october 21, 2007 [am]
"The Last Trumpet"
Revelation 11:15–19
(To read the Scripture, click here.)
First off my thanks to all whose prayers and support have sustained the Harrell family through many sleepless nights these past three weeks as we’ve welcomed our daughter Violet into the world. We’re so appreciative of the cards and the little purple dresses and the meals many of you have brought—and are even just now thinking of cooking. Needless to say, it has been a change in routine. I am one of that dying breed who still enjoys getting their news primarily from newspapers. I love spending the morning going cover to cover, the feel of newsprint complimenting my quiet cup of coffee. So much for that. Though I do still manage to squeeze in the sports pages (nice game last night) and glance at the headlines. This past week I ran across a headline in The New York Times about Angola. This was of particular interest to me since my wife Dawn spent a good chunk of her childhood there. Her parents, Park Street missionaries to Angola, served as part of a medical mission effort for almost 20 years. It was a tough time to be in Angola for them. Civil war ravaged the country for nearly three decades and often caught the Duncan family in its crossfire.
These days the civil war is over and prosperity has arrived to Angola, primarily in the currency of gushing oil, sparkling diamonds and Chinese investment. Hundreds of workers are rebuilding roads and airports, repairing bridges and railways. The government is taking in two and a half times as much money as it did three years ago. You’d expect that such economic prosperity would have raised the standard of living for the common person. Though why would you expect that? As The New York Times reports, Angolans, by many indications, remain as poor as ever. Two-thirds still live on $2 or less a day, the same percentage as in 2002. Most face appalling living conditions, sky-high infant mortality rates, dirty water, illiteracy and a host of other ills. The drilling and the mining produce their usual deleterious effects on the environment too. The impoverished Angolan is not going to feel relief until public officials stop enriching themselves first. Of the wealthiest people in Angola in 2003, 12 of the top 20 were government officials; five were former government officials. One car dealership manager in Luanda, who caters to these officials, said he orders only the costliest luxury cars for them because “they want to be first with the latest model,” he said, speaking anonymously so as not to lose customers.
This sort of thing is not particularly shocking, sadly, not even here in Massachusetts. I read a column in The Globe the other morning about how Clear Channel Entertainment, the company responsible for billboard advertising here in eastern Massachusetts, recently slashed wages in an effort to make a profitable business more profitable. One of the casualties was sign hanger Bill Trowbridge, a father of two whose wife had just been diagnosed with cancer. Trowbridge had worked for the company 34 years and made $50,000 while Clear Channel’s head of the billboard division cleared $5 million. Bill Trowbridge joined his fellow employees on strike and was summarily replaced. He said that becoming unemployed at least gave him time to spend with his wife. Though she died shortly thereafter. The unemployment checks run out next week.
Anger at such injustice should be automatic—but these things happen so regularly that it’s hard to muster the indignation. Besides, indignation never really makes much of a difference anyway. People in power have all the power and those without recourse are left to suffer the fallout. Historically, this is why the gospel has always been so popular among the poor and oppressed. In Jesus the poor and oppressed saw one who was also poor and oppressed, victimized by corruption and violence just as they were, only to rise above it and be crowned King and Lord of all. “I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor,” sings the Psalmist, “he upholds the cause of the needy.” In time Christ will reign and set all things to rights. In the meantime his church serves as a harbinger of the coming kingdom. In church resources are justly shared so that the physical needs of members can be met alongside the spiritual. In church, those whose lives bear the burdens of inequity or social marginalization outside can find dignity and worth inside. In church the janitor at the high rise corporate office can serve on the elder board even as the corporation president sits in the pew. With the Lord our God there is no injustice or partiality. So likewise with his church.
Throughout Scripture, few things stoke God’s wrath more than overreaching abuses of power—be they economic, political or even religious. In Psalm 2, echoes of which appear in our passage from Revelation this morning, the Psalmist sardonically asks, “Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves against the LORD, and the rulers take counsel together against his Anointed, saying, ‘Let us break off our chains and set ourselves free from God that we might do as we please!’” The anointed one in this Psalm is King David, but the allusion is to the heir of David’s throne; namely, Christ himself. “I have set my King on Zion, my holy hill,” sings the Lord in Psalm 2, “You are my Son; today I have begotten you.” The Psalm’s mocking tone makes clear the futility of taking on the Lord and his Christ. The only problem being that once Christ appears, he suffers what is clearly a takedown at the hands of the kings and the rulers he mocked. God gets the last laugh at the resurrection, but the fact of the matter remains that any real vindication for the poor and oppressed, whether in Angola or Boston or elsewhere, remains dubious. Christ ascended to heaven, it seems, only to leave the poor and oppressed to their suffering on earth.
For the original readers of Revelation, their suffering took the shape of intense persecution under the Roman Emperor Domitian. To believe got them singled out, insulted, abused and executed. Their hope for justice was in the Lord whom Psalm 2 described as one who “sits in heaven and jeers at the rebellious nations, who will dash them to pieces like pottery.” Yet when John gets a glimpse into heaven himself, he sees as their risen champion not some roaring Lion of Judah prepared to pounce on their oppressors, but instead a little lamb slain for the sins of their oppressors. Is it any wonder then that in chapter 6 the Christians killed for their faith wonder what happened to the justice for which they bore their own crosses? “How long, O Sovereign Lord, holy and true,” they wail, “how long until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?”
I’ve been working on this sermon series from Revelation for a little over a year now, and since then we’ve seen the prayers of these persecuted get answered in fairly violent fashion. Seven seals unleashed seven trumpets that each blew forth ferocious devastation: galloping calamitous horsemen, bomb-throwing angels, Satan and his minions let loose to do their vicious demolition. Revelation pulls no punches in painting its grim picture of doom so that enemies of God who stubbornly stay enemies of God might recognize how it is in their eternal best interest to make peace—a peace God gave his own self as the crucified lamb to make.
You’ll remember from last time how chapter 11 introduced two witnesses who served as God’s envoys of peace. They represent the entire witnessing church. Like Jesus’ disciples sent out two by two, the necessity of two hearkens back to the Torah which mandates two witnesses for valid testimony. The emphasis is on the gospel witness as true and just. The witnesses are empowered like Moses and Elijah; they have the ability to spew fire and call down plagues, nice power to have when somebody’s making fun of your faith. The witnesses courageously step out into hostile territory, and they suffer for it. What’s so surprising, however, is that despite their ability to spit fire and summon plagues, they never do it. Instead, they finish their testimony and immediately succumb to the infamous beast of the Abyss.
It was Revelation’s first mention of the beast—the embodiment of Satanic resistance. The beast kills the witnesses and their bodies are left to rot in the streets. To Jews this refusal to bury was a deep indignity, a humiliation akin to crucifixion itself. Delighted crowds merrily danced around the dead bodies, glad to finally be rid of the righteous Christians and their tormenting gospel. For the witnesses, the whole thing ends in humiliating defeat. And we’d be deeply dismayed by it, if defeat weren’t gospel proof of victory. It is a recognizable pattern. After three days the breath of God enters the dead witnesses and they stand on their feet. Then a voice booms from heaven telling them to “get up here” which may be construed as a kind of rapture, I guess. But unlike the Left Behind kind where believers elevate to escape tribulation, here the Christians ascend having met hardship head on.
It is a recognizable pattern: a humble and honest testimony, a devotion to justice and grace, resistance and violence by those whom grace offends, a refusal to do violence in return, loss and death, resurrection and vindication, ascension and victory. In some weird way, our struggles are Jesus’ struggles just as our victory is his victory. As the body of Christ we are the body of Christ. The church is Jesus on earth. And as Jesus on earth, the church lives as Jesus did on earth. Our life is his life in constant replay. Not only do we live for truth and for justice and for peace and for reconciliation as Christ did, but we suffer for it as Christ did too. Which is why Jesus said “rejoice and be glad” when troubles come. Trouble means you’re living the Jesus life. In Christ our suffering does not get eliminated, only translated. Jesus said “If anyone would follow me you must take up your cross to do it. Whoever loses their life for me will save it…” and then “I will raise them up on the last day.”
Here in verse 15 the last day has arrived. The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which sang: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he will reign for ever and ever.” The promise of the Psalmist as well as the prophets comes to pass. The twenty-four elders embodying the redeemed and co-reigning people of God, from whom we’ve heard nary a peep since chapter 4, fall from their thrones and onto their faces to exclaim Finally! “Thank God Almighty, the One who is and who was, because you have taken your great power and have begun to reign!”
You’ll note that it seems as if the elders have left out a line. Back in chapter 4 they sang of the Lord as the one “who was, and is and is to come.” Some Bible editors, figuring that John must have made a mistake here, inserted the future tense back into a few ancient manuscripts, which is why the King James Bible still reads that way. But in verse 15 the omission of the future tense is intentional because the future is now. God is no longer the one who is coming because God has arrived.
In verse 14, God’s arrival is described as the third woe. Depending on whose side you stand, this conversion of the kingdom of the world into the kingdom of Christ could be considered bad news. The trumpets that sounded Christ’s coronation also announce his conquest. As with the trumpets blown by Joshua that took down the walls of Jericho on the seventh day, so this seventh angelic trumpet takes down those nations and people who raged and plotted in vain. For God’s enemies who stubbornly resist his gracious rule, kingdom comes and justice rolls down like a river drowning them in their opposition to God while floating those who followed Jesus, from the least to the greatest, from the executive to the janitor. Rewards and punishments dole out with precision fairness. The persecuted become the potentates while those who raged are met with wrath. The destroyers of the earth are the ones who get destroyed. God avenges not only his persecuted people but his persecuted and polluted creation.
I read in the newspaper about Al Gore and the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change sharing the Nobel Peace Prize. I couldn’t help but think it an interesting choice for a peace prize. It reminded me of Muhammad Yunus and the Grameen Bank, winners of the 2006 peace prize for their bottom-up efforts to create economic and social development in Bangladesh. I’m used to thinking of Peace Prize winners as people like Desmund Tutu or Jimmy Carter, individuals who have brokered agreements between warring parties be they blacks and whites in South Africa or Israelis and Arabs in the Middle East. With Al Gore and Muhammad Yunus winning awards, it seems as if the Nobel Committee has broadened its understanding of peace to encompass an almost Biblical purview. The earth as the Lord’s and everything in it means that peace on earth includes not only reconciliation between parties in conflict or the defeat of tyranny, but also righting the wrongs of poverty and environmental exploitation. Biblical peace encompasses peace between creatures and their Creator, creatures and each other, but also creatures and creation. The justice for which Angolans and sign hangers and martyrs long is a justice for which the entire creation groans. The promise of Revelation is for a whole new earth.
Granted, the fulfillment of that promise doesn’t show up until the last chapter. Odd, then, that the last trumpet sounds here, smack in the middle of Revelation when there are still 11 chapters to go. You should be aware by now that Revelation is not set up to be read chronologically. Not only does the book describe events of the past and present as well as the future, but the subsections recapitulate the same events in different ways. Depictions of judgment are followed by portrayals of salvation followed by depictions of judgment and so on over and over again. Revelation, therefore, is not a timeline, but a story line whose message repeats itself to make sure you get it. At the same time, Revelation’s reruns underscore the familiar “already-not yet” nature of Christian eschatology. “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ,” even though the king has yet to duke it out with the devil. The point here is that you need not fret over the crosses you suffer because in Christ you are raised already. You run a race you’re guaranteed to win. Like with Joshua and that battle of Jericho. God declared victory before Joshua ever got out his horns.
In Joshua’s case, he also knew was golden because he had the ark of the covenant. I mention the ark of the covenant because it shows up here in verse 19, just like Harrison Ford in yet another Indiana Jones movie. You know the ark of the covenant. Not to be confused with Noah’s ark, the ark of the covenant was a 2x2x4 foot wooden box built by Moses according to heavenly specs. It was covered with gold, carried by poles and contained within it the Ten Commandments, the covenant code for living life honoring to the God of life. Atop the box sat the mercy seat, the symbolic throne of the Lord modeled after his throne in heaven. The Ark signified God’s assured, palpable covenant presence guiding and governing Israel. Throughout its earthly sojourn; wherever the Ark was, God was too.
Presumably, having God in your midst could only be a good thing. The presence of God meant blessing and protection from harm; victory over evil, perfect justice and peace. However, human nature being what it is, it didn’t take long before Israel’s presumptions of God’s presence warped into presumptuousness toward God’s presence. The posture of His people deformed from gratitude into entitlement; the goodness of God treated as insurance rather than incentive. After all with the Ark in my hand, do I not have God in my pocket? But can the power of God be so easily manipulated? Can his hand be forced? Would parading the Ark in battle compensate for the failure to obey the ethical commandments contained inside? Does righteousness conveyed by faith mean righteous conduct no longer matters? Jesus said ask and you shall receive: Does that mean that the Lord must do whatever I want? Can I expect goodness from God if I ignore or despise the good of my neighbor? If I rely on popularity, political or purchasing power, can I be said to “trust in the Lord alone”? Can faith diluted by contrary cultural, social or personal practices and values still be called Biblical faith?
The Israelites thought so, which is why the Ark eventually went down to defeat at the hand of the Philistines and disappeared once the Babylonians sacked Solomon’s Temple. This was shocking. How can such a God be relied on? Is He not in control? Does He not care? How can God go down to defeat? Christians know the answer to that one. In the cross of Jesus we experience the apparent defeat of God. We experience unbearable loss that shatters our illusions of God’s identity as well as our own flawed ideas about ourselves. Shattered are illusions of power and privilege, illusions that deluded us into thinking that God’s ways are just like ours, that faith has no cost, no difficulty, no dependency.
Although the replacement Temple had no ark in its inner Holy of Holies, the Lord whose love endures forever would not stay away forever. He showed up again in the Temple, this time in person. In John’s gospel Jesus chases out the moneychangers early on, only to have the religious leaders rebuke him for overreaching his authority. Jesus responds “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” Naturally the religious leaders thought Jesus was crazy, but John informs us in an aside that Jesus was talking about himself. God would return to the temple over his dead body.
Thus in Revelation 11 we’re not surprised to see the ark back in the Temple. It is there because of the defeat of Jesus, the lamb of God slain. We’d be deeply dismayed by it, if defeat weren’t gospel proof of victory. In Christ death leads to resurrection every time. John must have been ecstatic to see the ark. The one who is coming is here! Though this last day is the last time the ark makes an appearance in the Bible. By the time the new heaven and earth show up at the end of Revelation, there’s not even any more Temple because the future dwelling place of God is with his people. Of course in Christ that future is now. The church may be the harbinger of the coming kingdom, but we are the body of Christ already. The God who is coming is here.
