Commentary on Revelation 7:9-17

On All Saints Day the church does some memory work together. A congregation may take the time to recite the names of those who have died in the past year. A name is read; someone strikes a bell while another lights a candle. Silence follows, and then the next name is read. There might also be candles at different prayer stations around the worship space, offering worshippers the chance to light one in memory of some “saint” in their lives.

Worship on this day reminds the church that we are connected and included in a great company of God’s people in every age and generation. It proclaims through liturgy and sermon that we are not alone or isolated in God’s time. This is important spiritual work in a time like we are living in now.

At times we feel we are drowning in consumerism with highly produced messages designed to appeal to our individual tastes and desires. The individual is seduced into thinking that one’s self is the center of everything and that gratification in the present is all that matters. The memory work we do in worship on All Saints Day is countercultural. Remembering saints in the present and the past helps the church look through and beyond a chaotic, self-absorbed present into the future with hope.

Consider this essay then as an invitation to let this text support the proclamation of the gospel today. Don’t look past it this time. Granted, a text like this presses upon and stretches the preacher’s imagination and, at best, intimidates the listener with its obscure symbols, numbers, and allusions. There’s not enough time in one sermon, of course, to address all the distortions that have put stress on this text’s capacity to speak a clear word. Why is it even here? Why bother with it? We bother with it because it bothers us; it’s rather like a nag in a conversation trying to get our attention.

Giving attention to this text is more like going to a museum than going into the study surrounded by books. It’s rather like turning into a room where ancient artifacts are on display. Imagine that across one wall, behind some glass that preserves its color and texture, is a tapestry called “The Apocalypse of John.”

Perhaps you’ve seen other tapestries in such places. Tapestries in ancient Egypt depict the victory of a Pharaoh over some enemy using the “language” of images. The Bayeux tapestry in France features the victory of William the Conqueror in the Battle of Hastings in 1066. There are tapestries that depict Sitting Bull’s victory over Custer in the Battle of the Greasy Grass (Little Big Horn). Likewise, the Apocalypse of John depicts a cosmic victory that is to come: God’s victory over the enemies of humanity as told through a language of symbols.

Left on our own, the imagery in tapestries like this can be overwhelming. To keep the viewer from getting lost in the images, it’s helpful to have a guide to direct our attention to some details. Unfortunately, the only guides to Revelation often come from “television series, Hollywood movies, and trade paperbacks, and radio shows that exploit consumers’ spiritual greed and mortal fear.”¹ The right guide can make all the difference!

On a recent visit to an art museum in Denver, I walked through a special collection of paintings by Claude Monet. One group nearby was accompanied by an art historian who was serving as an interpreter of the paintings. I slowed down to overhear their questions and discussions. As the group stood before a painting, he would ask them, “Tell me what you see,” and after some response, he’d ask, “In a word or two, how does the painting make you feel?” Then he’d lead them deeper into the experience of the painting by pointing out some things they might have missed. The interpreter’s presence led the viewers to a greater appreciation for Monet’s art.

The trouble with Revelation is that we get impatient and want to rush past the images and the feelings to get to the meaning. Why not stand in front of the images in this text and consider that guide’s instruction: ‘’Tell me what you see.” Hidden in the English word “revelation,” or “apocalypse,” is the word “unveiling.” What’s revealed is an image of a “great multitude”; it is humanity as it really is “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages” (verse 9). There’s movement before a throne in the image. The ocean of people are dressed in robes and are waving palm branches.

Now the senses are more fully engaged. We’ve been in crowds before and know what it is like to be caught up in celebrations that take us out of ourselves! We know what it is like to be caught up in songs, moved even to sing along. We might have waved some palms before, but certainly we’ve waved our hands and swayed our bodies to music!

Letting the images guide our reading of this text helps us to identify with it. Someone, an elder, asks the question you’ve wanted to ask: “Who are these robed in white, and where have they come from?” (verse 13). The response is “Sir, you are the one who knows!” But you also know, don’t you? You’ve begun to see familiar faces in that great multitude, perhaps the face of someone you lit a candle for in the service.

Standing in front of this “tapestry-as-text” with patience helps us to see what the author saw: that there is a place of blessedness beyond the ordeals of suffering that human beings endure. The ones in robes on the other side are telling us who to thank: “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb!” (verse 9). Through some mystery God has worked through the death and resurrection of Jesus, God has opened a portal for what lies in store for God’s people, a place “by the springs of the water of life, [where] God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (verse 17).

Notes

1. Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word, Year A, vol.. 4, ed. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Westminster John Knox, 2011), 219.