How the Kingdom Comes (Revelation 11:1-13)

Judgment Does Not Inspire Repentance

1 Then I was given a measuring rod like a staff, and I was told, “Come and measure the temple of God and the altar and those who worship there, 2 but do not measure the court outside the temple; leave that out, for it is given over to the nations, and they will trample over the holy city for forty-two months.

Most biblical scholars agree that by the time John wrote Revelation, the temple in Jerusalem had already been destroyed by the Romans. (The Roman army had besieged Jerusalem and burned the temple to the ground in 70 CE after a large Jewish revolt.) So…why is John given instructions to mark off part of “the temple of God” (Rev 11:1)? What “temple” is being referred to? In fact, it is no great mystery. Paul and Peter both refer to the church as the temple of God (e.g., 2 Cor 6:16; 1 Pet 2:4-5), meaning that just as the physical temple in Jerusalem had once symbolized God’s presence dwelling among the people, so now the church community stood as a sign of God’s presence in the world.

John’s instructions here to mark off the inside of the temple but to allow the outer court to be overrun by the nations signifies a promise to the church that while the world may oppress and persecute them, God will always dwell in their midst. Nothing can touch or violate the inner sanctuary, which is to say, God’s presence among them. 

This promise is timely. Since last week in chapter 5, when John stood in the throne room and saw the slaughtered lamb exalted as the one who would save the world, John has seen vision after vision of disaster and calamity. He’s seen the legendary four horsemen of the apocalypse, delivering war, famine, pestilence, and death (Rev 6:1-8). He’s seen followers of Christ martyred (Rev 6:9-11). He’s seen the earth on fire and the sea filled with blood and the sky darkened (Rev 8). He’s seen a plague of mutant-looking locusts with the heads of lions and mouths that breathe fire and tails that sting like scorpions, wreaking death and havoc on the world (Rev 9).

In fact, that word “plague” is telling. Do you remember another biblical story filled with plagues? With locusts and blood-filled water? With death passing over every home? Rather than communicate an exact prediction of what was going to happen in his world (in the first-century Roman empire) or in our world (two millenia later), it seems more likely that these fantastic images are meant to bring to mind an old story. The story of the Hebrew slaves in Egypt, whom God delivers to freedom after a series of plagues. John invites his audience to look all around them—to see the chaos of their own world, the Roman oppression and persecution of all who get in the way of the empire—John invites his audience to see this turmoil as the beginning of God’s deliverance. And just as in the exodus, when Hebrew homes were marked off from the angel of death who came to kill the firstborn child, so in the present time John tells his audience that no matter what happens, God is with them. The “inner temple” of God’s presence with them has been marked off and will never be breached. Persecutors can kill the body, but they can’t kill the soul. Earlier in chapters 6 and 7, John has visions that fill out this promise. He envisions many Christ-followers who lose their lives as then receiving white robes, robes which have been dipped in the blood of the lamb, and being led to “springs of the water of life,” where “every tear from their eyes” will be wiped away by God Godself (Rev 6:9-11; 7:14-17). The good news for these followers of Christ is that God will never leave their side; the suffering they endured is not in vain.

But what about the rest of the world? After all these plagues—which may be rightly interpreted as God’s judgment, although I would contend strongly that God’s judgment should be interpreted not as retributive punishment but as the natural consequences of our deeds, the fruit of our actions—after all these plagues, John tells us in Revelation 9:20,“The rest of humankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent of the works of their hands….” Which fits perfectly with the Exodus story, right? After each plague, what happens to Pharaoh? His heart is hardened. There seems to be a fundamental truth here, one worth holding onto as we continue in today’s scripture. The fundamental truth is this: judgment does not inspire repentance. If anything, it seems to harden hearts.

When Healing Hurts

3 And I will grant my two witnesses authority to prophesy for one thousand two hundred sixty days, wearing sackcloth.”

4 These are the two olive trees and the two lampstands that stand before the Lord of the earth. 

These two witnesses likely symbolize the church as it bears faithful witness to the way of the slaughtered lamb. Why two? In ancient Jewish tradition, two witnesses were required to confirm the truth of an event. Thus two signifies that the church is here to confirm the truth of Jesus Christ.

5 And if anyone wants to harm them, fire pours from their mouth and consumes their foes; anyone who wants to harm them must be killed in this manner. 

Woah—that escalated quickly…. Has the church suddenly adopted a new tactic? Not love your enemies, but…kill your enemies?

Or maybe we should remember Revelation abounds in symbolic imagery. Jesus is a lamb. Churches are lampstands. Angels are stars. And so on. Here there seems to be an allusion to the prophet Jeremiah, who hears God say: “Because the people have spoken these words [against me], I will make my words in your mouth a fire and these people the wood it consumes” (Jer 5:14). In other words, the imagery of violence and terror that is attributed to these two witnesses—and thus to the church—may be read to symbolize the extreme discomfort and torment that people feel when they are confronted with their own wrongdoing or sin.

6 They have authority to shut the sky, so that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying—this seems to be an allusion to Elijah, who prophesied a drought for three and a half years, the same amount time mentioned earlier in this chapter—and they have authority over the waters to turn them into blood, and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire. Again, allusions to the exodus story.

7 When they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up from the bottomless pit—later it will become clear that this beast symbolizes the might of the Roman empire—will make war on them and conquer them and kill them, 8 and their dead bodies will lie in the street of the great city that is prophetically called Sodom and Egypt, where also their Lord was crucified. As we know, Jesus was crucified in Jerusalem, not in Sodom or Egypt. This is just another illustration of the fact that so much of Revelation is intentionally symbolic. Here the Roman empire, which crucified Jesus, is compared to Sodom and Egypt, places of injustice and oppression. 

9 For three and a half days members of the peoples and tribes and languages and nations will gaze at their dead bodies and refuse to let them be placed in a tomb; 10 and the inhabitants of the earth will gloat over them and celebrate and exchange presents, because these two prophets had been a torment to the inhabitants of the earth.

Last year, after Halloween, my brother and sister-in-law tried to limit my nephews’ intake of chocolate and candy by hiding the candy out in the garage and retrieving just a couple of pieces for each nephew after meals. They explained to my nephews that moderating their candy-intake was actually a kindness, something meant to help them. They didn’t want the boys to get stomachaches and to lose their appetite for real food. But within a few days, my brother started noticing empty candy wrappers in the living room, on the stairs, and most incriminating of all in my nephews’ bedroom. Nathan and Matthew had discovered the candy stash in the garage! When my brother moved the candy again, there was an almost violent outcry.

The point is this: trying to prevent bellyaches resulted in weeping and gnashing of teeth. Trying to help the boys “hurt” them. Just so, the witness of the church is felt as a “torment,” John says, by the inhabitants of the earth. I think of the way that some of the religious leaders grumbled and got upset when Jesus started eating with tax collectors and sinners, people who were unclean in more ways than one; for this profoundly unsettled the social hierarchy. Or I think of the way that many Judeans must have felt when they saw Jesus go to Zacchaeus’ house for dinner; was Jesus snubbing them for a known “traitor,” a person who robbed from good Jewish people and gave to Rome. Jesus was not crucified for being nice. Rather, his way of love and grace was so excruciatingly painful for some people, that the only solution was to eliminate him. 

A Twist—Egypt Delivered!

11 But after the three and a half days, the breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet, and those who saw them were terrified. 12 Then they heard a loud voice from heaven saying to them, “Come up here!” And they went up to heaven in a cloud while their enemies watched them. 13 At that moment there was a great earthquake, and a tenth of the city fell; seven thousand people were killed in the earthquake, and the rest were terrified and gave glory to the God of heaven.

When God delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, the Egyptians, whose hearts had been hardened, were left to mourn the many who had died. There was no redemption for those whose hearts had been hardened.

But in this particular vision, after the two witnesses—who probably symbolize the church—are raised to life and exalted with God in heaven, the world around them finally repents and gives glory to God. In other words, there’s a twist in the old Exodus pattern. The first time around, only the slaves were delivered. This time, their oppressors are delivered too! Their hearts are softened. Judgment and painful consequences, shame and loss—these things did not inspire repentance. But the faithful, loving witness of the church does. The faithful, loving witness of the church “succeed[s] where the plagues have failed.” 

If this is good news (and I think it is, supremely so!)...it is also difficult news. The point of this vision is not that Christ-followers will “be spared from suffering and death, but rather that their suffering and death itself, like that of the Jesus whom the church worships and follows, will be the ultimate prophetic sign through which the world will be brought to glorify God.” Only when the world sees the church live in imitation of its savior, living in love to the last, giving its life for others—only then does it repent. Only then does “the kingdom of the world…become the kingdom of our Lord,” as John remarks just a couple verses later (Rev 11:15).

The Martyrdom of Parenthood?

As I ponder this good but difficult news, I find myself thinking about parenthood. I can only speculate, but it seems to me that there is a sense in which parenthood is one long martyrdom, one extended experience that mirrors the role of the church in the world. At the end of the day, a parent cannot control a child, no matter how hard they try. Judgment, consequences, shame—these are all tools that they might employ to inspire change, but as we have seen in Revelation the result is often the opposite. In the end, all a parent can do is model a good and healthy way to live and hope that their child will learn. (Perhaps the parable of the prodigal son reflects this truth that parenthood is a sort of martyrdom. The loving father must watch as his younger son marches off to his own destruction, hoping against hope that he will one day return.)

I think in particular of some family friends who have a daughter who fell into a bad crowd as a teenager. The family are Christ-followers, and I know that the parents modeled love and grace for their daughter in many ways. But despite their example (and certainly despite all the rules and restrictions they might have put into place), she rebelled and made choices that brought her to a dark place. Much like the prodigal son, she woke up one day and realized she did not have to live this way. There was a better way. Over time, she has come to resemble more and more her own father and mother, as she has chosen their way of living.

And this change—this repentance, we could call it—happened not because of some punishment. Yes, her pain awakened her to some hard truths. But if it had not been for the witness of her parents—the way they had lived and modeled for her—she wouldn’t have known to choose their way of life.

And so it is that I imagine parenthood to be one long martyrdom. Perhaps for some parents it even feels spiritually like a crucifixion. Nothing you can do but model a good way. The good news for parents—and ultimately for us followers of Christ—is that this is how God’s kingdom comes. Where judgments, threats, shame, rules, and everything else fails…the patient, enduring witness to love succeeds. In the end, love wins.

Prayer

Dear Christ,

Who came to our world,

Eating and drinking with sinners,

Welcoming them home with open arms

…

Grant us the peace

To let go of our quests for control

And instead to live

In your martyrdom of love,

By which the kingdom of God comes:

Amen.

 

The Lion and the Lamb (Rev 5:1-10)

About “Heaven”

In the book of Genesis, when Jacob is on the run from his murderous brother Esau, he stops for the night in the wilderness and sleeps on a stone. You might remember what happens next. He dreams about a stairway to heaven. At the top of the stairway stands God, who promises Jacob he will be with him and bless the world through him and bring him back home one day. When Jacob wakes up, he anoints the stone on which he slept with oil and names the place, “Bethel,” which means “House of God.” He explains: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it! … What an awesome place this is! It is none other than the house of God, the very gateway to heaven!” (Gen 28:16-17). 

Now, the point of the story is not that there is a distinct portal to heaven hidden somewhere in the Judean wilderness. Jacob’s experience does not reveal a magical site like the wardrobe in C. S. Lewis’ Narnia stories, where a person can transport from this world to another. The point, rather, is precisely what Jacob says first: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I wasn’t even aware of it!” In biblical narrative, heaven is not another world or place to which we might escape. “Heaven” is the way things really are, even when we’re not aware of it. “Heaven” is a way of talking about the deepest reality of this world. When Jacob makes a visit to heaven in his dream, he learns about the meaning of his life in this world.

I share this as a preface, because today we move ahead in Revelation to the next major section, which is where John of Patmos has a vision of God on a throne in heaven. But everything that John hears and sees in heaven has manifestly to do with what’s happening on earth. I suggest, then, as a rule of thumb that heaven is not meant to be seen as an actual other place but rather as the way things really are. In John’s vision in Revelation, he catches a glimpse of the way things really are on earth….

Hope and History Won’t Rhyme

1 Then I saw in the right hand of the one seated on the throne—God is the one seated on the throne—a scroll written on the inside and on the back, sealed with seven seals; 2 and I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” 3 And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it. 4 And I began to weep bitterly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. 

One of the first animated films I remember seeing was The Sword in the Stone. You might recall the basic storyline, whether from that film or just from English folklore. There is an enchanted sword that is stuck in a stone, and the legend holds that whoever can pull the sword out will be the next king of England. Many strong men try to pull the sword out but cannot. Then one day a young Arthur comes along, not even knowing the significance of this particular sword, and casually pulls it out. The point is not that Arthur has some superhuman strength. Rather it is fate. He will grow into a mighty king one day. This destiny unlocks the sword from its place.

The opening section of today’s scripture describes a similar scenario. There’s a sealed scroll, and no one is able to open it. But there’s a difference between this scroll and the sword in the stone. Think about it. Pulling a sword from stone takes strength or might. Arthur draws the sword because his destiny is to become a strong and mighty king. But reading a scroll is a different task. It requires comprehension. Understanding. The inability of everyone to open the scroll is not meant to symbolize that everyone is weak, or that the scroll is bound together by some divine superglue. It symbolizes rather that no one could possibly read and understand what is written on this scroll.

When John of Patmos begins to weep bitterly, despairing that the scroll will ever be opened, his tears and anguish stand in for the tears and anguish of all Christ-followers who are living in the Roman Empire around the turn of the first century CE. They and John are weeping because their world does not make sense. Jesus announced the kingdom of God, and yet they still live in a world of persecution and oppression. Perhaps like Nico last week, they have experienced God’s love and liberation personally, but when they look upon the larger world they have trouble seeing how anything has changed. When they look upon the larger world, the way of Christ seems suddenly “weak” or “foolish.” It’s no coincidence that Paul talks about the gospel as a “mystery,” as something that doesn’t make immediate sense, as something that indeed seems “weak” and “foolish” to uncritical eyes. How is it that turning the other cheek and loving enemies is going to change things?

When the Irish band U2 wrote a song about the troubles in their own land, they gave poignant expression to the tears and anguish of John of Patmos and Christ-followers through the centuries. They titled the song “Peace on Earth,” and in it they sang: “Hear it every Christmastime / but hope and history won’t rhyme / so what’s it worth: / this ‘peace on earth’?

The Lion Roars

5 Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David…

I want to pause here in the middle of the verse because this language draws deeply from a rich tradition that would have immediately resonated with an audience familiar with the Jewish scriptures. Messianic prophecies in the Old Testament can be traced all the way back to Genesis, where Jacob’s final blessing on his twelve sons singles out Judah and anticipates his greatness and compares him to a lion. Later, the people of Israel will adopt the lion as their own image, as a mascot, so to speak. Solomon had images of lions carved into his throne (1 Kgs 10:19). Images of lions can be found adorning many ancient synagogues. 

In fact, there is a fascinating Jewish text, 2 Esdras, that is written around the same time as Revelation and contains its own prophecy about a messiah who appears as a lion. In the vision of 2 Esdras, the messiah-lion confronts an eagle, which clearly represents the Roman empire. The lion acts as a sort of cosmic judge, holding Rome to account for its deeds. Here’s just a snippet of the lion’s judgment: “[Y]ou [Rome[ have held sway over the world with great terror and over all the earth with grievous oppression, and for so long you have lived on the earth with deceit…. [Y]ou have oppressed the meek and injured the peaceable; you…have laid low the walls of those who did you no harm…. Therefore you, eagle, will surely disappear…so that the whole earth, freed from your violence, may be refreshed and relieved and may hope for the judgment and mercy of him who made it” (2 Esdras 11:40-46). After this stinging judgment, the imperious lion—untouched by the eagle—destroys it.

We can’t know for certain whether John of Patmos or his audience knew about this text. But what does seem certain is the appeal of a mighty lion that will come to the rescue and avenge the oppressed. For John and other Christ-followers living at the time—as well as for us today, perhaps—there lingers a hope that maybe the next time the messiah comes, he will operate in a different manner. The first time, he made himself vulnerable in his love, choosing to absorb suffering rather than inflict it. But the next time, we perhaps hope, he will look more like a lion. He will make the evil to feel God’s wrath; he will make the wicked pay. 

“Has Conquered”

(5) [See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David] has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”

If John’s hopes were raised with the promise of a messiah lion, a savior who could make sense of the mess of the world by putting the bad guys in their place, by giving them a good old fashioned licking…then the words that immediately follow may have him scratching his head. Sure, there’s the language of “conquering,” which is undoubtedly what John and his contemporaries would have loved to hear—namely, the Roman empire “conquered,” subdued, defeated. But the problem is grammatical. “Has conquered.” In other words, past tense. It’s already happened.

Which brings John and all of us back to our former tears and anguish. Which brings us all back to a world that just doesn’t make sense. If God’s messiah has already conquered, then…why do we still have war? Crime? Hunger? Poverty? If God’s messiah really has already conquered the world, then maybe God could do the courtesy of telling the bad guys that they’ve been defeated and should cease their wickedness at once.

The Lion Is…a Slaughtered Lamb

6 Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, having seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. 

We’ve been moving really slowly through the scripture—almost a half a verse at a time. I invite you to imagine John’s experience in slow motion. First he hears about a messiah-lion arriving on the scene. His heart leaps with hope, and he begins to turn his head to look for the lion. Then he hears that the lion has already “conquered,” which plants a seed of confusion and doubt in his heart. And now, finally, he sees the Lion of Judah. Except…it’s not a lion. It’s a slaughtered lamb. Perhaps his heart falls in disappointment. Any lingering hope that the messiah Jesus will come back with a vengeance is dashed. Instead, what John sees and learns is that the way of Jesus does not change. 

Just as importantly, John sees and learns that what looks like defeat is in fact victory.

In my interpretation, this is ultimately the “content” of the scroll. That is, “love wins.” This story—this way of seeing the world—simply doesn’t compute with us who desire a strong lion. No wonder we wouldn’t be able to read the scroll. It wouldn’t make sense to us. For us, hope and history don’t rhyme. But for Jesus, the slaughtered lamb, they do. 

A Different Interpretation of History: 

Love Wins

Listen to the song that gets sung by the heavenly faithful as the slaughtered lamb, Jesus, takes the scroll.

7 He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne. 8 When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. 9 They sing a new song:

“You are worthy to take the scroll

    and to open its seals,

for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God

    saints from every tribe and language and people and nation;

10 you have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God,

    and they will reign on earth.”

Like the Passover lamb that liberated and empowered the Hebrew slaves to become God’s people (cf. Ex 19:5-6), Jesus as the slaughtered lamb of God liberates followers of Christ to become part of God’s kingdom. Which is to say, he gives us eyes to see the world differently. He gives us a different interpretation of history, the right and true interpretation of history. “Love wins.” 

Remember what we observed about “heaven” earlier? Namely, that it is not necessarily a physical place but the way things really are. Well, here John sees the way things really are. The slaughtered lamb of God is the only one who is able to read and comprehend history, because only the slaughtered lamb has fully trusted in and experienced the love of God, which is stronger than death. For Christ, it all makes sense, because he sees that love endures beyond death.

The Mothers of East Los Angeles

If you still have doubts about this interpretation of history—that love wins, not power and strength—you’re not alone. I have doubts too. Almost every day, I experience a reflexive thought or feeling that glories in vengeance, in payback, in retribution, in people getting what’s coming to them. That instinct for the lion is alive and well in me. But…my faith tugs me in the direction of the slaughtered lamb. 

To close, I’d like to share a sketch of people who follow the slaughtered lamb, people who live in the kingdom of God right here, right now. In the early-to-mid 1990s, gang violence in east Los Angeles spiked considerably. In the poorest parish of Los Angeles, which also features the largest public housing complex west of the Mississippi, nearly every family had lost a child or relative to gang violence. The outside sentiment was that this problem required a real crackdown: more law enforcement, tougher police, harsher consequences. You could even consider this kind of response, “tough love.” A gesture of care toward the community through the controlled use of force.

But inside the community, many of the mothers had been participating weekly in gospel study groups where they asked questions like: “What’s going on around us? What does the gospel say about these problems? What would Jesus do in this situation?” Their answers to these questions led them in a very different direction. Away from the militant lion and closer to the slaughtered lamb. They formed a committee to respond specifically to the violence that plagued their neighborhood. And the way it worked was, whenever someone heard gunshots fired or learned of an intensifying conflict or caught wind of a planned shooting, they would alert the rest of the group, and as many as could make it to the flashpoint would march between rival gangs and armed men, pleading with them to stop killing each other. (I wonder if this isn’t what real “tough love” looks like. Doesn’t it take a whole lot more toughness and strength to love others at risk to one’s own safety than it does to act violently…?) In addition to these direct interventions, the mothers met every weekend for what came to be known as “Love Walks,” where they would walk the streets of their neighborhood and tell gang members with words and with actions—such as home-cooked food and songs—“You are all our sons. We love you. We don’t want you to kill each other.” Their Christlike response planted seeds for some remarkable transformation in the neighborhood—not only a deescalation of violence, but also an increase in communication and attention to real needs, such as employment opportunities.

John heard the heavenly faithful sing, “You have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God, and they will reign on earth” (Rev 5:10). Some people think these words refer to some distant future that will be instituted by a lion-like messiah. I believe they refer to people who follow the slaughtered Lamb right now, people who live in his kingdom at this very moment—people like the courageous mothers of east Los Angeles.

Prayer

Dear Christ Jesus,

Like John of Patmos

We look upon our world

With bafflement and despair,

Uncertain that your vulnerable love

Is the way …

Grant us eyes to see you as John did,

Not as lion but as lamb,

That we might respond to the world

With your vulnerable, enduring, conquering love.

Amen.

A Strange Conquest (Revelation 2:1-7)

Letters Against Compromise

Today’s scripture contains the first of seven miniature letters that John of Patmos—the author of Revelation—is instructed to deliver. Each letter relays a message that John claims to have received from Jesus and is addressed to a specific church in the Roman province of Asia, or what we would call Turkey today. In each letter, Jesus encourages the church, sometimes also providing warnings or reprimands and always ending with a formulaic promise that uses these or similar words: “To the one who conquers, will be given [abundant life].” (2:7, 11, 17, 28; 3:5, 12, 21).

While each letter addresses concerns specific to the church being addressed, there is a common thread tying all these concerns together. This common thread is a simple message: do not compromise. In other words, stay faithful to the way of Jesus Christ; do not water down your faith (because of social pressures or persecution) in order to fit in with the Roman culture and way of life.

The first letter, which we will read in just a moment, addresses the church in Ephesus, one of the largest cities in the Roman empire at the time. Ephesus had all the grandeur and luxuries that the Roman empire boasted: a grand amphitheatre for plays and gladiatorial games, a stadium for sports, a huge temple to the patron goddess Artemis, saunas, marketplaces, and more. Ephesus also had one of the strongest communities of early Christ-followers, who strove never to compromise to the Roman way of life. As we will hear in just one moment, Jesus praises them for not compromising…and yet he also reprimands them for the spirit in which they resist compromise. I think his message is especially instructive for committed followers of Christ today, and so I’ve handpicked it for today’s scripture. (I do encourage you to read the other letters as well in the rest of Revelation 2 and 3.)

Scripture

1 “To the angel of the church in Ephesus write: These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand, who walks among the seven golden lampstands:—Earlier in chapter one, John explains that the seven stars are the angels or messengers that correspond with the seven golden lampstands, which are the seven churches. So here John is envisioning Jesus walking in the midst of the seven churches, holding in his hand—in his care and guidance—the seven angels or messengers, that is, the spiritual leaders of these churches. 

2 “I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance. I know that you cannot tolerate evildoers; you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them to be false. 3 I also know that you are enduring patiently and bearing up for the sake of my name, and that you have not grown weary. 4 But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. 5 Remember then from what you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place, unless you repent. 6 Yet this is to your credit: you hate the works of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. 7 Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. To everyone who conquers, I will give permission to eat from the tree of life that is in the paradise of God.

The Way of Rome

Rather than try to explain this passage, let me offer a story….

Nico could still remember the first time he went to the Grand Theater. He was thirteen, and an older teenage friend had invited him. He remembered the parade before the game, how trumpets and dancing accompanied the arrival of the palm branches and wreaths that would be conferred upon the victors. He remembered the presentation of statues—Mars, Zeus, Athena, and of course Artemis, the patron goddess of the city. He remembered how a detachment of soldiers, armed to the teeth, marched in stoic fashion around the theater. He remembered how there was a statue of the emperor himself, and how the wealthy sponsor of the games led the crowd in a stirring chant: “Caesar is Lord! Caesar is Lord!” 

He remembered feeling sick the first time he saw a limb dismembered from a fighter’s body. He looked away as the crowd roared its approval. They chanted, “Nika, nika!” “Win, win!” Soon, though, he was watching again. A defeated fighter was wearily grasping the thigh of his combatant, and the crowd was crying for his death. Everyone looked to the sponsor of the game, who was acting as referee. He tilted his head one way, then the other, and then finally gave the thumbs-up signal. The victorious combatant plunged his sword into the neck of the defeated fighter, killing him. Nico remembered how after that death blow, attendants entered the fighting grounds and delivered further blows to ensure that the loser was indeed dead. (The message was clear. Caesar, and anyone who acted in his name, held the power of life and death.) He remembered how the sponsor pronounced the victor a “conqueror” or niketes, and how the crowd chanted that title again and again: “Niketes, niketes!”

The first night after watching the gladiators fight, Nico could hardly sleep. With his eyes closed, his mind’s eye kept replaying the violent images of the day. Half a year later, when his friend invited him to another game, he said “Yes.” 

Soon he was learning the names of famous gladiators. What weapons they fought with. What signature moves defined them. Their rags-to-riches backstories that told how by sheer grit and willpower and strength they had risen to fame. He didn’t know at the time, but he was learning a way of life. The Roman way of life. To some it seemed callous or insensitive, but to him it seemed true. It made sense. Whoever’s strongest…gets to live. 

At the end of the day, it’s best to be on the side that’s gonna win. And so next time he attended the game, he chanted with the crowd: “Caesar is Lord. Caesar is Lord.”

The Way of Christ

But the games and the gladiators were a cold comfort to him when illness came upon his house and took both his parents. Suddenly he felt helpless. No amount of strength or grit could get him out of his grief.

Nico was a laundryperson—a smelly vocation that placed him near the bottom rung of the Roman social order. He didn’t have enough money or good heritage to earn him a place in one of the local associations or guilds. And so he didn’t really have any connections outside the laundry world. 

But shortly after his parents died, another laundry worker invited him to tag along to a local banquet. Now Nico had never been to a banquet, but this one was different. It was celebrating a man called Jesus, a man who had been crucified—and yet his followers claimed he lived. Nico went, and his world was turned upside down. Upon arriving at a modest dwelling, he was greeted with smiles and warm embraces from all sorts of people—slaves, merchants, Jews, Romans with noble family names. There in a circle, rich and poor alike sat and passed plates and bumped elbows and swapped stories. No special privileges were given to the rich or the powerful. It was surreal. A few times during the meal, someone would speak up and share a memory about this man Jesus, in whose name they would bless the meal and give thanks. Clearly this guy was the founder of the feast. Later candles were lit, and hands were washed, and songs were sung, and stories were told—personal stories about how Jesus had overcome difficulties that the people there at the banquet had faced.

The first night after that banquet, Nico closed his eyes in bed and felt…embraced. He didn’t know at the time, but he was about to learn a new, different way of life. The way of Christ. The way of love. To some it seemed weak or foolish, but to him it would come to be true. It would make sense. The embrace he felt…gave him more strength than any amount of muscle or steel did.

At the end of the day, it’s best to know you are not alone. And so, finally, one day, he confessed, “Jesus is Lord,” and was baptized in water from death to life and given a white ceremonial robe to wear.

Resisting the Nicolaitians—and Becoming Righteous

Do you know what the name Nico means? It comes from the Greek word nikao, which means “to conquer” or “overcome.” (Our brand name today, Nike, comes from the Greek word for “conquest” or “victory.”) 

As a teenager, Nico learned that victory meant power and strength. As a new follower of Christ, Nico learned that victory meant a vulnerable love that endures all things, even death. But that is not the end of Nico’s story….

In his early life as a follower of Christ, Nico learned from other Christ-followers that certain behaviors and attitudes really were incompatible with the way of Christ. So he began to withdraw from activities that had characterized his old life. He stopped attending the gladiatorial games, where he had participated in the worship of the Roman emperor and the Roman military and had slowly become desensitized to violence. He stopped making trips to the local sauna, where he had learned to see bodies as trophies that could be acquired and traded by the strong and mighty. He stopped shopping at a lot of the local markets, where he would have been required to offer incense and a pledge of allegiance to the Roman emperor. Anything that involved the worship of the Roman emperor or Roman gods challenged the way of Christ, usually by asserting that the real authority in the world was a mighty arm, whether that arm belonged to Zeus or to a human surrogate like the emperor. To put it bluntly: the way of Rome was force, whereas the way of Christ was love. Nico was learning the way of love, and so he withdrew from the Roman way of life.

Of course, there were social consequences. He endured raised eyebrows and whispered rumors. He endured the occasional taunt and even the odd threat. But these consequences were a drop in the sea next to the embrace that he felt, to the knowledge that Christ was alive and with him.

And yet…over time, Nico thought less about the embrace that had welcomed him into Christ, and more about how righteous he had become by withdrawing himself from the polluted world of Rome. This became especially apparent when a traveling band of so-called apostles traveled through Ephesus, teaching that followers of Christ could still participate in Roman festivals and events that celebrated the emperor. These traveling apostles, who were known as the Nicolaitians, preached that Jesus Christ’s salvation had to do with a person’s interior life—that is, it concerned their soul, rather than the way they lived. Therefore, they could still enjoy the Roman way of life—a way that glorified violence and lust and wealth—as long as they didn’t worship these things in their heart, as long as Jesus was enthroned in their heart.

Nico and other Christ-followers in Ephesus strongly resisted the Nicolaitians, preaching instead that Christ had called his disciples to “follow him,” to live the way he lived, even to take up the cross. They pushed back strongly against the Nicolaitians, reminding people that they could not serve two masters—in this case, Christ and Rome.

What Changes Us in the First Place?

If you’ll recall from today’s scripture, the problem with Nico and the other Ephesians is not that they are compromising to the way of Rome—on the contrary, they are steadfastly guarding against any compromise. Jesus even commends them for this. The problem is that in resisting what they are against, they have forgotten what they are for. Listen again to Jesus’ words: “But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember then from what you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand”—that is, the church in Ephesus—“from its place, unless you repent” (Rom 2:4-5).

Remember what changes Nico’s life in the first place? What, I would wager, changed all of our lives, too, in the first place? It wasn’t a vehement argument. It wasn’t a heated debate. It wasn’t some guy saying, “Come on, prove me wrong, and you’ll see I’m right.” It was love. For Nico, it was this almost mystical sense of embrace that overwhelmed his emptiness, that brought warmth to a world that had gone ice-cold. 

Notice what Jesus is saying in this message. He is not reprimanding the Ephesians for withdrawing from the Roman way of life. He’s not criticizing their rather radical stance against cultural compromise. Rather, he’s rebuking the spirit in which they do it. Remember Paul’s words? “If I speak in the tongues…of angels…if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and knowledge…if I give away all my possessions…but do not have love, I gain nothing” (1 Cor 13:1-3). From the perspective of Christ, being right can actually be wrong, if love is not the first and final word. 

In the last half-century, Christians in our nation have waged what has been called a “culture war,” fighting against a perceived threat to the Christian religion. Many battle lines have been drawn. Prayer in school. The ten commandments in public spaces. Abortion and reproductive rights. The sincerity of many of those who are fighting is not something that I would question. What could be questioned, however, is the spirit in which their fight is fought. Christians fighting in the culture wars have effectively taken up the weapons of the world, seeking to use the coercive powers of the state to get their way, when Jesus calls us away from the weapons of the world, away from the use of coercive force. Christians fighting in the culture wars have taken up bullhorns and ad-space to tell others how they’re wrong, when Jesus calls us to love others and show them by our example—by our faithful witness—the goodness of God’s way.

What It Means to Conquer

At the end of each letter in Revelation, Jesus promises abundant life to those who “conquer.” It might not be a coincidence that the first letter goes out to Ephesus, where gladiatorial games were huge, where conquering was a Roman virtue celebrated by everyone. It seems as though Jesus is inviting his followers to consider again what it means to conquer. In the gospel of John, Jesus proclaims that he has conquered the world (John 16:33)...right before he is crucified. Right before he demonstrates the depths of his love for the world.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ,

Who has conquered the world,

Who has conquered death—

Help us to remember your victory

In our own lives,

How your love changes everything

…

Align us evermore with your spirit,

Gentle, humble, filled with love,

Which works not out of resentment and grievance

But with grace and forgiveness

And a deep love that conquers.

Amen.

"Patient Endurance" (Rev 1:1-11)

Get Ready?

1 The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place; he made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, 2 who testified to the word of God and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw.

3 Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it; for the time is near.

In 2012, a TV show called Doomsday Preppers premiered on the National Geographic channel. Each episode featured an individual who believed that the end of the world as we know it could be near. Some of these “doomsday preppers,” as they’re called, worried about the prospect of a global nuclear war or widespread natural disasters caused by climate change. Others feared that society would collapse as the result of the power grid failing. But one common thread that ran through many of these fears was a religious belief that our world’s problems and predicaments mirror the end-time judgments described in the book of Revelation. When these preppers read words like we just heard—“what must soon take place” and “the time is near” (Rev 1:1, 3)—they see signposts pointing toward a catastrophic end right around the corner. Their response is largely the same. It’s time to get ready. For them, “getting ready” means stockpiling resources, food, and weapons, and then bunkering down. When things fall apart, they’ll be prepared to weather the storm—sort of like Noah on the arc—while others around them flounder.

Now I’m not a prepper. (I’m guessing none of us would truly qualify.) But I’m very familiar with the beliefs that underlie the movement. I remember that one of the first albums I bought with my own money—DC Talk’s Jesus Freak—featured a cover of Larry Norman’s song, “I Wish We’d All Been Ready,” a song about a popularly imagined event called “the rapture,” an end-time phenomenon when Christians would be supernaturally vacuumed up to heaven. Around the same time in my life, I read the first book in the Left Behind series, which imagined how things would unfold at the end of time (which happens to be around the mid-1990s!). It drew a lot of inspiration specifically from the book of Revelation, and it sought to depict how some of Revelation’s more fantastic images—its dragon, its two beasts, its famines and wars—how all of this corresponded with our own emerging geopolitical situation. Its message mirrored the thinking that motivates doomsday preppers, namely “Get ready!” It’s no surprise that many churches and pastors and small groups devoured this material. Fear is a powerful motivator. We all want to make sure we’ll be safe when disaster strikes—and what’s a bigger disaster than the end of everything?

Not about the End of Things…

But what I would like to suggest today and over the next eight weeks as we read through Revelation goes against the grain of all of this. What I would like to suggest is this. Revelation is not about the end of things. It is about the essence of things. Revelation is not about the end of things, it’s about the essence of things. The very first word in the book points in this direction. The word apokalypsis—which gets translated “revelation”—means something like “unveiling.” An apokalypsis reveals the reality behind appearances. An apokalypsis helps us to see what’s really going on despite appearances to the contrary. And according to the author of Revelation—a man named John, whom church tradition considers to be John the evangelist but whom most historians suggest was a different John—according to John, what’s really going on is that Jesus Christ is in the midst of our chaotic world, alongside us in all the pressures and persecutions and seductions that we face. 

Now, specifically, John was writing to an audience that was situated in the 1st century world of the Roman empire, a world where Roman power promised everything a person could want: prestige, prosperity, peace. But to enjoy these promises, a person had to pledge allegiance (sometimes literally) to the Roman empire. A person had to say “yes” to the Roman way of life, a way of life that included dominating the weak, extracting money from the poor, and excluding (if not executing) everyone who could not serve the purposes of the empire. If you wanted peace, then sign on to Rome, who made war like no other empire on earth. If you wanted prosperity, then sign on to Rome, who indulged in abundance accumulated on the backs of slaves and the less fortunate. If you wanted prestige, then sign on to Rome, who celebrated ideals of nobility and beauty at the expense of all who fell short of those ideals.

It’s important to remember this historical context, for it serves as a helpful reminder that John did not sit down to encourage people by pointing them to events that would happen two thousand years later. He sat down to encourage people by helping them to understand events that were happening right then and there. He wasn’t writing in a code that could only be deciphered millenia later. He was writing in symbols and images that helped people to interpret what was going on in the present moment. 

And when he wrote, “The time is near,” he was not saying, “Get ready for the end.” He was saying, rather, “Get ready to follow Jesus, to live the way he lived.” For the Greek word here is kairos, which sometimes gets translated “appointed time.” I would suggest translating it as “decisive time” or “moment of opportunity.” Kairos is not the time of a clock; it’s not tick-tock time. It’s the time when memories are made and futures are decided. It’s a clutch moment that is pregnant with possibility. And according to John, it’s here, now. Will his audience hold true to their faith in the way of Christ—or compromise to the way of Rome?

“Faithful Witness”

4 John to the seven churches that are in Asia:

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, 5 and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, 6 and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

7 Look! He is coming with the clouds;

    every eye will see him,

even those who pierced him;

    and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.

So it is to be. Amen.

8 “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.

In his greeting, John twice refers to the eternity of God, but in a way that contradicts our linear expectations. Did you catch it? He doesn’t move from past to present to future; he doesn’t refer to the God who was and is and is to come. Rather, he gives priority to the present tense. Twice he calls God the God “who is and who was and who is to come” (Rev 1:4, 8). It’s a small but significant reordering of time that emphasizes God’s presence, as though to remind folks that God is not just some spiritual or pious abstraction but is present here, now (closer to us than our own breath, as some mystics have put it). Despite any evidence to the contrary, John insists God is happening in every little thing.

This assurance of God’s presence is amplified by the rest of John’s greeting, which is trinitarian in formula, attribute grace and peace not only to God but also to “the seven spirits” before God’s throne (a symbol of the Holy Spirit) and to Jesus Christ (Rev 1:4-5). After this trinitarian blessing, John spends the most time talking about Jesus, which is perhaps no surprise as Jesus Christ is the content of his “apocalypse,” his revelation. His depiction of Jesus here foreshadows what’s to come in his vision. Strikingly he alludes four different times to Jesus’ crucifixion: first, calling Jesus “the faithful witness,” in which the Greek word for “witness” is martyr, thus reminding us that Jesus died for what he believe in; second, calling Jesus the “firstborn of the dead,” again reminding us that Jesus died; third, claiming that Jesus’ “blood” cleanses us of our sins, reminding us of Jesus’ blood on the cross; and fourth, insisting that “those who pierced him” will see him and mourn him (Rev 1:5-7). Why this repeated emphasis on Jesus’ death, especially when John’s final claim is that Jesus is actually “the ruler of the kings of the earth” (Rev 1:5)? 

For John, Jesus’ death is the key to understanding his life. It’s essentially the logic that if you want to know what a person is living for (what matters most to them), then find what they’d be willing to die for. A martyr’s death is the seal of their life, showing us what they lived for (what mattered most to them). So, what was Jesus living for? John calls Jesus “him who loved us” (Rev 1:5). So, Jesus lived out of his love for us–all of us. We might say, quite literally, that Jesus loves us all to death. And he shows us what real love looks like (and indeed what the God who is love looks like) under the most intense sort of pressure and persecution. Love will never spill blood to get its way. It would rather its own blood be spilled, as it holds out eternal hope that others might one day see and choose the goodness of love.

But the real surprise, the real twist—and the real encouragement—is John’s insistence that despite any evidence to the contrary the crucified Jesus is in fact “the ruler of the kings of the earth” (Rev 1:5). Which is to say, Jesus reigns; his love is not and will not be defeated but will endure forever.

Not Escape, but Endurance

9 I, John, your brother who share with you in Jesus the persecution and the kingdom and the patient endurance, was on the island called Patmos because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. 10 I was in the spirit on the Lord’s day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet 11 saying, “Write in a book what you see and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus, to Smyrna, to Pergamum, to Thyatira, to Sardis, to Philadelphia, and to Laodicea.”

Doomsday preppers and people who read Revelation as a prediction about the end of the world focus their attention on the worst possible scenarios and do all they can to avoid the pain and suffering heading their way. Their plan is, in a word, escape. Whether by bunkering down amid stockpiled resources or getting raptured up into heaven. It’s an individualistic perspective: me-against-the-world, my-personal-soul-acquitted-by-God.

And it’s the opposite of what we read in Revelation. According to John, the mission is not escape but endurance. John’s encouragement is not about the fate of his audience’s individual souls but about how they’re not alone, how their experience is shared with Christ himself. In one stunning statement, John asserts that the kingdom of God is already among them, just not in a way we’re accustomed to hearing. “I, John, your brother…share with you in Jesus the persecution and the kingdom and the patient endurance” (Rev 1:9). Put otherwise, the kingdom of God is here—in persecution and patient endurance. It’s here when we suffer as Jesus suffered, when we endure patiently in love as Jesus endured patiently in love. For John, salvation is not about solitary souls. It’s about the kingdom of God, a world and a way of living infinitely better than the world and way of Rome—or any other empire.

Not Winning, but Witnessing

Over the course of John’s letter, which we’ll be reading the next eight weeks, it will become clearer and clearer that the kingdom of God is not the promise that Christians will win in the end, but the assurance that witnessing to God’s love is worthwhile and indeed its own reward. The kingdom is not about winning, but witnessing. When we align ourselves with the reality of love behind all things, we are blessed. We live well. John’s words about patiently enduring the persecutions or pressures of our world are not advocating white-knuckling—gritting your teeth and getting through it—but rather trusting in and witnessing to the reality of God’s love, especially when all the world around us seems devoid of God’s love. The light shines brighter when the surroundings get darker. We see this in the cross, where God’s love for us shines the brightest.

Toward the end of the Roman Empire’s reign over the world, when the structure of the empire was beginning to crumble and chaos grew amid its cities—and you just can imagine the fears and reactions of the common person, who much like us today might have fretted at the rising price of food and the threat of war at the border—in the midst of all this, the emperor Julian, who really did not like Christians, resentfully observed: “These godless Galileans are supporting not only their own poor but ours as well!” In other words, amid the collapse of the empire, Christ-followers were not battening down the hatches and withdrawing; they were helping each other, even non-Christians. They were not winning in any worldly sense, and yet they were already living in God’s kingdom in a way—with a witness—that was so unmistakable that the emperor begrudgingly admired them.

I think too of the early Disciples leader David Lipscomb. In 1873, when a cholera epidemic overtook Nashville, Tennessee, many residents fearfully fled the city. A little bit like doomsday preppers, they sought to escape the terror of their world. But David Lipscomb stayed. By all accounts, his steady ministry to the sick and the dying imparted serenity upon those who remained. It might be hard to believe, but he likened ministry in those trying times to a great blessing. He insisted that, despite what one may think, “Those who did quietly and calmly do their duty although in the midst of pestilence, want, suffering and death, found these the happiest days of their life.”’

I hear the echo of John’s Revelation in this wild claim. David Lipscomb is not reveling in a promise about the way things will end, in the idea that one day in the future he and other Christians will inherit the kingdom. He is, rather, rejoicing in the way things really are in Christ, in the kingdom of God that is already here where we patiently endure the world with the faith that God’s love is the essence of reality. It’s worth dying for, yes—but even more importantly, it’s worth living for too.

Prayer

Patient Christ,

Who is the faithful witness
To who God is, was, and will be:

Grant us hearts 

That do not fear the end

But have faith in your way,

And hands 

That bear witness

To the Love behind all things.

Amen.