Albert Barnes Commentary Hebrews 5:14

"But solid food is for fullgrown men, [even] those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern good and evil." — Hebrews 5:14 (ASV)

Strong meat. Solid food applies to those of more mature years. So it is with the higher doctrines of Christianity. They can be understood and appreciated only by those who are advanced in Christian experience.

Of full age. Marginal note: Perfect. The expression refers to those who are grown up.

Who by reason of use. Marginal note: Or, a habit; or perfection. Coverdale and Tyndale translate it, "through custom." The Greek word means habit or practice.

The meaning is that by long use and habit, they had arrived at that state in which they could appreciate the more elevated doctrines of Christianity. The reference in the use of this word is not to those who eat food—meaning that by long use they are able to distinguish good from bad. Instead, it is to experienced Christians who, by long experience, are able to distinguish what is useful in pretended religious instruction from what is injurious.

It refers to the delicate taste an experienced Christian has for those doctrines that impart the most light and consolation. Experience will thus enable one to discern what is suited to the soul of man, what elevates and purifies the affections, and what tends to draw the heart near to God.

Have their senses. The word used here properly means the senses—as we use the term: the seat of sensation, such as smell, taste, etc. Then it means the internal sense, the faculty of perceiving truth, and this is the idea here.

The meaning is that by long experience, Christians become able to understand the more elevated doctrines of Christianity. They see their beauty and value, and they are able carefully and accurately to distinguish them from error. (See Barnes on John 7:17).

To discern both good and evil. That is, in doctrine. They will appreciate and understand what is true; they will reject what is false.

REMARKS

1. Let us rejoice that we have a High Priest who is duly called to take upon Himself the functions of that great office and who lives forever (Hebrews 5:1–6). True, He was not of the tribe of Levi; He was not a descendant of Aaron. But He had a more noble elevation and a more exalted rank.

   He was the Son of God and was called to His office by special divine designation. He did not obtrude Himself into the work; He did not improperly exalt Himself but was directly called to it by the appointment of God. Moreover, while the Jewish high priests could look back on the long line of their ancestors and trace the succession up to Aaron, the great High Priest of the Christian faith had the power to look even farther back. He could be associated in the office with one of higher antiquity and rank than Aaron—one of the most remarkable men of all ancient times, whom Abraham acknowledged as his superior and from whom Abraham received the benediction.

2. It is not unmanly to weep (Hebrews 5:7). The Son of God poured out prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears. He wept at the grave of Lazarus, and He wept over Jerusalem. If the Redeemer wept, it is not unmanly to weep, and we should not be ashamed to have tears seen streaming down our cheeks.

   Tears are appointed by God to be the natural expression of sorrow and often to furnish relief to a burdened soul. We instinctively honour the man whom we see weeping when there is occasion for grief. We sympathize with him in his sorrow, and we love him the more.

   When we see a father who could face the cannon's mouth without shrinking, yet weeping over the open grave of a daughter, we honour him more than we could otherwise do. He shows that he has a heart that can love and feel, as well as courage that can meet danger without alarm.

   Washington wept when he signed the death warrant of Major Andre; and who has ever read the affecting account without feeling that his character was the more worthy of our love? There is enough in the world to make us weep. Sickness, calamity, and death are around us. They come into our dwellings, and our dearest objects of affection are taken away; and God intends that we shall deeply feel. Tears here will make heaven sweeter, and our sorrows on earth are intended to prepare us for the joy of that day when it will be announced to us that all tears shall be wiped away from every face.

3. We see the appropriateness of prayer in view of approaching death (Hebrews 5:7). The Redeemer prayed when He felt that He must die. We also know that we must die. True, we shall not suffer as He did. He had pangs on the cross that no other dying man ever bore.

   But death to us is an object of dread. The hour of death is a fearful hour. The scene when a man dies is a gloomy scene. The sunken eye, the pallid cheek, the clammy sweat, the stiffened corpse, the coffin, the shroud, the grave—all are sad and gloomy things.

   We also do not know what severe pangs we may have when we die. Death may come to us in some peculiarly fearful form; and in view of its approach, in any way, we should pray. Pray, dying man, that you may be prepared for that sad hour. Pray that you may not be left to complain, rebel, and murmur then. Pray that you may lie down in calmness and peace. Pray that you may be enabled to honour God even in death.

4. It is not sinful to dread death (Hebrews 5:7). The Redeemer dreaded it. His human nature, though perfectly holy, shrank back from the fearful agonies of dying. The fear of death, therefore, in itself, is not sinful. Christians are often troubled because they do not have the calmness in the prospect of death that they suppose they ought to have, and because their nature shrinks back from the dying pang. They suppose that such feelings are inconsistent with religion and that those who have them cannot be true Christians. But they forget their Redeemer and His sorrows; they forget the earnestness with which He pleaded that the cup might be removed. Death is in itself fearful, and it is a part of our nature to dread it. Even in the best of minds, the fear of it is sometimes not wholly taken away until the hour comes and God gives them "dying grace." There are probably two reasons why God made death so fearful to man:

   1. One is to impress him with the importance of being prepared for it. Death is, for him, the entrance into an eternal existence, and it is God’s purpose to keep his attention fixed on that as a most momentous and solemn event. The ox, the lamb, the robin, the dove have no immortal nature, no conscience, no responsibility, and no need to prepare for death. Hence—except in a very slight degree—they seem to have no dread of dying. But it is not so with man. He has an undying soul. His primary task here is to prepare for death and for the world beyond. Therefore, by all the fear of the dying pang and by all the horror of the grave, God intends to fix man’s attention on his own death as a most momentous event and lead him to seek the hope of immortality that alone can lay the foundation for any proper removal of the fear of dying.

   2. The other reason is to deter man from taking his own life. To keep him from this, he is so constituted as to recoil from death. He fears it; it is for him an object of deepest dread. Even when pressed down by calamity and sadness, as a general law, he "would rather bear the ills he has, than fly to others that he knows not of." Man is the only creature for whom this danger exists.

      None of the brute creation, unless it is the scorpion, will take its own life; and hence they do not have such a dread of dying. But we know how it is with man. Weary of life, goaded by a guilty conscience, disappointed and heartbroken, he is under strong temptation to commit the enormous crime of suicide and to rush uncalled to the bar of God.

      As one of the means of deterring him from this, God has made us so that we fear to die; and thousands are kept from this enormous crime by this fear when nothing else would save them. It is benevolence to the world, therefore, that man is afraid to die. In every pang of the dying struggle, and in everything about death that makes us turn pale and tremble at its approach, there is in some way a manifestation of goodness to mankind.

5. We may be comforted in the prospect of death by looking to the example of the Redeemer (Hebrews 5:7). Much as we may fear to die, and much as we may be left to suffer then, of one thing we may be sure: He has gone beyond us in suffering. The sorrows of our dying will never equal His. We shall never go through such scenes as occurred in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross.

   It may be some consolation that human nature has endured greater pangs than we shall, and that there is One who has surpassed us even in our keenest sufferings. It should also be a source of consolation to us, of the highest kind, that He did it so that He might alleviate our sorrows and drive away the horrors of death from us by bringing life and immortality to light, and that, as the result of His sufferings, our dying moments may be calm and peaceful.

6. It often occurs that men are true Christians and yet are ignorant of the elementary principles of religion (Hebrews 5:12). This is owing to such things as the following: a lack of early religious instruction, the faults of preachers who fail to teach their people, a lack of inquiry on the part of Christians, and the interest they feel in other things above that which they feel in religion.

   It is often surprising what vague and unsettled opinions many professed Christians have on some of the most important points of Christianity, and how little qualified they are to defend their opinions when attacked. Of multitudes in the Church even now it might be said that they need some one to teach them what are the very first principles of true religion. To some of the elementary doctrines of Christianity—about deadness to the world, self-denial, prayer, doing good, and spirituality—they are utter strangers. The same is true of forgiveness of injuries, charity, and love for a dying world. These are the elements of Christianity—rudiments that children in righteousness should learn, and yet they are not learned by multitudes who bear the Christian name.

7. All Christians ought to be teachers (Hebrews 5:12). I do not mean that they should all be preachers, but they should all so live as to teach others the true nature of religion. This they should do by their example and by their daily conversation. Any Christian is qualified to impart useful instruction to others.

   The servant of lowest rank may teach his master how a Christian should live. A child may thus teach a parent how he should live, and his daily walk may furnish the parent with lessons of inestimable value. Neighbours may thus teach neighbours, and strangers may learn from strangers. Every Christian has a knowledge of the way to be saved—knowledge that would be of the highest value for others to know—and is qualified to tell the rich, proud, and learned sinner about himself and about the final destiny of man, of which that sinner is now wholly ignorant.

   Let it also be remembered that the world derives its views of the nature of religion from the lives and conduct of its professed friends. It is not from the Bible, the pulpit, or from books that men learn what Christianity is; it is from the daily walk of those who profess to be its friends. Every day we live, a wife, a child, a neighbour, or a stranger is forming some view of the nature of religion from what they see in us. How important, therefore, it is that we so live as to communicate to them just views of what constitutes religion!