Aloha! It’s Wednesday, July 9th, 225. On Sunday after church, I went fishing with some friends. They brought their small aluminum boat, and when we were winding down for the day, they pulled it up on the riverbank—but didn’t set the anchor. We were sitting maybe five or ten feet away, eating and talking, when my friend’s wife looked up and said—totally casual—“Honey, your boat is going bye-bye.” Sure enough, the current had quietly pulled the boat back into the river. My friend jumped up and took off running into the water. Thankfully, he caught the boat before it floated away completely. When he brought it back to shore? You better believe he set the anchor.
Hebrews tells us we have an anchor that’s set behind the curtain.
Today's Reading:
Micah 1,2,3,4; Hebrews 6
Scripture
“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,” (Hebrews 6:19) NIV
Observation
In the Old Testament, the curtain separated the people from the Most Holy Place—the very presence of God. Only the high priest could enter, once a year. But when Jesus died, the curtain was torn in two. He entered that sacred space as our High Priest, not just symbolically, but permanently, and He brought our hope in with Him.
That’s what Hebrews is saying: our hope isn’t tethered to anything on this side of the curtain. It’s anchored inside God’s presence, where Jesus stands on our behalf, to a throne we cannot see by a Savior who cannot fail.
Application
Jesus determines the anchor’s set point—it’s fixed in the presence of God. My hope is secure. However, I determine the slack. He holds me firm, but I decide how close I stay to that anchor. I can pull tight and live near His presence, or I can let the line stretch until I’m drifting—still connected, but distant. That’s the thing about drifting—you don’t always feel it happening. It’s quiet. Subtle. Until something, or someone, points it out.
That’s why Hebrews says I need an anchor—and not just any anchor, but one that reaches “behind the curtain,” into the very presence of God. That’s where my hope is held.
I don’t want slack in my walk with God. I want to stay close. If I ever feel distance, it’s not because He moved. He’s still holding steady. The question is: how much slack have I allowed between my soul and my Savior?
Prayer
Jesus, thank You for setting my anchor in the one place that never moves—Your presence. Help me recognize when I start to drift and remind me that my hope is held where You are. I want to live as close to You as You’ve allowed me to be. Amen.
-Chris Kiriakos