Chapter 21

Hebrews—Discipline, Warning, and a Better Hope

Of all the books in the New Testament, Hebrews might be the one that makes the strongest case for taking God’s warnings seriously. And it should. The warnings in Hebrews are fierce. They are vivid. They are meant to shake you awake. If you have ever read Hebrews 6 or Hebrews 10 and felt a knot in your stomach, you are not alone. Generations of believers have wrestled with these passages. They have been used to argue for all three major positions on final destiny—eternal conscious torment, conditional immortality, and universal restoration. Each side claims Hebrews supports their view.

So what does Hebrews actually teach about final destiny? That is the question we are going to wrestle with in this chapter. And I want to tell you up front: I think the answer surprised me. When I was a conditionalist, I leaned heavily on the warning passages in Hebrews. They seemed perfectly suited to the CI case. Fire that consumes. Destruction that is real and final. No escape. But as I read the rest of Hebrews—really read it, not just the scary parts—I found a theology of divine discipline, a priesthood that never ends, and something the author himself calls “a better hope.” And that better hope changed everything for me.

Here is what we are going to do. First, we will look at the CI case from Hebrews. I want to give it a fair hearing, because it is genuinely strong. Then we will step back and look at the entire letter—its theology of discipline, its portrait of Christ’s priesthood, its vision of what God is doing through fire and through suffering—and I think you will see why the universalist reading is more faithful to the letter as a whole.

The Conditional Immortality Case from Hebrews

The CI advocate finds powerful support in Hebrews. Let me lay it out honestly, because if we cannot present the strongest version of the opposing case, our response is not worth much.

The starting point for CI in Hebrews is the warning passages. There are five of them sprinkled throughout the letter, and they form a kind of backbone for the author’s pastoral argument. The two most important for our purposes are Hebrews 6:4–8 and Hebrews 10:26–31.¹

In Hebrews 6, the author describes people who have “been enlightened,” who have “tasted the heavenly gift,” who have “shared in the Holy Spirit,” and who have “tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the coming age.” These are not casual acquaintances with the faith. These are people who have been deeply inside it. And then the author drops the hammer: “If they fall away, it is impossible to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God and holding him up to contempt” (Heb. 6:4–6, ESV).²

That word “impossible” is jarring. The CI advocate reads it and says: this is a passage about permanent, irreversible consequences. Not temporary discipline. Not remedial correction. The word is adynaton—impossible. If the author meant this was merely difficult, or that it would take a long time, he had other words available to him. He chose the strongest one.³

Then the author uses an agricultural analogy. Land that drinks in the rain and produces a useful crop receives blessing from God. But land that produces thorns and thistles is “worthless and is near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned” (Heb. 6:8). The CI reader sees a clear picture here: unfruitful ground is not pruned; it is burned. The fire is not for purification. It is for destruction. Edward Fudge, the most thorough CI scholar on this topic, points out that the background for this image is Genesis 3:17–18 and Isaiah 5:1–7—both passages where thorns and fire signal divine judgment that removes what is worthless.⁴

Hebrews 10 is even more intense. After a beautiful description of the access believers have through Christ’s sacrifice, the author pivots: “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” (Heb. 10:26–27, ESV).⁵

The CI advocate zeros in on the phrase “a fury of fire that will consume the adversaries.” The Greek word translated “consume” here is esthiein, which means to eat up, to devour. As Fudge notes, this is the same kind of consuming fire that devoured Nadab and Abihu in Leviticus 10:2 when they offered unauthorized fire before the Lord.⁶ Fire that consumes does not purify. It destroys. And Fudge is right that the imagery here is drawn from passages throughout the Old Testament where God’s holiness is compared to a fire that incinerates what opposes it.⁷

The passage continues: those who set aside the law of Moses “died without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.” How much worse punishment, the author asks, will be deserved by the one who “has trampled underfoot the Son of God, and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace” (Heb. 10:28–29)? Then: “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (10:31).⁸

The CI case from these passages is straightforward. The warnings describe real, irreversible destruction. The fire consumes. The impossibility is genuine. The consequences are permanent. Fudge emphasizes that the contrast in Hebrews 10:39 between those who “shrink back and are destroyed” and those who “believe and are saved” uses the familiar Pauline word apōleian—destruction, the opposite of salvation.⁹

There is also Hebrews 9:27–28: “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.” The CI advocate points out the finality implied here. Death, then judgment. One life, then a reckoning. The language does not seem to leave room for open-ended correction after the judgment is rendered.¹⁰

Finally, the CI reader appeals to Hebrews 12:29: “Our God is a consuming fire.” Here the CI advocate hears the same note sounded in 10:27—God’s nature as fire is a fire that consumes. This is not the warm, gentle glow of a campfire. This is holiness so pure that everything impure is incinerated in its presence.¹¹

The CI advocate also draws attention to the overall structure of Hebrews and its repeated pattern of escalation. The letter moves from lesser to greater, from old covenant to new, from earthly tabernacle to heavenly reality. And in every case, the greater reality carries greater consequences. If those who violated Moses’ law died without mercy, how much worse is the fate of those who reject the greater salvation brought by Christ? The CI reader says: greater salvation means greater accountability, and the ultimate form of accountability is not endless torment (which both CI and UR reject) but permanent destruction. The person who rejects Christ’s final sacrifice is consumed by the very holiness they refused to embrace.⁵⁷

There is one more piece to the CI case that deserves attention. Hebrews 6:1–2 lists “eternal judgment” (krimatos aiōniou) among the foundational doctrines of the Christian faith—alongside repentance, faith, baptisms, laying on of hands, and the resurrection of the dead. The CI advocate points out that “eternal judgment” carries the same adjective (aiōnios) used elsewhere to describe “eternal life.” Whatever “eternal” means for life, it means for judgment. And the CI reader says: this judgment is final in consequence, belonging to the age to come, and its results are irreversible. Fudge notes that this is “elementary” Christian teaching—so basic that the author does not even feel the need to explain it further.⁵⁸

The CI advocate also appeals to the broader rhetorical purpose of Hebrews. This is a sermon written to a community that is drifting. They are tempted to abandon their confession and return to their old ways. The warnings are not hypothetical. They address a real and present danger. And if the consequences of apostasy can eventually be undone—if the fire purifies rather than destroys—then the warnings lose their teeth. Why would the author craft such severe language if the ultimate outcome is the same for the faithful and the unfaithful? The CI reader says: the warnings work precisely because the consequences are permanent. The urgency comes from the irreversibility of the outcome.⁵⁹

I have to be honest: this is a strong case. When I held the CI position, I found these passages deeply convincing. The language of impossibility, consumption, and destruction sounds final. And the CI reading is not a straw man—it takes the text seriously and reads it with care.

But I no longer think it is the best reading. And here is why.

The Universalist Response and Positive Case

The CI case from Hebrews works by isolating the warning passages and reading them as standalone descriptions of final destiny. And if you only read the warning passages, the CI case looks almost airtight. But Hebrews is not a collection of disconnected warnings. It is a carefully constructed sermon with a sustained theological argument.¹² And when you read the warning passages inside that larger argument, something remarkable happens. The warnings do not disappear—they are still terrifying, and they should be. But the framework around them transforms what they mean.

I want to build the universalist case from Hebrews in five steps: (1) the theology of Christ’s universal work in Hebrews 2; (2) the meaning of Christ’s permanent priesthood; (3) the theology of discipline in Hebrews 12; (4) the “better hope” of Hebrews 7:19; and (5) a re-reading of the warning passages in light of all this.

Christ Tasted Death for Everyone

The universalist case from Hebrews begins in chapter 2, with one of the most stunning statements in the entire New Testament: “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” (Heb. 2:9, ESV).¹³

Everyone. The Greek is hyper pantos—for every single one. Not for some. Not for the elect. Not for those who would eventually believe. For everyone.

Now, the CI advocate does not deny this. They would say: yes, Christ’s death is available for everyone, but not everyone will accept it. That is a fair point as far as it goes. But notice what the author of Hebrews does next. He does not move on to qualifications. He doubles down. Verse 10: “For it was fitting that he, for whom and through whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.” And verse 11: “For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers.”¹⁴

Thomas Talbott draws our attention to something important in this passage. The author is saying that Jesus and those for whom he suffered are “all of one.” Jesus shares our nature. He partook of “the same things”—flesh and blood (2:14). He was “made like his brothers in every respect” (2:17). And Talbott makes a point that I think is devastating for any view that limits the scope of Christ’s achievement: Jesus drew no distinction in his own mind between their best interest and his own. His future happiness was bound up with theirs.¹⁵ If even one of those for whom he tasted death is permanently destroyed, then his work is incomplete and his solidarity with humanity is fractured.

Look at verse 14–15: “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 bondage.” Christ came to destroy the devil’s power and to deliver those held in bondage. All those. Not some of those. The scope is as wide as the bondage.¹⁶

Here is my question for the CI reader: If Christ tasted death for everyone, and if his purpose was to deliver all those held in bondage by the fear of death, then on what grounds can we say his mission will fail for even one person? The author of Hebrews is not writing about a Christ who tries hard but sometimes comes up short. He is writing about a Christ whose achievement is complete, whose priesthood is permanent, and whose sacrifice is sufficient for every single human being.

The author of Patristic Universalism points out that the word “many” in Hebrews 2:10 (“bringing many sons to glory”) should be understood in light of verse 9, where Christ tastes death for “everyone.” The Greek word polus (many) is the same word Paul uses in Romans 5:15 to describe those affected by Adam’s transgression—and there, it clearly means all of humanity.¹⁷ So when Hebrews says Christ is “bringing many sons to glory,” the “many” is the same “everyone” for whom Christ tasted death.

A Priest Forever—The Priesthood That Never Ends

One of the great themes of Hebrews is the superiority of Christ’s priesthood to the old Levitical system. The old priests died. They had to be replaced. Their sacrifices had to be repeated. But Jesus “holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever” (Heb. 7:24). And then this extraordinary verse: “Consequently, 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” (Heb. 7:25, ESV).¹⁸

Think about that for a moment. Jesus is able to save “to the uttermost.” The Greek phrase is eis to panteles, and it means completely, totally, to the very end. There is no limit on the reach of his saving power. And this saving power is connected to his ongoing intercession—he “always lives” to make intercession.

The author of The Triumph of Mercy makes a piercing observation about this verse. Christ’s priestly intercession exists for the benefit of sinners who desire to draw near to God. It does not exist for those who are already in God’s presence and free from sin. This is a promise to those who still need an intercessor. And the promise is that Jesus will always be available as that intercessor for as long as there are sinners needing access to God.¹⁹

Now, here is where this gets really interesting for the CI debate. Does Christ’s priestly intercession end at the moment of a person’s physical death? The CI advocate would need to say yes, at some point, the intercession stops and the person is destroyed. But Hebrews does not say this. Hebrews says Christ “always lives” to make intercession. Always. The author does not place an expiration date on this ministry.²⁰

Think about what this means in connection with the shared assumption both CI and UR hold about the postmortem opportunity. We both believe that Christ encounters the unsaved after death. But the CI advocate says that at some point—after the encounter, after the judgment—Christ stops interceding for those who have not believed. The universalist asks: where does Hebrews say that? If anything, Hebrews 7:25 says the opposite. Christ’s intercession has no expiration date because Christ’s priesthood has no expiration date.

The “Better Hope” of Hebrews 7:19

Nestled inside the argument about Christ’s superior priesthood is a phrase that I believe holds a key to the entire letter. Hebrews 7:18–19 says: “For on the one hand, a former commandment is set aside because of its weakness and uselessness (for the law made nothing perfect); but on the other hand, a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God.”²¹

A better hope. The old system could not perfect anything. It could not bring anyone into the fullness of relationship with God. But now, through Christ’s permanent priesthood, a better hope has arrived. And the content of this hope is that we can actually “draw near to God.”

This phrase echoes throughout the letter. Drawing near to God is the goal of everything the author is describing. Christ opens the way. Christ’s blood makes it possible. Christ’s priesthood sustains it. And this “better hope” is not limited to a select few. It is contrasted with the old covenant, which was limited by the weakness of its priests and the insufficiency of its sacrifices. The better hope is better precisely because it has no such limitations.²²

I remember the moment this clicked for me. If the “better hope” of Hebrews still ends in the permanent destruction of some of those for whom Christ tasted death, then is it really that much better? The old system could not save. The new system—on the CI reading—saves some but ultimately destroys others. That is better, certainly. But is it the kind of “better” that warrants the author’s breathless enthusiasm? I do not think so. The “better hope” that matches the grandeur of this letter is the hope that Christ’s work will not fail for anyone. That the priest who “always lives to make intercession” will intercede until every last sinner has drawn near to God.

The universalist reads “a better hope” and sees the hope of universal restoration. Not a hope that overwrites judgment—the warnings in Hebrews are real—but a hope that outlasts it. A hope that God’s fire refines rather than merely destroys. A hope that the priest who never stops interceding will not stop until his work is done.

There is a pattern in Scripture that I think illuminates what Hebrews means by “a better hope.” Psalm 107 describes a recurring cycle: rebellion against God (v. 11), followed by God’s corrective punishment (v. 12), followed by the people’s repentance and crying out to the Lord (v. 13), followed by God’s deliverance (v. 13). The author of Patristic Universalism highlights this cycle as a summary of God’s disciplinary method throughout Scripture: rebellion, correction, repentance, salvation. The punishment in Psalm 107 was not for the purpose of revenge. It was not punishment for punishment’s sake. The purpose was to bring about humility and repentance. And only after the punishment achieved its purpose did God bring deliverance.⁶⁵

This is exactly the pattern we see in Hebrews. Warnings of fierce judgment (the punishment phase), followed by the promise of restoration for those who endure (the deliverance phase). The difference is that the CI reader places a hard stop at the punishment phase for some people—they are punished and then destroyed, and the cycle never reaches its conclusion. The universalist says: the cycle always reaches its conclusion. God’s discipline always achieves its purpose. The fire always refines. The Father always brings his sons and daughters home.

The Theology of Discipline in Hebrews 12

Now we come to the passage that, for me, is the most important in the entire letter for this debate. Hebrews 12:5–11.

The author has just finished his great “hall of faith” in chapter 11. He has reminded his readers of Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and all the others who endured hardship by faith. He has pointed to Jesus, “the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross” (12:2). And then, in the middle of a sermon filled with terrifying warnings about judgment and fire, he writes this:

“My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by him. For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives” (Heb. 12:5–6, quoting Prov. 3:11–12).²³

The author then develops this theme at length: “It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons” (12:7–8).²⁴

Notice what the author has said. Discipline is a sign of sonship. Being left without discipline is the sign of being an outsider, not the other way around. And then the crucial verses—the ones that changed my reading of the whole letter: “He disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (12:10–11).²⁵

Two things jump out here. First, God’s discipline is for our good. It has a purpose, and that purpose is restoration—that we may “share in his holiness.” Second, the discipline “yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.” It produces something. It is not punishment for punishment’s sake. It is not destruction for destruction’s sake. It is discipline aimed at an outcome: holiness and righteousness.

The author of Patristic Universalism highlights two key facts from this passage. First, God disciplines us for our good. Second, everyone undergoes this discipline (“in which all have participated”). If God’s discipline is always for the good of the one disciplined, and if everyone undergoes it, then what are we to make of the fire and judgment described elsewhere in Hebrews? The answer, the universalist contends, is that the fire and judgment serve the same purpose as the discipline: the restoration and sanctification of the one who receives them.²⁶

Here is my point. You cannot have it both ways. You cannot say, as the author of Hebrews says, that God’s discipline is always for the good of the one disciplined and always yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness—and then turn around and say that some of God’s “discipline” ends in annihilation. A father who disciplines his son to death is not disciplining; he is killing. The whole concept of discipline as described in Hebrews 12 is inherently restorative. It assumes the one being disciplined comes out the other side transformed.

Now, the CI reader might respond: “But Hebrews 12 is talking about how God treats believers, not how he treats the finally impenitent.” That is a fair objection, and I want to take it seriously. It is true that the immediate audience of Hebrews 12 is a community of believers who are growing weary. But I have two responses.

First, Hebrews 12 is not merely describing what God does for believers. It is describing what kind of God we are dealing with. This is a God whose fundamental posture toward his creatures is that of a father who disciplines for good. A God who, even when he brings pain, does so with a purpose beyond the pain itself. To say that this same God, when dealing with the unsaved, abandons the restorative purpose entirely and simply destroys—that is a massive shift in character. It asks us to believe that God has two fundamentally different modes of operation: one for insiders (restorative discipline) and one for outsiders (total destruction). I think this misses the point of the passage.²⁷

Second, the very next verses bring us back to the fire. Hebrews 12:28–29: “Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.” The CI reader sees this and says: “There it is. Consuming fire. Destruction.” But wait. Look at the context. The consuming fire of 12:29 comes immediately after the passage about the disciplining Father. The same God who is a consuming fire is the Father who disciplines for our good. These are not two different Gods. And if the consuming fire is the same God as the disciplining Father, then the fire must serve the same purpose as the discipline: our good, our holiness, our transformation.²⁸

Robin Parry draws a helpful connection here to Revelation 3:19, where Christ says to the church in Laodicea: “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent.” Parry argues that the discipline described in Revelation—which includes fierce judgment on the nations throughout that book—is fundamentally an expression of love. And if Christ’s discipline of the churches (who are clearly loved) looks the same as his judgment of the nations (fire, wrath, severity), then why should we assume the judgment of the nations serves a fundamentally different purpose? In both cases, the goal is repentance. In both cases, the means is fierce discipline born from love.⁶⁶

Think of it this way. A fire that consumes can consume different things. It can consume a person, or it can consume the sin, the dross, the rebellion within a person. Malachi 3:2–3 describes God as a “refiner’s fire” who “will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver.” A refiner’s fire consumes the impurities, not the gold. The whole point of refining is to burn away what is worthless and reveal what is precious underneath. The CI reader says the fire of Hebrews consumes the person. The universalist says the fire consumes the sin.²⁹

Which reading fits the theology of Hebrews better? I believe it is the second one. Because in Hebrews, the consuming fire appears in a passage whose immediately preceding context describes a Father who disciplines for good and produces righteousness. The fire is not separate from the discipline. The fire is the discipline.

It is worth noting that some of the earliest Christian thinkers who worked with the Greek text of Hebrews came to exactly this conclusion. Clement of Alexandria, writing in the second century, described the fire of divine judgment as “corrective tortures intended for discipline.” For Clement, the fire of Gehenna was not a fire of annihilation or endless torment. It was the fire of a God who corrects those he loves. His successor Origen developed this idea further, arguing that the fire of judgment is a refining fire that ultimately results in the salvation of every person. Fudge, writing from the CI perspective, acknowledges Clement’s view, noting that where the Latin theologian Tertullian “pored over tomes of justice,” the Alexandrian Clement “considered the rational purpose of discipline” and concluded that God’s punishment is “educative and corrective.”⁶⁰

The early Greek-speaking church fathers read Hebrews in their native language, and they heard in it a theology of restorative fire. We should take their reading seriously, not because the fathers are infallible, but because they were reading these texts without the theological frameworks that later centuries imposed on them. They heard the language of discipline, refinement, and fatherly correction, and they concluded that this was a God who purifies rather than a God who permanently destroys. We will examine the patristic evidence more fully in Chapter 24, but it matters for our purposes here that the universalist reading of Hebrews is not a modern invention. It is arguably the oldest reading of these texts among those who read them in the original language.⁶¹

Hebrews 9:27–28—Death, Judgment, and What Comes After

We need to address Hebrews 9:27, because it is one of the most commonly cited verses against both the postmortem opportunity and universal restoration. “Just as it is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.”

Let me say something that might surprise you: universalists agree with this verse completely. We affirm that every person dies and every person faces judgment. The question is not whether judgment happens. The question is what the purpose and outcome of that judgment is.³⁰

The author of Patristic Universalism makes an important point about Hebrews 9:27. The verse does not say that when a person dies, their eternal fate is sealed. It does not say there is no hope beyond the grave. It says there is judgment after death. And a universalist agrees: there is judgment. But the universalist believes that judgment is the doorway to purification, not the end of the story. The verse simply does not address the duration or ultimate purpose of that judgment.³¹

As Isaac Dorner, the great nineteenth-century German theologian, observed: when Hebrews 9:27 says man is appointed to die once and then face judgment, it says nothing about the timing of final salvation or condemnation. The passage says nothing about whether the judgment itself might serve a restorative purpose.³²

But there is something else here that I think is even more important. Look at verse 28: “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.” The author draws a parallel between the human experience (death, then judgment) and Christ’s experience (offered once for sins, then appearing to save). The direction of the parallel is toward salvation. Christ’s second appearance is to save. The author is not painting a picture of final destruction here. He is painting a picture of final salvation.

The CI reader might say: “But it says ‘those who are eagerly waiting for him.’ That limits the scope to believers.” Fair enough. But the universalist responds: the scope of those who eagerly wait for Christ is ultimately all of humanity, because Christ’s purifying work will eventually bring everyone to that posture. The fire does its work. The discipline yields its fruit. And the people who emerge from the refiner’s furnace are people who are eagerly waiting for their Savior.

Re-reading the Warning Passages

Now we are ready to go back to the warning passages—Hebrews 6 and Hebrews 10—and read them in light of everything we have seen.

First, Hebrews 6:4–6. “It is impossible to restore them again to repentance.” I want to grant the full force of this warning. The universalist does not soften it. But I want to point out something the CI reader may not have considered: the word “impossible” here does not mean “impossible for God.” It means something more like: there is no mechanism, no further sacrifice, no additional revelation, that the community can offer to bring these people back. The author is telling the community: you cannot save them. But the author is not saying God cannot save them.³³

Robin Parry makes a helpful observation about how universalists should read warning passages in general. Warnings function as warnings. They describe what will happen if a course of action is pursued. “If you touch the hot stove, you will be burned.” That is a true and genuine warning. But it does not tell you what the parent will do after the child is burned. It does not say the parent will abandon the child. The warning is about consequences, not about whether healing is possible after those consequences.³⁴

Think of the Old Testament prophets. Jeremiah warned Jerusalem that if the people did not repent, the city would be destroyed. That was a genuine warning with a genuine consequence. And Jerusalem was destroyed. But was that the end of the story? Of course not. God restored Jerusalem. The judgment was real. The destruction was real. But it was not final in the sense that it foreclosed all future hope. Parry argues that we should read the warning passages in Hebrews the same way: the warnings are genuine, the consequences are real, but they do not necessarily describe God’s ultimate and final word.³⁵

Now, Hebrews 6:8—the agricultural analogy. Land that produces thorns is burned. The CI reader says: burned means destroyed. But think about what actually happens when a farmer burns a field. The field is not annihilated. The thorns and weeds are destroyed by the fire, but the land itself remains. In fact, burning a field is one of the oldest agricultural practices in the world. Farmers burn fields to prepare them for new growth. The fire does not destroy the field. It prepares the field for fruitfulness.³⁶

I am not saying the author of Hebrews had agricultural burning practices in mind. I am saying the analogy is at least ambiguous enough that we should not build an entire doctrine of final destruction on it. And when we read it in the context of a letter that talks about refining fire, fatherly discipline, and a priest who saves to the uttermost, the agricultural analogy fits more naturally with purification than with annihilation.

What about Hebrews 10:26–31? “A fury of fire that will consume the adversaries.” Again, I grant the full force of this. But notice what comes just a few verses later. Hebrews 10:36–39: “For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised. For yet a little while, and the coming one will come and will not delay.” And then the author says: “But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who have faith and preserve their souls” (10:39).³⁷

The author is not making a theological statement about the eternal fate of all who fall away. He is making a pastoral statement to his audience: you will not be among those who fall away. He is encouraging them to persevere. The warning functions to motivate faithfulness in the present. It is not a dogmatic declaration about the final destiny of every person who ever turns from Christ.³⁸

This is how Origen, one of the earliest and most influential Christian theologians, understood the warning passages. As Parry notes, Origen recognized that Paul sometimes spoke about judgment in ways designed to produce reverence and obedience in his hearers, while at other times he spoke about God’s ultimate goodness in saving all. The warning passages are what Origen called “stewardship of the word”—pastoral language shaped for a specific purpose. This does not make the warnings dishonest. A parent who tells a child “if you touch the stove, you will get burned” is telling the truth. But the parent’s deeper intention is not that the child suffer but that the child learn.³⁹

The “Just Reward” and the Scope of Justice

There is another thread in Hebrews that deserves our attention. Hebrews 2:2 says: “For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression and disobedience received a just reward.” The key phrase is “just reward”—endikon misthapodosian. The old covenant prescribed punishments that fit the crime. The law was proportional. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Justice was measured and appropriate.⁴⁰

The author of The Triumph of Mercy asks a pointed question: if the old covenant prescribed a “just reward” for every transgression, and those rewards were finite and proportional, should we believe that the new covenant prescribes an infinite and disproportionate punishment?⁴¹ The CI advocate would say: no, annihilation is not infinite punishment. It is proportional—a finite response to finite sin. And I grant that annihilation is more proportional than eternal conscious torment. But is it truly proportional? Is the permanent, irreversible destruction of a being made in God’s image a “just reward” for a finite life of sin?

The universalist contends that the most proportional response to finite sin is finite, remedial punishment followed by restoration. Corrective discipline—the kind described in Hebrews 12—is the only truly just punishment, because it fits the crime, serves the good of the one punished, and respects the infinite value of a person made in the image of God. This is the “just reward” that matches the theology of Hebrews as a whole.⁴²

Jesus, the “Founder and Perfecter”

Hebrews 12:2 calls Jesus “the founder and perfecter of our faith.” The word translated “perfecter” is teleiōtēn—the one who brings to completion, who finishes, who makes perfect. This is a recurring theme in Hebrews. The old system could not “perfect” the worshipers (Heb. 10:1). The law “made nothing perfect” (7:19). But Christ brings perfection because his sacrifice, his priesthood, and his intercession are complete and unending.⁴³

Talbott draws attention to the fact that Hebrews says Jesus himself was “made perfect through suffering” (2:10). Jesus endured the cross “for the joy that was set before him” (12:2). The joy that Jesus anticipated was not the joy of watching billions of people destroyed. It was the joy of bringing “many sons to glory” (2:10)—and as we have seen, the “many” is the same scope as the “everyone” for whom Christ tasted death.⁴⁴

If Jesus is the “perfecter” of faith, then faith has a goal: perfection, completion, arrival. And if Christ tasted death for everyone, then the perfection he brings is available to everyone. The question is simply whether this perfection will be realized for all or only for some. The theology of Hebrews—with its permanent priesthood, its saving to the uttermost, its discipline that yields righteousness—suggests that the perfection will indeed be realized for all.

Solidarity, Suffering, and the Joy Set Before Him

There is something deeply personal in the way Hebrews talks about Jesus. He is not a distant savior handing out benefits from heaven. He “learned obedience through what he suffered” (5:8). He is “not ashamed to call them brothers” (2:11). He is a “merciful and faithful high priest” (2:17). He “in every respect has been tempted as we are” (4:15). This is a savior who is bound to us by shared experience, shared suffering, shared humanity.⁴⁵

Talbott presses this point to its logical conclusion. If Jesus is bound to humanity by solidarity—if he drew no distinction between their welfare and his own—then his own happiness depends on the happiness of those he came to save. A Christ who watches some of his brothers and sisters permanently destroyed is not the Christ who endured the cross “for the joy that was set before him.” That joy can only be complete if his work is complete. And his work can only be complete if everyone for whom he tasted death is brought safely home.⁴⁶

I realize this is a bold claim. But I think it follows directly from what Hebrews says about Jesus. If the “he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified are all of one” (2:11), then the sanctifier cannot be perfected while those he came to sanctify are permanently lost. The unity described in Hebrews 2 would be shattered.

The Nature of “Impossibility” in Hebrews

I want to return to the word “impossible” in Hebrews 6:4, because it carries so much weight in the CI reading. The Greek word is adynaton. It appears four times in Hebrews, and looking at all four uses gives us a clearer picture of what the author means by it.

In Hebrews 6:4, it is “impossible to restore them again to repentance.” In 6:18, “it is impossible for God to lie.” In 10:4, “it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins.” And in 11:6, “without faith it is impossible to please God.”⁴⁷

Notice the pattern. When the author says something is “impossible,” he is talking about what is impossible within a given framework. It is impossible for God to lie because of his nature. It is impossible for animal blood to take away sin because animals are not adequate substitutes for human sin. It is impossible to please God without faith because faith is the means by which we relate to him.

In 6:4, the impossibility is about what the community can do for someone who has committed apostasy. It is impossible to “restore them again to repentance”—that is, the human resources available to the church cannot bring these people back. But this says nothing about what God can do. The same author who says human restoration is impossible also says that Christ saves “to the uttermost” (7:25). What is impossible for the community is not impossible for the God who disciplines, refines, and intercedes without ceasing.⁴⁸

Think of Jesus’ own words in a different context: “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible” (Matt. 19:26). The impossibility described in Hebrews 6 is an impossibility from the human side. It does not limit God.

The Land Analogy Revisited

Let me come back one more time to the agricultural analogy in Hebrews 6:7–8, because I think there is more here than meets the eye.

The author says productive land receives blessing. Unproductive land—land that produces thorns and thistles—is “near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned.” The CI reader reads “burned” and sees final destruction. But notice the phrase “near to being cursed”—kateras engys. The land is not yet cursed. It is close to being cursed. This is a warning of proximity, not a declaration of finality.⁴⁹

And the burning? As I mentioned earlier, burning a field is a restorative agricultural practice. The thorns and thistles are consumed, but the land is prepared for future fruitfulness. Isaiah 5:1–7—the very passage Fudge cites as background for Hebrews 6—is instructive. God’s vineyard produced wild grapes instead of good ones, so God removed its protection and let it be overrun. But the story of Israel in Isaiah does not end with chapter 5. Isaiah goes on to describe restoration, return, and renewal. The judgment of the vineyard was real. But it was not the last word.⁵⁰

Putting It All Together

Let me step back and draw the threads together. The CI case from Hebrews relies on the warning passages—the fire that consumes, the impossibility of restoration, the fearful expectation of judgment. These are real and terrifying, and the universalist does not dismiss them.

But the CI case isolates these passages from the larger theology of Hebrews. And when we read the warning passages inside that larger theology, we see something different. We see a Christ who tasted death for everyone (2:9). We see a priest who saves to the uttermost and who always lives to intercede (7:25). We see a Father who disciplines for our good and whose discipline yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness (12:10–11). We see a “better hope” that brings us near to God (7:19). We see a “consuming fire” that appears in the same paragraph as the disciplining Father (12:28–29). We see a Christ whose solidarity with humanity is so deep that he calls us brothers and sisters and considers his own joy inseparable from ours (2:10–11; 12:2).⁵¹

The universalist does not deny that the fire is real. We deny that the fire is the end. The warnings are genuine. The consequences are severe. But the purpose behind the warnings, the fire, and the judgment is the same purpose described in Hebrews 12: discipline for our good, yielding the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

What About “No Sacrifice Remains”?

I want to address one more CI argument before we close. Hebrews 10:26 says that for those who keep sinning deliberately after receiving the knowledge of the truth, “there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins.” The CI advocate reads this and says: there is no further provision for salvation. The door has closed.

But what does “no sacrifice remains” actually mean in the context of Hebrews? The author has been arguing throughout the letter that Christ’s sacrifice is the final sacrifice. There is no other offering that God will accept. There are no more bulls and goats. There is only Christ.⁵²

So when the author says “there no longer remains a sacrifice for sins,” he is not saying God has no more resources to save. He is saying there is no alternative to Christ. You cannot reject Christ and find salvation somewhere else. There is no plan B. But Christ himself remains. His sacrifice remains. His priesthood remains. His intercession remains. The author is not closing the door to salvation through Christ. He is saying that Christ is the only door.⁵³

This is perfectly consistent with the universalist position. We do not believe people are saved apart from Christ. We believe Christ is the only way, and we believe his way is powerful enough, patient enough, and persistent enough to reach every person. There is no other sacrifice—but the one sacrifice that was offered is sufficient for everyone, because it was offered by a priest who saves to the uttermost.

The Cloud of Witnesses and the Unfinished Story

Hebrews 11 closes with a remarkable statement about the Old Testament saints: “All these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect” (Heb. 11:39–40).⁵⁴

The faithful of the Old Testament did not receive the fulfillment of God’s promises in their lifetimes. They had to wait. God had “provided something better”—and the completion of their story was bound up with the completion of ours. Their perfection depended on our inclusion. They could not be made perfect apart from us.

The universalist sees in this a principle that extends even further. If the Old Testament saints could not be made perfect apart from the New Testament believers, then perhaps none of us can be made perfect apart from anyone. The body is not complete while any member is missing. The story is not finished while any character is unresolved. God has “provided something better”—and the “something better” is a redemption so comprehensive that no one is left behind.⁵⁵

Is that too bold a reading? Perhaps. But it fits the trajectory of Hebrews perfectly. A letter that begins with Christ tasting death for everyone and ends with the promise that God will complete what he has begun—that letter is moving in one direction. Toward fullness. Toward completion. Toward the day when every son and daughter is brought to glory.

The Real Warning—and the Greater Hope

I want to close this chapter by honoring the warning passages one more time. Because the universalist case does not require us to diminish the warnings. In fact, I think the universalist takes them more seriously than the CI reader does.

Here is what I mean. The CI reader hears the warning and says: “Some people will be destroyed.” The universalist hears the same warning and says: “The fire is real. The judgment is real. The suffering in God’s purifying presence is real and terrible. Do not take this lightly.” We do not soften the warning. We extend the hope.⁵⁶

Every day a person resists God’s love is a day of unnecessary suffering. Every day spent in rebellion is a day the refining fire has more to burn away. The urgency of the warning remains. Come to Christ now. Do not wait. Do not harden your heart. Because the purifying fire of God’s presence is as real as the universalist says it is—and it is not gentle.

A CI reader might press one final objection here: “If everyone ends up saved, the warnings in Hebrews lose their force. Why would the author write with such urgency if the ultimate outcome is guaranteed?” This is a serious question, and it deserves a serious answer.

First, consider that warnings can be genuinely urgent even when the ultimate outcome is good. A doctor who tells a diabetic patient, “If you do not change your diet, you will lose your foot,” is making a real and urgent warning. The fact that medicine can ultimately save the patient’s life does not make the warning about the foot less serious. The patient who ignores the warning will still suffer terribly. The amputation will still happen. The warning is not about whether the patient will survive in the end. It is about the suffering that could be avoided right now.⁶²

Second, Robin Parry makes the compelling observation that the CI reader has the same problem with the postmortem opportunity that the universalist supposedly has with the warnings. If the CI reader believes that God offers the unsaved a genuine encounter with Christ after death—which both CI and UR affirm—then the “urgency” of the warnings has already been modified. Why be urgent about repentance in this life if there is a postmortem encounter coming? The CI reader answers: because sin hardens the heart now, and every moment of resistance makes the eventual encounter more painful. The universalist gives exactly the same answer. The urgency of the gospel does not depend on the finality of destruction. It depends on the reality of present suffering and the compounding effects of sin.⁶³

Third, the author of Hebrews himself gives us a clue about how the warnings function. Immediately after the terrifying warning in Hebrews 6:4–8, the author writes: “Though we speak in this way, yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things—things that belong to salvation” (6:9). Think about that. The author just said restoration from apostasy is “impossible,” and then he immediately says he is confident his readers will not fall into that category. The warning was pastoral. It was designed to shake them out of complacency. It did its job. But the author never actually believed his audience was beyond hope. He believed “better things” about them.⁶⁴

The universalist reads this pattern and sees a God who warns with absolute seriousness because the fire is absolutely real, while also holding out absolute hope because the fire is absolutely purposeful. The warnings do not lose their teeth. They gain depth. They tell us not just that something terrible awaits the unfaithful, but that the terrible thing itself serves the purposes of a God whose love will not let go.

But beyond the fire, beyond the warning, beyond the fearful expectation of judgment, there is a priest who saves to the uttermost. There is a Father who disciplines for our good. There is a Christ who tasted death for everyone and who is not ashamed to call us brothers and sisters. There is a better hope.

That hope does not cancel the warning. But it outlasts it. It outlasts the fire. It outlasts the judgment. It outlasts the impossible-sounding impossibility of Hebrews 6. Because the hope is not grounded in our ability to come back from apostasy. It is grounded in a priest who always lives to intercede, in a sacrifice that is sufficient for every human being who has ever lived, and in a Father whose discipline always—always—yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

And that is what makes this reading of Hebrews so powerful for me. It does not ask us to ignore the hard parts. It asks us to see them inside the framework of a God who never stops working, never stops interceding, and never stops pursuing. The consuming fire is real. But it is the fire of a Father who loves his children. And a Father who loves his children does not light a fire to destroy them. He lights a fire to burn away everything that is keeping them from coming home.

The old covenant made nothing perfect. The law introduced no lasting hope. But through Christ’s permanent priesthood, a better hope has been introduced. And the better hope of Hebrews is this: that the God who is a consuming fire is also the Father who disciplines every son and daughter he loves. That the fire which purifies will not rest until every trace of rebellion has been burned away and every child of God stands clean, whole, and free.

That is the better hope. And I believe it is the hope of Hebrews.