying blow against the devil and his power over death. This is one of the clearest examples in the New Testament of the Christus Victor motif, which we will explore in much greater depth in Chapter 21 of this book. But notice something important: the victory is accomplished through death. It is not a victory won by raw power or military conquest. It is a victory won by dying. The mechanism of the victory is the sacrifice. This is why I believe the various atonement motifs are not competing alternatives but complementary facets of a single, multi-dimensional reality. Christus Victor is real, but it happens through substitutionary sacrifice.

The chapter then moves to one of its most theologically dense statements:

Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. (Hebrews 2:17–18, ESV)

This verse is extraordinarily important for atonement theology, and it has been the subject of considerable debate. Three things demand our attention.

First, notice the purpose of the incarnation: Jesus "had to be made like his brothers in every respect" — he had to become fully human — so that he could serve as high priest and make propitiation for sins. The incarnation, in other words, was not an end in itself. It was the necessary precondition for the atonement. The Son of God became a human being in order to die as a human being, in our place, for our sins.

Second, notice the word "propitiation." The Greek word here is hilaskesthai (ἱλάσκεσθαι), the verbal form of the hilaskomai word-group that we examined at length in Chapter 8's discussion of Romans 3:25. The ESV translates it "make propitiation," while the NIV renders it "make atonement," and the NRSV has "make a sacrifice of atonement." The choice of translation carries significant theological freight.

Vee Chandler, who rejects the penal dimension of the atonement, argues that hilaskesthai in Hebrews 2:17 should be understood as expiation rather than propitiation. She offers three main arguments. First, she contends that since the object of the verb is "the sins of the people" rather than "God," it must refer to the removal of sins rather than the turning away of wrath. Second, she argues that the verb is in the present tense, suggesting an ongoing heavenly ministry rather than a completed act on the cross, and that ongoing propitiation of God makes no sense. Third, she notes that the immediate context emphasizes Christ's destruction of the devil and his mercy toward the suffering — not the satisfaction of divine wrath.⁹

These are serious arguments that deserve a careful response. Let me take them in order.

Regarding the object of the verb, it is true that hilaskesthai takes "the sins of the people" as its direct object rather than "God." But this does not settle the matter as cleanly as Chandler suggests. As we noted in Chapter 8, even when the hilaskomai word-group takes sins as its object, the underlying concept of averting God's judicial response to sin is still present in the broader theological context. The Day of Atonement rituals — which are the unmistakable background for Hebrews 2:17 — involve both the removal of sin and the restoration of the right relationship between a holy God and a sinful people. These are two sides of the same coin. Allen captures this when he writes that "it is the consistent view of Scripture that humanity's sin has incurred the wrath of God and that this wrath is only averted by the substitutionary atonement that Christ has provided on the cross."¹⁰ The NIV margin, as Stott observes, renders it "that he might turn aside God's wrath, taking away the people's sins" — suggesting that both dimensions are present.¹¹

Regarding the present tense argument, Chandler is right that the present infinitive hilaskesthai can indicate ongoing action. But this does not necessarily exclude a reference to the cross. Many scholars understand the present tense here as describing the purpose or result of Christ's incarnation — a purpose that encompasses his entire priestly ministry, both earthly and heavenly. The act of propitiation/expiation was accomplished definitively on the cross, but its ongoing application continues as Christ intercedes for his people (Hebrews 7:25). The present tense can describe the character of Christ's priestly work rather than limiting it to one moment in time.

Regarding the context, I would actually argue that the broader context of Hebrews 2 supports rather than undermines the propitiatory reading. Yes, 2:14 speaks of destroying the devil — a Christus Victor theme. But 2:9 has already told us that Christ tasted death "for everyone," which is substitutionary language. And 2:17 says he became high priest specifically to deal with "the sins of the people." The whole chapter is about why the Son of God had to become human and die. The context is not either Christus Victor or propitiation; it is both. The victory over the devil is accomplished through the propitiatory sacrifice for sins. Once again, the multi-faceted nature of the atonement is on full display.

Third, and most importantly, notice the title given to Jesus: "a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God." This is the first time in the letter that Jesus is called a high priest, and it sets the stage for everything that follows. As Stott observes, the author of Hebrews "has no inhibitions about seeing Jesus both as 'a merciful and faithful high priest' and as the two victims" of the Day of Atonement — the sacrificed goat whose blood was taken into the inner sanctuary and the scapegoat that carried away the people's sins.¹² This double identification — priest and sacrifice — is one of the most remarkable theological moves in the entire New Testament, and we will see it developed with increasing richness as we move deeper into the letter.

3. The Superior High Priest: Hebrews 4:14–5:10 and 7:1–28

Before the author of Hebrews unfolds his great argument about Christ's sacrifice in chapters 9 and 10, he takes considerable time to establish Christ's credentials as high priest. This is not a theological detour; it is the foundation for everything that follows. If Christ is not a legitimate high priest, then his sacrifice has no priestly significance. The author therefore devotes several chapters to demonstrating that Jesus is not merely a priest — he is a priest of a higher order altogether.

In Hebrews 4:14–16, the author introduces his theme with a remarkable blend of theological grandeur and pastoral warmth:

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:14–16, ESV)

There is a deep pastoral logic at work here. Because our high priest has actually been where we are — he has felt what we feel, suffered what we suffer, faced the full force of temptation — he is not a distant, unsympathetic mediator but a compassionate one. And because he is the divine Son of God, his sympathy is coupled with infinite power. We can therefore come to God with confidence — not because of our own merit, but because of who our high priest is and what he has done.

In chapter 5, the author deepens this portrait by giving us one of the most moving descriptions of Jesus' humanity anywhere in Scripture:

In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered, and being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him. (Hebrews 5:7–9, ESV)

Rutledge calls this passage Hebrews' "own version of the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane" — a passage that "brings us very close to the anguish of our Lord as he takes our sin upon himself."¹³ The phrase "loud cries and tears" is startling. This is not the serene, composed figure of so many artistic depictions of Jesus. This is a real human being in agony, grappling with the full horror of what lies ahead. And yet, "being made perfect" through this suffering, he became "the source of eternal salvation." His suffering was not purposeless. It was the furnace through which our salvation was forged.

The phrase "learned obedience through what he suffered" is also deeply significant. It does not mean that Jesus was formerly disobedient and then learned to obey — the author has just said he was "without sin" (4:15). Rather, it means that Jesus entered experientially into the full reality of obedient self-giving under conditions of extreme suffering. He learned what it costs to obey the Father's will when that will leads through agony and death. This is relevant to penal substitution because it reminds us that the cross was not an impersonal transaction but a deeply personal act of willing obedience. Jesus did not merely agree in principle to serve as our substitute; he lived through the reality of it, with all its anguish. The phrase "being made perfect" (teleiōtheis, τελειωθείς) does not imply moral imperfection but rather vocational completion — he was fully qualified, through his suffering, to serve as the source of eternal salvation. Allen notes that the cross "fitted Christ to become the author of eternal salvation to all who obey Him."⁴⁵ His obedience unto death is the basis of our salvation.

The climax of the priestly argument comes in chapter 7, where the author develops the figure of Melchizedek — the mysterious priest-king of Genesis 14 who blessed Abraham. The argument is complex, but the core point is elegantly simple: Jesus' priesthood is not according to the Levitical order (the line of Aaron) but according to a different, higher, and permanent order — the order of Melchizedek. This matters because it means Jesus' priesthood is not subject to the limitations that plagued the Levitical system:

He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself. For the law appoints men in their weakness as high priests, but the word of the oath, which came later than the law, appoints a Son who has been made perfect forever. (Hebrews 7:27–28, ESV)

The phrase "once for all" translates the Greek ephapax (ἐφάπαξ), a word that will become the drumbeat of the rest of the letter. Stott notes that ephapax or its shorter form hapax (meaning "once for all") is applied to Christ's sacrifice five times in Hebrews.¹⁵ It signals finality, completeness, and unrepeatable sufficiency. Unlike the Levitical priests, who had to offer sacrifices daily, Jesus did it once. And that one offering was enough — not just for a year, not just for a generation, but forever.

Allen draws attention to the fact that this verse also highlights the contrast between Christ and the Levitical priests in terms of personal sinfulness. The Old Testament high priests had to offer sacrifices "first for their own sins" before they could deal with the people's sins. But Jesus, "holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens" (7:26), had no sins of his own to deal with. This is crucial for the theology of penal substitution: the one who bears the sins of others must himself be sinless. A guilty substitute cannot pay the debt of the guilty. Only the innocent one can stand in the place of the guilty — "the righteous for the unrighteous," as Peter puts it in 1 Peter 3:18 (discussed in Chapter 11).¹⁶

The author of Hebrews adds one more vital dimension to Christ's priestly ministry: intercession. Unlike the Levitical priests, who died and were replaced, Christ "holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever." The result? "He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them" (7:24–25). As Stott rightly insists, this ongoing intercession is not a continuation of the sacrifice — the sacrifice was completed "once for all" on the cross — but rather the ongoing application of that finished work to believers as Christ intercedes on their behalf as their advocate before the Father.¹⁷

4. Shadow and Reality: The Framework of Hebrews 8

Chapter 8 of Hebrews introduces what may be the single most important interpretive framework in the letter: the shadow/reality distinction. The Old Testament sacrificial system, the author argues, was never meant to be the final reality. It was a divinely designed shadow — a preview, a copy, a foreshadowing — of the heavenly reality that would be revealed in Christ.

Now the point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man. (Hebrews 8:1–2, ESV)

The earthly tabernacle, the author explains, was constructed "according to the pattern" that God showed Moses on Mount Sinai (8:5, citing Exodus 25:40). It was a copy of the "true tent" — the heavenly sanctuary where Christ now ministers. This means that the Levitical priests "serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly things" (8:5). The whole elaborate system of sacrifices, rituals, holy places, and priestly garments was, from the very beginning, a divinely intended typological preparation for something infinitely greater.

This framework is essential for understanding why the author of Hebrews views Christ's sacrifice as qualitatively different from the Old Testament sacrifices — not merely quantitatively better (as if it were just a bigger or better animal sacrifice) but different in kind. The Old Testament sacrifices were shadows; Christ's sacrifice is the reality. The shadows pointed forward to what he would do. They were, as Allen puts it, analogies for the final sacrifice of Christ — not the other way around. Christ's sacrifice is not an analogy of the Old Testament sacrifices; they serve as the analogy for his sacrifice.¹⁸

The author also introduces the new covenant theme in this chapter, quoting at length from Jeremiah 31:31–34 — the famous passage in which God promises a new covenant in which he will write his law on people's hearts, be their God, and "remember their sins no more" (8:12). This connection between the new covenant and the forgiveness of sins will become crucial in chapter 9, where the author shows that Christ's sacrificial death is the inauguration of this new covenant.

5. The Heart of the Argument: Hebrews 9:1–28

We have now arrived at the theological summit of the Epistle to the Hebrews. Chapter 9 contains the most extended and detailed exposition of Christ's atoning work in the entire New Testament. Here the author brings together everything he has been building toward — the Day of Atonement typology, the superiority of Christ's priesthood, the shadow/reality framework, and the new covenant promises — into a single, breathtaking argument.

The Old Covenant Sanctuary (9:1–10)

The author begins by describing the earthly tabernacle and its rituals, focusing on the Day of Atonement — the annual ceremony in which the high priest, and only the high priest, entered the Most Holy Place with sacrificial blood. As we explored in detail in Chapter 5, the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) was the most solemn and important day in the Israelite calendar, the one day of the year when atonement was made for the sins of the entire nation. The author of Hebrews recalls that "into the second [section of the tabernacle] only the high priest goes, and he but once a year, and not without taking blood, which he offers for himself and for the unintentional sins of the people" (9:7).

The limitations of this system are glaring, and the author highlights them: the sacrifices could not "perfect the conscience of the worshiper" (9:9); they dealt only with "regulations for the body" (9:10); and they were "imposed until the time of reformation" (9:10) — a temporary arrangement, in other words, designed to serve until something better came along.

Christ Enters the Heavenly Sanctuary (9:11–14)

Then comes the great "But" — one of the most important transitional words in the entire Bible:

But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of the flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God. (Hebrews 9:11–14, ESV)

This passage is so rich that we need to unpack it carefully. Several elements demand attention.

First, Christ entered the heavenly sanctuary with his own blood. The Old Testament high priest entered the Most Holy Place carrying the blood of a sacrificed animal. Christ entered the true, heavenly sanctuary carrying something infinitely more precious — his own blood. This is not a metaphor for something else; it is a theological statement about the real, personal, costly nature of Christ's sacrifice. He did not offer something external to himself; he offered himself. The cost of our redemption was his own life.

Second, the result is "eternal redemption." The Greek word for "redemption" here is lytrōsin (λύτρωσιν), a term drawn from the vocabulary of ransom and liberation (see Chapter 2 for the full treatment of redemption language). What the Old Testament sacrifices could accomplish only temporarily and provisionally, Christ's sacrifice accomplishes permanently and fully. This is not a redemption that needs to be renewed every year on the Day of Atonement. It is eternal — once for all, never to be repeated.

Third, Christ "offered himself without blemish to God." The phrase "through the eternal Spirit" has been interpreted in various ways, but the most natural reading connects it to the divine power by which Christ's sacrifice has its eternal efficacy. The phrase "without blemish" (amōmon, ἄμωμον) echoes the requirement that Old Testament sacrificial animals be physically perfect — without defect or blemish. Applied to Christ, it speaks of his moral perfection, his sinlessness. Only a sinless sacrifice could accomplish what a blemished one never could.

Fourth, the sacrifice purifies not just the body but the conscience. This is one of the most pastorally significant points in the entire letter. The Old Testament sacrifices dealt with external, ceremonial defilement — "the purification of the flesh" (9:13). But Christ's blood does something far deeper: it purifies "our conscience from dead works to serve the living God." This means that the cross deals with guilt — real, interior, conscience-level guilt — in a way that no animal sacrifice ever could. When we come to Christ, we do not merely receive a ceremonial cleaning. We receive a new conscience, cleansed from the burden of guilt, liberated to serve God freely and joyfully.

The Blood of the Covenant (9:15–22)

The author then turns to another crucial dimension of Christ's death: its role in inaugurating a new covenant. Here the argument becomes especially creative. The author observes that in Greek, the word diathēkē (διαθήκη) can mean either "covenant" or "will" (as in a last will and testament). Playing on this double meaning, he argues that just as a will takes effect only after the death of the one who made it (9:16–17), so the new covenant required a death to put it into force. Even the old covenant was inaugurated with blood: Moses sprinkled the book of the law, the people, the tabernacle, and the vessels of ministry with sacrificial blood (9:19–21, recalling Exodus 24:6–8).

The covenant-inauguration theme is extremely important for our understanding of the atonement because it adds another dimension to what Christ's death accomplishes. His death is not only a sacrifice that removes sin and not only a propitiatory offering that satisfies divine justice — it is also the act that puts a new covenant into effect. Just as the old covenant at Sinai was sealed with blood (Exodus 24:8), so the new covenant is sealed with the blood of Christ. This is why Jesus said at the Last Supper, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood" (Luke 22:20; 1 Corinthians 11:25), as we explored in Chapter 7. The author of Hebrews makes this connection explicit: "he is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, since a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions committed under the first covenant" (9:15). Notice the double function of Christ's death in this verse: it redeems (liberating from the penalty of transgressions committed under the old covenant) and it inaugurates (putting the new covenant into effect). Craig highlights this verse as one of several in which the New Testament identifies Christ's redemptive death as inaugurating a new covenant and providing forgiveness of sins.⁴³

This leads to one of the most important statements in the letter:

Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins. (Hebrews 9:22, ESV)

This verse states a foundational biblical principle: forgiveness requires blood — that is, it requires the death of a sacrifice. Craig notes that the New Testament writers understood the Old Testament sacrifices as both expiatory in intention and propitiatory in effect, and he highlights the author of Hebrews as going further than any other biblical author in making this connection explicit.¹⁹ Allen adds that this principle means Christ's sacrifice "cannot be spiritualized into an analogy" — it is a real, blood-shedding, life-giving sacrifice that deals with real sin and produces real forgiveness.²⁰

Some scholars have tried to minimize the significance of blood language in the New Testament, arguing that "blood" is simply a metaphor for life rather than a reference to violent death. But this interpretation does not do justice to the sacrificial context. In the Old Testament system, the blood was significant precisely because it represented the life given up in death. When the author of Hebrews says "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness," he means that forgiveness costs a life. Sin is not trivial. It cannot be waved away with a gesture of divine goodwill. It must be dealt with — and the way God has chosen to deal with it is through substitutionary sacrifice.

Christ's Once-for-All Offering (9:23–28)

The chapter reaches its climax in the final verses, where the author draws a stunning contrast between the Old Testament sacrificial system and the final sacrifice of Christ:

Thus it was necessary for the copies of the heavenly things to be purified with these rites, but the heavenly things themselves with better sacrifices than these. For Christ has entered, not into holy places made with hands, which are copies of the true things, but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf. Nor was it to offer himself repeatedly, as the high priest enters the holy places every year with blood not his own, for then he would have had to suffer repeatedly since the foundation of the world. But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the ages to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself. And just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him. (Hebrews 9:23–28, ESV)

The phrase in verse 28 — "offered once to bear the sins of many" — is a clear echo of Isaiah 53:12, which speaks of the Suffering Servant who "bore the sin of many." As we explored in depth in Chapter 6, Isaiah 53 is the most important Old Testament text for understanding substitutionary atonement. The author of Hebrews is deliberately linking Christ's sacrifice to the Suffering Servant prophecy, confirming that what Isaiah foretold has now been fulfilled. Craig draws attention to this allusion, noting that "Christ is described as a voluntary, expiatory sacrifice, offered, in the language of Isaiah 53, to bear the sins of many" — a clear affirmation of substitutionary punishment for humanity's sins.²¹

The word translated "bear" is anenenkein (ἀνενεγκεῖν), from the verb anapherō (ἀναφέρω). This is the same word used in the Septuagint for the offering of sacrifices on the altar, and it carries the dual sense of "offering up" and "bearing." When the author says Christ was "offered once to bear the sins of many," he is using sacrificial terminology to describe a substitutionary act. Christ carried our sins — not as a passive burden but as a sacrificial offering. He took what was ours and presented it before God, absorbing in himself the judicial consequences of human sin.

Notice also the scope: Christ bore "the sins of many." As Allen points out, and as we will argue more fully in Chapter 30, the "many" here is a Hebraism that means "all" — all people without exception.²² Christ's sacrifice is universal in its scope, even though its benefits must be individually appropriated through faith.

And then comes the eschatological promise: Christ "will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him." The first coming dealt with sin — definitively, completely, once for all. The second coming will bring the full consummation of that salvation. This is the Christian hope: sin has been dealt with; salvation is sure; and the one who bore our sins is coming back — not to die again, but to bring everything to its glorious conclusion.

6. The Finality of Christ's Sacrifice: Hebrews 10:1–18

Chapter 10 is, in many ways, the conclusion of the author's great argument. Everything from chapter 7 onward has been building to this point. And the argument comes to rest with a clarity and finality that is almost overwhelming.

The chapter opens with a frank assessment of the Old Testament sacrificial system:

For since the law has but a shadow of the good things to come instead of the true form of these realities, it can never, by the same sacrifices that are continually offered every year, make perfect those who draw near. Otherwise, would they not have ceased to be offered, since the worshipers, having once been cleansed, would no longer have any consciousness of sins? But in these sacrifices there is a reminder of sins every year. For it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins. (Hebrews 10:1–4, ESV)

The author's logic is devastating in its simplicity. If the Old Testament sacrifices had actually been able to remove sin once and for all, people would have stopped offering them. The fact that they had to be repeated — "every year," "continually" — proved that they were not getting the job done. They were a "shadow," not the reality. They served as a "reminder of sins" — an annual acknowledgment that the sin problem had not yet been definitively resolved. And then comes the blunt verdict: "It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins."

Craig highlights this verse as revealing the author's understanding that the Old Testament sacrifices were "expiatory in intention, if not in reality." They were meant to deal with sin, and God graciously accepted them within the old covenant framework, but in themselves they were incapable of truly removing sin.²³ They were, as it were, promissory notes drawn on a future account — valid because the future payment was guaranteed, but not valuable in themselves.

The author then quotes Psalm 40:6–8, placing the words in the mouth of Christ as he enters the world:

"Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body have you prepared for me; in burnt offerings and sin offerings you have taken no pleasure. Then I said, 'Behold, I have come to do your will, O God, as it is written of me in the scroll of the book.'" (Hebrews 10:5–7, ESV)

This is a stunning theological move. The Son of God, at his incarnation, acknowledges that the old sacrifices were not God's ultimate desire. God had always intended something greater: a willing, personal, self-offering — not the blood of animals but the body prepared for the incarnate Son. As Rutledge puts it, this passage shows that "the purpose of the incarnation was the offering of his entire incarnate life on the cross." The words "I have come to do your will" are "written over the whole record of our Lord's life; this was his attitude from first to last."²⁴

The author then draws out the implication: Christ "does away with the first" — the old system of animal sacrifices — "in order to establish the second" — the new, definitive sacrifice of his own body (10:9). "And by that will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all" (10:10). Once again, the word ephapax rings out. One offering. One body. One will. One result: we are sanctified — set apart as holy, cleansed from sin, made right with God — and it is finished.

The argument reaches its conclusion with a decisive statement that links the sacrifice of Christ to the new covenant promise of Jeremiah 31:

"This is the covenant that I will make with them after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my laws on their hearts, and write them on their minds," then he adds, "I will remember their sins and their lawless deeds no more." Where there is forgiveness of these, there is no longer any offering for sin. (Hebrews 10:16–18, ESV)

This is the ultimate conclusion. The new covenant has been inaugurated by Christ's blood. God has promised to remember our sins no more. And if our sins are truly, finally, completely forgiven — "where there is forgiveness of these" — then there is no longer any need for any further offering for sin. The whole sacrificial system is rendered obsolete. Not because it was wrong, but because it has been fulfilled. The shadow has given way to the reality. The copies have been replaced by the original. The priest has sat down.

7. Drawing Near: The Pastoral Fruit of the Atonement (Hebrews 10:19–25)

One of the most beautiful features of the Epistle to the Hebrews is the way the author moves seamlessly from rigorous theological argument to warm pastoral exhortation. Having completed the great doctrinal section on Christ's sacrifice in 10:1–18, the author immediately draws out the practical implications for believers. The theology is not left hanging in the air as an abstract truth; it is brought down to earth and pressed into the hearts and lives of real people:

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. (Hebrews 10:19–23, ESV)

"Confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus." Think about what that sentence means. Under the old covenant, no one — not even the high priest — could enter God's presence freely. The high priest could enter the Most Holy Place only once a year, and only with blood, and only with elaborate ritual preparation. The ordinary Israelite could never enter at all. A thick curtain hung between the worshiper and the presence of God, and that curtain said, as loudly as any barrier can speak: "You do not belong here. You are not holy enough. Access denied."

But now, because of what Christ has done — because of his blood, his sacrifice, his once-for-all offering — that curtain has been torn open. A "new and living way" has been opened, and it leads straight into the presence of God. We can come boldly. We can come with confidence. We can come with "full assurance of faith." Not because we are worthy, but because our High Priest has made the way open. Our hearts have been "sprinkled clean from an evil conscience" — the guilt that once kept us cowering in fear has been removed by the blood of Christ.

This is the pastoral payoff of everything the author has been arguing. Why does it matter that Christ is a superior High Priest? Because it means we have someone who truly represents us before God. Why does it matter that his sacrifice is once for all? Because it means the sin problem is dealt with — fully, finally, permanently. We do not need to keep offering sacrifices. We do not need to keep going back and wondering if we are forgiven. The priest has sat down. The work is done. We can draw near.

Rutledge draws attention to the deeply pastoral character of these assurances, noting that "these are wonderful passages, full of confidence in the achievement of Christ and replete with promise for sinners."⁴⁶ The author of Hebrews is not merely constructing a theological argument; he is pastoring anxious, fearful, tempted believers. And his pastoral strategy is not to offer them easy comfort or sentimental reassurance. His strategy is to point them to the cross — to the objective, accomplished, once-for-all sacrifice of Christ — and to say: This is your confidence. This is your hope. Not your feelings, not your performance, not your spiritual temperature on any given day, but the blood of Jesus, which has opened the way into God's presence forever.

I find this deeply moving, and I think it reveals something important about the practical significance of penal substitutionary atonement. Critics sometimes complain that PSA is an abstract legal theory with no relevance to real Christian life. But the author of Hebrews shows us exactly the opposite. It is precisely because Christ bore our sins, because his blood was shed for our forgiveness, because the sacrifice was once for all and fully sufficient, that we can have confidence before God. Take away the substitutionary sacrifice, and you take away the basis for the believer's assurance. If Christ did not truly bear our sins, if his death was merely a moral example or a demonstration of God's love without any objective dealing with guilt, then on what basis can I "draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith"? The assurance depends on the accomplishment. The pastoral fruit grows from the theological root.

Hebrews 13:10–13: Suffering Outside the Gate

One final text deserves mention before we turn to our integrated assessment. Near the end of the letter, the author makes an evocative connection between Christ's death and the Day of Atonement sin offerings:

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. 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. (Hebrews 13:10–13, ESV)

The detail that Jesus "suffered outside the gate" — that is, outside the walls of Jerusalem — is linked to the Old Testament practice of burning the remains of certain sin offerings "outside the camp" (Leviticus 16:27). The author sees a typological connection: just as those sin offerings were carried outside the camp to be consumed, so Jesus was taken outside the city to be crucified. And the purpose? "To sanctify the people through his own blood." Allen draws attention to this verse as yet another confirmation that the author views Christ's death through the lens of the Old Testament sin offering — a substitutionary sacrifice for the purification of the people.⁴⁷

But there is also a challenge here: "Let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured." The atonement is not merely a doctrine to be believed; it is a life to be lived. Those who have been saved by the shame of the cross are called to share in that shame — to follow Christ into the places of rejection, suffering, and reproach. The cross saves us, and the cross shapes us. Theology flows into discipleship.

8. The Theology of Sacrifice in Hebrews: An Integrated Assessment

Having worked through the key passages, we are now in a position to step back and assess the overall theology of sacrifice in Hebrews and its implications for our understanding of penal substitutionary atonement.

Hebrews Confirms the Multi-Faceted Nature of the Atonement

One of the most striking features of Hebrews is how many atonement motifs it brings together. Allen helpfully catalogs the range: Christ has "purged" our sins (1:3), made "propitiation" for sin (2:17), "put away sin" (9:26), borne sin (9:28), and offered "sacrifice for sins" (10:12).²⁶ To this list we can add: he destroyed the devil (2:14, Christus Victor), secured eternal redemption (9:12, ransom/liberation), purified our conscience (9:14, inner transformation), inaugurated a new covenant (9:15, covenant renewal), and opened the way for us to draw near to God (10:19–22, reconciliation and access). All of these motifs are present in a single letter — often in a single paragraph.

This is precisely the kind of multi-faceted atonement theology that I have been arguing for throughout this book. The cross does not do just one thing. It accomplishes many things simultaneously, and each of the major atonement models captures a genuine dimension of what Christ achieved. Anyone who reads Hebrews carefully will find it very difficult to reduce the atonement to any single category.

Hebrews Supports the Centrality of Penal Substitution

But while Hebrews includes many motifs, it does not treat them all as equally central. The dominant motif — the one that holds all the others together, the one to which the author devotes by far the most sustained attention — is substitutionary sacrifice. The entire argument of chapters 7 through 10 is organized around the claim that Jesus is the perfect priest who offers the perfect sacrifice — himself — in our place. He bears our sins (9:28, echoing Isaiah 53). He dies so that the covenant can be inaugurated (9:16–17). He offers his blood so that forgiveness is accomplished (9:22). He enters the heavenly sanctuary with his own blood so that eternal redemption is secured (9:12).

Is this "penal" substitution? Hebrews does not use the word "penalty" (timōria or kolasis) explicitly in connection with Christ's death. But the penal dimension is woven into the very fabric of the argument. Consider: the Old Testament sacrifices that Hebrews interprets were themselves substitutionary and penal in character. The sin offering and the guilt offering (discussed in detail in Chapters 4 and 5 of this book) involved the transfer of sin to the sacrificial animal through the laying on of hands (semikah), followed by the death of the animal as a consequence of that transferred sin. The Day of Atonement ritual, which is the primary typological framework for Hebrews 9, involved the symbolic bearing of the people's sins (the scapegoat) and the shedding of blood for the removal of guilt (the sacrificed goat). When the author of Hebrews says that Christ "bore the sins of many" and that "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins," he is drawing on a sacrificial system that was inherently substitutionary and penal. Christ took what was ours — our sin, our guilt, the judicial consequences of our rebellion — and dealt with it through his death.

Moreover, the language of divine judgment is not absent from Hebrews. Just a few verses after the great atonement argument concludes, the author warns: "For if we go on sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins, but a fearful expectation of judgment, and a fury of fire that will consume the adversaries" (10:26–27). And later: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God" (10:31). The author of Hebrews is deeply aware that God is a God of justice — a God before whom sin must be dealt with. Christ's sacrifice is the provision that deals with sin so that we do not have to face that fearful judgment ourselves. This is the heart of penal substitution.

Hebrews Addresses the "Cosmic Child Abuse" Caricature

One of the most damaging criticisms of penal substitutionary atonement is the accusation, made famous by Steve Chalke and Alan Mann, that it depicts God as a "cosmic child abuser" — a wrathful Father who takes out his anger on an innocent Son. As we will address in far greater detail in Chapter 20, this is a profound misunderstanding and distortion of genuine penal substitution. Hebrews provides some of the strongest biblical evidence against this caricature.

In Hebrews, the Son is not a passive victim. He is an active, willing participant in the plan of salvation. He "offered up himself" (7:27). He came saying, "I have come to do your will, O God" (10:7). He "offered himself without blemish to God" (9:14). He is not an unwilling victim being punished against his will by an angry deity. He is the divine Son who, out of love, voluntarily takes on human nature and offers his life as a sacrifice for the sins of the world. The entire Trinitarian movement of the atonement is one of unified, self-giving love — not of intra-Trinitarian violence.

Furthermore, the author of Hebrews describes the atonement in ways that highlight God's grace rather than his wrath. Christ tasted death "by the grace of God" (2:9). He is a "merciful and faithful high priest" (2:17). The sacrifice purifies our conscience and enables us to "serve the living God" (9:14). The result is "confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus" (10:19). This is not the language of violence and abuse. It is the language of grace, mercy, and love — the language of a God who goes to extraordinary lengths to bring his wayward children home.

Hebrews and the Eastern Orthodox Perspective

I should also note briefly that the theology of Hebrews resonates in important ways with Eastern Orthodox concerns. As we will explore in detail in Chapters 23 and 34, Orthodox theologians sometimes claim that penal substitution is a purely Western invention with no basis in the patristic tradition or the liturgical life of the church. But the themes of Hebrews — priestly mediation, sacrificial offering, victory over death and the devil, the purification of the worshiper, the opening of access to God — are deeply embedded in Orthodox liturgical theology. Fr. Joshua Schooping, an Eastern Orthodox priest, has demonstrated at length that the hymnography of the Orthodox Church is saturated with substitutionary and even penal language — language drawn directly from texts like Hebrews 2:14–17, 9:11–14, and 9:28.²⁷ The Orthodox emphasis on Christ as the great High Priest who enters the heavenly sanctuary with his own blood is, in fact, a deeply Hebrews-shaped theology. And that theology, as we have seen, is thoroughly substitutionary.

9. Responding to Objections

Before we conclude, we should address several common objections to reading Hebrews as supporting penal substitutionary atonement. These objections come from different directions, and engaging them fairly will, I believe, actually strengthen the case for the reading I have been presenting.

Objection 1: "Hebrews is about expiation, not propitiation"

This objection, as we noted in our discussion of Hebrews 2:17, argues that the sacrificial language of Hebrews is concerned with the removal of sin (expiation) rather than the satisfaction of divine justice (propitiation). Chandler presses this point with some force in her treatment of the hilaskomai word-group, arguing that the object of Christ's priestly action is sins rather than God, and therefore the language is expiatory rather than propitiatory.²⁸

I have already offered a detailed response to this argument above. But let me add two further considerations. First, the entire logic of Hebrews is built on the premise that something needed to be done about sin before God — in God's presence, in God's sanctuary, with blood presented to God. The high priest does not merely cleanse the sinner in isolation; he enters the Most Holy Place — God's dwelling place — and presents the blood there. This spatial and relational dimension of the argument is hard to explain if all we have is expiation (sin removal). Why does the blood need to be presented before God if God is not the one whose justice needs to be satisfied? The very structure of the Day of Atonement typology points toward propitiation: something is being done in God's presence, on God's terms, to deal with the problem that sin poses to God's justice. As Stott argues, the wrath of God is the fundamental context against which the entire argument of propitiation makes sense.²⁹

Second, the propitiation-expiation distinction, while helpful for analytical purposes, can be overdrawn. In biblical theology, these are not two completely separate activities. When sin is removed (expiated), the divine-human relationship that sin disrupted is restored, and God's just opposition to sin is satisfied (propitiation). When God's justice is satisfied (propitiation), the result is the effective removal of sin and its consequences (expiation). The two go together. The author of Hebrews does not appear to be choosing between them; he is describing a single, complex event — Christ's sacrifice — that accomplishes both. Morris captured this well when he argued that the hilaskomai word-group is "a complex term" that genuinely includes both the removal of sin and the averting of God's just response to it.³¹

Objection 2: "The 'once for all' language undermines PSA"

A more subtle objection argues that the ephapax ("once for all") language of Hebrews actually undermines penal substitution, because it focuses on the finality and sufficiency of Christ's offering rather than on punishment being transferred from sinners to Christ. On this view, Hebrews is about the completion of the sacrificial system, not about the transfer of penalty.

But this is a false dichotomy. The "once for all" language does not exclude the penal dimension; it magnifies it. The reason Christ's sacrifice only needed to happen once is precisely because it was fully effective — because it actually dealt with sin, actually bore the judicial consequences, actually secured forgiveness. If Christ's death were merely a moral example or a dramatic display of God's love (as moral influence theory holds), there would be no particular reason why it could not or should not be repeated. The finality of the sacrifice is a function of its effectiveness, and its effectiveness is rooted in its substitutionary and penal character: Christ bore our sins once, and that one bearing was enough.

Objection 3: "Hebrews focuses on heavenly offering, not earthly punishment"

A third objection, articulated by scholars like David Moffitt, argues that the author of Hebrews focuses not on Christ's death as the central atoning event but on his heavenly offering — his presentation of his blood in the heavenly sanctuary after his ascension. On this reading, Christ's death merely initiates the atoning process; the real atoning work happens in heaven.³⁵

There is something valuable in this observation. Hebrews does indeed give significant attention to Christ's entrance into the heavenly sanctuary, and this heavenly dimension should not be ignored. The presentation of blood in God's presence is part of the complete atoning event. But Craig rightly pushes back against any reading that separates Christ's death from his offering in a way that diminishes the atoning significance of the cross itself. No one is suggesting that Christ's death can be isolated from his priestly ministry; the point is that the death is the sacrifice, and the heavenly presentation is the completion of what the death accomplished. To use a rough analogy: the killing of the sacrificial animal and the sprinkling of its blood in the Holy of Holies were both essential parts of a single Day of Atonement ritual. You could not have one without the other. The same is true of Christ's death and his heavenly ministry. They are not competing explanations; they are two movements in a single, unified act of atonement.⁴⁴

In fact, the very language of the text confirms that the death itself is the decisive moment. Christ "appeared once for all at the end of the ages to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself" (9:26). He was "offered once to bear the sins of many" (9:28). The sacrifice is what removes sin and bears sin. The heavenly presentation is the application and completion of what the sacrifice accomplished, not a separate atoning event.

Conclusion: The Definitive Sacrifice

We have now surveyed the atonement theology of Hebrews in some depth, and the picture that emerges is breathtaking in its scope and its precision. The author of Hebrews has given us the most sustained and systematic theological reflection on the atonement in the entire New Testament — a reflection that interprets Christ's death through the lens of the Old Testament sacrificial system and demonstrates that Jesus is simultaneously the perfect High Priest and the perfect sacrifice.

What has this survey revealed? Several things stand out.

First, Hebrews confirms that the Old Testament sacrificial system was a divinely intended preparation for the cross. The shadows of Leviticus and the rituals of the Day of Atonement were not arbitrary religious customs. They were God's own visual curriculum, designed to teach his people what sin costs and how it can be forgiven — and to point them forward to the one sacrifice that would accomplish what all the animal sacrifices could only prefigure.

Second, Hebrews confirms the substitutionary character of Christ's death. He "tasted death for everyone" (2:9). He was "offered once to bear the sins of many" (9:28). He "offered up himself" (7:27). He entered the sanctuary with "his own blood" (9:12). At every turn, the language is substitutionary: Christ in our place, Christ bearing what was ours, Christ offering what we could not offer.

Third, Hebrews confirms the once-for-all finality and sufficiency of the cross. The sacrifice is done. The priest has sat down. No further offering is needed. "Where there is forgiveness of these, there is no longer any offering for sin" (10:18). This is not a process that continues; it is a finished work.

Fourth, Hebrews weaves together multiple atonement motifs — sacrifice, priestly mediation, propitiation, redemption, purification, Christus Victor, covenant inauguration, and the bearing of sins — into a single, integrated theology. This supports the multi-faceted understanding of the atonement that I have been arguing for throughout this book, with penal substitution at the center and the other models arranged around it as complementary dimensions of a single, glorious reality.

And fifth, Hebrews presents all of this as an act of grace and love, not of divine anger or cosmic abuse. The Son came willingly. The Father prepared a body for him in love. The sacrifice purifies our conscience and opens the way for us to draw near to God with confidence. The cross, in the theology of Hebrews, is the place where God's love and God's justice meet — not in tension, but in perfect harmony.

As Allen summarizes the message of Hebrews: the key characteristic function of the priest in Israel was to offer sacrifices for the sins of the people as a mediator between God and humanity. "If sinful people are ever to be brought into a right relationship with God, it must occur by means of a vicarious substitutionary offering in the place of the sinner — hence, the important statement: 'Without shedding of blood there is no remission' (9:22)."³⁰ In Jesus Christ, the priest and the sacrifice have become one. He and he alone has appeared at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself. That is the definitive sacrifice. That is the heart of the gospel. And that is what the Epistle to the Hebrews, more than any other book of the Bible, helps us to understand.