The Citizenship of Faith Text: Hebrews 11:13-16
Introduction: The Ache for Home
Every man, woman, and child knows what it is to feel out of place. We are born with a homing instinct, a deep and abiding sense that we are not quite where we are supposed to be. The secular world attempts to medicate this ache with frantic activity, with entertainment, with politics, with the accumulation of stuff. They try to convince themselves that this world is all there is, and so they must make their home here. But it is like trying to build a house on the deck of a sinking ship. The floor is always tilting, the sea is always rising, and the whole enterprise is doomed from the start. They are trying to cure their homesickness by rearranging the furniture in a foreign land.
The Christian faith does not try to numb this ache. It identifies it, explains it, and points it in the right direction. It tells us that our feeling of being strangers here is not a bug, but a feature. It is a sign that we were made for another country. The saints of old, whose exploits of faith are catalogued for us in this great chapter, understood this fundamental truth down to their bones. They were not malcontents or complainers. They were pilgrims. And a pilgrim is not someone who hates the country he is traveling through, but rather one who loves his destination so much that he refuses to settle for anything less.
This passage before us is a summary statement, a theological parenthesis that explains the engine that drove all these heroes of the faith, from Abel to Abraham to Sarah. It explains their forward-looking orientation. They were not defined by what they left behind, but by what they were seeking ahead. This is a crucial distinction. The modern church is filled with people who think that being a Christian means having a perpetual grimace about the state of the world. But the saints described here were not defined by their opposition to Babylon, but by their aspiration for Jerusalem. They confessed they were strangers and exiles, not as a complaint, but as a declaration of their true citizenship.
The Text
All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been remembering that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return. But now, they aspire to a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He prepared a city for them.
(Hebrews 11:13-16 LSB)
Faith's Far-Sightedness (v. 13)
We begin with the fundamental orientation of the faithful life.
"All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth." (Hebrews 11:13)
Notice the first phrase: "All these died in faith." Faith is not a fair-weather friend. It is not a spiritual stimulant to get you through a tough week. It is the very atmosphere you breathe, from your first spiritual gasp to your last earthly sigh. They lived by faith, and so they died in faith. Their death did not cancel their faith; it was the final examination of it, and they passed with flying colors.
But what was the nature of this faith? It was a faith that held onto promises that were not yet cashed. They did not receive the promises. Abraham did not possess the land. He owned a single burial plot in it. He did not see his descendants become as numerous as the stars. He saw Isaac, the son of promise, and Jacob, and the twelve patriarchs. He saw the down payment, not the full inheritance. This is crucial. Faith is not sight. If you have the thing in your hand, you do not need to have faith for it. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.
But though they did not possess the fulfillment, they did something remarkable. They saw the promises and welcomed them from a distance. Faith has long-range vision. It is a telescope for the soul. Abraham, standing on a hill in Canaan, saw far more than the dusty landscape before him. Jesus tells us what he saw: "Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it and was glad" (John 8:56). He saw the coming of the Messiah. He saw the city of God. He saw the kingdom. And he did not just see it as an astronomer sees a distant, cold star. He "welcomed" it. He greeted it. He embraced it from afar. This is a warm, personal, affectionate faith. The promise of God was not an abstract doctrine to him; it was a coming reality that filled him with joy.
And because he saw that distant city, he correctly identified his current address. He "confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth." This was not a lament. It was a statement of fact, a declaration of allegiance. To be a stranger means you are not a citizen. To be an exile means you have a homeland, but you are not in it right now. This confession was the logical consequence of their forward-looking faith. If your treasure is in heaven, your heart will be there, and you will feel like a tourist here. This is not pietistic escapism; it is hard-nosed realism.
The Pilgrim's Logic (v. 14-15)
The author then explains the simple logic that flows from this confession.
"For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been remembering that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return." (Hebrews 11:14-15 LSB)
This is plain as day. If a man says, "I am not from around here," it means he is from somewhere else. If you declare yourself a foreigner, you are simultaneously declaring that you have a homeland. Their confession of being exiles was an implicit declaration that they were seeking a country. They were on a quest. Their life had a direction, a purpose, a destination.
And the author cuts off a potential misunderstanding at the pass. When Abraham left Ur of the Chaldees, he was not just aimlessly wandering. He wasn't simply "not in Ur." He was going "to the land I will show you." And he never looked back. The author points out that if nostalgia had been their driving force, if they had been "remembering that country from which they went out," the way back was open. There was nothing physically stopping Abraham from packing up his camels and heading back to Mesopotamia. The opportunity was there.
This is a sharp poke in the ribs for us. How many Christians are tempted to look back? We look back to the world's way of doing things, back to the sinful pleasures we left behind. We remember the leeks and onions of Egypt and forget the bondage. But these saints were not driven by memory of the past, but by the promise of the future. They burned their bridges. They were not emigrants fleeing something; they were immigrants pressing toward something. The past was a closed book; the future was an open city.
A Better Country, An Unashamed God (v. 16)
This brings us to the magnificent conclusion of the matter.
"But now, they aspire to a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He prepared a city for them." (Hebrews 11:16 LSB)
Their desire was not just for any country, but a "better" one. Better than Ur. Better, even, than the physical land of Canaan in its current state. Their aspiration was for a "heavenly" country. This does not mean a disembodied, ethereal existence playing harps on a cloud. In the Bible, "heavenly" refers to the source and quality of a thing. It means a country whose origin, government, and character are from heaven. It is the new heavens and the new earth, the dwelling place of righteousness. It is the kingdom of God come to earth in its fullness.
And here we have one of the most staggering statements in all of Scripture. "Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God." Stop and let the weight of that settle on you. The infinite, holy, sovereign Creator of the universe looks at these dusty, imperfect, yet forward-looking saints, and He is not embarrassed to be publicly associated with them. He says, in effect, "That one, Abraham, he's with Me. Sarah, she's one of Mine."
Why? What is it about them that makes God proud to claim them? The text tells us plainly. It is because "they aspire to a better country." God is not ashamed of those whose deepest desires are fixed on the reward He has promised. When we value what He values, when we long for the home He has prepared, it brings Him honor. Conversely, when we profess to be His children but spend all our energy and affection trying to build our own little plastic kingdoms here on earth, we bring shame on His name. We act like princes who prefer to play in the mud pies of the slums rather than inherit their father's throne.
The final clause gives the reason for His pride and the foundation of their hope: "for He prepared a city for them." Their hope was not a fantasy. Their aspiration was not a pipe dream. It was aimed at a concrete reality that God Himself had constructed. He is the architect and builder of this city (Heb. 11:10). This is the New Jerusalem, the city of the living God. God did not just give them a promise; He went to work. He got out the blueprints. He laid the foundations. He built the walls. Jesus says the same thing to His disciples: "I go to prepare a place for you" (John 14:2). Our future hope is as solid as the character and competence of God the builder.
Conclusion: Citizens of the Future
So what does this mean for us? It means that our fundamental identity is not determined by our passport, our ethnicity, or our political party. Our fundamental identity is that of citizen of a heavenly country. We are ambassadors of a kingdom that is "already and not yet." It is already here in the reign of Christ, and it is not yet here in its final, consummated glory.
This reality should shape everything. It should make us the best earthly citizens, because we are not terrified of what the rulers of this age can do to us. We can speak the truth with boldness because our security is not in this system. It should make us the most joyful people on earth, because our joy is not dependent on our circumstances. We are living for a city that cannot be shaken.
And it should orient our desires. We must constantly ask ourselves: what country am I seeking? Am I aspiring to a better country, or am I trying to get comfortable in this one? Do my spending habits, my entertainment choices, and my ambitions confess that I am a stranger and an exile, or do they declare that I am quite at home here?
The saints of old died in faith, seeing the promises from afar. We live on this side of the cross and the empty tomb. We have received a much greater down payment on the inheritance. The Spirit Himself is our guarantee. We have seen the King in His resurrection, and we know that His city is a certainty. Therefore, let us live like it. Let us live in such a way that the world looks at us and sees that we are seeking a country. And let us live in such a way that God Himself, looking down from heaven, is not ashamed to be called our God.