the times of our lives

Life is a roller-coaster experience. Bad health follows good, wins follow losses. It doesn’t seem like you’re king of the hill very long before something knocks you off the snow pile. That can be frustrating because we don’t like the downs. We don’t see their purpose, and we resent the way they deflect us from the things we think are important.

As we reflect on 2018, we see the ups and downs. Some of us are frustrated by our government, while some are frustrated by those who resist it. Some of us are in a good position financially or professionally, while others took what feels like a step back this year. All of us have things we’re waiting for, and wondering why we have to wait.

It’s time for a different president, or at least administration. It’s past time to build at church. Or it’s a bad time to build, depending on your viewpoint. We’ve been waiting so long for healing, for a loved one to give up a self-destructive behavior, for a spouse to focus on us. When will the things we want happen?

There’s reassurance in the old wisdom of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, a reminder that God has a purpose in our waiting: 

“There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.”

The times are in God’s hands; 2018 was, and 2019 will be too. Our promotions and sicknesses and new relationships and losses of loved ones are all in his hands, and they happen at just the right time. And for the faithful, they happen in a way that results in good for us.

This past year was a fresh demonstration of God’s perfect, loving providence. Next year will be full of the same. Won’t it be great to see what God has planned?

invitation

It’s the happiest of all possible endings. We started this year in Genesis, with the creation of God’s image bearers as the crowning achievement of his creation. We read through the fall, and the slow, steady working out of God’s plan to restore us to full fellowship with him. We watched the sacrifice of the Lamb of God, and traced the growth of Jesus’ baby church.

And now, in the end, in one of the final verses of the entire Bible, we read this, in Revelation 22:17: “The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come!’ Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.”

That’s the whole point. It’s the reason for everything that has happened since the beginning. After everything, all the ups and downs, all the good intentions followed by failure, every realization that this is just too hard and we can’t do it, it’s just that simple in the end. The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.”

Simple, because Jesus did it all. It’s a call to me, and you, and every thirsty soul in the world. Jesus lived and died and rose again to make it possible, and we should see from that just how much God wants us back. It’s fair to say that I have never desired God as desperately as he longs to save me. 

The Bible is a long book, but it and the entire history of the world since amount to the same thing: an invitation. The Spirit and the bride say, “Come.” And, like a child called in at bed time, I want to shout back, “Coming!”

God with us

I want to be eager for heaven, but instead sometimes I find myself anxious. 

Here’s one of the reasons why, in Revelation 21:3-4: “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death” or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’”

I know I’m supposed to be excited for the time that God shares the streets of the same town I live in. I know that will be the most glorious thing, far beyond what I can image. But in some deep seated way, I’m afraid of God. I know all the things I do that he hates, and I know how much I still like some of those things. In some ways, God is more comfortable when he’s far away.

Except he isn’t. Here on earth I can make believe God’s a long way off, but even while I pretend, in reality he’s right next to me. In fact, that’s one of the names the prophets used to foretell the coming of Jesus: Immanuel, God with Us. It’s the name of my church. 

So it doesn’t make sense for me to fear God in heaven and be complacent about God on earth. He’s just as close either way, and he’s the same God with the same expectations. And the same love. If he promises nor more tears, mourning or pain, it’s because that’s what he longs to give me.

Even now, even knowing me more intimately than I know myself. Even with all that, he loves me more than I’ll ever understand. Which makes me eager for heaven, and a lot less anxious.

judged

With just a few days left it the year, I find myself thinking about good intentions. There were a lot of things I meant to do in 2018. Don’t get me wrong; it was a good year, and I have a couple of significant accomplishments I notched this year. But I’m not any healthier than I was a year ago, and I didn’t invest in relationships the way I wanted to.

Still, because I had those intentions, I see myself as a person who values good health and healthy relationships. But I’m nagged by the feeling that I’m defined mostly by what I do.

There’s not much comfort in my devotions this morning, either. Look at this, from Revelation 20:11-13: “Then I saw a great white throne and him who was seated on it. The earth and the heavens fled from his presence, and there was no place for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Another book was opened, which is the book of life. The dead were judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books. The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead that were in them, and each person was judged according to what they had done.”

I don’t want to be judged according to what I’ve done, I want to be judged by what I intended to do. Intentions show the heart, don’t they? But in the end, I guess deeds demonstrate priorities. Saying “I didn’t have time,” is just another way of saying, “It wasn’t as high a priority as the things I spent my time on.”

Thank God, I won’t actually be judged by what I’ve done, except for one thing: I put my hope in Jesus. That means when the book is opened, God won’t seen any of my deeds recorded there; all the words will be blotted out, covered by bloody stains from cross-driven nails. 

It’s a grim thought for Christmas, but still very appropriate. Baby Jesus, as noted by our pastor yesterday, was named Messiah by the angels on the day of his birth. He walked every step of his life knowing exactly how he would die for us.

And he did it anyway. What a Savior.

the Savior we need

Getting older doesn’t necessarily make you wiser, or even smarter, but it does give you more experience. And one thing I’ve learned from experience is not to go to the mall the weekend before Christmas.

I was reminded of that crowded mall craziness when I read through Luke 2 this morning, as I do almost every Christmas. Here’s the pertinent passage, from Luke 2:4-7: 

“So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.”

How crowded do you think the town of Bethlehem must have been for the inn-keeper to put a pregnant woman, one on the verge of giving birth, one who’d just ridden a donkey for several days, in a barn. If there wasn’t a bed for her, there were probably people sleeping in the streets. It was probably hard to find food enough to feed everyone.

I wonder why God chose to be born into such a madhouse. Why not Jerusalem? Why not a nice noble couple with a fine house, or a high priest like cousin John? 

As I consider it, this odd birthplace becomes a snapshot of Jesus’ ministry to us. We’re all going about our frantic, often stressful lives. We’re taking care of business, making sure there’s enough to eat and a roof over our heads. And here Jesus comes, right in the middle of all that frustration and hustle and pressure. And we, like Bethlehem, barely notice the new hope that suddenly is there, like a candle in the dark. It takes a choir of angels to get our attention, that what we really need is with us. 

We need a Savior. Oh, do we need a Savior. And oh what a Savior we got.

fulfilled

It’s the greatest story ever told, and we’re getting to one of the greatest chapters. One of the very best story-tellers for this portion is Luke, and here’s how he starts, In Luke 1:1-4: 

“Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eyewitnesses and servants of the word. With this in mind, since I myself have carefully investigated everything from the beginning, I too decided to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may know the certainty of the things you have been taught.”

Luke says his story is one of fulfilled promises, promises known from the earliest relationships men and women had with God. The very first man, Adam, received the very first promise: that one day, the Son of Man would crush Satan beneath his heel. Since then, there were promises to Moses and Abraham, and to the people of the covenant through many generations of prophets.

Now, Luke says, it’s time for God to make good on those promises. His first chapter, Luke 1, starts with more foretelling: the imminent births of John the Baptist and Jesus. 

We’re on the edge of our seats. Jesus is almost here. The dark night of longing that we remember through Advent is nearly over.

Come, Lord Jesus. Quickly come.

fine linen

In John’s vision, Babylon has fallen, and all heaven rejoices. There are three hallelujahs recorded in Revelation 19. Here’s the third, from Revelation 19:6-8: 

“Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting:

‘Hallelujah!

For our Lord God Almighty reigns.

Let us rejoice and be glad

and give him glory!

For the wedding of the Lamb has come,

and his bride has made herself ready.

Fine linen, bright and clean,

was given her to wear.’

(Fine linen stands for the righteous acts of God’s holy people.)”

I never thought to wonder how God would celebrate, but in this vision he celebrates with a wedding, and the church is his bride. She’s a beautiful bride, dressed, scripture says, in “fine linen, bright and clean.”

This morning, that phrase strikes me as a beautiful metaphor for the relationship between God and his redeemed. As saints who still struggle with sin, we are capable of doing righteous deeds, which is what the fine linen signifies. But our works are still tainted; the bride’s dress is dirty. To get his church ready for the wedding, Jesus himself washes her dress. At the ceremony, this fine linen is bright and clean.

We are washed in the blood of the lamb. I’m not sure we appreciate what that really means. 

It puts our works, done in obedience and out of gratitude, in a new light. If we want fine linen to wear at that celebration, there needs to be works of righteousness done by God’s holy people.

come out

There was a time when I spent a lot of energy trying to figure out how to be a relevant witness. At that time, I felt that in order to be able to bring people the good news, I first had to be a person they would like and would see as being able to understand their experience. At that time there were ministries to “bar culture,” for example, where people felt strongly that in order to connect you had to be part of the culture. You had to hang out in bars and learn to shoot pool and throw darts; your witness wouldn’t be effective unless you too had a beer in your hand.

Over the years this idea of relevance has been used as a reason to get tattoos, go to punk rock concerts, and see all manner of movies and TV shows. For a while there was even a group called XXX Church that hung out at adult book stores and had a booth at porn conventions.

These days I think a lot less about relevance, because I’ve come to see that what Jesus offers has ultimate relevance to everyone. I don’t think dressing the gospel in gang colors or acceptance rainbows can make any possible improvement on its message. 

I’m thinking about relevance again today because of something I read from Revelation. As Jesus’ representative continues to make the case of judgment against Babylon, this takes place, as recorded in Revelation 18:4-5: 

“Then I heard another voice from heaven say:

“‘Come out of her, my people,’

so that you will not share in her sins,

so that you will not receive any of her plagues;

for her sins are piled up to heaven,

and God has remembered her crimes.’”

It strikes me that scripture seems, as with these verses, to call us to be separate from our culture rather than to try to fit into it. My memory isn’t what it was, and I don’t claim familiarity with every book of the Bible, but I can’t think of a time when God tells us, “Go along with the culture so that they’ll listen to you.”

It seems to me now that people who need hope, people who understand their brokenness, aren’t likely to turn for advice to someone participating in the same behavior that they struggle with. And, as the angel warns, we can too easily share in the sins.

And if we share in the sin, we can expect to receive the plague, too.

Babylon

A song from the World War II era had a verse that went something like this: “How will you keep them down on the farm, now that they’ve seen Paree?” Those lyrics reflected a time when the city was where the excitement and fun was, and you just didn’t find much in the rural communities.

When I was a boy, cities were where you found evil. In our small towns there weren’t drugs to speak of, and violent crime was almost unheard of. Most towns didn’t have a liquor store, and the few bars were pretty tame. To find large-scale badness, a wide choice of sins, you went to the city. Or so we were told.

These days, cable TV and the internet have considerably broadened our options for bad choice-making. Alcohol is prevalent, we all play cards and go to the movies, and men and women of my generation regret that we never learned to dance. But there’s still a big difference between Orange City and New York City.

I’m prompted to these musings by John’s vision of the fate of the ancient city of Babylon, the center of much evil. Look at these excerpts from Revelation 17:2-2, 16, 28: 

“One of the seven angels who had the seven bowls came and said to me, ‘Come, I will show you the punishment of the great prostitute, who sits by many waters. With her the kings of the earth committed adultery, and the inhabitants of the earth were intoxicated with the wine of her adulteries.’ . . . . Then the angel said to me, ‘The waters you saw, where the prostitute sits, are peoples, multitudes, nations and languages. . . . The woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth.’”

I don’t think God put this in scripture to make any direct comparisons to today, but I do think there’s some truth that some of the greatest accomplishments of men end up seducing us to evil. Babylon was the shining jewel of civilization, and at the same time the great prostitute that seduced peoples, multitudes and nations away from God.

What works of our culture are doing the same thing? Do we have Babylon equivalents in places like Los Angeles, Paris, Rome, Dubai? Or are our Babylons more abstract, things like Facebook or political parties? Or maybe entertainments like sports and music?

It’s worth thinking about because I think one of the principles underlying John’s vision is that God hates evil. One thing Revelation shows us is personifications or objectifications of what evil is in this world. And Babylon seems in some way to represent earthly culture.

We have to beware the Babylons, or we become part of that filthy pool of misguided people that the great prostitute bathes in. And we jeopardize our chances of singing one day by the sea of crystal.

justice

There’s nothing fair about life. Tragedies strike randomly, often against people who seem to deserve it least. Some families have repeated health issues while others seem to live trouble-free. Worst of all, men and women who ignore God and live it up seem to have better lives. In fact, they often use their positions and wealth to persecute Christians. It doesn’t seem right.

This morning, I’m reminded that God takes a long view of justice. For his own purposes, he allows the wicked to do well for a time. But John’s vision of the end shows us this, from Revelation 17:5-7 

“Then I heard the angel in charge of the waters say:

“You are just in these judgments, O Holy One,

you who are and who were;

for they have shed the blood of your holy people and your prophets,

and you have given them blood to drink as they deserve.”

And I heard the altar respond:

“Yes, Lord God Almighty,

true and just are your judgments.”

As God pours out plagues of blood and pestilence on the followers of the beast, the angels and the very altar before the throne proclaim “Justice!” All the horrors of God’s judgment will land on the ones who tormented his followers. Things will be put right.

No matter what happens, the God of Providence, who meets my daily needs, is also the God of Justice. That means I don’t have to concern myself with whether I’m being treated fairly, by people or by life. I do have to make sure I’m not a hardship for someone else; I don’t want to be on the dispensing end of God’s justice. Justice for others is very much in my lane, but I don’t have to rail against fate.

For a time, evil will seem to dominate. But in God’s time, things will be put right.

Moses’ song

All heaven is about to be unleashed. The ragged survivors of the war against the dragon and the persecution by the beasts gather outside the temple to witness the pouring out of the seven bowls of plague onto the world. And they sing.

Their song? A song of Moses, recorded in Revelation 15:3-4: 

“‘Great and marvelous are your deeds,

Lord God Almighty.

Just and true are your ways,

King of the nations.

Who will not fear you, Lord,

and bring glory to your name?

For you alone are holy.

All nations will come

and worship before you,

for your righteous acts have been revealed.’”

Don’t you think that’s a weird song at this point? This is a group that should have collective PTSD, about to witness still further horror. Even if the wrath is about to be unleashed on their persecutors, it would have been unpleasant to see. 

But they sing of God’s goodness. They sing about his justice and holiness. Despite all the hardship, they know God to be a good, good father.

It makes me think how different God is than any human leader. All of his deeds are great and marvelous; there isn’t a single thing God has done throughout all of time that has been a bad move. His ways are always just and true; there isn’t a single thing God does that is mean-spirited or petty. Even the best leaders among us – Desmond Tutu, Colin Powell, Winston Churchill – have been selfish and imperfect. God never has.

I need to remember that. When I want to question God, or don’t really trust him to give me what I think I need, I should remind myself of Moses’ song. I should think about the fact that he is unfailingly good, just and true. I should remember what’s he’s done as proof of what he can and will do. And most of all, I have to remember that he and he alone is holy. 

God will protect his people. That’s been true since the time of Moses.

arrival

It’s like one of those great scenes at the end of a tense movie. Revelation 14:1-3 says, “Then I looked, and there before me was the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion, and with him 144,000 who had his name and his Father’s name written on their foreheads. And I heard a sound from heaven like the roar of rushing waters and like a loud peal of thunder. The sound I heard was like that of harpists playing their harps. And they sang a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and the elders. No one could learn the song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth.”

Since this passage starts with the word “then,” it is meant to be read in the context of what came before. And for several chapters before this one we read of the great calamities of Satan’s war on God’s people. We were told about the dragon and the two beasts, and the persecution of the church. These were dark and scary and discouraging chapters.

When that happens in the movies, we’re being set up for the great entrance of the hero, full of light and color and glorious sound. And so it is. There’s the Lamb, standing on the mountaintop, surrounded by his faithful. There’s a deafening roar like thunder and rushing water, but so resonant that it sounds like harp music, and the faithful sing the triumphant song that only they know.

This is an appropriate entrance for the Savior. It’s what we should think about at Christmas, when we celebrate his original arrival. Then too he came with dazzling light and glorious sound, a wonderful and timely arrival in a dark, dark world.

Advent reminds us that we desperately need a Savior. Christmas provided us one. And Revelation reminds us that he will be there for us at the end.

faithful endurance

The trajectory of the early chapters of Revelation is from bad to worse, from dragons to beasts. In this vision of the apocalypse, all people on earth except God’s people worship the two beasts. Evil runs rampant, seeming unchecked. And the church just has to hunker down and weather the storm.  Revelation 13:10 puts it this way:

“‘If anyone is to go into captivity,

into captivity they will go.

If anyone is to be killed with the sword,

with the sword they will be killed.’

“This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness on the part of God’s people.”

Sometimes in our Christian jargon we say something is a hard word, as in “I got a hard word from the Lord today.” When we say that, we mean that a certain part of scripture or maybe Godly counsel from a wise pastor or friend convicted us and put a difficult challenge before us.

Well, Revelation 13:10 is a hard word. I don’t want to wait, and I don’t want to hunker down. I want to do something. I want to fight back. I want to take some territory. I want to restore this nation.  And I look to Jesus to lead us against the world.

But in this verse, active measures aren’t in the plan for Christians. John says in his vision that as the trials of living counter-culturally worsen, and they will the nearer we get to the end, what is needed and expected are patient endurance and faithfulness. Just stick to our ideals and weather the storm.

It doesn’t sound like a great deal, but in a way it’s good news. It means I’m not expected to stem the tide. I’m not expected to fight this fight. I look to my own soul, and to the wellbeing of the church. It’s not up to me to save the world, or even our country.

This is a defensive fight, and for a former officer trained in the best military schools in the world that’s hard to swallow. We protect each other and tend to our wounded and pray fervently. And we open our sanctuary to all the refugees from the world who listen to Jesus and find safe haven in the church.

In this war, Jesus is the main effort; he’s our offensive force. We faithfully endure. 

countermeasures

A lot of Revelation is hard. The visions are grim and dark, and the scale of death and destruction is epic. It isn’t fun reading, and on top of that it’s hard to understand.

But when I read for concepts, there’s a lot that reassures me.

One great example is chapter 12, the story of the dragon’s fight with God over the pregnant woman and her son. The dragon (Satan, we’re told) waits by the woman for her to give birth, intending to kill her son. God snatches the baby up, and throws the dragon down. 

And then this, from Revelation 12:13-17: “When the dragon saw that he had been hurled to the earth, he pursued the woman who had given birth to the male child. The woman was given the two wings of a great eagle, so that she might fly to the place prepared for her in the wilderness, where she would be taken care of for a time, times and half a time, out of the serpent’s reach. Then from his mouth the serpent spewed water like a river, to overtake the woman and sweep her away with the torrent. But the earth helped the woman by opening its mouth and swallowing the river that the dragon had spewed out of his mouth. Then the dragon was enraged at the woman and went off to wage war against the rest of her offspring —those who keep God’s commands and hold fast their testimony about Jesus.”

Here’s what reassures me in all this: for everything Satan tried to do, God had an effective countermeasure. He gave the woman wings, and swallowed the torrent into the earth. He foiled every part of the dragon’s plan.

As intimidating as the dragon is in this story, and as fearsome as he is described, he is largely impotent. He can’t have what he wants, and he fails at the things he tries. Oh, he continues to wage war, and do damage, but he is thwarted. 

That’s the reassurance we have as Jesus-followers: there’s nothing Satan will try that God can’t counter, no card he will ever play that God can’t trump. There’s no way he can win, and no way we can lose.

thunder and lightning

When the kingdom of God is finally inaugurated here on earth, that will be a good time, right? It’s what we pray for and long for, at least at those times when we’re spiritually in a good place. 

Revelation 11 makes me wonder. That chapter tells of events leading up to a God-sent earthquake that leveled ten percent of the city and killed seven thousand. Then Revelation 11:16-19 tells us this: 

“And the twenty-four elders, who were seated on their thrones before God, fell on their faces and worshiped God, saying:

“‘We give thanks to you, Lord God Almighty,

the One who is and who was,

because you have taken your great power

and have begun to reign.

The nations were angry,

and your wrath has come.

The time has come for judging the dead,

and for rewarding your servants the prophets

and your people who revere your name,

both great and small —

and for destroying those who destroy the earth.’

“Then God’s temple in heaven was opened, and within his temple was seen the ark of his covenant. And there came flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, an earthquake and a severe hailstorm.”

God’s kingdom comes, according to these verses, in wrath, with all kinds of violence against the world. Ferocious storms and earthquakes are part God’s arrival, and the destruction of many will go right along with the rewarding of God’s servants.

It’s not the pretty image of a nice Jesus in a white robe carrying a lamb as he leads us through a pristine new Garden of Eden, the one I can often have in my head when I think of his return. This sounds noisy and messy and ugly, terrifying to God’s enemies but not particularly pleasant for his friends either.  

I’m reminded of what C.S. Lewis wrote in “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” his fantasy classic in which the lion Aslan represents Jesus. At one point, as one of the Narnians is trying to explain Aslan to one of the children, he says something like, “Well, he’s not a tame lion. But he is good.”

I too often think of Jesus as so nice that he’s almost benign. That’s a mistake. Because he’s kind to me I think of him as universally kind, and thereby forget his implacable hatred for Satan and evil.  As I sing, “What a friend we have in Jesus,” I forget that he is primarily Lord and judge.

Jesus is seen as a tame lion in too many of our churches. But there will be thunder and lightning when he comes.

mystery

It’s human nature to think that what we know on a topic is all there is to know. That’s what makes us so confident when we debate immigration or health care or climate change or special counsel investigations. We speak with confidence because we don’t see how limited our own knowledge is.

But there is much in this world that we can’t understand. I think that’s one of the things I get out of Revelation every time I read it. Look at this, from Revelation 10:4-7: 

“And when the seven thunders spoke, I was about to write; but I heard a voice from heaven say, ‘Seal up what the seven thunders have said and do not write it down.’

“Then the angel I had seen standing on the sea and on the land raised his right hand to heaven. And he swore by him who lives for ever and ever, who created the heavens and all that is in them, the earth and all that is in it, and the sea and all that is in it, and said, ‘There will be no more delay! But in the days when the seventh angel is about to sound his trumpet, the mystery of God will be accomplished, just as he announced to his servants the prophets.’”

I can just hear CNN and Fox with two completely different takes on what the seven thunders said, those things that were never recorded for us. In fact, someone would claim to have special insider knowledge and would tell us. And then we’d all fight about it on social media.

But this world is God’s handiwork, and human history is simply the detail of his fight against evil. People come and go, nations rise and fall, all as part of Satan’s effort to wreck the good things God made and God’s countermeasures to save for himself a remnant before he remakes the world. And God’s ways are a mystery to us.

When we refuse to recognize the infinite variation in the ways we relate to each other and all the nuance that comes with it, we’ll never understand complex social issues. And when we deny that God is at work in all of it, then we miss the very element most likely to bring us understanding.

I need to work on more humility in my conversation. I need to stop looking for certainty and instead try to see mystery, because where God is there will be mystery.

they did not stop

I never consciously realized it, but I guess I’ve always had this idea that if Christians work hard enough, we can reform, if not the whole world, then at least part of it. I had a sobering realization this morning: immorality and evil are just a thing we’ll deal with until the end of time. It may be that our work isn’t saving the world, but carrying the message. 

Here’s why I say that: Revelation 9:20-21: “The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

After a five-month scourge of horse-like locusts who stung like scorpions, a massive army of 200 million horsemen of death (10,000 times 10,000 times two) swept over the land. These calamities spared the ones marked as God’s, but not the rest. Even so, people clung to their sin.

God’s church can’t and won’t do anything like that, so why do I think we can change this country? Why do I act as though it’s up to us? Why do I believe there is anything humans can do that will purify our cultural immorality? Only God can change hearts, and only God can bless a nation with revival.

This realization just drives home to me how critical that first Christmas was. Without Jesus and without the cross, there would be none of us with the mark of God on our foreheads. We’d all be in the same place: unrepentant murders and idolaters who worship demons and idols. None of us would have a chance.

That doesn’t mean there’s nothing for me to do. I think my role is to pray and to praise, and to tell anyone and everyone who will listen how good God has been to me. God’s call on his people is to help put his mark on more foreheads.

prayer offerings

There are a lot of good reasons to pray, but I stumbled upon a cool one this morning in Revelation 8:3: “Another angel, who had a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all God’s people, on the golden altar in front of the throne.”

I never really thought about what happens on the other of my prayers, but this picture of an angel putting them on God’s altar mixed with incense is a new one on me. Sure, this is a vision, but it’s in the Bible to communicate truth.

And it’s a helpful vision for me because it puts prayer in the category of offering. I think of offerings as tangible ways to show my gratitude and my obedience. They also have the Old Testament connotation of a recognition of our broken relationship with God; because of sin, offerings used to be required before men could approach God.

And, just as there were offerings of many types given for many purposes, this image helps me think of the different ways my prayers can honor different aspects of God’s goodness. My petitions become offerings in recognition of providence, my lamentations acknowledgement of my need for his comfort, my praises thank offerings. 

This vision helps me see prayer not as something I do as a reaction to my circumstances, but offerings I bring in response to God’s character. And thinking about how and when offerings were brought in the Bible – Gideon sacrificing his father’s ox to start his mission, for example, or Hannah beseeching God for a child – it helps me see all the times in my life when I should be praying.

That’s the power of visions: they help us look at things in a different way and therefore to see new truths. This detail from John’s vision certainly did that for me.

in his presence

As a kid, I thought heaven sounded really boring. I didn’t want to sing in a choir all day, or work in a temple. Heaven sounded like an eternal church service, and I wasn’t real fond of those.

I thought of how far off base that childish ignorance was as I read this morning from Revelation 7:13-17: “Then one of the elders asked me, ‘These in white robes —who are they, and where did they come from?’

“I answered, ‘Sir, you know.’

“And he said, ‘These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore,

“they are before the throne of God

and serve him day and night in his temple;

and he who sits on the throne

will shelter them with his presence.

‘Never again will they hunger;

never again will they thirst.

The sun will not beat down on them,’

nor any scorching heat.

For the Lamb at the center of the throne

will be their shepherd;

‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’

‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’”’”

In John’s vision, there is this group of people doing exactly what sounded so bad to me as a boy: standing before God’s throne, serving him day and night. But this morning I was struck by how blessed they would feel. 

These people have been through hard, hard times – the great tribulation, it says. They’ve endured bad things and pain and want. They’ve been abused and neglected. Imagine how they looked before they were cleansed, how bedraggled and filthy and unkempt they must have been.

Now, though, they are with God. Nothing bad will ever happen to them again. They can eat and drink, stay out of the heat and cold, and be comforted by God himself if ever they remember what they’ve been through.

Who wouldn’t want that? Life is hard. Even our best relationships can cause us grief, and our worst ones can ruin our days. Health comes and goes, money is sometimes there but often isn’t. People are thoughtless or mean. Every day events remind us that this world just doesn’t care all that much.

But God does, and he promises and end to it all. Who wouldn’t want that?

under rocks

Sometimes it seems like the big shots have a lot of advantages. Aaron Rodgers and Tom Brady get a lot of calls that other quarterbacks don’t. Presidents can sometimes seem to make their own rules. And the Saudi prince can evidently get away with murder.

They’re not really getting away with anything, though. Jesus sees, and he doesn’t forget. Look at this vision of the end from Revelation 6:15-16: “Then the kings of the earth, the princes, the generals, the rich, the mighty, and everyone else, both slave and free, hid in caves and among the rocks of the mountains. They called to the mountains and the rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb!’”

That makes for kind of a grim Advent message, but it’s really at the core of Jesus’ mission here on earth. He came to redeem for God’s purposes some of his original creation, and he is delaying judgment until all he intends to save have come to know him. Until that time, it seems like powerful men and women are having things all their own way. But judgment will come.

When it does, there will be a lot of people hiding under rocks. And look at the first on the list: kings, princes, generals, the rich, the mighty. Along with everyone else, slave or free, they’ll run from judgment and hide from Jesus’ angry face.

As dark as this passage is, it’s a reassuring one for me. It reminds me that doing the right things and clinging steadfastly to hope in Jesus is of far greater advantage that the things I tend to envy. And I’m also reinforced in my often-wavering desire to be more like Jesus than the people our culture looks up to.

In the end, those men and women will be cowering and skulking before Jesus, and he’ll say to me, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” That’s the ultimate outcome of Jesus’ birth.

worthy

There’s a character flaw buried deep in our American roots. Along with our national spirit of self-sufficiency and individual rights comes the attitude that we deserve a good life. We’re owed something. And that can easily morph into an attitude that God wants us to be happy and, if we’re not, he’s not coming through on his part of the deal.

An attitude like that has strayed a long way from the Biblical standard of worthiness.

Revelation 5:2-4 says, “And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?’ But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it. I wept and wept because no one was found who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside. Then one of the elders said to me, ‘Do not weep! See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has triumphed. He is able to open the scroll and its seven seals.’”

What was it about Jesus that made him worthy? He was the blood sacrifice. He was the payment for all the sins in the entire world through all of history. He was one who restored all of us to a good relationship with God.

That’s the real point, right there. We’re not worthy because, absent Jesus’ sacrifice, we have a failed relationship with the creator and ruler of the world. We don’t deserve happiness, but we’ll find it in our new closeness with Jesus. We don’t deserve wealth or health but those who walk with God have everything they need. And we certainly don’t deserve to open the scroll, to know God’s plans, but as adopted sons and daughters, God often shares his intentions with us. 

We have worth not by any virtue of our character, or because we’re Americans. Every iota of value we have comes from our role as image-bearers and disciples of God. 

open door

It seems like a scene from a movie: “After this I looked, and there before me was a door standing open in heaven. And the voice I had first heard speaking to me like a trumpet said, ‘Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.’” Revelation 4:1.

I imagine a large door, more like a gate, at the head of a flight of stone steps. It cracks open, blinding light streaming through, and then swings wide. And a voice booms an invitation. Do I go or not? Even knowing I’m in heaven, is that a threshold I want to cross? 

And the invitation isn’t for tea; it’s to see the future. After passing through the door John saw a throne surrounded by 24 other thrones, and strange, flying multi-eyed beasts who constantly praised Jesus. And that’s just the start of a lot of strange things to come. John was going to see the Apocalypse itself.

I think even in a vision it took a lot of courage to walk through that door. And it makes me think of all the invitations from God I’ve received in my life. Sometimes I knew it was God, sometimes I didn’t realize until after, but always there was a thing to do or a place to go. Every time there was a person or people. And it was always clear that what was wanted was an action, a step that would commit me. Sometimes it was to go to a meeting, sometimes to intervene in a conflict. Once it was to put in an application for a license to exhort. 

In all these times, I had doubts. Sometimes I didn’t do it. Often I did. Many times I wished I hadn’t – following where Jesus leads can take you to some messy, uncomfortable places. But every single time I accepted an invitation from God what happened changed me and blessed me and grew me. It was always a good thing in the end.

We talk a lot about doors opening and closing; it’s a useful metaphor. When we do that, we’re talking about opportunities. Sometimes when God pushes a door open and invites me through, it doesn’t look like opportunity. It looks more like that eerie door in the abandoned house that creaks open in the suspense movies. It looks like uncertainty and risk and work, and the reward isn’t readily apparent.

But there is no risk or uncertainty with Jesus, just things he knows that we don’t yet. And trusting him is its own reward.

John reminds me today that God will again at some point open a specific door and invite me to join him in a specific thing. He never compels or coerces, and it’s always my choice. But it’s always a good choice. In the end, I’ve never regretted accepting an invitation from God. I’ve always regretted the ones I looked past.

wretched, blind and naked

Some scriptures are so familiar that they’ve become a part of the language we use. Sometimes when I read them in context I’m surprised at the part we don’t necessarily know.

Take, for example, the warning to the church in Laodicea, when Jesus in this vision called them lukewarm. Look at the passage from Revelation 3: 14-18: “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.”

What makes these Christians lukewarm? They think their wealth is enough to meet their needs. They believe because they’re living a good life here on earth their eternal future will be as comfortable. They live without urgency because there isn’t anything they want that they can’t buy.

That’s really sad, because most of the best things in life can’t be bought. Certainly, nothing that will avail against our sin, nothing that will free us from our chains, can be acquired with money. In fact, we can be rich as Croesus and still be wretched, blind and naked in a spiritual sense.

The sweet lure of affluence is it feeds our pride and supports our indulgences at the same time that it numbs our true need. That was the snare that entrapped the church in Laodicea. It seems a legitimate risk for me as well. 

where Satan lives

I live in a small midwestern town, but we’re not as sheltered as we used to be. We still don’t have much crime, but you can find pretty much any sin you go looking for. Maybe what still makes small towns different these days is you have to go looking for sin.

It wasn’t that way in Pergamum. In that Ancient Greek city, there was a church, and this is how Jesus commended that church in Revelation 2:13: “I know where you live—where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me, not even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city—where Satan lives.”

Imagine trying to be a church in the city where Satan lives. Historians tell us that Pergamum was full of pagan temples, include no less than three to the Roman emperor, and separate ones for the Roman gods Zeus and Athena, and  one to Asklepios the Greek snake god. As a result, the city abounded with religious rites that involved sex and drugs and drunkenness and all kinds of excess.

Still, there were other cities like that. Pergamum must have been pretty awful for Satan to have made it his home. Unlike God, Satan isn’t omnipresent; he has to be someplace and, according to John’s vision, for a while at least that place was Pergamum.

Even in this wicked place, though, there were faithful disciples of Jesus who stayed true even to the point of death.

I think this is an encouraging word for the American church. Sometimes it seems like my brothers and sisters are falling at an alarming rate. Prominent evangelical leaders seem to succumb to the lure of power, dear brothers and sisters give up their marriages for sex that looks more exciting, and young people explore the darker sides of so-called pleasure made readily available on sites like Craigslist. Hardly a week goes by without news of another banner-carrier for Christ compromising their witness with an unfaithful lifestyle.

Yet in the most evil of places in the ancient world, God preserved for himself a remnant, strong men and women whose staunchness in the face of Satan himself earned a word of commendation from Jesus. He’s doing the same thing here and now.

It makes me remember that there isn’t any temptation I’ll face that can’t be resisted, and that all evil and the Father of Evil himself are powerless against Jesus. The church in Pergamum didn’t conquer that wicked city, but they didn’t give in either. And that was good enough.

There’s a lot of compromise in our churches these days, a lot of going along with bad things that for various reasons look good. But there are still those faithful ones who don’t give in, and we need to find each other. There’s strength in numbers.