Epistle to the Hebrews
Based on Wikipedia: Epistle to the Hebrews
The Mystery Writer of the New Testament
Somewhere around two thousand years ago, someone wrote one of the most sophisticated pieces of Greek prose in the entire New Testament. They crafted elegant arguments, wove together scripture and philosophy, and created what scholars today consider the most polished literary work among the Christian scriptures. Then they did something remarkable: they left no name behind.
The Epistle to the Hebrews is the New Testament's great mystery. We don't know who wrote it. We don't know exactly when it was written. We're not entirely certain who the original audience was. What we do know is that whoever penned these words was a master of Greek composition—and almost certainly not the Apostle Paul.
Why Paul Almost Certainly Didn't Write It
For centuries, Christian tradition attributed Hebrews to Paul. The original King James Bible even titled it "The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews." But there's a problem with this attribution—actually, several problems.
The Greek is too good.
That might sound strange, but scholars who study ancient languages notice something immediately when they compare Hebrews to Paul's acknowledged letters. Paul's writing style is what experts call "spontaneous and volatile"—passionate, sometimes grammatically rough, clearly the work of someone thinking out loud as he dictates. Hebrews, by contrast, reads like a carefully crafted literary essay. The sentences are meticulously constructed. The rhetorical flourishes are deliberate and polished. One scholar described it as "the very carefully composed and studied Greek of Hebrews."
Even in antiquity, readers noticed the difference. The early Christian theologian Origen, writing in the third century, observed that the letter's style "does not exhibit the characteristic roughness of speech or phraseology admitted by the Apostle himself." Origen thought the ideas might be Paul's, perhaps written down by a student, but he was honest about the limits of human knowledge: "Who wrote the epistle is known to God alone."
The theological focus differs too. Paul's letters obsess over certain themes—justification by faith, the relationship between Jews and Gentiles, the nature of the resurrected body. Hebrews has its own preoccupations: the nature of priesthood, the relationship between heavenly and earthly sanctuaries, the figure of Melchizedek. These aren't Paul's usual concerns.
So Who Did Write It?
Over two millennia, scholars have proposed a colorful cast of possible authors. Clement of Rome. Barnabas. Luke, who wrote the Gospel and Acts. A man named Apollos, whom the Book of Acts describes as "eloquent" and "mighty in the scriptures"—which would certainly fit. Silas, who traveled with Paul.
And then there's perhaps the most intriguing candidate: Priscilla.
The idea that a woman wrote Hebrews gained serious scholarly attention in 1900, when the German historian Adolf von Harnack made the case for Priscilla as author. Priscilla appears in Acts and Paul's letters alongside her husband Aquila as a prominent early Christian teacher. The New Testament actually mentions her first in the couple's name four out of six times—unusual for the ancient world, and possibly indicating her higher status or more prominent role in the church.
Harnack noticed something curious: the name of Hebrews' author seems to have been deliberately suppressed in early Christian tradition. If Luke or Barnabas or Apollos had written it, why would the early church have forgotten? But if a woman had written it—in a religious culture increasingly uncomfortable with female authority—there might be reason for what one scholar called "a conspiracy of anonymity."
Ruth Hoppin, who also argued for Priscilla's authorship, suggested the name was "omitted either to suppress its female authorship, or to protect the letter itself from suppression." Gilbert Bilezikian of Wheaton College found it suspicious that "the lack of any firm data concerning the identity of the author in the extant writings of the church suggests a deliberate blackout more than a case of collective loss of memory."
We'll never know for certain. The mystery remains.
A Different Kind of New Testament Book
Hebrews doesn't quite fit the mold of other New Testament letters. It lacks the standard opening of a Hellenistic epistle—no "Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, to the saints in Rome, grace and peace to you." It launches instead into a theological argument about the nature of Christ. Modern scholars generally believe it started as a sermon or homily, perhaps later modified with the travel plans and personal greetings we find at the end.
The letter interweaves two distinct strands throughout its length. One strand is expositional—carefully explaining doctrine through scripture. The other is hortatory, from the Latin word for "urging"—passionate exhortations punctuating the teaching at key moments, warning the readers not to fall away from their faith.
These warnings give us a window into the original crisis. The readers, it seems, had begun to waver. They were suffering persecution for their belief that Jesus was the Messiah, and some were considering returning to traditional Judaism to escape that persecution. The letter argues, with considerable urgency, that they must persevere.
Christ as Priest: The Book's Central Argument
To make its case, Hebrews develops a theological argument unlike anything else in the New Testament. It presents Jesus not just as Messiah or Lord, but specifically as a priest—indeed, as the ultimate high priest.
This required some creative biblical interpretation. After all, Jesus came from the tribe of Judah, not Levi. Jewish priests descended from Aaron, Moses' brother, who was a Levite. Jesus had no priestly credentials in the traditional sense.
Hebrews solves this problem by invoking an obscure figure from the Book of Genesis: Melchizedek.
Melchizedek appears in the Bible for only a few verses. He's described as a king and "priest of God Most High" who blessed Abraham and received a tithe from him. He has no genealogy recorded—no father, no mother, no beginning or end of days. Hebrews seizes on this mysterious figure to argue that there exists a priesthood older and greater than Aaron's, one to which Jesus belongs.
This wasn't entirely unprecedented thinking. The Dead Sea Scrolls, discovered in caves near Qumran in the mid-twentieth century, reveal that other Jewish groups around Jesus' time were also thinking about Melchizedek and priestly messiahs. Both Hebrews and the Qumran texts describe priestly figures making eschatological atonement—that is, sacrifices connected to the end of the age. Both discuss these priestly figures alongside Davidic royal figures. The conceptual world of Hebrews, scholars have noted, parallels remarkably what we find in these ancient scrolls.
The Heavenly Sanctuary
Hebrews makes a striking distinction between two sanctuaries. There is an earthly temple, where Levitical priests offer sacrifices according to the Law of Moses. And there is a heavenly sanctuary—"the true tabernacle set up by the Lord"—where the resurrected Christ serves as priest.
The earthly temple, in this view, is merely "a copy and shadow of what is in heaven." The sacrifices offered there must be repeated endlessly, year after year, because they can never permanently cleanse the worshipers' conscience. Christ's sacrifice, by contrast, happened once and accomplished its purpose completely.
This theology has implications for dating the letter. Hebrews speaks of the temple's sacrificial system in the present tense, as something still happening. This has led many scholars to conclude the letter was written before the year 70, when Roman armies destroyed Jerusalem and its temple. If the author had known about the destruction, wouldn't that have strengthened the argument? The temple is gone precisely because the old system is obsolete. The silence on this catastrophic event seems telling.
The Catholic Encyclopedia suggests the most probable date is late 63 or early 64 AD. However, some scholars, like Harold Attridge and Ellen Aitken, argue for a later date, between 70 and 100 AD. The debate continues.
The Opening Lines: A Cosmic Christ
Hebrews begins with one of the most majestic passages in the New Testament. Without preamble or introduction, the author declares that God "has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe."
This Son is described as "the radiance of God's glory, the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word." These aren't modest claims. The letter presents Jesus as a cosmic figure, preexistent, divine, the agent of creation itself.
The titles pile up throughout the letter: "pioneer" or "forerunner," "Son," "Son of God," "priest," "high priest." Scholars call this "dual Christology"—Jesus as both exalted royal Son and sacrificing High Priest. No other New Testament book quite captures both roles with this emphasis.
The Supersessionism Problem
Hebrews raises difficult questions about the relationship between Christianity and Judaism—questions that have had tragic consequences through history.
The letter argues that Christ has fulfilled and thus abolished the "temporary and provisional institutions" of the old covenant. The sacrifices of the Levitical priests have been replaced by Christ's single, perfect sacrifice. This theological position is called supersessionism—the belief that the church supersedes or replaces Israel as the people of God.
Scholars today are divided on how to read this. Some are sympathetic to Hebrews' theological message. Others are critical of what they see as the letter's contribution to Christian anti-Judaism. Still others seek a middle ground.
The historian Abel Bibliowicz emphasizes that we must distinguish between what the original author intended and how later generations interpreted and deployed these texts. Whatever the first-century writer meant, the theological claim that Christianity replaces Judaism eventually contributed to "the negation and disenfranchisement of Jewish followers of Jesus, and later, of all non-Christian Jews." The history of Christian antisemitism casts a long shadow over how we read texts like Hebrews today.
Some modern scholars suggest the letter is best understood not as Christians versus Jews, but as an internal Jewish debate—specifically, between Jewish followers of Jesus and what would eventually become rabbinical Judaism. The letter never uses the words "Gentile," "Christian," or "Christianity." Perhaps it documents a family argument, not a divorce.
A Debate Within a Debate
The New Testament itself seems to contain an ongoing argument about what following Jesus requires. On one extreme were those scholars call "Judaizers," who believed non-Jews must fully convert to Judaism—including circumcision and following the Law of Moses—before they could receive the Holy Spirit. On the other extreme were "antinomians," who believed the Jewish law was completely abolished and Jewish followers of Jesus should abandon it entirely.
James and Paul appear in this schema as moderates of each faction, with Peter perhaps serving as a mediator between camps. Hebrews enters this debate with its own nuanced position: the old covenant was legitimate in its time but has now been superseded by something better. This is more than Paul says, going further in its explicit contrast between old and new.
Hold Fast
Throughout all its theological complexity, Hebrews never loses sight of its practical purpose: to keep its readers from giving up. "Let us hold fast to our confession," the author urges. The elaborate arguments about priesthood and sanctuary and covenant ultimately serve this hortatory goal.
The letter famously includes what scholars call the "faith chapter"—a roll call of Old Testament heroes who persevered despite not receiving what was promised to them. Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Rahab—all of them acted in faith, looking forward to something they would not see in their lifetimes. The readers of Hebrews are encouraged to join this great company of witnesses, to run with endurance the race set before them.
There's a reason this letter, despite its mysterious authorship, made it into the Christian canon. Early Christians recognized something valuable here, "sound theology" and "eloquent presentation," as one church historian noted. It took longer than other books—Hebrews was classed among the "Antilegomena," the disputed writings—but eventually its intrinsic worth won out.
Known to God Alone
Origen's humble confession echoes through the centuries: "Who wrote the epistle is known to God alone."
Perhaps that's fitting. A document arguing that the earthly is merely a shadow of the heavenly, that what we see is not the ultimate reality, perhaps should itself retain some mystery. We have the words. We have the arguments. We have the exhortations to faithfulness and the warnings against falling away.
What we don't have is a name. And maybe, in the end, that's the point. The argument matters more than the authority. The truth being proclaimed matters more than who proclaims it. Two thousand years later, we're still reading, still debating, still trying to understand what this anonymous writer wanted us to know.
The mystery endures.