Hebrews 2:5–9
[5] For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking. [6] It has been testified somewhere,
“What is man, that you are mindful of him,
or the son of man, that you care for him?
[7] You made him for a little while lower than the angels;
you have crowned him with glory and honor,
[8] putting everything in subjection under his feet.”
Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. [9] But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. (ESV)
We live in a world obsessed with influence, clout, visibility, and control. If you're not trending, if you're not powerful, if you're not rich, you're probably not noticed—and definitely not admired. It’s easy to feel small, invisible, even insignificant.
But Hebrews 2 gently peels back the illusion.
It starts with an interesting line:
“For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come…”
In other words, God’s plan wasn’t to hand over the universe to angels. His design has always involved us—flawed and fragile as we are.
The writer quotes Psalm 8:
“What is man, that You are mindful of him? Or the son of man, that You care for him?”
This is David stargazing, humbled by the size of the cosmos. The moon and stars seem eternal and glorious—while we seem fleeting and forgettable. Yet, somehow, God is mindful of us. Not just aware. He cares. He designed us to rule and reflect His glory.
But we all know something’s off.
Hebrews 2:8 admits it:
“At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him.”
That’s a biblical way of saying—“Look around. The world’s a mess.” Humanity is supposed to be crowned with glory and honor, but it doesn’t feel that way. Most days, it feels like the world is stomping on us, not the other way around.
Now imagine being a Hebrew Christian in the first century. You’ve lost everything to follow Jesus—your standing in the synagogue, your business, maybe even your family. You walk the streets of Rome or some Italian town, poor, mocked, maybe still carrying the bruises of persecution. You're nothing in the eyes of the world. Just a joke to the people around you.
Meanwhile, the Emperor sits on a golden throne. Surrounded by marble pillars and the applause of the Senate, he has wealth, power, pleasure, fame. His word can command armies. His likeness is on every coin.
Who looks like they’re winning?
But the gospel tells a different story. Hebrews says it’s actually the exact opposite.
The emperor may seem majestic now—but decay and dust are coming. The believer may seem pathetic now—but resurrection and glory are on the way. The only difference is time.
Then comes the turn:
“But we see Him…”
We don’t yet see everything rightly ordered—but we see Jesus.
He stepped into our condition. Lower than the angels, for a little while. Bruised, rejected, acquainted with sorrow. But crowned with glory and honor because He tasted death for everyone. And by His suffering, He restores the lost glory and brings “many sons to glory.”
That’s the core of it. Jesus reverses the fall by entering into it. And because of that, our suffering isn't meaningless. Our smallness isn't final.
I’ve lived long enough now to see little flashes of this upside-down reality play out in real life.
I’ve seen the overlooked athlete who worked in anonymity for years and then, when the time came, rose up and became All-State. I’ve seen the quiet eighth-grader—mocked, overlooked—grow and mature until the same people who laughed at him weren’t laughing anymore.
And I’ve seen the opposite.
Mighty men who built their lives, their names, their companies—who once walked in confidence and controlled boardrooms—slowly fade. Illness takes its toll. Memory slips. Hands shake. They become shadows of the strength they once had, stirring a coffee cup with effort, and quietly disappearing from the stage.
If that’s where the story ends, it’s all so heartbreakingly sad.
But it doesn’t end there.
Not for the one who is in Christ.
The believer may look small, worn out, irrelevant—but God is not done writing the story. The glory of Psalm 8 will be fulfilled. The crown is coming. The image of God will shine again, fully restored.
So when life feels heavy and the world tells you that you don’t matter, remember:
You are not insignificant.
You are not forgotten.
And your end is not fading—
Just wait and see.
Song: What is Man? (Psalm 8)
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