We know that when Christ comes again, we will be like him, because we will see him as he really is.
1 JOHN 3:2
AUGUSTINE ONCE POSED THE FOLLOWING EXPERIMENT. Imagine God saying to you, “I’ll make a deal with you if you wish. I’ll give you anything and everything you ask: pleasure, power, honor, wealth, freedom, even peace of mind and a good conscience. Nothing will be a sin; nothing will be forbidden; and nothing will be impossible to you. You will never be bored and you will never die. Only . . . you will never see my face.”1
The first part of the proposition is appealing. Isn’t there a part of us, a pleasure-loving part of us, that perks up at the thought of guiltless, endless delight? But then, just as we are about to raise our hands and volunteer, we hear the final phrase, “You will never see my face.”
And we pause. Never? Never know the image of God? Never, ever behold the presence of Christ? At this point, tell me, doesn’t the bargain begin to lose some of its appeal? Don’t second thoughts begin to surface? And doesn’t the test teach us something about our hearts? Doesn’t the exercise reveal a deeper, better part of us that wants to see God?
For many it does.
For others, however, Augustine’s exercise doesn’t raise interest as much as it raises a question. An awkward question, one you may be hesitant to ask for fear of sounding naive or irreverent. Since you may feel that way, why don’t I ask it for you? At the risk of putting words in your mouth, let me put words in your mouth. “Why the big deal?” you ask. “No disrespect intended. Of course I want to see Jesus. But to see him forever!? Will he be that amazing?”
According to Paul he will. “On the day when the Lord Jesus comes,” he writes, “. . . all the people who have believed will be amazed at Jesus” (2 Thess. 1:10).
Amazed at Jesus. Not amazed at angels or mansions or new bodies or new creations. Paul doesn’t measure the joy of encountering the apostles or embracing our loved ones. If we will be amazed at these, which certainly we will, he does not say. What he does say is that we will be amazed at Jesus.
What we have only seen in our thoughts, we will see with our eyes. What we’ve struggled to imagine, we will be free to behold. What we’ve seen in a glimpse, we will then see in full view. And, according to Paul, we will be amazed.
Of course I have no way of answering that question from personal experience. But I can lead you to someone who can. One Sunday morning many Sundays ago, a man named John saw Jesus. And what he saw, he recorded, and what he recorded has tantalized seekers of Christ for two thousand years.
To envision John, we should imagine an old man with stooped shoulders and shuffling walk. The years have long past since he was a young disciple with Jesus in Galilee. His master has been crucified, and most of his friends are dead. And now, the Roman government has exiled him to the island of Patmos. Let’s imagine him on the beach. He has come here to worship. The wind stirs the cattails and the waves slap the sand, and John sees nothing but water—an ocean that separates him from his home. But no amount of water could separate him from Christ.
“On the Lord’s day I was in the Spirit, and I heard a loud voice behind me that sounded like a trumpet. The voice said, ‘Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches: to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea’ ” (Rev. 1:10–11).
John is about to see Jesus. Of course this isn’t his first time to see his Savior.
You and I only read about the hands that fed the thousands. Not John. He saw them—knuckled fingers, callused palms. He saw them. You and I only read about the feet that found a path through the waves. Not John. John saw them—sandaled, ten-toed, and dirty. You and I only read about his eyes—his flashing eyes, his fiery eyes, his weeping eyes. Not so with John. John saw them. Gazing on the crowds, dancing with laughter, searching for souls. John had seen Jesus.
For three years he’d followed Christ. But this encounter was far different from any in Galilee. The image was so vivid, the impression so powerful, John was knocked out cold. “When I saw him I fell in a dead faint at his feet” (Rev. 1:17 TJB).
He describes the event like this:
I turned to see who was talking to me. When I turned, I saw seven golden lampstands and someone among the lampstands who was “like a Son of Man.” He was dressed in a long robe and had a gold band around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like flames of fire. His feet were like bronze that glows hot in a furnace, and his voice was like the noise of flooding water. He held seven stars in his right hand, and a sharp double-edged sword came out of his mouth. He looked like the sun shining at its brightest time. When I saw him, I fell down at his feet like a dead man. He put his right hand on me and said, “Do not be afraid.” (Rev. 1:12–17)
If you are puzzled by what you just read, you aren’t alone. The world of Revelation cannot be contained or explained; it can only be pondered. And John gives us a vision to ponder, a vision of Christ that comes at you from all angles. Swords and bronze feet and white hair and sunlight. What are we to make of such an image?
First of all, keep in mind that what John wrote is not what he saw. (Yes, you read that sentence correctly.) What John wrote is not what he saw. What he wrote is like what he saw. But what he saw was so otherworldly that he had no words to describe it.
Consequently, he stumbled into the storage closet of metaphors and returned with an armload of word pictures. Did you notice how often John used the word like? He describes hair like wool, eyes like fire, feet like bronze, a voice like the noise of flooding water, and then says Jesus looked like the sun shining at its brightest time. The implication is clear. The human tongue is inadequate to describe Christ. So in a breathless effort to tell us what he saw, John gives us symbols. Symbols originally intended for and understood by members of seven churches in Asia.
For us to comprehend the passage we must understand the symbols as the original readers understood them.
By the way, John’s strategy is not strange. We do the same. If you open your newspaper to an editorial page and see a donkey talking to an elephant, you know the meaning. This isn’t a cartoon about a zoo; it is a cartoon about politics. (On second thought, maybe it is a cartoon about a zoo!) But you know the symbolism behind the images. And in order for us to understand John’s vision, we must do the same. And as we do, as we begin to interpret the pictures, we gain glimpses of what we will see when we see Christ. Let’s give it a go.
When we see Christ, what will we see?
We will see the perfect priest. “He was dressed in a long robe and had a gold band around his chest” (v. 13). The first readers of this message knew the significance of the robe and band. Jesus is wearing the clothing of a priest. A priest presents people to God and God to people.
You have known other priests. There have been others in your life, whether clergy or not, who sought to bring you to God. But they, too, needed a priest. Some needed a priest more than you did. They, like you, were sinful. Not so with Jesus. “Jesus is the kind of high priest we need. He is holy, sinless, pure, not influenced by sinners, and he is raised above the heavens” (Heb. 7:26).
Jesus is the perfect priest.
He is also pure and purifying: “His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like flames of fire” (Rev. 1:14).
What would a person look like if he had never sinned? If no worry wrinkled his brow and no anger shadowed his eyes? If no bitterness snarled his lips and no selfishness bowed his smile? If a person had never sinned, how would he appear? We’ll know when we see Jesus. What John saw that Sunday on Patmos was absolutely spotless. He was reminded of the virgin wool of sheep and the untouched snow of winter.
And John was also reminded of fire. Others saw the burning bush, the burning altar, the fiery furnace, or the fiery chariots, but John saw the fiery eyes. And in those eyes he saw a purging blaze that will burn the bacteria of sin and purify the soul.
A priest; white-haired, snow-pure, and white-hot. (Already we see this is no pale Galilean.) The image continues.
When we see Jesus we will see absolute strength. “His feet were like bronze that glows hot in a furnace” (v. 15).
John’s audience knew the value of this metal. Eugene Peterson helps those of us who don’t by explaining:
Bronze is a combination of iron and copper. Iron is strong but it rusts. Copper won’t rust but it’s pliable. Combine the two in bronze and the best quality of each is preserved, the strength of the iron and the endurance of the copper. The rule of Christ is set on this base: the foundation of his power is tested by fire.2
Every power you have ever seen has decayed. The muscle men in the magazines, the automobiles on the racetrack, the armies in the history books. They had their strength and they had their day, but their day passed. But the strength of Jesus will never be surpassed. Never. When you see him, you will, for the first time, see true strength.
Up until this point, John has described what he saw. Now he tells what he heard. He shares the sound of Christ’s voice. Not the words, but the sound, the tone, the timbre. The sound of a voice can be more important than the words of a voice. I can say, “I love you,” but if I do so with a coerced grumble, you will not feel loved. Ever wonder how you would feel if Jesus spoke to you? John felt like he was near a waterfall: “His voice was like the noise of flooding water” (v. 15).
The sound of a river rushing through a forest is not a timid one. It is the backdrop against all other sounds. Even when nature sleeps, the river speaks. The same is true of Christ. In heaven his voice is always heard—a steady, soothing, commanding presence.
In his hands are the seven stars. “He held seven stars in his right hand” (v. 16). We later read that “the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches” (v. 20). With apologies to southpaws, the right hand in Scripture is the picture of readiness. Joseph was blessed with Jacob’s right hand (Gen. 48:18), the Red Sea was divided when God stretched out his right hand (Ex. 15:12), the right hand of God sustains us (Ps. 18:35), and Jesus is at the right hand of God interceding (Rom. 8:34). The right hand is a picture of action. And what does John see in the right hand of Christ? The angels of the churches. Like a soldier readies his sword or a carpenter grips his hammer, Jesus secures the angels, ready to send them to protect his people.
How welcome is this reassurance! How good to know that the pure, fiery, bronzed-footed Son of Man has one priority: the protection of his church. He holds them in the palm of his right hand. And he directs them with the sword of his word: “And a sharp double-edged sword came out of his mouth” (Rev. 1:16).
The sound of his voice soothes the soul, but the truth of his voice pierces the soul. “God’s word is alive and working and is sharper than a double-edged sword. It cuts all the way into us, where the soul and spirit are joined, to the center of our joints and bones. And it judges the thoughts and feelings in our hearts. Nothing in all the world can be hidden from God” (Heb. 4:12–13).
No more charades. No more games. No more half-truths. Heaven is an honest land. It is a land where the shadows are banished by the face of Christ. “His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance” (Rev. 1:16 NIV).
What are we to do with such a picture? How are we to assimilate these images? Are we to combine them on a canvas and consider it a portrait of Jesus? I don’t think so. I don’t think the goal of this vision is to tell us what Jesus looks like, but rather who Jesus is:
The Perfect Priest.
The Only Pure One.
The Source of Strength.
The Sound of Love.
The Everlasting Light.
And what will happen when you see Jesus?
You will see unblemished purity and unbending strength. You will feel his unending presence and know his unbridled protection. And—all that he is, you will be, for you will be like Jesus. Wasn’t that the promise of John? “We know that when Christ comes again, we will be like him, because we will see him as he really is” (1 John 3:2).
Since you’ll be pure as snow, you will never sin again.
Since you will be as strong as bronze, you will never stumble again.
Since you’ll dwell near the river, you will never feel lonely again.
Since the work of the priest will have been finished, you will never doubt again.
When Christ comes, you will dwell in the light of God. And you will see him as he really is.