The Political Drama of Revelation

WHEN I ASKED various Christians about their reaction to the book of Revelation, I heard back: “Dark and scary.” “It’s too violent for me.” and “It’s a total blank. I really don’t know anything about it.”

But this dramatic, political, incendiary scripture is important for us to understand today. It was written in empire and should be read today in our own imperial context to learn what it means to follow the Lamb. We also need to know how it has been used and misused by Christians throughout history. As evangelical New Testament scholar Gordon Fee says, “To understand what a text means, we must first understand what it meant!”

Reading the apocalypse

First, a bit of background. The word “revelation” (apokalupsis in Greek) belongs to a popular genre of Jewish literature prevalent from about 250 B.C.E. to 200 C.E. An apocalypse purports to be a vision of a realm beyond our normal senses, where God is in control and will eventually break in to rescue the faithful from oppression. Apocalyptic literature is intended to bring hope during times of political uncertainty or persecution.

The books of Daniel and Revelation are our only canonical examples of apocalyptic literature. Other Jewish apocalypses written during this period are attributed to heroes of old, such as Adam, Enoch, and Abraham, to lend authority. Daniel also is pseudonymous, since Daniel lived 400 years before the second-century B.C.E. events described in chapters 7 to 12 of that book.

Only John in Revelation uses his own name and his own location: “I, John, your brother who shares with you in Jesus the persecution and the kingdom and the patient endurance, was on the island called Patmos because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus” (1:9). He is in political exile on Patmos, off the coast of Asia Minor (now Turkey), because of his witness to the good news of Jesus.

Revelation is not an easy text to understand. It code-switches—using symbols, images, and numbers from a particular first-century oppressed culture that doesn’t want the imperial guard to crack its communications. Revelation presupposes readers who live in Asia Minor, where allegiance to Roman gods—and even emperor worship—was demanded. Allusions to the Hebrew Bible saturate John’s account; many of these allusions are completely unfamiliar to readers today.

Because Revelation is complex, twisted interpretations of the book have been used to justify horrific violence against others, from the waves of Crusader attacks on the Holy Land between 1095 and 1291 C.E. up to a contemporary insidious interpretation of Revelation that undergirds Christian Zionism. One person I asked about Revelation told me about her recent trip to Israel on a “prophecy tour.” She was pumped up about the supposed end-times clues she had found in Revelation. “I believe Jesus will return within the next 10 years!” she said. Based on misinterpretations of Revelation, Christian Zionists predict a coming final war in Israel that will occur after they (the faithful) are raptured to heaven. This perspective has negatively impacted political efforts to create a just peace between Israelis and Palestinians because Christian Zionists believe peace will thwart God’s plan for the final “battle of Armageddon” (16:16).

An epic drama

John begins his apocalyptic vision with a strong, authoritative Jesus who promises a message for each of John’s seven churches. The sharp sword in Jesus’ mouth (1:16) prepares church members for the words of praise and of sharp criticism they will receive (see chapters 2 and 3).

But the central scene of the book occurs in chapters 4 and 5, where a door opens in heaven and John is invited to “Come on up, and I will show you what must take place after this” (4:1). John sees a throne upon which the Indescribable One sits, surrounded by 24 elders, probably representing the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 apostles. On each side of the throne are four living creatures (symbols of the four corners of the earth) and the birds (wild and tame animals) and humans who live there. They are all praising God without ceasing (4:4-11).

Then John notices a scroll in the right hand of the One on the throne, sealed with seven seals. John does not say what the scroll represents, but it is related to God’s authority over the course of history. An angel loudly extends a challenge: “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?”

Take a moment to reflect on John’s use of emotion and suspense in this scene. Visualize it being performed in each of the seven small house churches receiving this document. Members experience mixed emotions as they witness the pure joy that abounds in heaven as all creatures praise the One who made such joy possible.

But then a problem arises—a problem demanding resolution (5:1). God’s will in history cannot continue unless someone is worthy to open the scroll. The angel’s question echoes through the air, while each living being waits for some unknown hero to step forward.

But John weeps bitterly, “because no one in heaven or on the earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it” (5:4).

Then one of the elders tells John not to weep. “See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals” (5:5). Even today we recognize the lion as an aggressive “king of the beasts,” but this association is as ancient as the royal lions of Egypt carved into stone. Jewish listeners would think of Genesis, where Jacob’s son Judah is already called a lion with a scepter (49:9-10). “The Root of David” (from Isaiah 11:1) confirms this lion as messiah in the line of David. How exciting for these church members who often feel marginalized and forced to compromise to survive! Will the Lion lead a political revolution? Are these the end times?

The reader pauses, and the listening church community waits expectantly.

But no lion appears.

Instead, John sees “a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.” This broken, bleeding, but resurrected Lamb takes the scroll from the right hand of the One on the throne.

In this way, John intends to show that only this method of nonviolent resistance to evil can ultimately shift the course of human history in another direction.

Maybe these church communities were disappointed when they did not see a victorious Lion, but the entire crowd in heaven understood—falling “before the Lamb” and singing “a new song.”

“You are worthy to take the scroll,” sing the beasts and elders, “for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God saints from every tribe and language and people and nation.” (In Greek: “You are worthy to take the scroll ... because you were slaughtered.”)

Two similar songs follow—the second sung by uncounted myriads of angels, and the third by “every creature in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and in the sea” (5:8-13).

As a master of dramatic rhetoric, John shocks the hearers with the image of the Lamb who stands resurrected though bearing the scars of a murderous death as a political enemy of the state.

Jesus as the nonviolent lamb?

Although one or two scholars have argued that this Lamb is actually a militant ram, most today understand the counterintuitive challenge John presents to his churches.

Loren Johns, in his book The Lamb Christology of the Apocalypse of John, demonstrates how this epic scene is “the rhetorical fulcrum of the Apocalypse.” And it is meant to shock. Before this scene, Jesus is never called a Lamb in Revelation. Afterward, he is referred to as the Lamb 28 more times.

Did John’s seven congregations get the point? Or did they view Jesus as the Lamb slaughtered as a once-and-for-all substitutionary atonement for sin? A few references in other New Testament writings speak of Jesus’ death as “for us,” but John’s entire apocalypse calls the Christian community to live out a nonviolent faith under violent imperial domination.

In Revelation’s opening verses, Jesus is identified as the “faithful witness” (1:5), a term later applied to the martyred Antipas at Pergamum. The same word in Greek—martus—means both “witness” and “martyr,” indicating the high risk that faithful witness requires in a culture where violence is the go-to solution.

Although the Lamb’s victory has already been won through his nonviolent resistance to evil and his resurrection, the same practices must be continued by his followers. Every chapter in Revelation underscores this point. For example: “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life” (2:10); “Follow the [slaughtered] Lamb wherever he goes” (14:4); and the opening of the fifth seal (6:9-11) makes it clear that faithful witnesses also get slaughtered.

Perseverance in persecution

John of Patmos, with an unusual gift as a seer, understood how difficult it was to be a faithful witness to the crucified and risen Christ and resist acquiescing to the emperor cult. Economic issues loomed large. No one could buy or sell products who did not bear the “mark of the beast” on forehead or right hand (13:16-17). When the church at Laodicea seemed proud of its wealth and respect in the city (3:15-19), Jesus, through John, rebukes them for participating in the imperial marketplace and considers them naked, blind, and lukewarm. He urges them to repent.

We know from church history that political persecution waxed and waned during Christianity’s first 300 years. Some Christians did apostatize during intense pogroms, and the church struggled over whether to accept those who repented back into membership. Other Christians remained “faithful witnesses,” but were killed, seeding the church with their blood and joining the uncounted multitude “standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (7:9).

Revelation is a troubling text. Its few depictions of women are not positive, reflecting John’s need for additional insight into his male-oriented culture. It is also filled with violence that can appear, without close study, to be gratuitous.

But John’s Christology is clear, and it is highly political. The Lamb achieved victory over evil by submitting to execution and trusting in God to raise him to life. Though not evident on earth under Roman domination, the Seer’s eye has pierced the veil between heaven and earth. Interludes inserted throughout the apocalypse encourage John’s listeners to practice Jesus’ methods of resistance and to pray for the justice and judgment still to come. These heavenly pictures (7:1-17; 11:15-19; 14:1-5; 15:2-4) assure believers that the true victory (as opposed to the struggle against Roman persecution) is already won.

Can John’s strange and symbolic Apocalypse reveal wisdom for us today?

John’s vision of heaven also includes ethnic diversity (“saints from every tribe and language and people and nation,” see 5:8, 7:9). Does this give new insight to the “take-a-knee” protests at sporting events against police brutality?

Revelation raises difficult questions: How does “Christian nationalism” differ from Lamb Christology? What are the political and economic costs of “following the Lamb wherever he goes” (14:4)?

It is significant for the 144,000 standing with the Lamb on the heavenly Mount Zion that “in their mouth no lie was found” (14:5). Injustice and domination breed lies and deceit. How can we live truthfully in our own context?

John’s writing is subtle. It uses art, metaphor, and cultural icons to convey a subversive message intended to remind followers of Jesus to stay strong in the gospel. Where do we see this happening today?

Following the nonviolent Lamb is—and always has been—risky. You might have to lose your life to gain it. Thus, John’s Christology would not be complete without his vision of the final consummation of human history (chapters 21-22). Here we are given a vision to cling to: “a new heaven and a new earth,” a “holy city” with open gates providing hospitality for all, a “pure river of the water of life” so no one is thirsty, perpetual fruit-bearing trees whose leaves give “healing for the nations,” and in the center a Lamb.