While we often talk about our growth, our progress, and what we are doing for the kingdom of God, the reality is that any goodness in a Christian does not originate in us.
I heard someone say recently that every person should have three professionals in their corner: a doctor for their health, a lawyer for their legal protection, and a financial advisor for their economic well-being.
It struck me as wise advice — even provocative — and it led me straight to Christ.
We live in a world where entropy wins – things break, bodies fail, relationships fracture, markets fluctuate. At any given moment, something in our life is vulnerable, exposed, or beyond our expertise. So we surround ourselves with specialists—people who can step in when we cannot.
Yet the advice I heard stayed with me for a different reason. The New Testament says that the Christian already has someone in his corner who fulfills all three roles—and infinitely more.
Jesus is our intercessor.
Jesus is our mediator.
Jesus is our advocate.
He is, if you will, our Great Physician, our defense attorney, and our sure and steady advisor.
And unlike the professionals we hire, he does not charge by the hour or take a percentage of our earnings.
Much of our emphasis in Lutheran theology—rightly so—falls on justification. Christ died for our sins. He declared us righteous. He is the author and finisher of our faith. The verdict has been rendered. The case is closed. There is nothing we bring to the table and there is nothing more that needs to be done.
But Scripture does not speak of Jesus’ saving work only in the past tense.
He stands before the Father not to persuade a reluctant God to love us, but to represent us in our weakness, to bring his once-for-all sacrifice into our ongoing need.
Hebrews tells us that “he always lives to make intercession” for us (Heb. 7:25). Always lives. Present tense. Ongoing action. The verse concludes by saying that he is able to save “to the uttermost” those who draw near to God through him, precisely because he always lives to intercede.
That means his saving work is not merely something he did. It is something he is doing.
Dane Ortlund, in his book Gentle and Lowly, lingers over that phrase in his chapter “To the Uttermost.” His point is not that Christ needed to add something to the cross. The cross accomplished everything necessary for our justification. There is no deficit in Calvary that heaven must now compensate for. Rather, the risen Christ applies that finished work to us continually. He stands before the Father not to persuade a reluctant God to love us, but to represent us in our weakness, to bring his once-for-all sacrifice into our ongoing need.
We need a constant intercessor because we are in constant need.
We sin continually.
We doubt repeatedly.
We fear regularly.
We accuse ourselves constantly.
The law does not retire after our conversion. It continues to accuse us. If anything, the Christian feels the accusation of the law more deeply. The conscience becomes more sensitive, not less. We know better. We expect more of ourselves. We resolve to get our act together. And then we fail again. Not spectacularly perhaps, but most certainly. In our thoughts, in our words, in our deeds of impatience, indifference, lust, envy, greed and pride just to name a few. Therefore we need Christ to stand before the Father and declare us righteous despite the verdict of the law.
So what does it mean that Christ intercedes?
It does not mean that the Father is stern while the Son is gentle, as though Jesus must calm an angry God. The Father sent the Son. The Father loves the world. The intercession of Christ is not a negotiation within the Trinity; it is the outworking of the Father’s own saving will.
When accusation rises—whether from the devil, from the law, or from our own conscience—Christ speaks.
Nor does intercession mean that Christ is re-sacrificed. Hebrews is clear: his sacrifice was once for all (Heb. 10:10). The blood has been shed. The atonement is complete.
Intercession means that the crucified and risen Christ stands in the presence of the Father as our representative. He does not plead our innocence. He pleads his righteousness. He does not minimize our sin. He presents his wounds.
When accusation rises—whether from the devil, from the law, or from our own conscience—Christ speaks. He answers every charge not by arguing our improvement, but by pointing to his finished work. His intercession is the continual presentation of his once-for-all sacrifice on behalf of his people.
This is why Hebrews connects Christ’s intercession with being saved “to the uttermost.” Not merely saved from our past. Not saved in theory. But saved completely. Saved in weakness. Saved in relapse. Saved in seasons of coldness and doubt. Saved when things are going right, and yes, saved when everything in your world is going wrong. The word translated “uttermost” in Hebrews 7:25 carries the sense of completeness, of bringing something all the way to its intended end. Christ has saved you fully and finally. You cannot improve upon his saving work. But you do need to be reminded of it. And so he constantly makes intercession for you.
His intercession means that our salvation is not a past event left to our management. It is a present reality sustained by a living Savior.
John gives us similar language when he writes, “If anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous” (1 John 2:1). Notice the realism. Not “if anyone used to sin,” but “if anyone does sin.” The apostle assumes ongoing failure. And he does not respond with panic. He responds with promise.
We have an advocate.
He came to seek and to save the lost. And thankfully he has not grown tired of doing so.
An advocate does not merely sympathize. He speaks. He stands in court. He answers the charge. And our advocate is “Jesus Christ the righteous.” His righteousness, not ours, is the decisive factor in the courtroom of heaven.
This changes the texture of the Christian life.
Many believers live as though Jesus justified them in the past and now waits to see how they will perform. We would never say it that way, but we feel it. We take inventory of our devotional life. We question whether our repentance was sincere enough. We lie awake remembering what we promised him we would never do again. We wonder if we have finally used up our last chance.
But Jesus has not changed his mind about who he came to save.
He came to seek and to save the lost. And thankfully he has not grown tired of doing so.
The disposition he displayed toward sinners in the Gospels is not a phase he moved past. It is a revelation of his heart. The one who touched lepers, who welcomed tax collectors, who restored Peter after his denial—that same Christ now lives to intercede for those who continue to stumble, doubt, and return empty-handed.
Two thousand years have not cooled his mercy. Your repeated sins have not exhausted his patience. Your weakness does not surprise him. He knew what he was getting when he chose you.
My late friend used to say, “Jesus is the best thing about us.” He meant that while we often talk about our growth, our progress, and what we are doing for the kingdom of God, the reality is that any goodness in a Christian does not originate in us. All of our righteousness is like filthy rags (Isa. 64:6); whatever good is found in us comes not from within, but from the outside—from Christ.
But this application of his righteousness is not automatic or mechanical. Forgiveness is not dispensed by an impersonal system triggered by our sincerity or spiritual intensity. There is no grace machine we can switch on when we feel the need. Our salvation is not maintained by a process, but by a person. Not by our grip on him, but by his advocacy for us. It is personal. The living Christ himself stands for you.
Christ’s intercession means that his finished work is continually brought into contact with our ongoing need.
We have an advocate. “If anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” Not we had, but we have. Christ’s intercession means that his finished work is continually brought into contact with our ongoing need. He is not merely the one who justified us then; he is the one who carries us now. He stands before the Father not to persuade him to be merciful, but to present himself as the abiding proof that we are his.
When your conscience accuses, you have an advocate. When your heart is sick, you have a physician. When your sin condemns you and God’s holiness leaves you without excuse, you have a mediator who stands for you. When your faith feels thin, you have an intercessor who remains faithful.
We probably should have a doctor, a lawyer, and a financial advisor in our corner. That may be wisdom for life in this fallen world.
But the Christian has something better.
We have a Savior who does not merely advise us, but redeems us.
We have an advocate who does not simply defend us; he justifies us.
We have a physician who not only treats our symptoms, but heals us to the uttermost.
He is everything for us. He is the best thing about us.
And while his work on the cross for our justification is finished (John 19:30), he is not finished with you. He lives to intercede for you. And the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion when you stand before him face to face.
