Author: Steven

Minister at Glendale Road Church of Christ (Murray, KY)

Understanding Romans 13 in the First Century

In June 2015, my uncle Jim ascended the lectern at my grandfather’s funeral services and read from Romans 13:1–7. Granddaddy had been an Air Force veteran and retired as a Captain with the Metro Police Department in Nashville, TN. He was one of the Department’s K-9 division founding members, and his late K-9, Bam-Bam, was Nashville’s first-ever. Having grown up on over sixty acres north of Nashville, our family was accustomed to a life different from most families. When my daddy (step) and uncles grew up in the seventies, granddaddy was a K-9 officer and later a special tactics officer, even working in the vice squad—riding undercover with Hell’s Angels for some time. Because of this, everyone knew how to wield a firearm, more so from hunting, and gram would carry the wash to hang on the clothesline with a shotgun atop the basket that she’d lay aside while she hung laundry. There was always a fear that granddaddy’s cover would be blown and that any enemies he’d made would target his family. If that were to happen, his family would be prepared.

The passage here under consideration is read through the lenses of the esteem and honor of those who serve governing authorities as servants of God. You’ll notice that this authority is from God and appointed by God (13:1). To resist governing authorities is to resist God Himself because of their work, which brings judgment (13:2). Twice is the same term used of them: officers in the church—diakonos—“minister” (13:4). Because these officials exist by the will of God and through the apparatus of civil government, they are tasked with keeping the peace and executing judgment on evildoers. Despite societal narratives today, these servants of God “do not bear the sword in vain” (13:4)—the same one, the short-sword, used in the execution of James (Acts 12:1–2). It is used both for good and in unjust ways, unfortunately, but is meant for good. This sense of service to God and our fellow man is how we were brought up, and it’s why we still have officers and military members in the family. As one author put it, “This is not a capitulation to pagan power but a fervent affirmation of divine authority over civil powers.”[1]

The First Century Understanding of this Passage

We need to understand the zeitgeist of first-century Rome to better understand the climate into which Paul wrote. The second-century BCE historian, Polybius noted that Rome had in fifty-three years subdued the inhabited world (Hist. 1.1). This feat obviously spoke about something impressive regarding the Empire, but what was it? The divine purpose of Rome, so it was believed, was to create a united language and bring civilization to all of humanity[2] while bringing the whole world under the rule of law (Aen. 4.231). Cicero held that Rome was the home of virtue and imperial power and that the Empire’s borders weren’t fixed by the earth but by the sky.[3] All indications pointed to the belief that Rome’s manifest destiny to subdue the entire world and make it, for the lack of a better term, Roman. This was accomplished more so by conquest than conversion. When you put up these beliefs about the Empire against the gospel’s universal call, you can see that the two might find themselves at the opposite ends of one another.

Shades of this tension appear as early as the New Testament. The disciples of Jesus were accused of having turned the world upside down. How? By allegedly defying Caesar’s decrees and calling Jesus King (Acts 17:6–7). In the first century, the Romans feared that a conquest upon themselves by Jews. A couple of texts point to this end.

The majority firmly believed that their ancient priestly writings contained the prophecy that this was the very time when the East should grow strong and that men starting from Judea should possess the world. (Tacitus, Hist. 5.13)

There had spread over all the Orient an old and established belief, that it was fated at that time for men coming from Judaea to rule the world. (Seut. Vesp. 4.5)

The belief that Christians a threat to the Empire appears in the first century and also the second. Pliny the Younger, who was governor of Pontus and Bithynia from 111–113 CE, exchanged letters with the emperor Trajan over the matter. Pliny was himself unclear as to the offense that Christians had committed, but he knew his orders were to round them up and either get them to recant and curse the name of Jesus, or they would be executed.

Those who denied that they were or had been Christians, when they invoked the gods in words dictated by me, offered prayer with incense and wine to your image, which I had ordered to be brought for this purpose together with statues of the gods, and moreover cursed Christ–none of which those who are really Christians, it is said, can be forced to do–these I thought should be discharged. (Epistles 10.96–97)

By the third century, the crime was “treason, chiefly against the Roman religion.”[4] Rome believed that the gods had so blessed them not because of faith because the notion was foreign to the ancient Romans. You didn’t have to believe. You just had to participate in cultic acts, such as prayer, incense, and libation, among other such things. That’s all you had to do, and there was always enough room reserved for another god to add. Because Christians attributed “Lord” to Jesus and refused to do so to “Caesar,” they were traitors. Because they refused to perform the specific cultic acts to the gods that shone favor on Rome, they were traitors.

The Roman letter bears out that these believers had struggled because they professed Jesus as Lord. They encountered tribulations (Rom. 5:3–5); they suffered (Rom. 8:18, 31–35); they were persecuted (Rom. 12:14). How might they respond? The natural inclination is to raise an army, take up arms, and fight, but this wasn’t the way Christ taught. Why depose one despot for another that is subject to being replaced himself? No, King Jesus will always reign, and the kingdom is in His hands, so earthly rulers will come and go, but Christ is still on His throne. The way Christians behave is to act with the self-sacrificial love of Jesus, even toward the civil government. Paul begins this in Romans 12:9–21. This is how Christians live when the government is hostile towards them, and their duty towards government is entailed in Romans 13:1–7. After Paul acknowledged the responsibility of civil government, he once more reminds Christians of the value of loving their neighbor in Romans 13:8–10, and by 13:11–14, he explains that regardless of what government does, we are respectful and submissive because they exist by God’s will.

[1] As quoted in Scot McKnight and Joseph B. Modica, eds., Jesus is Lord Caesar is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies (Kindle ed., Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2013), loc. 2995.

[2] Ibid., loc. 337.

[3] De Oratore 1.196; In Catilinam 3.26.

[4] Tert. Apol. 24.1.

Early Christianity on Abortion & Exposure of Children

What we must admit is that there are no clearly stated prohibitions against abortion in the New Testament. However, early Christianity—having itself consisted of Jewish adherents to the Way in the first decade after Christ’s ascension— continued to adopt their moral understanding of various issues from Judaism. We, first, look the Jewish historian, Josephus (c. 37–100 CE) and what he wrote about the Jewish prohibition against abortion. It was a prohibition according to Jewish law.

The law, moreover enjoins us to bring up all our offspring, and forbids women to cause abortion of what is begotten, or to destroy it afterward; and if any woman appears to have so done, she will be a murderer of her child, by destroying a living creature, and diminishing humankind: if anyone, therefore, proceeds to such fornication or murder, he cannot be clean.

(Against Apion 2.202)

The Ten Commandments were used by early Christians just as they were by Jews—as teachings that pertained to moral living. Notably, the sixth commandment, “You shall not murder,” was given a greater exposition in Christian thinking and applied specifically to the termination of a pregnancy. When in the late first, early second century, a document known as Didache was written, attention turned to the sixth commandment and stated, “You shall not murder … you shall not engage in sorcery; you shall not abort a child or commit infanticide” (2.2). This document understood the sixth commandment as extending to the unborn. The reason I included “sorcery” as a part of this understanding is that the Greek term translated “sorcery” is the word from which we get “pharmacy.” Therefore, “sorcery” here likely included taking abortifacients—drugs that induced miscarriage. Our modern understanding of the sixth commandment was clearly understood as extending to the life of the unborn.

Also in keeping with the Mosaic Law, the paths of life and death (Deuteronomy 27–28) are recast as darkness and light in another early Christian writing.

But the path of darkness is crooked and full of cursing, for it is the path of eternal death and punishment, in which way are the things that destroy the soul …  Here are they who are persecutors of the good, haters of truth, lovers of lies; they who know not the reward of righteousness, who cleave not to what is good nor unto just judgment … murderers of children.

(Epistle of Barnabas 20.1–2)

Christian writers believed that life in the womb was no different than life outside it. Clement of Alexandria (c. 160–215 CE) inferred from Luke 1:41 when John leaped in Elizabeth’s womb that very belief (Instructor 2.10.96). Athenagoras, in the late-second-century, pointed to Christianity’s rejection of abortion as proof that Christians were moral when he wrote that the Christians “say that those women who use drugs to bring on abortion commit murder, and will have to give an account to God for the abortion” (Leg. 35).

Later church councils forbade abortion and actually levied punishments against any who murdered their unborn. The Council of Elvira (c. 4th century) reflects such beliefs.

If a woman conceives in adultery and then has an abortion, she may not commune again, even as death approaches, because she has sinned twice. (Canon 63)

A catechumen who conceives in adultery and then suffocates the child may be baptized only when death approaches. (Canon 68)

Even some of the most notable early church theologians supported this stance. Both Augustine (c. 354–430) and John Chrysostom (c. 347–407) viewed abortion as murder, and exposure—abortion’s ugly cousin—was no less an evil.

Moses’ Law encouraged caring for orphans (Exodus 22:22–24; Deuteronomy 14:29).[1] God administered justice for orphans, so Israel was not to pervert justice towards them (Deuteronomy 10:18; cf. 24:17; 27:19). The Essenes—a Jewish sect that lived around the Dead Sea in the first century CE—were known for taking them in and caring for them. Their community resembled a modern idea of a monastery in that everything was common property. Josephus records that they would take in children not their own because they did not wed, and they would care for those children and teach them their ways (Wars 2.8.2).

I don’t wish to enter into a discussion about the legitimacy of orphanages or children’s homes, but the order of widows cared for orphans as a part of their ecclesial duties.[2] Theologically, caring for orphans is missional in its practice. Even Jesus was adopted by Joseph, and Christ identified Himself with the “least of these my brothers” (Matthew 25:40). To care for orphans is to see Christ in the orphan as one of the least of those in society. As Christians, we have been adopted into God’s family. We are orphans made children by adoption through Christ (Romans 8:15, 23).[3]

A testimony of early church history also demonstrates that such were cared for by Christians. The late first-century bishop, Clement of Rome wrote, “Let the [elders] be compassionate and merciful to everyone—bringing back those who wander, visiting all the sick, and not neglecting the widow, the orphan, or the poor.” The second-century Greek apologist, Aristides, wrote that Christians “do not turn away their care from widows, and they deliver the orphan from anyone who treats him harshly.” The second-century Christian work, Shepherd of Hermas, noted, “Therefore, instead of lands, buy afflicted souls, according as each one is able. And visit widows and orphans.”[4]

Christianity’s stances on exposure led to a shift in Roman law in later years.[5] By 374 CE, one could incur a penalty for exposing a child. Obviously, by this time, Constantine had reigned and obliterated the persecution of Christians with Christianity later becoming the state religion in the Roman Empire. This elevation of the faith was good in some respects but bad in others. The good that came from the legalization of Christianity and its adoption as the state religion was that Christian theology began to have a say in legal matters.

The Cappadocian Fathers of the fourth century, as well as Latin theologians, helped shape the thinking of the Empire with some of them even having strong connections in government, For example, the Cappadocian Father, Basil the Great was familiar with Julian the Apostate since the two had been educated together. These two figures began competing, Basil through Christianity and Julian through the pagan rites, to win the hearts of people to their respective faiths. By this time, however, paganism had little influence but Christianity flourished.

With abortion as with exposure, while a rather defined orthodoxy was to not abort or expose children, not all Christians were blameless in these areas. Christians both participated in aborting unborn and exposing newly born infants.[6] One may wonder why these unique features taught in Christianity were violated by adherents to the faith. After all, wouldn’t that make these unique features unworthy of the world? Would it not nullify the faith of Christ itself and might we be justified in labeling those who did such “hypocrites?” The frustration is inevitable. However, there is no excuse for why Christians did such things.

I might remind the reader that many of the writings that comprise the New Testament were written as reactionary letters to communities of faith who were skating perilously close to an edge of heresy or infidelity to God. Christians are no different from any other person or group of people. We have our trials and temptations. We try rather hard to weather the storms, but despite our profession of faith, we still sin. It may be with a purpose that Christians sin, and sometimes it may be accidental. We still sin. However, the lives we are supposed to live are to be mirrored after that of Christ Himself. Yet, we often fall short. The early Christians did, and we still do today. If we can but recapture the uniqueness of our faith once again, perhaps we’ll be able to make the kind of changes that those believers did in their own time

[1] The Hebrew term often translated as “fatherless child” in the NKJV is elsewhere translated as “orphan” (cf. Lamentations 5:3; Malachi 3:5), so when I mention orphan and you reference the passage to find the translation as “fatherless child,” I’ve referenced from the Hebrew and not the English. Interestingly enough, many passages where “orphan” appears also has “widow” in the same verse or immediate context. At other places, “stranger” appears alongside them both. The point being that God cares for those most vulnerable to abuse in society. It must be mentioned that the Thebans outlawed exposure, but allowed the sale of children. This is the only recorded government, alongside the practice of Jews and Christians, to have taken a rather different approach for the newborn when compared to the rest of the ancient world.

[2] See Michael J. Gorman, Abortion and the Early Church: Christian, Jewish and Pagan Attitudes in the Greco-Roman World (Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1982).

[3] Russell D. Moore, “Abba Changes Everything: Why Every Christian Is Called to Rescue Orphans,” Christianity Today 54, no. 7 (July 2010): 18–22.

[4] David W. Bercot, ed., A Dictionary of Early Christian Beliefs, s.v. “Orphans and Widows,” 1998.

[5] See Joshua C. Tate, “Christianity and the Legal Status of Abandoned Children in the Later Roman Empire,” Journal of Law and Religion 24, no. 1 (2008/09): 123–41.

[6] Everett Ferguson, Thinking-Living-Dying: Early Apologists Speak to the 21st Century (Vienna: Warren Christian Apologetics Center, 2011), 27, 29.

Abortion in Greco-Roman Society

The intention of this post is to record history, and not opine so much on why and how things were done. In the next post, historical sources from early Christianity will be provided on the same matter to show how Christianity, in this regard, distinguished itself from Greco-Roman society at-large.

Hippocrates (c. 460–375 BCE) was a pioneer of medical theory as well as the oath that all physicians swore by upon beginning their practice of medicine, and still do today from my understanding. A part of the Hippocratic Oath states, “I will not give to a woman [an abortifacient].” Abortion was rather common in antiquity, but Greco-Roman society wasn’t entirely careless regarding the unborn. In some cases, abortion appears as wrong as some believe it to be today. For example, in Athens, if a man died while his wife was pregnant and she aborted the pregnancy upon his death, she was charged to have committed a crime against her husband. The legal theory was that her abortion was criminal since the unborn child could have claimed the late father’s estate, so it was more a matter of property rights than a moral statute. Fast-forwarding closer to the advent of Christ, we see that not much had changed in this regard.

Ovid’s work Amores was first published in 16 BCE. In this work of poetry, Ovid mentions abortion in the early Roman Empire and the unborn child as a “burden” (Am. 2.13). However, in the next elegy, he refers to the fetus as “tender” and the destruction of it as by a “warlike method.” This particular elegy is against abortion because it robs society of her Caesars and other heroes. Furthermore, were this a common practice, Ovid suggests, there would be no humanity. He asked why women would “thrust and pierce with the instrument and give dire poisons” to unborn children, which explains how abortions were performed then (Am. 2.14). The methods of abortion were sometimes as risky for the mother as they were for the unborn baby and many women died from having attempted to terminate their pregnancy.

The Roman statesman, Cicero mentions a disdain for abortion similar to the Athenian law mentioned above. A mother had been bribed by alternative heirs to terminate her pregnancy, which she did. The mother, in turn, was condemned to death because she cheated the father of his posterity and the Republic of a potential citizen (In Defense of Cluentius 32). The philosophical school of Stoicism held that life began once a child was born. The breathing of a person outside the womb was the moment life began. This thinking allowed abortion to be acceptable, and Seneca the Younger (c. 4 BCE–65 CE), a Roman statesman and philosopher, was able to use this belief in the legal system. Seneca wrote that “unnatural progeny” were destroyed, which was likely a reference to an incestuous conception. He also wrote about drowning children that were born abnormal and weak (On Anger 1.15.2–3). The Stoic idea that unborn babies were not humans came to influence Roman law and only further justified the practice of abortion.[1]

Not all Stoics, however, consented to abortion being a good thing. Musonius Rufus (c. 30?–102 CE) saw abortion as inhuman. He saw its purpose as solely of enhancing the firstborn’s inheritance more than anything, which amounted to greedy motives. The lawgivers, he contended, functioned to discern what was lawful and good for the state, as well as what was bad and detrimental to it. The lawgivers, he recalled, urged the increase of the homes as something fortunate. So fortunate was the increase of the homes “that they forbade women to suffer abortions and imposed a penalty upon those who disobeyed” (Discourse 15). His discourse on this matter is likely a referendum against the common practice of abortions in the first century.[2]

Juvenal wrote that wealthy women would not endure labor, but would dull the pain with drugs or obtain an abortion (Satire 6.593–96). He also wrote how Emperor Domitian (c. 81–96 CE) impregnated his niece and then gave her abortive drugs. The niece in question, Julia, died in 91 CE as a result of the abortion (Satire 2.20–24). Here we see another example of why abortions were performed (incest). Wealthy people may not have just wanted to deal with it, so they terminated the pregnancy. However, there was another reason for terminating a pregnancy. Slave women might terminate a pregnancy to avoid bringing up a child in slavery.[3] The slave women would have had to have done this in secrecy because a slave’s child was the property of her master and not her own.   

In the second century, the Greek gynecologist, obstetrician, and pediatrician, Soranus of Ephesus, wrote his work Gynecology which explains how medical knowledge at the time treated various related matters. In this work, he distinguished between an involuntary abortion—what we’d call “miscarriage”—and the willful termination of pregnancy. He also distinguished between a contraceptive and abortive. The former was to prevent conception from taking place while the latter was intended to expel the unborn from the woman’s body (Gyn. 1.59–60). In discussing when an abortive was given, he noted that some would not give an abortive if a woman wanted to terminate the pregnancy due to adultery or because she wanted to preserve her youthful beauty—again, two reasons why abortions took place then. An abortive would be given if it were discovered that the woman’s body, according to the science then, were determined to be unable of birthing a child and thus risk the mother’s wellbeing. However, Soranus preferred contraceptives to an abortive as a preventative risk, because “it is safer to prevent conception from taking place than to destroy the fetus” (Gyn. 1.60). He then went on to list various concoctions that could be used as a contraceptive or abortifacient, but if used to terminate a pregnancy, serious side effects followed that posed significant risks (Gyn. 1.61–63). Yet, this didn’t prevent him from explicitly naming how one might terminate a pregnancy (Gyn. 1.64–65).

While more citations could be supplied to the ends of showing how common abortion was, we also noted a couple of pagans who were against it, but not for the same moral reasons early Christians stood opposed to the practice. Additionally, there were others who opposed abortion in antiquity, but Christians gave a clearer understanding of why it was wrong that distinguished them from others. In the next post, I’ll list early Christian sources on the matter itself.

[1] Cf. Justinian, Digest 35.2.9.1.

[2] Caesar Augustus issued edicts in 18 BCE and 9 CE promoting childbearing, but he did not explicitly outlaw abortion (Gorman, Abortion and the Early Church, 27).

[3] Dio Chrysostom (c. 40/50–110/120 CE), Discourses 15.8.

A Christian’s Dual Citizenship

“For our citizenship is in heaven,” so Paul wrote to the Philippians (3:20). The ancient city of Philippi was a Roman colony, and her citizens were automatically citizens of Rome with all the perks and privileges that carried—among which were certain tax exemptions. Some of them may have never been to Rome itself but could appreciate and understand the pride of having citizenship despite having never been there. For Christians, this is our reality: we have not yet been to heaven, but that’s where our citizenship is and with it, all the blessings that accompany being members of the Kingdom of God. Why is it, then, that we place such a high value on earthly politics when our heavenly citizenship should be the premier marker of our identity? No one truly knows, but several passages may help us determine how we, as Christians, should relate to the earthly government. 

We read that the world lies under the sway of the wicked one (1 John 5:19); we read that Satan is the god of this world (2 Cor. 4:4). Because of this truth, injustices, hatred, bigotry, and evil will always be present, and this shouldn’t shock us. Nevertheless, as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven, we must and can undoubtedly lend to justice, truth, and equity on earth as demonstrative of our heavenly citizenship. Some Christians believe the principal means by which this is achieved is through earthly government, but I would, respectfully, disagree. Satan offered the kingdoms of the world to Christ if He would only fall down and worship him, but Jesus refused (Matt. 4:8–10). Had Jesus wanted to affect change through earthly government, He had His chance in this scene. Perhaps one might retort that the price wasn’t worth paying. Fair enough. In John’s account of the gospel, after Jesus fed several thousand people, they wanted to make Him king by force, but Christ didn’t want that. He retreated to be by Himself, avoiding the crowd’s aim of making Him King by force (John 6:15). 

It wasn’t God’s will that change and good would come directly through the government, and our Savior Himself didn’t rely upon government to achieve His ends. How was it achieved, instead? The will of God was completed by the employment of government: the arrest in the garden, the sham of a trial during the dark of the night, and ultimately, by the Roman procurator, Pilate, who then ordered an innocent Man to be executed. The very apparatus that Christians place their hopes in every election season is the one shown to itself be imperfect and full of corruptions, such that even our God was subject to and under which He suffered. Tell me again why such a premier is placed on fallible, earthly authorities when our citizenship is in heaven?

What’s most astounding is when a Christian finds no home in either of the major parties because of their belief. They are often accused of pulling for the other side in whom they also disdain. The Republicans and Democrats are akin to the Pharisees and Herodians, trying to catch the follower of Jesus. In that particular episode, the Pharisees were Jewish nationalists who disdained the Roman occupation of Judea while the Herodians were Jews friendly to the Romans. They had a common enemy: Jesus. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying goes, so they bound together to try to entrap Christ to either accuse Him of lacking Jewish patriotism or opposing the Emperor. The stage is set. They ask Him about paying taxes. His reply, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and the God the things that are God’s” (Mark 12:17). God isn’t anti-government. However, as our citizenship is in heaven, we should relate to the government by giving it what’s due so long as it doesn’t contradict the will of the Father (cf. Acts 4:19; 5:29). 

When we sincerely follow Jesus, we’ll often find ourselves at odds with the government and the parties that vie for control. Nevertheless, we can participate in government in good conscience and that to the glory of the Lord. Joseph was second in command to Pharaoh; Daniel was a high-ranking official in the Babylonian King’s court; Nehemiah was the cupbearer of the Persian King. These each served God and the master who was over them, and they did so with integrity and dignity. Cornelius was a Roman centurion who became a follower of Jesus, and he was never commanded to resign his post to follow Christ, so it’s entirely possible to be in an environment and realm, to serve God, and faithfully discharge one’s duty. 

When Christianity began to go awry, in my opinion, was when it started mixing with the government. The Magna Carta of our faith is the Sermon on the Mount, and there are tensions with acts of government and Christian living, but they each exist for their own purposes. Even Constantine himself delayed baptism until on his death bed because he may have well understood the difficulty of being a Christian and an Emperor. The mistake is made when we try to intermingle them in a way they aren’t meant to be mixed. Ravi Zacharias once said, “Anytime religion is politicized, it’s in danger of extinction.” Why is that? Because it can only ever been enacted with the fear of punishment if one doesn’t adhere to it. In colonial America, citizens had to pay taxes to support that state church, and one could even face fines or imprisonment if they didn’t attend church. How is that Christianity? That’s a compulsion, and God doesn’t force anyone to love Him, but He gives them the option. I love how the nineteenth-century novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, put it:

If anything protects society even in our time, and even reforms the criminal himself and transforms him into a different person, again it is Christ’s law alone, which manifests itself in the acknowledgment of one’s own conscience. Only if he acknowledges his guilt before society itself—that is, of the Church—will he acknowledge his guilt before society itself—that is, before the Church ….  And what would become of the criminal, oh, Lord, if Christian society, too, punished him with excommunication each time immediately after the law of the state has punished him? Surely there could be no greater despair….  But the Church, like a mother, tender and loving, withholds from active punishment, for even without her punishment, the wrongdoer is already too painfully punished by the state court, and at least someone should pity him.

The state exists for the purposes of justice (Rom. 13:2–4), but the church for mercy and reconciliation to God (2 Cor. 5:18–19). When Christians place all of their hopes in government, they forget that it is in the Lord that we’re to rejoice always (Phil. 4:4), not in the state. It’s the peace of God that will guard our hearts and minds (Phil. 4:7), not the legislation of Congress. 

Is this to say that we should have NO dealings with the government at all? No, but it is to say that we must guard our mind and heart and make sure our faith is foremost in the God of creation and salvation, and not the government ran by fallible, imperfect humans who are as prone to mistakes as we all are. The Lord told Israel to seek the peace of the city in which they were to live as captives and to pray for it because, in its peace, they would have peace (Jer. 29:7). Prayer is the primary act a Christian can undertake for their home. In the worship of the church, we’re actually commanded to pray for the welfare of authority figures (1 Tim. 2:1–4; cf. 3:15), but because we often ignore this command, prayers for governing leaders are seen as partisan endorsements rather than holy supplication. Withholding vitriolic rhetoric is a second way we may participate in a godly manner (Acts 23:5). If we pray for our leaders as we should, we should naturally withhold the spewing of hateful jargon. A third way we may participate is to render to Caesar’s what’s his by being the absolute best citizens because our citizenship is in heaven. Among the ways we can do this is by obeying laws, paying our taxes, and casting votes to participate in the experiment that is America. We may also serve in capacities and even work for the government in capacities as if we were working for God Himself. Government is His ordinance and servant (Rom. 13:2, 4), so serving in such roles is to effectually serve God Himself in a manner of speaking. We must also recall that the author of Romans 13 was himself executed for not submitting to their authority out of his faithfulness to Jesus, so while he calls for submission to governmental authorities, there is a line in the sand that a Christian can’t and mustn’t cross. Even Christ Himself was subject to the governing authorities, resulting in His death. Self-sacrificial love is how God achieves His purpose in Christ, not through the political system of the day. 

The overconsumption of news can be replaced with an immersion of Scripture, devotions, or sermons that help build the Christian up. The mindless social media debates should be replaced with pleasant conversations about the glory of the Lord. The animosity one feels towards an opposing view should be replaced by the kindness and love of one’s neighbor. Glorying in the bloodshed of rioters or police officers because one views them as inherently evil should be replaced with awe at the shed blood of Jesus Christ. He, for the salvation of the world, willingly sacrificed Himself to protect us from the wrath of God to which we’ve set ourselves. Be different. Be authentically Christian. 

Reasons to Look Forward to Heaven

I have never been to Disney World or Disney Land myself. I know many people who frequent these places with their families, and some are even married couples without children who contend that December is the best time to go because there’s fewer in attendance. I’ve just never been one for theme parks. I’d go farther to confess that I’ve never even been on a rollercoaster, I’m not ashamed to admit. It’s not my thing though I know many have a taste for such excitement, and that’s fine. Walt Disney conceived an excellent notion with his films and animations and would bring it to life in his theme park despite not living to see it come to fruition. On its opening day in 1955, Disney said,

To all who come to this happy place; welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past…. and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams and the hard facts that have created America … with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world.

 As marvelous and wonderful as I hear Disney is, the sad thing is that it doesn’t last long enough for those who desire to be there. You can always go back, but you’ll find yourself leaving again. It’s a vacation spot. It’s not where you live. It may seem to some as heaven on earth, but it’s not heaven at all, because of the time restrictions and a few missing elements. It may be the happiest or most magical place on earth, but it only pales in comparison to the ideals to which it aspires. Heaven is that place, and it’s where we get to spend, not a week only to leave, but an eternity.

Reasons Examined 

There’s certainly a lot of material that could be studied in Revelation 21–22, such as renewed creation. Still, I’d instead look at reasons we Christians look forward to heaven regardless of how one may understand it. It’s fantastic when you consider the value of missing. For example, any team that played against the Chicago Bulls loved with Michael Jordan missed a basket. It wasn’t right for Jordan, but it was for the other team. A deer can always be pleased when a hunter misses that shot, and it has the chance to run away. Obviously, for one, missing is disappointing, while for another missing is sweet. Note what’s missing from heaven: sea (i.e., chaos; cf. Gen. 1:1–3), death, sorrow, crying, and pain (Rev. 21:1, 4; cf. v. 8).

Furthermore, the curse no longer exists—neither the night (Rev. 22:3, 5). These are absent for one particular reason, and that’s because of God’s presence. Joy displaces sorrow and suffering—something comforting to persecuted believers in the first century, and even all those who live now with sadness. Those who persecute use such things to oppress and injure others, but the faithful of God will relish the absence of them in heaven. These are often the first things we might think about when we envision heaven. This is what is obviously most appealing to us, especially in times of hardship and heartache, but it’s not all that there is.

What next appears is the reality and eschatological expectation that God dwells with men and men with Him (Rev. 21:3). Heaven is the “tabernacle” of God—skene in Greek; mishkan in Hebrew; skin in English. The same three-letter root appears for each; skn. Initially, the term noted a large tent often made of skins, which is what the tabernacle was in the wilderness. As a metaphor, this indicates the divine presence of God (cf. Rev. 7:15; John 1:14). This tabernacle, New Jerusalem, is actually the Holy of Holies itself (Rev. 21:16), and the entirety of the city is the tabernacle (Rev. 21:22). I’ve mentioned in preaching before that when God created the heavens and the earth that He did so as a temple. Our sins alienated us from Him and corrupted the world which resulted in His wonderful creation being unclean. Through the tabernacle, temple, and church, He has set holy precincts back in the earth so that He could live among humanity. However, since the planet still contains sin, the new heavens and new earth will be the totality of His original design. This demonstrates a beautiful cohesiveness to the entirety of Scripture and the heart of God.

Finally, there’s the quenching of one’s thirst (Rev. 21:7). Throughout Scripture, a person who thirsts is one who has a need. Those that hunger and thirst for righteousness will be satisfied (Matt. 5:6). As an invitation to an abundant life, Israelites were encouraged to come to God if they thirsted (Is. 55:1), and the psalmist depicted their longing for God as a thirst (Ps. 63:1–2). Blaise Pascal was a seventeenth-century philosopher, among other things. He wrote a work entitled Pensées (pron. pawn-say; “Thoughts”) in which he wrote

What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him, seeking in things that are not there the help he cannot find in those that are, though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself.[1]

Centuries before Pascal would pen his words, Augustine would write, “Restless is our heart until it comes to rest in thee” (Conf. 1.1.1), so God’s angel would show John the pure river of water of life (Rev. 22:1). Our thirst is quenched. Our desires are satisfied.

There’s a lovely poem entitled, “A Letter from Heaven,” that reads:

When tomorrow starts without me;

And I’m not here to see,

If the sun should rise and find your

Eyes, filled with tears for me.

 I wish so much that you wouldn’t cry,

The way you did today,

While thinking of the man things,

We didn’t get to say.

 I know how much you love me,

As much as I love you,

And each time you think of me,

I know you’ll miss me too.

 When tomorrow starts without me,

Don’t think we’re far apart,

For every time you think of me,

I’m right there in your heart.

 “And the Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let him who hears says, ‘Come!’ and let him who thirsts comes. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely” (Rev. 22:17).

[1] Blaise Pascal, Pensées (New York: Penguin Books, 1966), 75.

The Final Judgment

When I began this study of Revelation, it was because we were living during a pandemic, unlike what any of us has ever seen in our lifetime. People were applying concepts and visions from this book to the things that have been happening in our country and world, and pointing to the “fulfillment” of the book as happening before our eyes. I imagine previous generations have done similarly, but up until this point, I’ve shown how most of the book was something fulfilled in the first century during which geopolitical events that occurred then were wreaking havoc on the church. In the previous lesson, we began to get a glimpse of the current state of affairs that applied as much to the first century as to us now. Then, we began to see what the future holds for Satan at his second coming. The harlot, the beast, and Babylon will have all been dealt with—and the climax at the end is that Satan is cast into the lake that burns with fire and brimstone. Despite thinking all is accomplished, there are still two more enemies of humanity that must meet their demise—death and hades.

The Judgment Scene 

The New Testament is replete with the fact that a final reckoning is to come. Christ attested to His second coming being a point at which He sits on the throne of His glory for judgment (Matt. 25:31–46; cf. John 5:22–23). The Pauline corpus mentions as a corollary to his counsel the future judgment (Rom. 2:5, 16; 2 Cor. 5:10; 2 Tim. 4:1), and he is as much recorded as having preached such too (Acts 17:30–31). The fact of judgment is a foregone conclusion in Christian theology and is to be expected, but what exactly will it be like? John gives us insight as do other passages. Christ will separate the sheep from goats and uses a litmus test as to how they regarded their brethren—with love or disregard. Judgment is spoken of in 2 Peter as coinciding on the day of fire and destruction of the ungodly (2 Peter 3:7). Jude also mentions judgment relative to the ungodly sinners (14–15).

To the Christian who’s been “justified” in the name of Christ, judgment isn’t anything to necessarily fear. To be justified is to be declared righteous, or literally to be set right by God. Our Father does this through the blood of His Son when we demonstrate faithfulness to and in Christ. It’s a legal term in Greek (dikaioo) and held the weight of a person being acquitted. In legal speak, a person acquitted has been freed from a criminal charge, and this is the plight of Christians—we are free of the charges against us because the blood of Christ has cleansed us. Judgment, therefore, shouldn’t be something we dread because of our standing in Christ Jesus.

This is a spectacular scene. Center is a great white throne, upon which the Lord sits (Rev. 20:11). This scene and all of Revelation in some way hearken back to Dan 7:9–10. We next note that the earth and heaven fled from His face. Moses once asked to see God’s glory, but God would show him only His goodness because were Moses or anyone, for that fact, to see His face, they would die. God, however, in His grace made provision for Moses to see Him as much as he could (Exod. 33:18–23). In eternity, the New Jerusalem, we shall see Him as no eye, but Jesus has ever seen Him (Rev. 22:4). On judgment day, there’s no hiding place. Everything is laid bare before the presence of the glory of the Lord. Humanity, like Adam and Eve after the fall in Eden, has tried to hide from God, but there’s no hiding place now, and at the judgment, we will realize just how bare we have been (Heb. 4:13).

All stand before the Lord, and books are opened. First, no one, no matter how grand they have been in life nor how small, stands before God. We’re all on equal ground. Social standing doesn’t matter. Accomplishments in life are insignificant. God doesn’t much care about that stuff like we do. He doesn’t care how many times we’ve appeared in the paper, or what awards we’ve won, or even the degrees we’ve earned in university. He’s looking at the record of our deeds (vv. 12–13). Before there’s any concern, the fact that God judges according to our deeds does not negate justification by faith. When we take the whole of Christian theology into account, this actually makes perfect sense. Our works proceed from our faith, so if we’ve been faithful, then we’ve been justified and need not worry. However, if our actions reflect a lack of faith, then we have something with which to be concerned. How have we responded to the love of God? Have we responded to love with love, or have we rejected love? The response we give to God’s love is the sum total of our works and deeds, and these are recorded in the books brought to God at the judgment.

What “books” are we speaking about? In Jewish literature and tradition, angels record the misdeeds of humans and report such to God in the interlude between the destruction of the earth and the resurrection (Sib. Or. 2.215–16; cf. Dan. 7:10). However, the book with which we need to be most concerned with is the Lamb’s Book of Life (vv. 12, 14). This book’s been mentioned already (cf. 3:5; 13:8; 17:8), and Jewish teaching upheld that God had a record of those who were in communion with Him and those who weren’t (cf. Exod. 32:32; Is. 4:3; Dan. 12:1–2). We whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life are those saved by God’s grace. We have been bought with the blood of the Lamb, and our faith has borne our trust in the faithfulness of Jesus. It isn’t that we lack works ourselves, but that the grace of our God far outshines any misdeeds we may have against us because we have trusted the Lord. If our name is absent, we, like Death and Hades, join Satan and his entourage in the lake that burns with fire. Such do not live eternally, but die, never to live again.

The Thousand-Year Reign

There’s a popular evangelical teaching entitled “dispensational premillennialism” which holds that we are living in the church era, or dispensation, and when the resurrection of the righteous comes—a doctrine referred to as “the rapture” that’s taken from 1 Thess 4:13–17—there will be great tribulation. After the great tribulation, a resurrection of tribulation-era saints will establish Jesus’ kingdom on earth for a literal 1,000 years. At the end of that period, Satan will be let loose, and then the final resurrection of the wicked will occur, judgment will be given by God, and we will enter into eternity.

There are issues with this doctrine, the first of which being that Rev 20:1–6 is read literally. While a few of the early church fathers interpreted this section literally, the majority did not, and the Second Ecumenical Council (381 CE) rejected the literal doctrine of the thousand years known as “chiliasm.” Another issue is that the term “rapture” never appears in Scripture. In the Latin Vulgate, one may read, simul rapiemur cum illis in nubibus Christo in aëra, and rapiemur is a cognate of rapto—from which we derive “rapture.” However, in evangelical thought, the rapture is not only being caught up but a state of ecstasy or lofty emotion. A third problem is that, biblically, the tribulation appears as having come before rather than after the millennium (Rev. 7:14)—if one reads it this way.

One more issue is a misunderstanding of the nature of Christ’s kingdom. This view sees the kingdom as something to be established on earth, and not something already installed—which Scripture points toward (cf. Luke 9:27; Col. 1:13; Rev. 1:5, 9; 5:10). This view is a very materialistic view of the kingdom of God. Because of the literal interpretation of those who espouse such a view, they always speak about the end times in language relative to the current mores of glorified warfare.

The Millennial Age 

All I may offer is how I read it with what knowledge of apocalyptic literature I retain. When read as a whole, Revelation has several interludes of which Rev 20:1–6 is but one. The purpose of such intervals is to assure the faithful of God’s judgment upon those who’ve grieved them and that they will survive the tribulation in which they are living.[1] The other interludes do this, and some are essential to the church (cf. 7:1–17; 10:1–11:13; 14:1–20; 19:1–10). Understanding that this section gives us a break from the “action” of the book allows us to see the purpose it serves rather than dwell methodically on every little detail. The enemy at the very heart of the trouble that the Christians face is himself to be bound and, as we shall see going forward, judged, and condemned.

The thousand years shouldn’t be treated as any more literal than any other number, because such appear used in figures of speech rather often in Scripture (Job 9:3; 2 Peter 3:8). I tend to hold the binding of Satan as the key (v. 2) more so than the number of years because Satan was bound upon Christ’s saving work (Matt. 12:28–29; Col. 2:15). It’s clear, however, that he isn’t totally disarmed and weak (Acts 5:3; Eph. 6:11), but he cannot keep the gospel from pervading the nations through his deception (v. 3). Therefore, this is the age in which we’re living. It isn’t a literal thousand years, but a period, or era during which Satan’s power is considerably diminished because of what Christ accomplished on the cross. This doesn’t speak of the last days, because we are living in the last days and have been since Pentecost (Acts 2:16–17; Heb. 1:1–2; 1 Peter 1:20).

One likely concern among the Asian Christians was what would become of those slain during such a horrendous episode in the history of the church. The Lord, next, shows where the martyrs are: they reign with the Lord in heaven (2 Tim. 2:12). They never worshiped the beast or his image. They did not receive his mark because they bore the seal of the Lord Jesus Christ. Their lives on earth, however, were of no consequence to the powers of the earth. What we know is that those of whom John is explicitly speaking were Roman citizens, because beheading was the primary capital punishment for Romans. They were bound to a post, stripped naked, beaten with whips, and then put to death.[2] This earth wasn’t kind to them, but because they remained unyielding in their faith, they now reign. The first resurrection I take here to be the resurrection to eternal life that is through death (vv. 5–6). When a saint dies in the Lord, of course, they could be said to have been raised to eternal life. They are assured of remaining untouched by the second death. They now reign with Him in the era of the church and faith in Christ Jesus.

Satan’s Release 

If we were to take the view that Revelation was written with the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple in mind, there’s so much of this book that could make sense—especially the release of Satan, Gog, and Magog, and the battle at the beloved city. When we observe the juxtaposed images in Revelation (e.g., the harlot versus the bride, Babylon versus New Jerusalem), we can note that this isn’t so much a period as much as it’s a juxtaposition, but of what? The passage appears akin to the second coming of Satan if you will (vv. 7–9). When we consider second comings, we envision the Parousia of Christ, our Lord. Satan will come a second time with the intent of raising the armies of all opposed to God, but Jesus comes as the reigning, triumphant King of Kings and Lord of Lords to execute judgment on the devil (v. 10). The devil himself, the arch-enemy of God and the deceiver of the nations, is resigned to the lake of fire and brimstone to join the beast and false prophet. Because the latter two did his bidding, they join the god of this world in the place prepared for him (Matt. 25:41). No longer is he a threat, but a non-concern.

When we reflect back on September 11, 2001, the mastermind who perpetrated the attack was the one person we wanted to bring to justice. Osama Bin Laden had used his money, influence, and hatred to orchestrate attacks that hurt our nation and took the lives of people of all religions and color. For a brief time, we were united as a country. We had a common enemy that we knew our government would target. Nearly a decade later, Seal Team Six would see to it that one of the world’s and America’s most wanted terrorized no more. Rob O’Neill, along with 23 other Seals, was brought in after a long period of surveillance to execute the mission. Working on the tail-end of the formation that worked floor-by-floor neutralizing targets, Rob and another Seal ascended to the third floor where in one room, he was face-to-face with Bin Laden. As he was trained to do, when the threat presented itself, Rob fired three shots, killing the most notorious terrorist in our lifetime. Before going, the team leader informed them that the chances of returning alive were minimal. These brave warriors went, believing that they wouldn’t return, and their leader reminded them that they weren’t going for the bravado or fame, but for, among others, the single mother who’d dropped her only son off at school only to find herself jumping to her death from a burning tower forty-five minutes later. For her, it was better to leap to her own grave than burn alive. Her last gesture of human decency was holding her skirt down so no one could see her underwear as she plunged to her death. That’s why they were going.

In the finality of the world, when all accounts are reckoned, King Jesus will impose on the mastermind of deception and perdition the death blow. Satan, humanity’s most notorious terrorist, will be cast into the lake of fire and brimstone. This place has been prepared for him since he began wreaking havoc on humanity. For every marriage that’s been broken apart, for every arm that has had a needle thrust into it, for every tear shed and every night of lost sleep, for every person who’s suffered abuse at the hands of another, and for every victim, the enemy and orchestrator of our misery will pay. “‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord.”

[1] Michael J. Gorman, Reading Revelation Responsibly: Uncivil Worship and Witness Following the Lamb into the New Creation (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2011), 144.

[2] Livy, 2.5.8; Seneca, Dial. 3.18.4.

Babylon Falls and Heaven Rejoices

Think of pride. Think of ego, arrogance, and even rebellion. As far back as Genesis 11, this is what Babylon stood for when the whole earth had one language. God confused the tongues of those who wanted to build a tower to the heights of the heavens and make a name for themselves, but God confused their language, and rather than one, the peoples of the earth spoke multiple. Centuries later, Babylon herself marched into Jerusalem, destroyed the temple, and carted off many into a land of exile—there to despair of their lot but also to repent and rededicate themselves to God. Now, in the first century, Babylon isn’t the actual, physical location itself but a sobriquet for Rome. The angel gave John the interpretation of the vision he saw (Rev. 17:9–18). Rome is situated on seven hills (v. 9),[1] the five kinds who’d fallen number from Augustus through Nero. Vespasian was the one who is, and the beast himself, who was the eighth was Domitian (vv. 10–11).

Many of the descriptions of the harlot lend to the understanding of Rome herself. Like a harlot, we recall that in the Old Testament, harlotry was a description for those who consorted with idols over the God of Israel. Being seated on many waters lends itself to the fact that Rome, Italy is a peninsula. The kings of the earth committing fornication with her speak to how so many other kingdoms were vassal states to Rome and even adopted the gods of Rome. The names of blasphemy on the scarlet beast may very well allude to the divine titles that the Emperor of Rome bore. What we’ll see in good time is that toward the end of this prophecy, the harlot so arrayed in purple and scarlet is to be contrasted with the pure linen in which the bride of Christ is arrayed (Rev. 19:6–8). The city of Babylon is nothing compared to the New Jerusalem of Christ. The former falls, but the latter prevails and absorbs what’s left behind in the act of grace.

Babylon’s Judgment 

When we speak about Babylon’s judgment and subsequent fall (Rev. 18:2), we mustn’t think of the fall of Rome herself—something that didn’t occur until the fifth century—but of the downfall of what the empire stood for concerning God.[2] The pronouncement of Babylon’s fall reaffirms what John already saw in Rev 14:8 and what he knew from Isaiah 21:9 of Israel’s history with the empire of old (cf. Jer. 51:8). Eventually, when Isaiah and Jeremiah saw the fall of Babylon, the empire itself did fall but not immediately. In the mind of God, however, it was as good as done, just as the Roman Empire was as good as done in God’s mind and would eventually happen in the fifth century. When Rome would fall, the birds would take over (Rev. 18:2). In John’s day, the city had as much as a million inhabitants, and when it fell, it was as few as 30,000.[3]

When the other voice urges that the people of God come out of Babylon, this may not be so much a literal evacuation of Rome as much as a call to fidelity. As we’ve seen with the seven churches at the front of the book, several of them had compromised and given into some of the whiles of Babylon. Though some strived to remain faithful, they still had faults against them and deeds from which they needed to repent. To the Christians living in Babylon who were unfaithful to the Lord, or on the cusp of backsliding, they by the grace of God are called to come out of her lest they share in her sins (Rev. 18:4). There are always some situations and places that we Christians need to remove ourselves from out of fidelity to God. If we don’t remove ourselves, we may give in to the powerful ways of perdition that God wants us to avoid, so He bids us come out of her. Why? Because such sins reach to God and though Babylon is complacent, God will not forget her deeds and is one who is reliable that will judge her (Rev. 18:5–8). Sometimes our Babylon can be school, work, or, sadly, home. Sometimes it can be an environment we put ourselves in for sport but turns out to be bad for us. A friend of mine’s husband used to be a minor league baseball player, and after marrying, he converted to Christ, having formerly been an atheist. As a relatively new Christian on the road with his team, he called his wife one night, and she heard in the background some noise and asked what it was. In the adjoining room where many of his teammates were was the entertainment of strippers. He had removed himself and eventually left the sport he loved to be with his family and not in an environment that invited sin.

Heaven Rejoices

With the downfall of Babylon comes lamenting from those who made themselves rich from her (Rev. 18:9–19). However, the heavens, apostles, and prophets are called to rejoice over her fall because God will have avenged them (Rev. 18:20). It’s often been thought that we shouldn’t celebrate when something terrible happens even to those who are evil. It isn’t that we can rejoice over their downfall, but that the justice of God has had its measure. We know that God would have given such evil people time to repent, and He would have sent them sign after sign after sign and messenger after messenger after messenger to urge such. After such forbearance, God judges (Rev. 18:21–24), and His justice and vengeance is not moved by passions such as ours, but by a balancing of the scales (Rev.19:1–5).

Notice how two women are juxtaposed: the harlot in purple and scarlet, and the bride of Christ in fine linen, clean and bright (Rev. 19:8). After Israel was delivered from Egypt, she was united to the Lord as a betrothed to her bridegroom (Hos. 2:19–20; Rom. 7:1–6). Marriage is the symbol of God’s union to His people (Is. 54:1–8; Ezek. 16:7–14; Eph. 5:22–32). It’s also an occasion for joy and celebration. The beatitude pronounced here is one of several meant to encourage fidelity amidst their circumstances (see also Rev. 1:3; 14:13; 16:15; 20:6; 22:7, 14). While the birds feast on the carcasses of the wicked (Rev. 19:9, 17–18), the supper of the Lamb is prepared as Isaiah once foretold (Is. 25:6, 8). There are two pictures here: the banquet of the Lord and the feast upon the wicked. The whole motif is that God triumphs, and in His triumph, His people feast while the enemy is left on the streets to be preyed upon by scavengers. This is a typical depiction of what appears after the war.

When a person follows the beast, they end up in Armageddon—the wrath of God, or divine consent to our own self-destruction. If we follow the Lamb, we’ll find ourselves in New Jerusalem. The latter is what God desires. According to some interpretations of Revelation, Armageddon is a battle that must occur before Christ can come, so they become warmongers rather than peacemakers. Even the vision of Christ here as the faithful and true horseman in Revelation 19 is often invoked in a misguided effort to portray God as violent and retributive when he would rather no one suffer wrath but humble themselves to Him. The peaceful Jesus in the gospels is the same peaceful Jesus in Revelation, but if we set ourselves against Him, we experience Him in wrath. Jesus isn’t schizophrenic, preferring peace one minute and violence the next. This is the danger of literalizing what is symbolically given. Jesus sits upon the white horse of triumph, not the red horse of war. I wish to close with an excerpt from a thought-provoking book.

Christ always rules from the cross, never from an Apache attack helicopter. John stresses that Jesus reigns through self-sacrifice by depicting the white horse’s rider as wearing a robe drenched in blood before the battle begins. Jesus’s robe is soaked in his own blood. Jesus doesn’t shed the blood of enemies; Jesus sheds his own blood. This is the gospel! The rider on the white horse is the slaughtered Lamb, not the slaughtering beast. To further make his point, John tells us that the sword the rider uses to smite the nations is not in his hand but in his mouth. Soldiers with literal weapons of war hold them in their hands, not their mouths. This is not Caesar’s sword but the word of God. The Revelator so desires that we not miss this point that he comes right out and tells us, “His name is called The Word of God.” … The sword is not a sword; the sword is a symbol. The sword is the word of God. If we combine all of John’s creative symbols, the message is clear: Jesus wages war by self-sacrifice and by what he says. Jesus combats evil by cosuffering love and the word of God. This is the righteous war of the Lamb. Christians are called to believe that cosuffering love and the divine word are all Christ needs to overcome evil. A fallen world addicted to war does not believe this, but the followers of Jesus do, or should! If Jesus conquers evil by killing his enemies, he’s just another Caesar. But the whole point of John’s Revelation is that Jesus is nothing like Caesar! The idea that the world would continue to be run by the violent ways of Caesar and Pharaoh and all the rest was the bad news that made John weep when the elder told him there was none worthy to open the scroll of God. John the Revelator is giving us the gospel, not the antigospel. The war of the Lamb looks nothing like the war of the beast. Jesus is not like Caesar. Jesus does not wage war like Caesar.[4]

[1] Vergil, Aen. 6.783; Ovid, Trista 1.5.69; Cicero, Letters to Atticus 6.5.

[2] Reardon, Revelation, 97.

[3] Keener, Revelation, 423.

[4] Brian Zahnd, Sinners, 176–77.

The Wrath of God

A natural question arises: given that I’ve just previously described the love of God and how we experience it in either heaven or hell, what are we to make of the wrath of God? Our Western understanding of “wrath” has to do with someone’s premeditated, perhaps malicious, action towards another. However, in theological language, the “wrath of God” doesn’t describe God Himself, but a state of being in which one is opposed to God. God is love (1 John 4:8), and He never changes, but when we put ourselves in a position of opposition to God’s love, we experience wrath. Christianity cannot exist without wrath because it is an element of holiness itself, which the God of Israel and Father of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, is (Is. 6:3; Rev. 4:8).

When you and I are wrathful, we act with passion. When we read of God’s wrath, we have to think of His righteousness, or “justice” as the word would be more appropriately translated in Paul’s Roman letter—at least in my opinion. We, sadly, have come to think of God’s wrath much as preached in early America by such men as Jonathan Edwards who said,

The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes, than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours.[1]

Edwards, and American Christianity as a whole, have begun with the premise that God, first, “abhors you.” This is the sort of notion to which most of us have grown up under, accustomed to being hated by our Creator. One might wonder what this does to the psychological makeup of a person.

In the gospels, we have the perfect Revelation of God in the person of Jesus. He is not portrayed as acting with hatred towards humanity, but with love and compassion. Picture it this way, to borrow a metaphor from Maximos the Confessor: the rays of the sun shine on the earth. To clay, it hardens, but to wax, it softens. The goodness of God shines on all humanity: to some, it hardens, and to others, it softens. If we are hardened, we become like Pharaoh and experience wrath. If we soften as wax, we may receive the stamp of divine realities upon us and become “in spirit the dwelling-place of God” (Eph. 2:22). We, therefore, must turn to God with love in faith and be “saved from wrath” (Rom. 5:9), which is “divine consent to our own self-destructive defiance.”[2]

Bowls of Wrath 

What we mustn’t forego is the conclusion that the trumpets were calls to repentance (cf. Rev. 9:20–21), but the bowls are final. Once more, we have in the first three bowls parallels to plagues God visited upon Egypt (Rev. 16:2–4)—the first of which identifies who is to bear such wrath, and they are those who bear the mark of the beast and worshipped his image. Reminiscent to Exodus, when the angel of death passed through Egypt, the blood of the Lamb over the doors of those who feared God preserved them from wrath. Similarly, those who bear the seal of the Lamb are protected from wrath because they do not carry the mark of the beast. Remember that the mark of the beast would have been the documents with the appropriate seals granted by the Concilia to those who worshipped the image of the Emperor. This enabled them to transact business and engage in the economy throughout the empire, so the Christians would have been forced to either join in or create their own black market.

By the time we come to the third bowl, we note something hitherto foreign to most: that one angel pours the bowl of wrath upon the waters, and the angel of the waters praises this action (Rev. 16:4). Second Temple Jewish thought held that angels were given superintendence over various features of the physical world (Jub. 2:2; 1 Enoch 20:2), so the angel charged with waters praised the Lord’s wrath upon his domain. Then, from beneath the altar, the martyrs praise the judgments of the Lord in vindication for their earlier cry for justice (Rev. 16:7; cf. 6:9–11). Unrepentant, the fourth bowl, unlike any of the plagues, was to increase the heat of the sun, and those who lacked penitence blasphemed the name of the Lord (Rev. 16:8–9). Whereas Daniel’s young companions refused to worship the image set up by Nebuchadnezzar, they were preserved from fire while these who refuse to repent will suffer from intense heat. The fifth bowl led to further blaspheming by a darkness that could obviously be felt (Rev. 16:10–11).

The Battle of Armageddon 

A lot of fanciful tales have emerged from this one-time-referenced phenomenon. With the pouring out of the sixth bowl, the Euphrates is dried so that the kings from the east (Parthian Empire) may travel westward, similar to how the Jordan was dried up for the conquest of Israel. Many rivers would dry up here or there, but the Euphrates wasn’t known for such, which may illustrate the dreadfulness of the time of God’s wrath. With Jewish thought pointed toward invasion when they hear of a river drying up (Josh. 3:14–17; 4:23–5:1), the stage was set so much so that the one might think that imperial propaganda led to the moment of the battle (Rev. 16:12–14). Jesus speaks up, and the one who is watchful and keeps his garments would be prepared for the moment. The words of Christ here in verse 15 are believed to speak to a Jewish tradition of keeping watch at the temple. When a guard was caught sleeping, he was beaten the first time. The second time, his clothes were burned, and he was left to depart naked to his shame.[3]

The place where the forces were gathered was Armageddon—literally, “the hill of Megiddo.” This isn’t some cryptic event or location, but well known to the Jews. It only appears here in Rev 16:16 and is geographically located in the city of Megiddo on a spur of Mt. Carmel, where Elijah faced the prophets of Baal. The plain of Megiddo boasted intersections of trade routes that linked Egypt with the Fertile Crescent as well as Palestine with the Phoenician coast. It was here that Deborah and Barak defeated Sisera (Judg. 5:19–20); Josiah was slain here by Pharaoh Neco (2 Kings 23:29).

A renowned area of conflict is what’s in mind because there is no literal “hill” or “mountain” of Megiddo. It’s plain. Furthermore, no “battle” is mentioned, but when the place is referenced, “battle” is always assumed, given the history of this area. What also is believed is because it’s referred to as the “battle of that great day of God Almighty” that this is something physical and no spiritual. Notice the spiritual elements in the sixth bowl about unclean spirits, false prophet, and demons who would lead earthly powers astray. The concept is more in mind than a real, historical event. God does battle with the enemy, and as soon as it was underway, the seventh bowl of judgment is poured. Just as the seventh trumpet presented cataclysmic events to conclude, so too does the seventh bowl. Even here, the hardened hearts do not permit repentance, but blasphemy persists (Rev. 16:17–21)

[1] Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” http://www.ccel.org/ccel/edwards/sermons.sinners.html (accessed July 28, 2020)

[2] Brian Zahnd, Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God: The Scandalous Truth of the Very Good News (New York: The Crown Publishing Group, 2017) 16.

[3] Keener, Revelation, 396 n. 17; Farley, Apocalypse, 175.

Hell in Heaven?

Those of us who live by faith, though we may not see what God is doing in a predicament, trust that He is acting for our benefit; however that may look. Those who walk by sight are destined to see only what’s before their eyes, which can lead to panic, despondency, and even hopelessness. For the Asian Christians, they were striving to live by faith, but the sight of their reality was so grim that they couldn’t help but see what’s before them. Luckily for them, John can see beyond the physical into the heavens and reveal what it was precisely that he beheld. When we are so overtaken by sight, it always helps for someone of greater faith to come along and to aid us in better viewing the matter as Jesus would have us.

One of my favorite Bible stories occurs along this line. Elisha, the prophet, was at the helm of the prophetic ministry of Israel. One early morning, his servant arose to see that the Syrian army had surrounded the city where they were, and he lamented the sight of what he saw. Elisha, however, was not phased. Instead, he told his servant that they had more on their side than the Syrians had. The servant was puzzled by this because he could only see by sight, so Elisha prayed that God would “open his eyes” to see what was occurring in the heavenly places. God did so, and here’s what we read, “And behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha” (2 Kings 6:17). There it is: seeing by faith.

What John Now Sees 

 The trumpets of judgment have finished, and we’ve been shown an interlude of the past. John showed us the nativity of our Savior, and even the fall of Satan from heaven after the resurrection and kingdom of our Lord came. However, because the enemy has been cast to the earth, he has sought to devour the faithful. How he was doing this now was through two beasts: the first beast, the Roman Empire, the second beast, enforced image worshiping. If one were a faithful image worshipper, they received the seal or appropriate documents to transact business—known as the mark of the beast (Rev. 13:16–18). For a Christian to bear the mark of the beast entailed that they do not carry the mark of the Lamb, what John turns to next.

After seeing those who worship the second beast, John looks and sees the 144,000 with the Lamb as if a conquering army. They have overcome, but how? By martyrdom (Rev. 15:2). In American Christianity, we would seldom think of sacrifice as an “overcoming” or “victory” (nike), but that’s how it’s portrayed here. John’s Revelation even receives and gives a blessing for those who have died in the Lord (Rev. 14:13). Our view of death is often as one of defeat and loss. This isn’t at all to minimize the heartache that it causes to we who remain on the earth, but we’d do well to see death as the Lord has now defined it—victory. This Greek term is the one that birthed the popular Nike shoe. The word means “victory” and is taken from the goddess of victory who shares that name.

 If the majority opinion is correct that this letter was composed in the 90s CE, then by the time of the reading of the very first verse of this chapter, a chord would have been struck. The Lamb stands on Mount Zion with the 144,000, but if this dating is accurate, Jerusalem has once again been destroyed by Roman armies, and the temple is no more. Here, however, is not so much the physical location as it is the heavenly (cf. Heb. 12:22). Thus, we see here the city of God where victory is and the city of man where troubles await—Babylon, as John sees it (Rev. 14:8; cf. 1 Peter 5:13). Just as Babylon of old destroyed Jerusalem, so the modern one did the same. Notice, however, the 144,000: they are redeemed (Rev. 14:3–4). Some translations may here say that they were “purchased,” which is an equally appropriate translation. Those who could not buy nor sell (Rev. 13:17) are themselves purchased by the Lamb. What a lovely thought!

The Message of the Angel 

This is the first time John had seen an angel since 11:15 with the fifth trumpet. He sees the angel flying in heaven, having the everlasting good news to preach to those on the earth. It isn’t that the angel itself is preaching the gospel per se, but that by its flying amid heaven, the message is being proclaimed through the martyrs.[1] Contrary to worldly thinking, the word of the cross thrives in times of intense turbulence. The persecution of Christians led to them scattering to Samaria, where disciples were made (Acts 8:1), and Paul’s imprisonment resulted in the conversion of the jailer charged with keeping him and Silas (Acts 16:25–34), to name a couple of occasions. The message is also universal, and anyone who tries to tie the good news to any particular race misses its essence. It’s global, but it also carries with it judgment.

Not only is this everlasting gospel proclaimed, but what follows it is also of consolation to the faithful. A second angel announces the fall of Babylon, by which is meant Rome (Rev. 14:8).[2] What’s unclear is if John sees the fall of the Roman Empire or if he had something else in mind, because the Roman Empire wouldn’t officially fall until the late fifth century CE. Does John have in mind the city herself? Whatever is in mind, the point is that on the heels of the good news of the kingdom of God, any opposing force is sure to fall as so noted by the twice, emphatic proclamation of “fallen.” The kingdom of God and her King, Christ, provide peace and justice, whereas Babylon has made the nation’s drink of sinfulness.

A third angel follows with the warning against those who worship the beast, his image, and who receives their mark. Such people will drink of the wrath of God, which is a warning to Christians teetering on the edge of deciding either to engage in commerce or to remain faithful to God and suffer from a measure of want—to recant Christ under penalty of death or to remain steadfast and suffer martyrdom (Rev. 14:9–10). Notice, though, that these “shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb.” Sounds like hell, doesn’t it. We often think of hell as down there while heaven is up there, but Scripture discloses that “a fiery stream issued … from before Him” (Dan. 7:10). Wait a minute! Preachers have often spoken about hell as away from the presence of the Lord (cf. 2 Thess. 1:9). The understanding may be that they won’t experience his glory as of the faithful, because they responded to His love with rejection rather than with love. This is a message for the church and shouldn’t be misunderstood as God saying, “Look what I’ll do to those who injure you.” Instead, God is saying, “Look what awaits you if you reject me and apostatize.” Ergo, this is the patience of the saints (Rev. 14:12), and they are blessed to die in the Lord (Rev. 14:13).

Two more angels appear one to call for reaping the harvest, and the second to secure the grapes of the wrath of God. These are preludes to the bowl judgments. The faithful who’ve overcome are seen as triumphant, singing a new song. As they praise the God of heaven for His grace and their original state, angels step forth with the bowls of God’s wrath, poised to pour them upon the earth in the judgment of the righteous Creator of heaven and earth for what those on the planet have done: worshipped imperial power at the sake of the true and living God.

Hell in Heaven? 

As previously mentioned, the fiery stream that issues from God’s throne, as depicted in Daniel, may give pause to the Christian today who is unaccustomed to thinking that hell is in God’s presence. How can it be that such a horrific place can be in the presence of a loving God? This is a reasonable question. It all depends on your theology as to how you’d want to view the matter. I’m more inclined to Eastern Orthodoxy because of its antiquity versus Western American Christianity that has primarily been influenced by the Reformation and, especially, John Calvin. Dostoevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov, is a must-read for Christians. I would say behind Scripture, this novel should rank near a must-read. Therein, we’re introduced to an aged, saintly man in a monastery named Elder Zosima. When he defines “hell,” he says, “[It’s] the suffering of being no longer able to love.”[3] I do not so much view hell as God’s hatred of sinners as John Calvin did, but I view hell as a wrong response to the love of God.

God loves humanity, His creation. He has demonstrated the length and breadth of His love by sending His precious Son to die for us while yet sinners (Rom. 5:8). He doesn’t hate us, and He’s not like the Greco-Roman pantheon who uses humans as their playthings. Nor is he like an evil little child holding a magnifying glass upon ants while the sun erupts them into the fire. God’s disposition towards sinners and saints alike is love, and if we respond to God’s love with rejection, we will experience His love as torment. This is why hell, I believe, is depicted as agony, suffering, and pain. Imagine a rebellious little boy who’s dearly loved by his mother. The mother wants to hug him, but he rejects her hugs. She wants to give him a kiss on his cheek, but he dodges her. All she has to offer to him is her love. She’ll make him his favorite meal, but he isn’t thankful. She’ll dote on him, but he sneers. To him, her love is embarrassing, inconvenient, and overbearing. All she wants to do is love her son. His brother, however, is grateful for the meals, hugs her in return, and receives her kisses with a warmth that makes him feel special. Why is it that one son receives love with love while the other refuses to accept love and rejects it? No one knows.

People choose to receive God’s love with warmth and return that love to Him in faith. We, by faith, are overwhelmed by such a radical love that we do something that others don’t appreciate or understand. We trust God because His love is so powerful. We declare our love by confession. We return our love by repentance. We reciprocate our love in baptism. However, we should never become wary of God’s love, even when things get hard. We should, instead, be even bolder to say to the world that we would never abandon our love because He has so loved us. This is heaven: enjoying and basking in the love of God. Hell is finding His love to be inconvenient, overbearing, and so we reject His love and find it a torment. The prodigal son departed from the father and went into the land of sin, where he found misery. He chose hell in a manner of speaking. The father didn’t kick him out, and he didn’t drive him out. The son chose. We, too, must choose.

[1] Keener, Revelation, 372.

[2] Jewish literature demonstrates that they referred to Rome as Babylon (Sib. Or. 5.143, 159–61; 4 Ezra 3:1–2, 28; 2 Bar. 11:1–2.

[3] Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky (San Fransisco: North Point, 1990), 322.

Understanding the Mark of the Beast

Where is there to go once triumph has occurred? Themistocles was an ancient Greek general and statesman who advocated for a strong navy because of the first Persian invasion in the fifth century BCE. During that war, he fought at the battle of Marathon, and in the second invasion, he commanded the Greek navy and defeated the Persians at sea. Themistocles was such a gifted soldier that he was considered Greece’s most revered general. Still, when peacetime came, the soldier wasn’t as appreciated because he was made for war and conflict. Living in peacetime as a statesman proved so tricky that it eventually led to his exile after he angered the Spartans and Athenians. Some people are meant for battle, while others exist to thrive during peace. The revelation and consolation John gave to the Asian churches was that God triumphs, so he digresses from the announcement at hand and reminds them of what God has already accomplished through the blood of Christ.

Christians today seem poised more for conflict than peace. This is no better demonstrated than by general observation of Christians and churchgoers on social media. Easily triggered and constantly outraged, one might wonder if they believe in the triumph of God or not. This isn’t to say that there aren’t occasions of injustice that should be lamented, but some of the most ardent proponents of conspiracies and dramas are those who claim to trust in the Lord. A funeral director recently told me that a gentleman said to him that the masks worn during COVID19 are the mark of the beast. How convenient that the very week I prepared this sermon, I’m told a tale such as this, so let’s look earnestly at this passage and determine whether it’s true or not—spoiler, it’s not.

The Defeat of Satan

Revelation 12:1–6 speaks about the birth of Christ (see especially v. 5).[1] John was apparently looking back and detailing previous victories to encourage the suffering Christians. This passage has been interpreted as the primeval fall of Satan—which is partly likely—but it really represents Satan’s defeat by Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection. When war broke out in heaven (Rev. 12:7; cf. Luke 19:38; Col. 1:20), this may be a primeval war. However, verse ten represents the beginning of the age of the church, and before this dispensation, Satan accused people day and night before God. That he went before God is attested to in Job 1:6–11; 2:1–6, and that he accused people before God is evidenced in Zechariah 3:1–5. Accompanying Jesus, however, was salvation (cf. Luke 3:6; Heb. 9:28).

Satan was created as an angel (cf. Ps. 148:5), and such were present at creation (Job 28:1–7). Before or during creation (1 John 3:8), evil already existed hence the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Gen. 2:9). There were two passages often thought to speak about Satan’s being cast from heaven before creation—Isaiah 14:12–19 and Ezekiel 28:11–19. This rebellion was led by Satan, who has his own angels (Matt. 25:41), and the results were what was recorded in 2 Peter 2:4 and Jude 6. Revelation 12:7–9 may speak about Satan’s being cast from heaven. Other passages to consider would be Luke 10:18 in comparison to Revelation 9:1, and John 12:31. Jesus’ statement in Luke’s gospel came after the limited commission of the seventy-two. While the seventy-two seemed surprised and overjoyed at this success (Luke 10:17), Jesus’ reply may have been a way of communicating His lack of surprise over their works because He had already seen Satan cast from heaven. He already knew that Satan was defeated.

The passage from Ezekiel depicts Satan as present in the Garden of Eden and full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. Snakes were often associated with knowledge, hence the Mosaic reference to Satan as a serpent. Specifically, Satan was a cherub as opposed to a seraph. Cherubim were placed in the garden to keep fallen man out. They were guardians of paradise, but they were also depicted as attendants to God. The throne upon which God resides rests upon cherubim (Ps. 80:1; 99:1; 1 Sam. 4:4; cf. Ps. 18:10). For Satan to have been a cherub implies that he served as a protector of God’s presence and holiness. Ezekiel’s passage, therefore, describes Satan’s pre-fallen state. As a matter of interest, Cyril of Jerusalem, Jerome, Tertullian, Ambrose, and Augustine interpreted this narrative as descriptive of Satan.

From the time Satan was cast from heaven, he has pursued the destruction of God’s people (Rev. 12:12–17), and he is only able to do this under the restrictions of God’s will (cf. Job 1:12; 2:6; Luke 22:31). He accused the people of God (Zech. 3:1–5) and destroys (Rev. 9:11) whatever he can because he has control over the world (Luke 4:6; 2 Cor. 4:4; Eph. 2:2). Yet, his end is already determined by God (Matt. 25:41; Rev. 20:1–3, 10). God created hell for Satan and his angels, but not for us.

The Number—666 

When we turn to Revelation 13:1–10, one beast is represented while another arises from the earth at 13:11. These two beasts are allies of Satan in his work (12:9). When we left off from chapter 12, the point was made that the dragon made war with the woman’s offspring, and chapter 13 shows how he planned to do just that. However, God gave His people particular insights to help them stay the course (13:9–10, 18). The first beast mentioned in 13:1 is also in 11:7 and is later pictured as coming from the abyss (17:3, 7–8). This beast is often referred to as “the beast,” while the second beast is later referred to as “the prophet” (16:13; 19:20; 20:10). The first beast received a mortal wound (13:3, 12, 14–15). Many have used this to argue that Nero was actually alive since he was the first to persecute the Christians. Dio Chrysostom, at the end of the first century, wrote, “Even now everyone wishes he [Nero] were alive, and most believe that he is” (Or. 21.10). Others had believed that Nero was alive in 69, 80, and 88–89 CE. It may be that this refers more to Nero’s work of persecuting Christians, or the spirit thereof, rather than the man himself. This first beast has thought to have been the Roman Empire. The second beast’s primary function was to persuade men to worship the first beast—which may allude to Roman emperor worship. This beast is called “the prophet,” or “false prophet,” and appears as a Lamb, but speaks like a dragon. The imagery of the Lamb reminds us of Jesus, but this beast is the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing (Matt. 7:15). This beast may have been the organization responsible for enforcing emperor worship—the Concilia (13:15).

Roman slaves and disobedient soldiers received marks on their hands or foreheads. These denoted that they were devoted to a certain master or god. Paul used similar language when he referred to bearing the marks of Jesus on his body (Gal. 6:17). This mark is a counterpart of the seal of God that we studied in chapter 7. God sealed the 144,000 (Rev. 7:3), but this mark designated who belonged to the beast. Whoever had the beasts mark was allowed to transact business. Archaeologists have uncovered documents given to “image worshipers” as proof of having offered emperor worship, and beginning in the reign of Tiberius, all business documents had to be sealed by the government stamp, and it was often the priesthoods of the cities (Concilia) who applied these stamps. Trade guilds also ruled many cities (e.g., Thyatira), and if one didn’t belong to a guild—which was closely aligned with gods—they couldn’t transact business. The Greek in verse 18 is anthropos and not aner. The former designates humanity while the latter designates a man, so John was saying that this number represents humanity, and humanity cannot overcome God Almighty (2 Chron. 20:6).

Humanity feels strongly about transacting business, commerce, and economy. One of the chief concerns for us all is whether or not we’ll be able to feed our families by putting food on the table. What if the very manner in which you provide for your family becomes embroiled in immorality and even idolatry? Would you forsake the commerce for the sake of your Lord? It may have been that some Christians were. We either bear the seal of the Lord or the mark of the beast. It can’t be both.

[1] In the NKJV of this account, verse six begins with “then,” but would be better translated as “and” (kai).

The Seven Trumpets of Revelation

As of the writing of this sermon, doctors and pharmaceutical companies are working tirelessly to create a vaccination for COVID-19. The belief is that such a vaccine will better enable society to function without the horrific fallout of deaths and overwhelming of hospital facilities. I wonder how folks felt in the days of polio, the Spanish Flu, and various other pandemics. Some birthed advances in medicine and sanitation, but one thing that hasn’t yet been cured is death. No matter what advances are made, people continue to die. This is why we Christians place our hope in what Jesus has done to defeat death.

Similar to how God protected Israel when the angel of death passed through Egypt, so He has taken provisions to preserve the elect in Asia against the breaking of seals and sounding of trumpets. Jokingly I often employ Revelation 8:1 to argue that there will be no women in heaven, given the thirty-minute silence. However, this may have been the amount of time it took the priest to incense the temple. What occurs in heaven would have been understood by what happened on earth. Instead, in this instance, the angel makes the offering and does the incensing, then throwing some incense to the earth, God’s answer to the saints for vengeance is heard (cf. Rev. 6:9–11). Stylistically, one may note that the first four of the seals and trumpets form a unified whole. The fifth and sixth seals and trumpets express a more extended narrative preceded by the final one being loosened and blown.

When we view the seven trumpets as a unified whole, we’ll note a similarity between the occurrences in Revelation to that in Joshua. In the procession around Jericho in Joshua 6:3–6, seven trumpets led with the Ark of the Covenant in tow. At the end of the seven trumpets in Revelation, the Ark of the Covenant appears (11:15–19). After the purposes of the trumpets, the Ark of the Covenant is seen to be a prevailing relic that represents God’s presence and triumph in both cases.[1] 

The Meaning of the Trumpets 

The first trumpet demonstrates how vegetation is effected (8:7), the second regards the sea (8:8), the third regards freshwaters (8:10–11), and the fourth regards the sky, or heavens (8:12). Each of these corresponds to plagues that God visited upon Egypt: the seventh (Exod. 9:22–26), first (Exod. 7:14–25), and ninth plagues (Exod. 10:21–29) correlate to the first four trumpets that sound. When one considers the vegetation and waters, we think of forms of commerce that were prevalent in the ancient world. If such were affected, then the food supply and economy of many folks would have been affected. God’s children have already been sealed and would be protected from the harm that befell such. A warning is given that the next three trumpets will be woes (Rev. 8:13). Not like Bill and Ted, but in the ancient sense. A woe was often a gruesome outcome or horrific occurrence.

What likely makes the next trumpets so harsh is that they afflict humanity directly rather than just the earth. The fifth trumpet entails a star that has fallen (Rev. 9:1), which may be one of several interpretations: an angel (cf. Rev. 20:1), fallen world powers, fallen angel, or Satan (cf. Is. 14:12–20). Whichever it is, He who has the keys of death and Hades permits this angel to open the abyss (cf. Rev. 8:10–11). A hellish smoke now contrasts with the incense of prayer.[2] Swarms of locusts arise, akin to the eighth plague of Egypt (Exod. 10:12–15) but more like the judgment of Israel in Joel’s time via an army (Joel 1:2–4; 2:11). Their king is the angel of the abyss, whose name is equivalent in both Hebrew and Greek (Rev. 9:11). The root of the name reminds us of the god, Apollo, who was an archer god, one of whose emblems was the locust. Caesar Domitian himself was sometimes portrayed as Apollo, so the link may be rather apparent to the Asian Christians.[3]

The sixth trumpet again draws our memories back to the prayers of the saints by the incense altar (Rev. 9:13). This is how God will avenge them—the Parthians. Similar to the President of the United States wants to build a wall along the Mexican border, so the Euphrates was the line of demarcation between East and West (Rev. 9:14–15). To the East of the Euphrates was the Parthian Empire (Iran) that had frequent skirmishes with the Roman Empire. In the late 50s and 60s CE, the Romans and Parthians fought until peace was reestablished in 66 CE. This peace lasted until the Caesar Trajan campaigned against them between 114–17 CE, so it may be that this conflict John sees depending on when one dates the Revelation. The depiction of the battle is seen here from a heavenly perspective, though, so the fanciful imagery of angelic beings moving the nations to war is what often boggles the mind of the reader. One image given historical explanation is what appears in Rev. 9:19: the Parthians were gifted horsemen who once lured the Romans after them by riding uphill. As they retreated upward, the Romans pursued only to suffer from a volley of arrows that cost the Roman army two legions, and Rome never forgot to avoid pursuing the Parthians uphill.[4] Closing these two trumpets are the fact that their chastisement was meant to invoke repentance, but the hearts of many, like Pharaoh, were hardened.

The Little Book and Witnesses 

Before the seventh seal, a pair of visions were given that concerned the people of God. Thus, before the seventh trumpet, a couple of images pertinent to the church are provided too. An angel appears from heaven, clothed with a cloud, and a rainbow above his head (Rev. 10:1). He has a book in his hand, smaller we presume in comparison to the scroll in the palm of God from whence Christ broke the seals. He stands on the earth, sea, and raises his hand into heaven, thus touching all of God’s creation (Rev. 10:2–7; cf. Exod. 20:4, 11). John is to eat the book, which is sweet to the taste but bitter on the stomach—as the Word of God can be at times (Rev. 10:8–10). This is the same thing Ezekiel did (Ezek. 2:9–3:4). The book John swallowed would enable him to speak the Lord’s words (Rev. 10:11).

The next chapter, and the measuring of the temple, might lead everyone to believe it refers to the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. That’s how one might conclude if read literally, and the Roman siege of Jerusalem lasted three and a half years, which would allow the time listed here to make sense (Rev. 11:1–2). If this passage is read symbolically, the church is the temple that fills the whole earth and not just Jerusalem. If we consider how the temple is mentioned elsewhere in Revelation, it’s depicted symbolically and not literally (see. Rev. 3:12; 13:6). Elsewhere, the temple as invoked symbolically refers to the church, which is composed of both Jewish and Gentile believers (1 Cor. 3:16; 2 Cor. 6:16; Eph. 2:18–22; 1 Peter 2:5). It isn’t the temple herself that will be trampled, but the outer court.

The two witnesses remind us of Elijah and Moses, who called forth fire from heaven to devour heathens and, respectively, shut up the sky and turned water into blood (Rev. 11:3–6). They’ll be killed in Jerusalem, it would appear, who has at this point become like Sodom and Egypt. The people will rejoice at their deaths (Rev. 11:7–10), but they won’t remain dead (Rev. 11:11–12). Since this is a message for the church, how are we to understand it? You’ll likely find any number of interpretations depending on what sources you consult. However, stopping to try to make something out of every vision can be stifling, so look at what comes next: with the blast of the seventh trumpet, we read about the triumph of Jesus Christ and His kingdom (Rev. 11:15–19). How does the kingdom of God triumph? As a result of divine wrath. For the Christian whose hope is in Jesus, wrath isn’t something to be feared “because it is the victory of freedom over slavery, justice over injustice, and Moses over Pharaoh. The wrath of God is the last thing in the world that Christians should be afraid of, for the wrath of God is on their side (Mt. 23:35–36).”[5]

[1] Reardon, Revelation, 64.

[2] Ibid., 67.

[3] Keener, Revelation, 269.

[4] Ibid., 271.

[5] Reardon, Revelation, 75.

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