We have been, for the latter half of the summer, looking at the last book of the Christian Scriptures—the last book of the Bible—the book of Revelation. A very misunderstood book, a very misinterpreted book.

We have been reading Revelation, as Eugene Peterson says, not as prediction but as perception. It is a book about what the people of God at that time were experiencing, but it’s also a book of hope—that the way things are now is not necessarily the way they’re going to be, or that they have to be.

One of the reasons the book is so misunderstood is because it’s so heavy into the use of symbolism and metaphor. There are talks of dragons and lions and lambs and all of these kind of fantastical things. But these are really symbols that are pointing to realities that the people of that time would recognize and—as we’ve hopefully seen through this series—that you and I might recognize as well.

Just a quick word or reminder, as always—and I know some of you are like, “Mark, you say this all the time, we got it”—but our culture is so strong in the opposite message. And that’s just simply that this word apocalypse, this word revelation, it’s not a big scary word. It doesn’t mean the end and judgment and fire. It actually refers to—kind of just what I was joking about a little bit—those little miracles that pop up that we can claim, that give us a glimpse.

That’s what the word apocalypse means. It means kind of like—it’s the idea of pulling back a curtain to reveal something that you didn’t see. It’s been there, but you didn’t see it. So that’s literally what the word apocalypse means: a pulling back of the curtain or veil to show us something.

And so the idea is that these little miracles, these little things, are instances of us getting a glimpse of grace, a glimpse of God’s reality kind of infusing our own. And it gives us hope, even in the midst of some difficult circumstances, to keep on going.

And with that, we will be reading toward the end of the book of Revelation. This whole thing has been building—there have been battles and all of these things—and then it’s kind of a nice surprise ending.

Let us pray:

You are our God, and we are Your people. And in Your kingdom, every place is holy. We pray for hearts open to see Your face reflected all around us, not only here. Even now, already, Your glory shines, and You bid us taste and see that You are good.

Give us a glimpse—even a moment—that we may be strengthened for the living of these days. Amen.

Revelation 21:1–6, 22:1–5

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“See, the home of God is among mortals.

He will dwell with them;

they will be his peoples,

and God himself will be with them and be their God;

he will wipe every tear from their eyes.

Death will be no more;

mourning and crying and pain will be no more,

for the first things have passed away.”

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

The very first verse of the very first chapter of the very first book of the Bible—Genesis—reads: “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth.” In Revelation, the last book of the Bible, we read about a new heaven and a new earth. In Genesis 2, we read about the Garden of Eden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the river watering the garden flowing from Eden. In Revelation, we read of the river of the water of life flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, and the tree of life on its shores. Clearly, the author of Revelation wants us to hearken back to the beginning—that original vision of paradise.

In many ways, that is the story of the Bible. It’s the story of getting back to the Garden of Eden. That first ideal. That original wholeness and completeness. Generations have been asking, “How do we get there?” Is it through power and might, by conquering neighboring kingdoms? Is it through obedience and faithfulness? How do we get there?

And it almost seems like the harder we try, the worse it gets. First there’s the flood—where things are so bad, God wants to restart. Just like a malfunctioning computer or device: “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Now, initially this seems to work, but then more trouble comes. In Egypt, the golden calf. Wandering in the desert. Exile in Babylon. And on and on.

But then for us Christians, eventually Jesus arrives on the scene with a direct link to the divine. And he shows us what is possible: loving God and loving neighbor, sharing our bread, caring for the widow and the orphan. But these are the very things that put him in opposition to the empire. His message of love and justice is a direct threat to the status quo and the powers that be. So eventually, they arrest Jesus, and they put him on trial for sedition. And at this, the crowds—who had once gathered to hang on his every word and welcomed him into town with shouts of “Hosanna!”—lose hope yet again. Their shouts of praise turn to cries of “Crucify!” As one hymn puts it: “A murderer they save, the Prince of Life they slay.”  All of our attempts to return to the Garden—to get to God—fail. In large part because we prefer the empire and the status quo to the Kingdom of God.

One way of understanding the book of Revelation is that it is kind of a retelling of this biblical narrative. A fantastical reworking of salvation history, with the Roman Empire as the beast and with Jesus as the Lamb, and the people of God caught between these two ways of being in the world. Revelation portrays the battle between these forces, where everything seems to be at stake.

And this is the thread most often picked up from Revelation—this eternal battle between good and evil, along with its vivid imagery. This is why Revelation is such an inspiration for so much art—for paintings, for music, for movies, for novels.

Though it’s interesting that many of these artistic interpretations—as well as regular interpretations—suppose, like those first crowds who followed Jesus, that love and justice are ultimately no match for the ferocity and power of the empire. We just—just cannot imagine, in the language of Revelation, the Lamb outlasting the beast. If this were a video game, the beast wins 100 out of 100 times.

And I’m guessing that most of us, if asked about Revelation, might say something about the final judgment, about the end of the world. But as we’ve hopefully learned over these past several weeks, Revelation is not about the end of the world. Rather, as the band R.E.M. put it in the ’80s—maybe early ’90s—“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” To get that distinction—it’s so important. It’s not the end of the world. But it is the end of the world as we know it.

As we just read, Revelation doesn’t conclude with destruction, but new birth. New creation. It is about that return to the Garden. The reunion of God and humanity. But instead of us finding our way to God, God comes to us. “Behold, the home of God is among mortals.” Turns out we’ve had it wrong all along.

Richard Rohr describes this theological reality when he writes: “Most of us have been taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves us so that we can change.” Turns out we don’t need to prove ourselves. We don’t need to earn God’s love. It’s been with us all along. We just have to trust that love to guide us. And most of the time, you and I do not believe that it’s powerful enough to overcome all that we face.

Throughout this series, I’ve made some unusual comparisons to help us dive deeper into the message of the book of Revelation—and maybe to demystify it a little bit. You might remember in one of the first sermons in this series, I said that Revelation was like the children’s book Goodnight Gorilla. A few weeks ago, I equated it to a New Yorker cartoon that appeared in the magazine shortly after 9/11, in which a man was standing on a street corner holding a sign—and instead of “The End Is Near,” he proclaimed the message: “It’s All Going to Be Okay.” Then last week, I used the example of an uptight college admissions counselor from an elite private college to remind us that God’s grace is not stingy, but sweeping.

Today, in my final sermon in this series, I want to offer one last comparison: The book of Revelation is like one of those Hallmark movies that my wife loves so much. She agrees with me that they’re a bit cheesy and predictable. In fact, that’s the reason that she loves them. With so much in our world that is complicated and depressing, it’s nice to escape from that reality to one in which love does, in the end, always win.

I sometimes tease her about how predictable these movies are. Here’s the typical plot:

Two people meet in some unexpected fashion, right? And there’s a spark—an attraction—but it can’t be. Circumstances are preventing it. They’re from two different parts of the world. Perhaps one’s already in a committed relationship. Inevitably, one’s from a small, quaint, picturesque country town, and the other is from the big city. Am I doing okay so far? Yeah? I’m doing okay.

The person from the big city has big dreams. But the person from the small town also has big dreams—although they seem a little bit more humble and quaint. Despite these differences, circumstances just keep somehow bringing these two people together—until eventually they can no longer deny their attraction. But still—still—their circumstances prevent them from seeing a future together. But then, finally, in the end, something changes. The opportunity presents itself. And they can both live out their dreams together in some previously unforeseen way. And eventually, love wins. And the movie ends—usually with the two people getting engaged, or maybe there’s the beginning of the wedding—and almost always with a kiss.

Sometimes I lovingly joke with my wife that just once—just once—I’d like to see a sequel that goes back to this couple years later when they’ve been married for a while. Maybe when they have kids and a mortgage. Maybe when their careers don’t quite pan out the way that they had hoped. But that never happens, because of course, that would ruin the fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Did you notice that Revelation ends with a wedding? The wedding of the Feast of the Lamb.
It’s this metaphor that we’ve encountered many times throughout the Bible— The marriage, the unification, of God and God’s people. Ultimately, the book of Revelation is like a Hallmark movie. It’s about hope and the perseverance of love. Not hope that life is without struggle or that the battle is easily won. Not hope that the empire never wins anything—only that those wins are short-term. The long-term—the end—belongs to our God who loves us and promises never to leave us to our own devices. Hope that all of this is only the tip of the iceberg, and that beyond this reality, there is a benevolent way of being where truly love and justice do reign.

Hope, on the one hand, writes Walter Brueggemann, is: “An absurdity too embarrassing to speak about, for it flies in the face of all those claims that we have been told are facts.”

(This is on your bulletin cover, by the way.) “Hope is the refusal to accept the reading of reality which is the majority opinion, and one that does that at only great political and existential risk. Hope,” Brueggemann says, “is defiant and insists that God is not finished writing the story.”

Throughout this series, we’ve been saying Revelation is not about prediction, but perception. The truth of the matter is: the author has no special insight into the future.

Rather, he has a vision. And it is a vision that we, as fellow Christians, are invited to adopt as well: The belief that love is stronger than hate. That life is stronger than death. And that in the end, all will be well. So if it’s not well, it just means it’s not the end. And if it’s not the end, then you and I have work to do.

Now, it is my understanding that in the Jewish tradition, when they come to the end of a set of biblical readings, they always end by going back to the beginning, where they read the first sentence of the first reading of the next year. In this way, they remind themselves that the end is not really the end—but just a new beginning—and that everything is in this continual loop. Likewise, next week we will begin again at the beginning, in Genesis chapter 1, where God invites us to join in the work of creation—to be co-workers and co-creators with God—because God is not done with us yet. The story is still being written, and the promise is that the best is yet to come.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

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