At a young age, Hermann Hesse, the author of Siddhartha and other works,  studied theology at the Evangelical Theological Seminary of Maulbronn Abbey. Unsatisfied, he departed from his studies, was institutionalized due to an enduring crisis, and later became a bookshop apprentice. This led him to pursue his own writing. This 'departure' was a signal of his personal growth process.

Similarly, in the novella Siddhartha, the main character becomes a disciple of the Great Teacher. He is unsatisfied with the limitations of the teachings and leaves them, and his good friend Govinda, behind. The teachings are profound and wise, but something is missing. He has not yet heard the voice he desires, the voice he needs to grow.

Consider this: the commandments and the law, the teachings, the Torah, were like a tutor or guardian to lead the learner to a new and living way, to a better thing. But the child must eventually leave their guardian behind. This is maturity; growth.

When we think of God in creation, we tend to think of nature, the animals, trees, the landscape, and even the cosmos. But God's creation also includes the words of the commandments, the covenant (as William Blake has depicted above). 

However, the writer in Hebrews, he or she, is speaking to the hearers about needing to leave behind the foundation of their teachings and is questioning that covenant. Jesus, probably known to them as Joshua, has completed the law and offers them a new way, a new teaching, a new covenant. 

A part of this newness is old. This is the offer of rest (see Hebrews 3-4). This rest is rooted in the very foundations of creation. We are invited into it by listening and hearing. Before creation there was the Word. The logos of Theos as Christos. To be sure, one of the ways that we hear is by listening to nature. The flowing water, the sound of the river, the birds, their sounds, their flight. And also, the flowers that sway in the breeze. This is God in Creation.

Ships travelling the deepest oceans sometimes need to jettison their cargo to survive in the stormy seas. They need to leave it behind. This is mission-critical for them to move ahead, to survive, to enter rest and safety. The writer in Hebrews calls us to leave behind the foundations, the things that we hold firm, to move on to maturity, from a babe to a mature human being, a teacher.

Where do we find this wisdom? This maturity? Perhaps we already have it. Martin Laird, in An Ocean of Light, suggests that "you cannot light a candle that is already lit." We already have this presence, this fire, this flame. But we need to come to it. Perhaps coming to it means leaving the things we cling to behind. We leave these behind in order to find this flame, in silence. This silence means quieting the multitude of voices that shout to us inside our heads, to move from a kind of reactive mind to a receptive mind where we can contextualize these voices in the mind of a mature spirit. 

For the hearers in Hebrews, this meant wondering about the priesthood, the sacrifices, and the law. For us now, we need to discern what this means, individually and collectively, about what we should leave behind. Again, the writer does not treat this topic lightly. It is imbued with mysterium, tremendum, and fascinans. 

A part, in fact, a great part, of the hearers' beliefs was their system of offering sacrifices for sins (a word for which there are few modern-day synonyms). But the story in Hebrews continues: there is no new or other sacrifice for sins. Further, this Jesus, Joshua, as high priest, has entered beyond the curtain into the sacred place, and this is once, and once for all.