Revelation 1: 1-8 (links validated 10/23/24a)

A story Ken Bazyn tells in his book The Seven Perennial Sins and their Offspring points to how desperately we long for the grace with which John begins his revelation. Quoting Ernest Hemingway’s The Capital of the World, Bazyn reports on a cruel joke that was circulating in Madrid. “It seemed that a remorseful father placed a personal ad in the newspaper El Liberal, which read, ‘PACO MEET ME AT HOTEL MONTANA NOON TUESDAY ALL IS FORGIVEN.’ What the father had forgotten is that Paco (short for Francisco) is a popular name. The Madrid Civil Guard had to be called to the Hotel Montana, because 800 Pacos [who longed for their dads’ forgiveness] had answered the ad.”

always good insights!

In his book, Terms of Service: Social Media and the Price of Constant Connection, Jacob Silverman notes that ‘Tim Wu and other media historians have chronicled how, from the telegraph to the telephone to television, “the advent of every new technology of communication always brings with it a hope for ameliorating all the ills of society.” In 1912, the radio pioneer George Marconi even announced, “The coming of the wireless era will make war impossible, because it will make war ridiculous”.’ God gives God’s adopted sons and daughters plenty of reasons to be optimistic about the future. Yet our optimism is not based on hope for technological advancements. Our hope is completely grounded in the God who is, and who was, and who is to come.

This personal but very homespun example of grief might help Revelation 1’s proclaimers identify their own example of various kinds of grief. My 88 year-old father died on Easter afternoon after a very short illness. He died nearly 650 miles from where I live and was at the time. My dad’s death grieved me deeply. Yet it wasn’t the grief for a relationship that either of us had severed or never had. Though neither of us talked about it much, dad and I knew that we loved each other. My grief for my dad involves missed opportunities. While he was vaccinated not long before he died, COVID had prevented us from being together for more than a few hours over the past 18 months. There are so many things I now wish I’d said to my dad and wish that I could have done with him before he died. I also grieve in part because I didn’t get to say good-bye to him. The aggressive infection that killed him quickly rendered him largely unaware. While I prayed with my dying dad over the phone, I can’t know if he heard me because he didn’t respond. I continue to mourn because of that.

My colleague Stan Mast’s Sermon Starter on this text (November 16, 2015) quotes some famous first words. He points out that the country song, “Famous First Words” lists some things you might hear first in a bar: “Hey, where have you been all my life? Haven’t we met somewhere before? Don’t I know you?” Mast also quotes some literary first words. Consider C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader’s, “His name was Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.” Or Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities’, “It was the best of times and worst of times.” That got me to thinking about famous last words. Harriet Tubman’s “Swing low, sweet chariot.” Benjamin Franklin’s, “A dying man can do nothing easy.” Groucho Marx’s, “This is no way to live!” But how often do famous first last words echo famous first words? Among Revelation’s first words is “grace” (1:4). Among its last words is also “grace” (22:21). There’s a beginning and end that you can give your life to.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, and Z.” Hailey looked at her three-year-old brother. “Okay, Curtis, now you try.” Curtis looked like he was thinking intensely. “A!” he suddenly shouted, and then, after a pause, “Z!” “Ugh!” Hailey put her hand on her head in frustration. Dad, who was watching the whole thing, began to laugh. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Hailey said. “I’ve been working with him for an hour, and he’s just not getting it.” “Why is it so important that he know the alphabet right now anyway?” asked Dad. “Jenny and I are having a race,” replied Hailey. “I’m trying to get Curtis to learn the alphabet before she teaches her dog to sit and roll over. If Curtis learns the alphabet first, I get to pick the movie we watch this weekend.” Dad chuckled and shook his head. “You guys are silly.” Hailey laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” She put her head in her hands and sighed...

On that front page, there were articles about a shooting of a South Carolina sheriff's deputy, a report about a woman that killed her boyfriend then herself, an Orangeburg County house fire that killed a 62-year-old man. And right beside these articles about a future that wasn't now, was a story about an army sergeant that escaped death after a roadside bomb exploded under his Humvee in Iraq while he was out on a routine patrol. Twenty months after the explosion that burned his entire body and singed the pigment of his face, Sergeant Terry Fleming testified to the Kingdom of God in the present as he offered these words: "I don't have all of my fingers, but I have my arms and legs. My face is going to be ok. Thank God." Side by side, the senselessness of death, the miracle of life. God is, was, will be."

When I was eighteen years old I knew that I knew everything there was to know, especially in regards to the “us” and the “them” of the world. Eighteen year old me knew that being gay was a sin and that LGBTQ people were not called to leadership in the church (and my conservative Christian college did nothing but reinforce these beliefs). But four short years later I found myself on a hill across from my alma mater, standing in solidarity with dozens of LGBTQ young adults and allies, advocating for change in Christian universities with policies that discriminated against LGBTQ people...

We remember the Pilgrims' journey that had begun so full of hope for a new life of religious freedom in a warm and welcoming land called Virginia. Oops. Instead they landed at Plymouth Rock on December 21, 1620, not the best time of year in Massachusetts. Until such time as they could build houses and establish themselves on the land, they made their home on board the Mayflower, the vessel in which they had sailed.(1) The men went ashore every morning to work, returning to the little ship at night. They built a "common house" to which the sick and dying were transferred, placed their four little cannon in a fort, which they built on a hill close by, built two rows of houses with a wide street between and finally landed their stores and provisions. Then the whole company came ashore toward the last of March, and in April the Mayflower sailed away. The ensuing winter was hard and bitter...

You may or may not know the courageous story of Patricia Neal. She was a famous actress who starred across the silver screen with most of Hollywood’s leading men. Notably, she had been in “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” “The Fountainhead,” and “Hud,” for which she won the Oscar for best actress. She was also a Tony Award winning Broadway Star. Along with the acclaim and success she also managed to have a home life with a noted British writer and four children. Then her life fell apart. One day, as her baby son was being wheeled across a busy New York City street, the baby’s carriage was struck by a careless car, then crushed between a truck and a bus with her baby son still in it. Two years later Patricia’s youngest daughter caught the measles and died. Shortly after that, in 1965, Patricia herself almost died of three massive brain hemorrhages. Her speech, vision, and mind were all impaired. Her husband nursed her faithfully for some time, but then left her for another woman. She was at absolute rock bottom. It was then that she called out to God, and she found the strength to fight. She relearned to walk and to talk. Though she never fully recovered everything, she did go on to star again on the silver screen. She was nominated for an Academy Award for her performance in “The Subject Was Roses.” She also went on to star in television, seen frequently as a recurring character in “Little House On The Prairie,” and originating the part of Olivia Walton in the Walton’s series pilot, for which she won the Golden Globe. Just a few years prior to her death, a Hollywood reporter pressed her to explain the key to her courage. She pointed to a plaque in the room which read, “Fear knocked at the door. Faith in God answered. Fear knocked no more, For Fear had fled.” When she died in 2010, her last words were, “I’ve had a lovely time.”...

Michelle and Dale fell in love just after graduating from high school. During their earlier years together, they delighted in their love for one another. But after six years and three children later, Michelle was standing in the kitchen looking at a stack of dirty dishes in the sink and a pile of dirty diapers on the floor. She decided that enough was enough, so she took off her apron and walked out the door. She called home to check on the children and talk to her husband. At the end of every call, he told her how much he loved her, and asked her to come home. She refused. Desperate, Dale hired a private detective to find his wife. After a few days, the detective told Dale that she was living in a second-class hotel in Midwest. Dale packed his bags, asked his neighbor to care for the children and got on a bus. He found the hotel and climbed the stairs. As he knocked on the door, his hand trembled because he did not know the kind of reception he would receive. When his wife opened the door, she stood in shocked silence, and then fell apart in his arms. Together they packed her bags and returned home. Later that night when the children were in bed, they sat down to talk. He asked her the one question that had long troubled him: `Why wouldn't you tell me where you were when you called? You knew I loved you. Why didn't you come home?' "She replied, `Before, your love was just words. Now I know how much you love me because you came.'"...

I doubt if any of us could have survived that first Thanksgiving in 1621. Half of the pilgrims died from scurvy. The Wampanoag Indians too lost many of their tribe due to a plague. And yet they managed to get together, share their harvest and give thanks. According to historians it is doubtful that they ate turkey. Their main dish was venison. It has been documented that the Indians provided 5 deer. Their feast also included lobster, muscles, fish, corn, radishes, turnips and spinach. Historian Richard Pickering, deputy director of Massachusetts' Plymouth Plantation, says that the real miracle of Thanksgiving was that the Pilgrims and Indians actually had some fun together. Amazingly, their gratitude came after a very harsh winter and a great loss of life. In the midst of great suffering and loss they acknowledged the presence of God...

In his book The Bible: As If for the First Time, Harry A. Neilsen writes, “A revelation bears very little resemblance to human wisdom or human deeds. Even at its gentlest, in a healing, for instance, it is like a hit from the blind side, a hornet in the shower, something that refuses to be defined or packaged in polite categories.” As preachers ponder proclaiming Revelation 1:4b-8 on this Christ the King Sunday, we might consider how some Christians have tried to politely package John’s revelation of who Jesus is. Some of us have tried to domesticate and shrink it into a coded message to make us wise as to just how and when its message will come to pass. John’s apokalypis refuses to be so tidily packaged.

always good insights!

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