If we endeavor to read the last book of the Bible, let us get two things out in the open, one probably more serious than the other.

First, there is no “s” on the end of the title of the book.  Call it a pet peeve if you will.  (I once had a college New Testament professor who would mark a student down one letter grade for making that mistake.)  But, isn’t there something to be said about being careful in how we read and talk about the Bible’s contents?  After all, if we fall into the all-too-tempting trap to talk about the last book of the Bible in a way that is popular but not necessarily accurate, then we are also probably prone to make a second and more serious mistake.

The book of Revelation and all of its accompanying symbolism does not consist of a code to be cracked in order to help us interpret contemporary happenings.  When John got around to recording the experiences he envisioned in his exile on the island of Patmos, he did not have contemporary Western Christians of two millennia later in mind.  While it makes for best-selling creative fiction (and makes men like Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins incredibly rich), it is important that we not read more into Revelation than what is there.

Revelation is a letter written from a pastor to a group of Christian people.          John set out to engage the imagination and the fullness of human sensibility to build up a people who were being beaten down by imperial power and a remarkable Roman propaganda machine.  He knew the truth that if a person wanted to live for God this side of heaven, then that person was going to be in for a struggle.  Although many of the images in the book are grim, there are also some extraordinary portraits of hope that lift the spirit and stir the soul, while also steeling the resolve of the faithful to stand strong.

While this might be a different take on reading Revelation that spends less time engaged in inane attempts at predicting the end of the world (there is a rather ridiculous “Rapture Ready” gauge on the Web to which one friend referred me), there is also a temptation for the contemporary reader to wonder how in the world words like these might have any relevance today.  Why bother, you ask?

I suggest that we bother because even if we have never been threatened with the prospect of martyrdom, starvation, or outright state-sponsored persecution because of our faith, we have all been discouraged.  We have all grown weary with waiting and wondering and wishing that life and faith would somehow be other than they are.  We long for something better sometimes, don’t we?  We become downcast in mind and body, soul and spirit.  We need to see and to hear and to touch and to taste and to feel and to know that there is a promise of something better yet to come.

Revelation delivers such a promise.  Take, for instance, words like those in Revelation 7:9-17.  The first six chapters of the book are filled to overflowing with scenes of sorrow and sadness on earth.  Then the perspective shifts.  John casts his eyes toward heaven.  He catches a glimpse of that which is to come: An innumerable multitude from every nation gathers round the throne of God.  Those who have kept the faith, have weathered the storm, and come through the great ordeal come before God.  There is no more hunger, no more thirst, no more suffering and no more sorrow.  There is only joy; pure, resplendent joy.

Maybe that is a good word for the Church to hear and remind itself of from time to time.  Heaven knows, we spend so much time wringing our hands over the declining numbers and waning influence of Christian faith in our wider culture.  Maybe we would do well to take stock of the inestimable number of faithful saints who come before God in heaven.  Maybe we ought to, as Michael Pasquarello says, “look beyond our own fearful conditions and circumstances to behold the glorious completion of God’s saving promises.”