Rejecting and Neglecting — Hebrews 2

There’s a line in Hebrews 2 that stops me cold every time I read it:

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it.”
— Hebrews 2:1

It’s not a shout. It’s not a threat. It’s more like the quiet warning of a friend on the shore: “You’re drifting.”

Then verse 3 presses the weight home:

“How shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation?”

What gets me is that word: neglect. It doesn’t say reject. That would seem easier to spot. But neglect is quieter, subtler. John Calvin saw the danger and wrote, “It is not only the rejecting of the gospel, but even the neglecting of it that deserves the severest penalty in view of the greatness of the grace which is offered in it.”

Rejecting the gospel is obvious. It’s a closed door, a hardened heart, a voice that says, “No thanks.” Neglect, though, is more dangerous in its subtlety. You don’t fight it—you just drift. No big decision. No scandal. Just slow inattention. A soul that slips into sleep. A heart that still sings on Sundays but no longer stirs.

The word "drift" here paints the picture of something slipping past—like a ring sliding off a finger, or a boat slowly pulling away from its anchor. Sometimes it happens on calm waters. Life is easy, distractions are many, and we slowly lose our grip. Other times the sea is stormy, and we drift not from laziness but from weariness. That may have been the case for the original audience of Hebrews. A small church under pressure. Not renouncing Christ, just tempted to let go. Drifting under duress.

Either way, it’s the same call: Pay much closer attention to what we have heard.

It’s a tension, because it’s the Lord who saves us and sustains us. He is the author and perfecter of our faith. We don’t cling to Christ in our own strength. But we’re still told to stay alert, to stay anchored, to stay awake.

So how do we do that?

We meditate on the value of what we’ve been given. This isn’t ordinary news—it’s a great salvation. A rescue we didn’t earn, a grace we couldn’t buy.

We think on the cost. Jesus didn’t die to make us comfortable. He suffered, bled, and bore our sin. When we remember what it cost Him, we’re less likely to treat it lightly.

We saturate ourselves in the Word. The Bible isn’t just a book—it’s a lifeline. When we fill our minds with truth, we build spiritual muscle memory. We begin to hold fast without even realizing it.

We reflect on what the Lord has done. Look back. Remember. Recall His goodness, His provision, His rescue. Don’t let spiritual amnesia take root.

And sometimes, yes, we imagine the regret if we were to drift away. That isn’t fear-mongering. That’s honest self-examination. What would it cost my soul, my family, my witness, if I slowly slipped away from Christ?

This isn’t an easy topic. But Hebrews doesn’t back away from it—and neither should we. The same letter that warns us also comforts us: He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through Him. He will hold us fast.

But part of His holding is His warning.

So let’s pay attention.

Not to earn anything.

But because grace this great should never be ignored.