One summer as a teenager, my brother and I pushed a canoe past the breakers into what looked like calm ocean waters. At first everything seemed under control—no panic! But slowly, almost imperceptibly, the current began to carry us farther out. From where we sat, we didn’t immediately realize we were drifting, even as the shoreline slipped farther and farther away. Our uncle, watching from the fixed point of the beach, saw our predicament before we did. He jumped into the water and swam out to rescue us—something we were powerless to do in our own strength. By then we had reached the point of no return: no matter how hard we paddled, the sea only drove us farther from shore.
That is the danger of drifting. It feels harmless at first, but if not recognized and corrected, it can carry us to a place from which we cannot easily return—or worse, leave us forever adrift. Paul warned Timothy of this very danger when he urged him to “wage the good warfare, holding faith and a good conscience,” reminding him that some had already “made shipwreck of their faith” (1 Tim. 1:19).
The writer of Hebrews saw similar warning signs in the church of his day. From a fixed vantage point—anchored in the truth of Christ—he could spot what they could not: diminishing faith, waning zeal, and a host of neglected practices: showing hospitality to strangers, holding fast to sound teaching, offering sacrifices of praise, doing good, sharing with others, and faithfully meeting together (Heb. 13:2, 9, 15–16; 10:25). Such downward shifts in spiritual disciplines were indicators of a slow drift that, if left unattended, could end in a shipwrecked faith—one of many reasons God has given us spiritual leaders to keep watch over our souls (Heb. 13:17), sounding the alarm when danger approaches. And so the writer exhorts them:
“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it” (Heb. 2:1).
He knew what was at stake. In the opening chapters he reminds us of heavenly realities and divine mysteries the human mind can scarcely grasp: angels glorious in service, yet never equal to the Son; Jesus Christ supreme over all creation, yet willing for a time to be “made lower than the angels”; the Incarnation, where the Eternal Word entered the cradle of humanity; His path of suffering by which He “tasted death” for us; and His exaltation, crowned with glory and honor—the resurrected Savior and King of kings. God Himself bore witness to this great salvation “by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will” (Heb. 2:4). Christ’s supremacy and the full mystery of how He accomplished His mission remain hidden beyond our comprehension, yet what has been revealed—His offer of salvation—is clear and certain, simple enough for even a child to understand.
A Side Note on Angels
The writer circles back to the theme of angels numerous times, even suggesting that in neglecting to show hospitality to strangers, we may be missing out on “entertaining angels unawares” (Heb. 13:2). Yet human tradition often imagines something very different—that when people die, they become angels and earn their wings, like Clarence in the classic film It’s a Wonderful Life. Scripture never teaches this. Angels and humans are distinct living beings of God’s creation.
Unlike mankind, angels are not divine image-bearers, nor are they the crowning achievement of creation. “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Gen. 1:26–27). Scripture tells us that angels marvel at humanity—specifically at our redemption. Peter writes that they “long to look into” the salvation revealed in Christ (1 Pet. 1:12). In like manner, I too often marvel at the thought of angels. They are such fascinating and mysterious beings. And even though they stand beneath humanity in God’s hierarchy, their importance as messengers and agents of divine exchange between heaven and earth is well documented and must not be diminished. In fact, throughout Scripture they appear at pivotal moments—guarding Eden, announcing Christ’s birth, strengthening Him in Gethsemane, proclaiming the resurrection, executing judgments, and attending His return.
What else we know about them is limited. Angels appear once to have been tested, their status fixed—two-thirds eternally faithful, one-third eternally fallen—forever enemies of God and humanity, with a singular mission to destroy or entrap God’s elect and to keep unbelievers blinded to the light of Christ (Jude 6; Rev. 12:7–9, 17; cf. John 10:10; 2 Cor. 4:4). Scripture also speaks of a real, unseen conflict—a cosmic theater of operations where Satan and his demons oppose God’s holy angels in the “heavenly places” (Eph. 6:12; cf. Dan. 10:13, 20–21). It is a vivid reminder of spiritual warfare, fought on a hidden battlefield beyond the veil. Within such glimpses, much remains a mystery—perhaps intentionally—so that the spotlight stays on Christ, who is greater than the angels and the victor over every power. Satan was defeated on the cross, crushed as promised (Gen. 3:15), and one day he will be destroyed forever in “the lake of fire and sulfur” (Rev. 20:10).
For believers, the parallel is striking. One day our time of testing, too, will come to an end. In glory we will be confirmed forever in holiness—never again to sin, never again to rebel, never again to taste death. And in the end, we are given another profound truth shrouded in mystery: we will judge angels (1 Cor. 6:3).
But angels were never God’s chosen means of salvation.” As Hebrews 2 reminds us, “it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking”—but to Christ (v. 5). His journey began as a helpless babe, and He became fully man—not as God cloaked in angelic disguise, but truly sharing our humanity, so that He might master sin and defeat death. “For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham” (v. 16).
Under the Law, “every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution” (v. 2). If that was true under the old covenant, how much more serious is it to neglect our salvation in Christ under the New Covenant of His blood? From the days of Noah, God’s means of rescue have often appeared unconventional—an ark of gopher wood, a path of deliverance through a parted sea, and finally, a cross on a hill bearing the Lamb of God, “bringing many sons to glory… the founder of their salvation made perfect through suffering” (v. 10). God’s ways often make no sense to our finite minds. Yet His call is clear: come, believe, repent, and be saved.
Within weeks of pledging their obedience to God in a sacred covenant ceremony, Israel quickly drifted in the wilderness, turning aside from their great salvation with a golden calf — a return to the idolatry of Egypt. Noah’s neighbors mocked and refused to step aboard the only vessel of escape God had provided—until it was too late. And just a few decades after the resurrection, Hebrews calls out believers who were beginning to waver—adrift from the only sure anchor, Jesus Christ.
In verse 8, the author names the tension we all feel: “At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him.” The kingdom has come, yet it is not fully revealed. We live between promise and fulfillment; majesty is veiled; suffering still lingers.
But this is where faith takes root. The mystery of God invites us to deeper devotion, calling us to bow before His greatness even when we cannot fully see or understand His plans and purposes. At the same time, what is revealed in Christ anchors our faith. We know He tasted death for us, rose again, was crowned with glory and honor, and defeated the power of sin and death. What is hidden compels awe; what is known invites us to “put our trust in him” (Heb. 2:13).
The writer’s warning against drifting is not isolated; the New Testament echoes with the same urgency.
Peter cautions us: “Take care that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability. But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Pet. 3:17–18). Paul exhorts, “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong” (1 Cor. 16:13). And to the Colossians, the mystery once hidden is now revealed—“Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:26–27).
So the exhortation still rings true: pay closer attention, lest we drift away. Don’t treat lightly the salvation secured at so great a cost. The door to the ark stands open, beckoning us to enter while there is still time—and to remain aboard until the end. Let the wonder and mystery of Hebrews’ heavenly portrait lift us into awe and worship, and let the truth of the Gospel and the certainty of God’s promises inspire us to a steadfast faith.
“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful” (Heb. 10:23).
Prayer
Come, thou Fount of every blessing, tune my heart to sing thy grace.
Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.
Robert Robinson, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, 1760.
Great word illustrated with the story of your own deadly-dangerous drifting out to sea. But for the grace of God, we would each wander away from the faith. I am so thankful that Christ will not lose any who belong to Him!