It is Wednesday morning, I’ve just returned to the office after singing Morning Prayer, and I want to share with you the text I encountered from the Revelation to John. Brace yourself; it’s a doozie.
Then a mighty angel took up a stone like a great millstone and threw it into the sea, saying,
‘With such violence Babylon the great city
will be thrown down,
and will be found no more;
and the sound of harpists and minstrels and of flautists and trumpeters
will be heard in you no more;
and an artisan of any trade
will be found in you no more;
and the sound of the millstone
will be heard in you no more;
and the light of a lamp
will shine in you no more;
and the voice of bridegroom and bride
will be heard in you no more;
for your merchants were the magnates of the earth,
and all nations were deceived by your sorcery.
And in you was found the blood of prophets and of saints,
and of all who have been slaughtered on earth.’
Now, I should let you know that my colleagues and I went round and round on Monday talking about interpreting Biblical prophecy, about millennialism and historical contextualization and all that jazz, and nobody convinced anybody of anything. Those of us who have a strong opinion about the role of prophecy and how it is to be understood have come about those opinions through a lot of practice and education, and we’ve had to work so hard to convince ourselves of the validity of our opinions that we have too much at stake to let go. The rest of us who have long given up concerning ourselves with placing Biblical prophecy in a specific historical context had throbbing heads by the time we cooperatively gave up the argument.
I’m in the latter group.
I do think that Biblical prophecy has a word to speak to us, but I’m not sure that coming down hard on one approach or another does any justice to us or to the text. Much Biblical prophecy has lasting power not because it reflects a certain historical context or because it gives us a concrete divine plan to follow (“nobody knows when that day or hour will come, not the heavenly angels and not the Son”), but because these texts speak a word that transcends history to speak to human experience across a spectrum of historical and cultural contexts. Can you think of a context in which
your merchants were the magnates of the earth,
and all nations were deceived by your sorcery?
I bet you can. Maybe we should replace “Babylon” with another word. Then in that context, we can hear the mighty angel still calling judgment on magnates and sorcerers. In that city or nation or community or industry will no longer be heard the sound of music, the sound of industry, the joy of a nuptial celebration. The lights will go out and craftspersons will cease their work. Nothing will remain.
That’s dismal.
I’m convinced, however, that there is a “however” always to be spoken. There is always room for repentance. If we can turn from spilling the blood of prophets and saints, from the slaughter of the innocent and neglected, God can lead us away from doom and into safety. Not only that, but God can still lead us into glory.
That’s the hope in which I live. No soul is so corrupt as to be beyond rescue. The grace of God still has residence in us, no matter how ugly and calloused we can become on the outside. God can redeem every individual, and God can redeem every human institution we form if we will only open ourselves to the possibility that we might be doing something that needs to be fixed.
So I hope we can still open ourselves to the possibility of God’s redeeming power. If we can do that, I think God will use us, our institutions, our structures, our governments, our churches, and all human constructs to bring transformation and healing to all people everywhere.
That’s the hope in which I live.
Peace,
Brandon
First United Methodist Church of Bristol 