Category: religion

Similes in Revelation 4

The fourth chapter of the book of John’s Revelation paints a picture of God’s throne room, albeit with an uncertain brush. John grasps at any descriptor he can find to portray the scene. I counted 9 similes in the first 7 verses. At one point, John’s eyes, which are trying desperately to take in the scene without popping out of his head, roam across what he describes as, “four living creatures.” I can just imagine him trying to put pen to paper to convey what he saw. The original mauscript may have looked something like this:

” In the center, around the throne, were four people /four things/ four animals/four uhhhh…. four living creatures…”

He didn’t know what to call the creatures. Or how to describe the throne. Or the one sitting on it. But somehow, the scene made some kind of internal sense to John when he took it in. In fact, the scene not only made some sort of sense, but John actually became emotionally involved in what was happening before him. We know this because he says, “I wept and wept,” when no one was found who was worthy to open the seals on the scroll that appears at the beginning of the next chapter.

The scene was foreign to John, but made sense when he observed it. I imagine that everything was somehow familiar to him, judging by the fact that he had comparisons to draw from. Foreign but familiar? That’s an appropriate reaction to a place that, even though he’d never been there, was even then Home to John. And I imagine that we as Christians would have similar reactions to a place we’ve never been, but a place that’s more of a home than we’ll ever find this side of Heaven.

Testify

Lately as I’ve been praying, I’ve found myself, more than once, unable to ask God for some things. Even in silent prayer, I can’t will myself to complete some requests. In those moments, I realize that I’m a human, a speck, and I see my size and authority in relation to God. Who am I to ask things of the Almighty, the Cosmic Christ to whose will the very universe owes it existence? Moreover, what have I in my overinflated self-importance to add to or give to the One who is the originator of all?

Yet the mind-blowingly wonderful truth is that this God, this creator became nothing, scum, on account of me. He suffered on a Roman cross with me in mind. Such truths are almost too wonderful to ponder, like the radience glowing from Moses’ face that symbolized the Glory of God. I imagine the people of Israel having to turn away from that glow, yet being drawn back as if magnetically, forcing one more glance.

You see, Jesus didn’t visit our planet and die the most miserable of all deaths to make bad people good. He came to make dead people live. He came to make me live. Me, who would never even be able to dream of deserving his attention. And my only response, the only thing I can offer, is to point mutely at him. Not by my goodness. Not by my merit. Not even by my decision. It’s Jesus who saved me, and there’s not a thing I can do in this world that adds to or takes away from that. The power of the forces of Hell isn’t enough to snatch me from his tightly-gripping, ever-loving hand.

So I hold out my arm, silently pointing to the One who made the stars to shine, and who sacrificed so much to purchase me. It’s all I can do.

* notes on Revelation

In my journey through the Bible, I’ve come to the last book: Revelation. I don’t read the book of Revelation lightly. It always conjures for me memories of a lunchtime bible study in which I participated while attending a military school. In this study, we watched videos of some guys who were trying to predict the end times, often using modern-day newspaper headlines and equating them to prophesied events. Ironically, the course of study at the school was journalism, and we were learning to write headlines. I learned that headline semantics are usually driven more by space and layout than by the significance of the news contained beneath.

Someone very perceptively pointed out that predicting the signs attending to the end of the world and Christ’s second coming is most often an attempt to control events, or feel in control of events by dint of knowing what’s happening. While at first I reviled at this notion, I eventually came to embrace it. My current approach is that it’s best to be faithful in all I’m called to do, regardless of how near or far the end may be. If I’m faithful with the large and small things given by God for my governance, then the coming of the end tomorrow or next year shouldn’t change my actions.

So I approach the book of John’s Revelation very carefully. I strive to read it with the goal of knowing God more fully, understanding his character, and discovering the things that challenge popular assumtions about heaven, hell, and the nature of reality. I’m sure it’ll be meaningful reading, and I’ll let you in on a few thoughts as I go. Feel free to read along with me!

Enjoy,

AJS

On Spiritual Sophisitication, Lack Of

I used to think that God was somehow nearer to those who grew in spiritual sophistication. They sinned less, I reasoned, so He must want to be nearer to them. I’ve been realizing that I’m wrong. God is nearest to those who understand their own depravity and are intimately acquainted with their unworthiness to be anywhere near Him.

Maybe this understanding comes easier to the powerless, to whom unworthiness must be more familiar. This puts me at a distinct disadvantage. I live in the wealthiest nation on earth during history’s most prosperous period thus far. I’m a member of the economically favored class, race, and gender. I’m healthy, capable, and educated. I have an iPod. I’m about as far as anyone could be from weakness or vulnerability. In light of all this, it’s a wonder God lets me draw near at all.

But God hasn’t left me completely without tools for understanding my true place. I have weaknesses. There are things that I cry out for God to take away. But in His wisdom He doesn’t take them away. He understands the danger. The possibility that I, stripped of my weakness, would never again feel my need for Him. That I’d never find occasion to turn to Him in the absence of my pain.

So my failings are God’s gifts, the evidence of his graciousness in my life. They anchor me from turning into a completely self-involved, useless ball of pride.

When I want to draw near to God, it’s to my weaknesses I must turn, not my strengths. I can never approach Him in light of my abilities, impressive though they may be to anyone else. If I claim to be an artist, He responds that he paints the skies each evening. If I claim facility with language, He responds that he created each tongue, even the ones I’ll never learn. Nothing I bring impresses him. But my weakness showcases His glory, and it’s to Him alone that I can turn.

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One


I found this on Andrew Henck’s blog (thanks, dude!) and thought it deserves the furthest, widest distribution possible. www.One.org (new window). Check it out. I have some reservations, but in the end I’d rather join an actual effort to change things than hem and haw about the methods. And it seems like these folks know what they’re talking about and are advocating for some real change. As a Christian, I know it’s my duty to care. As an American, I know it’s my duty to participate.

– Andrew