The purpose of this series is to produce commentaries for students and for pastors and their parishes. The technical discussions of biblical scholarship have been considered but not included in this commentary. Of primary interest is the relationship of what St. John of Patmos wrote some two millennia ago with today’s church—a somewhat presumptuous interest! On the one hand, the interpreter’s ability to discern fully what John intended to convey to his first readers is limited by time and place. The variety of historical and literary methods biblical scholars use to reconstruct John’s world and the meaning of his Revelation issue important but imperfect results. Especially when interpreting this complex composition, one is wise to draw upon the expertise and insight of many others, past and present, for help and understanding: Charles, Caird, Beasley-Murray, Ladd, Mounce, Schüssler Fiorenza, Morris, Collins, Ford, Boring, Krodel, and still others who belong to this “cloud of witnesses.” They are often mentioned in this commentary in gratitude. While this commentary presents a distinctive perspective on the meaning of Revelation for today, many other perspectives are consulted in search of the text’s full meaning. The interpreter is well advised to use a number of commentaries on Revelation and to draw upon other studies that treat more specific aspects of John’s composition.
On the other hand, the interpreter presumes to know something about the situation of today’s church. Especially this commentary, written by a believer, is written for the church. The questions asked of Revelation address those concerns which are meaningful to God’s people. Indeed, John’s emphasis on worship both in heaven and on earth commends his work to the worshiping community. Further, he writes as a pastor to nurture a people-at-worship, a community-at-faith. He did not write an esoteric thesis, ciphered only by academics with proper credentials and requisite skills. The point is that Revelation was written by John for the church; the ongoing interpretation of Revelation must continue to make sense of what John wrote in ways which address the concerns of the church.
Of course, the greatest danger facing the student of Scripture is provincialism—finding only those meanings in biblical texts which justify what one already believes and values. In my case, interpretations of biblical texts can easily become too American, too middle class, too male, and too irrelevant for many believers. Therefore, my confidence must reside in the continuing community of interpreters, where one interpretation of Revelation checks and balances another. Further, insofar as these partners-in-dialogue are believers, God’s Spirit points the Christian community to meanings which nurture and challenge life and faith. In fact, at the very center of Revelation the good interpreter will always find the simple (not simplistic!) gospel of God. In this way, any interpretation worthy of the gospel will bear witness to the slain, yet exalted, Lamb through whom the salvation of God breaks into and radically transforms those who depend upon his dependable work; it will celebrate the triumph of God’s kingdom, which is already realized in the Lamb’s shed blood and which will be fully realized at his return.
The status of Revelation within the church has always been somewhat marginal. Most believers feel threatened by this book of visions; its apocalyptic language seems strange and its language of harsh judgment too violent for a loving God. The church’s natural response to Revelation is to neglect it or dismiss it as irrelevant. More conservative believers, who have always recognized the importance of Revelation, scrutinize its visions as the prediction of a declining culture and its imminent destruction. Regrettably, their interpretations are often colored by religious fanaticism or ideological rhetoric, which only heightens the suspicion of others concerning the book’s usefulness in forming a people who love God and neighbor.
In recent years, perhaps stimulated by the popularity of books like Hal Lindsey’s The Late Great Planet Earth, mainstream Christianity has become more interested in the study of Revelation. Liberation and feminist theologians have applied sociopolitical models of interpretation to Revelation to find there a timeless message of God’s retribution against society’s injustices. The learned societies of biblical scholars have also taken to Revelation, producing fresh insights into the historical and spiritual circumstances which first occasioned its writing. Even outside the worshiping community, artists and literati are continually fascinated with the shapes and images found in John’s book of visions. The history of art and music is marked by a body of creative work that has been stimulated by Revelation. Some biblical scholars find this interest apropos, since in their view Revelation was composed as a liturgical drama. In addition, at a time when many Christians still hesitate to embrace the vitality of an apocalyptic faith, cultural critics like Christopher Lasch (The Culture of Narcissism) or literary critics like Walker Percy (The Second Coming) have pointed to Revelation as a work of uncommon power which speaks directly to the peril of societal selfishness.
While the history of the church’s interpretation of Scripture may slight Revelation, especially when compared with the attention other books of the Christian Bible have received, we would suggest that there is considerable evidence both inside and outside the church that John’s Apocalypse has a certain galvanizing power. In fact, the cumulative evidence is that this NT book continues to attract serious readers, rarely evoking the cynicism of the playwright, G. B. Shaw, who once called it “a curious record of a drug addict’s visions,” or even the verdict of Luther, who dismissed it as unedifying for the ordinary believer (Krodel, Revelation, pp. 14–23). We would argue that the variety of positive responses to Revelation commends its usefulness. Perhaps even the mistaken interpretations call attention to the need to build a solid structure within which to interpret and apply its meaning to the life and faith of today’s church. We believe that Revelation can be studied with great profit. There are certain clues, however, to which we must be attentive, for they guide the reader to appropriate meanings for life and faith.
In particular, there are four “moments” in the history of any biblical text where the careful student finds clues to guide the interpretation of Scripture. In this introduction, these four “moments” will be described and discussed in chronological order, with an eye to those clues important for a proper interpretation of John’s Revelation. Naturally, the critical point of departure is the “moment of origin,” when John wrote down his visions for seven congregations of southwest Asia. A careful consideration of the historical and theological crises which occasioned this correspondence will help one discern how this book was first heard as “word of God.” In this sense, the interpreter considers Revelation as a historically conditioned document; its message must be understood in light of its original historical setting, and its messenger as one whose convictions about God shaped what he wrote down. To the extent the evidence allows, then, the interpreter’s first task concerns the question: what circumstances prompted this author to write this particular book for those particular congregations? In response, the interpreter functions as a historian, concerned to attend to the evidence in a neutral manner.
Of course, the neutrality of the interpreter is limited by the ultimate value of the historical task, which is to help form the believing community’s understanding of God. Only when John’s context of life and faith is related by the interpreter to the current context of life and faith can the Spirit of God point the believing community in a direction leading to truth and love.
Additional clues are found at the “moment of composition.” The author’s second decision, after receiving the commission to write down his visions for the seven congregations, was to format and frame his visions in a specific way. John writes a literary composition whose coherence is known by its form (genre) and its function. The interpreter must study Revelation in literary terms, recognizing that the author’s intended meaning is conveyed by the very way in which he has put together and written down the visions he received. Literary considerations are especially essential for interpreting Revelation, since many distortions of John’s intended message have resulted from the interpreter’s neglect of the composition’s literary apocalyptic forms and epistolary format. If the meanings interpreters properly continue to assign to biblical texts must be in continuity with the author’s intended meanings, and if the author’s intended meanings are clarified by his choice of genre, then the very literary structure of a composition helps to focus what a text means. Common sense tells us that we should read poetry as poetry, not prose; tragedy as tragedy, not comedy; and so on. Likewise, the Apocalypse must be studied in a manner congruent with the forms of apocalyptic literature rather than discursive or narrative works of history.
One who interprets Revelation for the church must also pause at the “moment of canonization” to consider why the early church formed a NT and included Revelation in it. To recover all the clues found at this “moment” in the history of Revelation, the interpreter must consider its status during the long process which ultimately led the church to include Revelation in the NT canon. Any interpretation of Revelation must be in continuity not only with the author’s intentions but also with the church’s intention in forming the Christian biblical canon: to guide the formation of the worshiping community’s ongoing witness to the reigning God. More specifically, the interpreter should also pay close attention to those reasons for placing Revelation as Scripture’s concluding book.
The final point in the history of Revelation which yields important information for the interpreter is the ongoing “moment of interpretation.” Sharply put, today’s interpretations must be informed by the ways our forefathers and foremothers used Revelation to nurture their faith. Time and time again believers have picked up Revelation to find meanings which function as the spiritual rule for this congregation or that communion of believers. Their interpretations of Revelation have reflected different theologies and different crises.
In retrospect, the “cash-value” of knowing this history of interpretation is to provide a system of checks and balances by which current interpretations are measured. The profound depth of this composition’s inherent ambiguity has only extended the range of its possible meaning, which in any case should yield the requisite humility—a necessary attribute for biblical interpretation.
The clear consensus of modern biblical scholarship is that Revelation was written during the first century to address a spiritual crisis threatening the faith and witness of Christian congregations along the coastline of southwest Asia.[1] Most still accept Irenaeus’ dating (mid-90s), although a minority of historians contends that an earlier Neronic dating (late 60s) is more likely.[2] In our view, the letters to the seven churches (Rev. 2–3), together with the vision of Babylon’s destruction (Rev. 17–18), reflect the Sitz im Leben (“life setting”) of the Asian church during the Domitian period (A.D. 81–96). Whatever the interpreter finally decides about the date of Revelation’s composition, however, it is neither a blueprint for future history nor one person’s poetic understanding of faith written without reference to a particular point in time. In fact, we are inclined to accept the author’s own statement of purpose that his book intends to relate the “word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ” to his first readers, in an effort to call them to a more disciplined faith when challenged by real threats to it.
The exegetical task of reconstructing the basic ingredients of the first conversation between congregations and author has continuing relevance, since the church’s situation is always more or less analogous to the situation Revelation first addressed and interpreted by its author. In stating the historical problem in this manner, we do not deny the importance of explaining, whenever possible, the book’s symbol systems by the historical events and places known to its first-century readers. Especially the great commentaries by W. Bousset and R. H. Charles are helpful in this regard. Our sense, however, is that such efforts are of little help theologically and too often “freeze” Revelation’s significance in the late first or early second century—a tacit rejection of its subsequent role as canonical literature, which intends to shape the witness of the ongoing church.
In this introduction, we will be content to concern ourselves with questions of authorship and audience, especially as they relate to what occasioned the writing and first reading of the book. Our handling of these issues, however, will be different in emphasis from their traditional formulation in modern commentaries on Revelation. In our discussion of the issues relating to the book’s authorship, we are primarily interested in the book’s (rather than the author’s) apostolicity—a more theological than historical concern. In addition, our interest in the historical crisis which occasioned this composition will finally be more theological than historical. This orientation derives from our “canonical” perspective, which places premium on the ongoing religious function of biblical texts and their theological importance for today.
Authorship. Virtually all modern historians admit that the problems relating to Revelation’s authorship are difficult to resolve. There are disagreements on particulars even among those who otherwise agree on final matters. The unsettled status of this question might seem odd at first, since the author identifies himself as John (1:4), a seer (1:1) and Christian prophet (1:3), currently living in exile on the Roman penal island of Patmos (1:9). Apparently John belongs to the Asian church (1:9), with whose situation he is familiar and to which he now writes. Because of the large number of Hebraisms in his Greek text and his familiarity with the Jewish Scriptures and their rabbinic midrashim, one might also speculate that he is a Jewish convert to Christianity. This may explain his special sensitivity to the conflict between the Asian church and Jewish synagogue, apparent in the messages to the faithful congregations in Smyrna (2:9) and Philadelphia (3:9).
Ancient tradition identifies this John as the beloved apostle of Jesus, the presumed author of the Fourth Gospel and the three Johannine letters of the NT. Indeed, only a few courageous commentators assumed otherwise until the modern period (1800 to present), when the compositional unity of Revelation came under closer scrutiny and its Johannine authorship was questioned. The early church fathers are virtually unanimous in their verdict that the Apostle John wrote Revelation, although such a strong and singular external witness may well reflect the apologist’s compensation for Revelation’s difficult and provocative content.[3]
In addition, one finds thematic and linguistic similarities between Revelation, the Fourth Gospel, and 1 John that would seem to justify this ancient consensus (Morris, Revelation, pp. 27–35). Several have also noted that this corpus of Johannine writings shares a body of common phrases and that all speak in similar and distinctive ways about Jesus as Messiah: he is the executed and exalted Lamb, and he is the word of God. To be sure, most would reasonably allow that their different literary fields (Gospel, letter, apocalyptic) highlight different dimensions of their polyvalent meaning, so that an apocalypse will always provide new meanings to old themes. Perhaps the same point can be made to explain any stylistic or grammatical difference between the Gospel and the Apocalypse, or between 1 John and the Apocalypse. Moreover, both the Gospel and Revelation contain citations, allusions, and echoes of a particular body of OT texts, comprised mostly of prophetic oracles and priestly themes. Finally, as E. Stauffer has contended, both the evangelist and the seer share common liturgical sensibilities.
On the other hand, more recent arguments against attributing Revelation’s authorship to the Apostle John constitute a considerable challenge to the ancient consensus. Most scholars now agree that the John of Revelation is neither the author of the Fourth Gospel nor the Apostle John. We agree with this conclusion (although the evidence on both sides of the issue remains inconclusive). The internal reasons seem clear and persuasive: (1) the John of Revelation does not identify himself as the apostle, but as a “servant” of Jesus Christ (1:1). (2) His vocation and the authority of his composition derive more from his prophetic task (cf. 1:10; also, 22:18–19) than from an apostolic office (cf. 21:14; although see Morris, Revelation, p. 35). (3) Some cite stylistic differences (Charles, Revelation, vol. 1, pp. xxix–xxxvii), while others contend that the theological disagreements between the writings of the Johannine corpus, especially in matters of eschatology and Christology, make it impossible to think of them as coming from a single pen. And Beasley-Murray, who otherwise argues for the theological continuity between the teaching of Jesus and Revelation, seems to have in mind the teaching of the synoptic Jesus rather than John’s Jesus.
The history of interpretation demonstrates that concerns about authorship are usually vested with theological or ideological commitments and apologetic interests. This seems especially true for Revelation, where the historical and grammatical evidence, which properly determines judgments of this sort, is inadequate and often leads to conjecture upon conjecture (Beasley-Murray, Revelation, pp. 36–37). For example, those who queue up behind the Apostle John usually link their conclusions about authorship to notions of apostolicity and authority: that is, an “apostolic” writing, which has continuing authority for the church, must be written by one of the first apostles (Johnson, “Revelation,” pp. 404–5). R. H. Charles makes the opposite point in following the same premise. His influential commentary on Revelation follows the lead of Dionysius in rejecting the Apostle John’s authorship on stylistic grounds and then the credibility of the book’s theological vision by that conclusion (Revelation, vol. 1, xxi–xxiii). In my opinion, Charles exemplifies the dangerous tendency of modern scholarship to confuse historical quests after apostolic authors with the church’s recognition of a book’s apostolicity and canonicity. The assumption that the Apostle John must have written Revelation since its inspiration and canonicity depend upon it is simply wrong. The apostolicity or trustworthiness of the content of a NT writing (many of which are anonymous or quite possibly pseudonymous) is determined by a theological rather than historical perspective. In applying the criterion of apostolicity, earliest Christianity was fundamentally concerned with the congruence of a book’s message with its memory of the apostles’ witness to Christ. In this sense, the issue at stake, whether to include Revelation in the NT canon, was not a question of authorship; rather, at issue was whether its message comported well with the theological tradition the Apostle John “founded.” Each of the compositions that make up the NT Johannine corpus transmits a particular understanding of the significance of Jesus Christ that no doubt originated with the ministry of the Apostle John. Even if Revelation were not written by the apostle, its content continues to be trusted because its message is true to the witness of the Apostle John.
There is a sense in which Revelation represents the best illustration in the NT of a book whose authority derives from its revelatory content rather than from its author’s status.[4] Clearly the author’s self-introduction intends to subordinate the author to the visions he has received from God through Christ, who then commissions him to write them down. The authority of Revelation does not derive from an apostle who writes his visions down; rather, it derives from their source, God, and from the one who commissions their writing, the Risen Christ.
Therefore, although he follows the teaching of the Apostle John, the John who wrote Revelation is not John the beloved apostle of Jesus. Nor does the author use a pseudonym to disguise his real identity and legitimize his writing by giving credit to John the Apostle; he simply uses his real name to identify himself to his audience. Some scholars have suggested that John belongs to a “school” consisting of Christian teachers or prophets.[5] The most one can suggest in this regard is that John belongs to a school of Christian prophets which sought to preserve and transmit to others the Apostle John’s unique witness to the risen Lord Jesus. Even if one concludes that the evidence does not support this particular conclusion, the ongoing authority of Revelation is not ultimately determined by the ideology which equates an apostolic writer with an apostolic writing. The church’s recognition that John’s Revelation belongs to the Christian biblical canon and continues to serve the “one holy catholic and apostolic church” stems from its confidence that this composition constitutes a normative witness to the “word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ” (cf. Rev. 1:2).
Audience.[6] The believers for whom John of Patmos writes are members of Christian congregations located along the coastline of southwest Asia, an ancient Roman province which is now Turkey. The general experience of faithful Christians to whom John writes was one of real hardship and heartache; the costs of remaining Christian were great. Irenaeus wrote toward the end of the second century that Revelation was written late in the first century during the reign of Domitian (Against Heresies 5.30.3), whose official repression of Christianity as a politically and religiously deviant movement is well attested. John himself was exiled to Patmos, a Roman penal colony, as a result of his prophetic ministry (1:9).
Recent research, however, suggests that Rome did not single out Christianity for persecution; neither is there much evidence to confirm an empirewide effort to repress Christian worship (Boring, Revelation, pp. 13–18). In the first century, martyrdom was still exceptional. No doubt, various forms of persecution were commonplace; the suffering was therefore quite real. This persecution precipitated ideological tensions between Rome and Christianity. Rome’s cultural myths and mores tended to subvert both the worship and the witness of earliest Christianity. For example, the church’s conflict with the emperor cultus, an important background element for understanding parts of Revelation, does not center on the worship of the current Caesar. Supposed tensions between the Roman ruler and the Lord Jesus were those not of personal rivalry but of ideological disagreement: the Roman Caesar symbolized the imperial and secular Roman culture whose commitments and values were utterly contrary to the kingdom of God. Of course, to the extent that anyone participates in the social order—at work, at play, in school, as a member of various communities and associations—one comes under the influence of secular society’s myths and ideals. This more “ordinary” reality was more central to John’s pastoral purposes. For him, the experience of powerlessness and helplessness within the Roman world was the cost exacted because of Christianity’s refusal to submit to Rome’s secular vision.
No doubt the persecution of many believers was sponsored by local Jewish leadership (2:9; 3:9). The church should expect greater sympathy from the synagogue: Christianity began as a sectarian movement within Judaism; and Jews and Christians share a common religious history and a common experience of alienation and persecution at the hands of society’s ruling elite. This shared history and experience, however, was viewed as a threat by the synagogue (A. Collins, Crisis and Catharsis, pp. 85–87). Especially toward the end of the first century, the church was still attracting converts from Judaism, while at the same time it was being influenced by a growing gentile majority which sometimes retained its anti-semitic sentiments. Christians both confessed Jesus from Nazareth, viewed as a “criminal” or “Antichrist” by outsiders, as Lord Messiah and thought of themselves as the “true Israel” in whose congregational life the biblical promises were being fulfilled by the God of Israel. While other themes of the emerging Christian systematic theology had antecedents in Judaism, these two foundational convictions of Christian proclamation would have been disputed, if not deplored, by “official” Judaism. Religious Jews may well have understood Christians as calling into question the very right of Judaism to exist—a perception intensified by Judaism’s recent history which included expulsion from both Rome (in A.D. 49) and Palestine (in A.D. 70). Many Jews had found their way to this region from Rome and Palestine to establish the bulkhead for their Diaspora; there was no retreat for the Jews from southwest Asia too. Further, the Jewish synagogue was an affluent and politically respectable social institution in Asia. By contrast, the young church was marginal and without much political influence or economic affluence; thus, its struggle with Judaism often went in favor of its much stronger foe.
Against this sociological backdrop, the interpreter understands better that the theological crisis facing John’s Christian readers was how to form their now embattled identity as the “true” Israel. The real temptation facing many new converts was to define notions of power (ethics) and truth (theology) in secular terms—by money and social status—rather than in spiritual terms. No doubt, this crisis was more keenly experienced by the Jewish converts to Christianity (like John himself), whose return to the Jewish synagogue would have guaranteed some sense of personal security and material comfort. The crisis facing John’s readers is theological and spiritual: who is Lord over human and historical existence, God or Mammon? Of course, believers are paying costs for their faith; they are suffering because they are powerless and refuse to be a part of the mainstream where creature comforts are found. At least one element in John’s response to his readers accords with the “deeper-logic” of biblical teaching: for the community of faith, the costs and trials of human life are tests of its devotion to God (cf. James 1:2–3).
The crisis facing John’s church has confronted every generation of Christians. The costs of forming a community which bears witness to God in a secular and materialistic world are manifold; the temptation to compromise is strong, because, especially for the new believer, the gods of this world seem stronger than the God of Israel. John’s advice for his first readers is sound advice for current readers too: in the executed and exalted Lamb, a sovereign God has disclosed the Lord’s triumph over the idols and ruling elite of the anti-Christian kingdom.
Specific cues are provided the readers at the beginning of the composition to signal what kind of literature they are about to read. In fact, the very first word of John’s composition identifies it as a “revelation” or apocalypse (1:1). Most educated readers in the first century were familiar with the forms and conventions used in the literature of apocalypticism. Other prophets, whether Jewish or Christian, had written books based upon their visions of the “other world.” Thus, when John began his composition as an apocalypse, he was in effect locating it within a familiar literary tradition known to his readers who were able to make meaning of what he wrote.
John quickly follows with a second cue: his composition consists of “the words of prophecy” (1:3). Modern biblical criticism rightly distinguishes the prophetic literature of the OT from the apocalyptic literature of the Second Temple period of Judaism.[7] This distinction between an “apocalypse” and a “prophecy” helps focus the literary analysis of Revelation: how can a single composition function as both apocalypse and prophecy? To answer this question a further distinction needs to be made between the form of a literary work and its function. In the case of Revelation, John employs many literary forms and themes found in other apocalypses, and yet his composition’s overarching function is prophetic. At the very least, the second cue tells his audience that they should read this particular apocalypse in a qualified way, differently from other apocalypses with which they were familiar.
The readers are afforded a final cue when John greets them by using the familiar salutation of the “Pauline” letter: “Grace and peace to you” (1:4). This conventional letter greeting both complicates and qualifies the composition’s apocalyptic forms and prophetic function.[8] J. J. Collins has documented the fluidity of format in the apocalyptic genre. The arrangement of visions within an apocalyptic composition varies greatly from one apocalypse to another. According to Collins, the interpreter should carefully distinguish forms from format. Typically ancient visionaries wrote their visions down in a variety of literary formats. For instance, John has shaped his visions into a letter, not unlike the letters written by Paul or Peter. Not only does Revelation’s epistolary format provide the readers with a more definite structure, perhaps to aid its analysis or memorization, but its format also indicates that the book’s prophetic function serves a pastoral aim.
Let me explain. Letters were typically written by people like Paul to give pastoral advice and theological counsel to particular congregations to help resolve problems that threatened their spiritual formation. Letters were used as literary “substitutes” for those who wrote them and “performed” the work of a pastor in their stead. John’s situation-in-exile prevented him from coming to the seven congregations in person; therefore, he writes down his visions in a letter format to clarify his pastoral intentions. These intentions of the author must control any interpretation of Revelation. The interpreter should render the meaning of Revelation in ways which demonstrate the practical significance of what John has written down.
Revelation as an apocalyptic composition.[9] John is a pilgrim in a strange world—a world constructed by dramatic visions and impressive sounds. Revelation, then, is something like a travelogue; in it is a record of John’s impressions of his visits to new places and introductions to new people, like the cities Babylon and the new Jerusalem, or the elder he meets in the heavenly throneroom of God. In a literal sense, John’s visionary world is unlike our own—past, present, or future; in a metaphorical sense, however, John’s visionary world is very much like our own—past, present, and future. For example, while John’s vision of Babylon does not have an exact counterpart in human history, it does speak of the very stuff that determines the structures of human life and history: in this sense, Babylon speaks about modern America as much as about ancient Rome.
In this regard, the very first word of John’s composition is the interpreter’s most essential clue: the word is apokalypsis, “revelation,” which designates the entire work as belonging to a particular classification of literature, “apocalyptic,” and of thought, “apocalypticism.” The primary intent of this literature is to reveal the “mysteries of God” to believers presently experiencing oppression and suffering. While the real consequence of its “other-worldly” language is often to conceal divine truth from its readers, its intended consequence is to reveal the truth of God. Some scholars incorrectly suppose that apocalyptic images of violence and divine judgment intend to hide John’s criticism of his opponents. In truth, this conclusion seems quite unlikely. The vivid nature of John’s images clearly indicates the nature of his criticism of the social order and identifies the church’s enemies. Further, I suspect that John has an evangelistic purpose for writing Revelation: his desire is that even the non-believer respond to his message of God’s triumph over the anti-Christian kingdom and be converted. To disguise his message would only undermine its missionary role. Revelation’s harsh criticisms of the social order, represented in part by the total destruction of Babylon, seek to distinguish the church as an alternative to other institutions which have been shaped and therefore corrupted by secular notions of power and security. Knowing that this “sociology of conflict” is so central to the rise of apocalypticism helps the interpreter of Revelation to understand both its visionary images and its pastoral advice: to resist Babylon is to persevere and ultimately to participate in the eschatological triumph of God over Babylon.
There are four literary “forms” characteristic of apocalypses. First, apocalyptic compositions have structural unity. In responding to the criticism that Revelation is disjointed and fragmentary (Charles), we would agree that Revelation is a book that combines different visions that sometimes obscure its overall structure and central message. Actually, the architecture of the composition follows a deliberate plan, combining blocks of triads and septets that are then fitted together as parts of a single, coherent whole. I will argue, for instance, that John’s three visions of seven judgments are integrated within the body of his composition, effecting the impression that history is moving toward God’s final destruction of evil and death at Christ’s return. Further, the author often repeats similar words and phrases in inverted (ABC C′B′A′) or chiastic (ABCDC′B′A′) order. John also employs common “catch-phrases” to relate different sections of his composition; for example, the terms of Christ’s exhortations to the seven congregations (Rev. 2–3) are employed again to describe results of his glorious return (Rev. 19:11–20:6a).[10] In the case of this rhetorical device, John seeks to make a critical theological point: the consequences of following Christ’s advice to either repent or endure, will be felt by all at Christ’s return. In addition, extended prose episodes are typically autobiographical, providing an additional dimension of continuity to the whole work.
The literary coherence of the apocalypse, as concentrated by John’s theological convictions, clarifies how his visions correspond to “the real world.” In this sense, the language of Revelation is “non-objectifying” (Boring, Revelation, pp. 53–54); its disunity will always be insisted upon by those who think of it as discursive history-writing which describes the “real world” in factual ways. Revelation’s prose is much more analogical and liturgical and thus resists our immediate and facile corollaries between its “other-world” visions and “this-world’s” places and persons. John has been transported “in the spirit” to journey in a strange land—a land very different from his (and our) world, but nevertheless a land on which John discovers the nature of God’s reign in relationship to the evils of our current existence and ultimate transformation.
Apocalypses draw upon a pool of familiar symbols to speak about spiritual and historical realities. Special numbers represent spiritual truth; incredible animals and non-human humans are dramatic distortions of everyday places and people. The visionary experience itself requires new frames of reference and different forms of communication. Collins’s nice phrase, “literal non-literalism,” is an appropriate way to speak of the symbol systems which provide apocalypses their essential content. Yet, apocalypses are not written as detached accounts of future historical events; their images do not intend to draft reality in literal or factual ways. Apocalypses view reality from an entirely different frame of reference in order to transform our understanding of human existence.[11] At the same time, the world created by symbols is not fictive; it is a non-literal but real world, with parallels to human experience and existence.
Even though symbols are not ordinary language, Revelation does not require some special cipher to unlock its “mystery.” John’s purpose is to reveal, not conceal; and if one follows the clues, his intended meanings become quite clear. This should come as no surprise if one recalls John’s pastoral interests; pastors work for clear communication. Thus, John draws from a pool of well-known pagan myths, Jewish scriptures, and Christian traditions to cast a familiar background against which his readers come to understand and share in his visionary experience.
The ultimate purpose of Revelation’s symbolism, of course, is to convey the book’s message “on the end (which) serves to release the imagination from concrete reality; because they are pictures of the ‘not yet,’ the images are free to go their own way.”[12] While Beardslee’s point is surely correct, it is sometimes more appropriate to speak of visionary phenomena as “not here” rather than as “not yet”—in terms of cosmology rather than eschatology. Thus, Revelation’s images are born in God’s heavenly domain where ultimate truth for earth is found. The larger point must be further qualified by the frequent observation that John correlates historical fact and non-historical symbol to varying degrees (Caird, Revelation, pp. 60–62). For example, the messages to the seven congregations (Rev. 2–3) and the vision of Babylon’s destruction (Rev. 17–18) relate to actual cities in John’s “real” world. In any case, the historical plane of reference has more to do with God’s salvation than with human history. Thus, the action which Revelation plots corresponds to the outworking of God’s salvation in human history: the announcement of God’s triumph at the exaltation of the slain Lamb (5:1–11:19) always provokes the protest of evil powers (12:1–19:10), the essential conflict which is finally resolved in God’s favor and revealed by a consummating act.
In addition, symbols are evocative. Any seer wants his readers to “feel” the impact of apocalyptic language in a visceral way and realizes that their imaginative powers are excited by metaphor or myth to think about their faith in new and fresh ways. Reading apocalypses, therefore, should be an “experience”—dramatic and emotive. Even though Revelation retells the familiar story of God’s salvation, it does so in a way which evokes a renewed sense of the story’s significance for life.
Apocalypses depend upon the typologies found in the OT and other Jewish writings.[13] Typologies speak of the “big ideas” of faith in terms of people, places, and events. While visions transcend ordinary experience, their images, however distorted and strange, come to resemble stories told by the biblical writers. In this way apocalyptic visions can be re-classified according to certain recognizable types of events or people that have theological value for the readers.
John’s constant allusions to biblical stories suggest that he composes his book of visions in conversation with the OT. Not only is much of his rhetoric borrowed from the biblical prophets, but his visions can often be catalogued according to the types of people and events which the prophets themselves used to rehearse the constitutive features of salvation’s history. For example, John describes his visions of divine judgment as a rehearsal of the plagues-exodus-wilderness-land events of the OT (Rev. 8–9, 16). Like the OT prophets, he re-classifies the covenant relationship between God and the community of believers as a type of marriage between God’s Lamb and his Bride (Rev. 19–21). John even draws upon the most important Christian typology, the death-resurrection of Christ, in composing his vision of the two witnesses (Rev. 11).
John’s conceptual continuity with prophetic faith suggests that he considered his visions in terms of God’s promised salvation rather than as a spontaneous eruption of divine vindictiveness more characteristic of some Jewish apocalypses. For John, the prophetic impulses of social criticism and proclamation are more appropriate to his agenda. His message corresponds to the prophetic promise of the triumph of God’s reign within history. For him, the new Israel has experienced a new exodus from sin and death and has set out on a journey for a new Jerusalem. The pilgrimage is not without hardship and heartache, because sin and death still exist within the fallen world order which surrounds them.
While Revelation is not a diachronic narrative and does not envision a sequence of events, it does view God’s salvation as having a history. John’s appropriation of the promise-fulfillment motif is a tacit expression of this conviction and suggests how his version of “Christian apocalypticism” has modified its Jewish antecedent. For John, the present has not collapsed into the future; rather, the present moment in which the church lives is transformed by the past exaltation of Christ and is located within a special history where God’s promised salvation is worked out and will be fully realized in the future return of the exalted Christ.
Apocalypses contain a distinctive theology and historiography. Boring says that the images of Revelation are “non-logical and non-inferential”; that is, taken literally, the images of strange beasts or of an invisible heaven are “nonsensical” because they cannot be verified by ordinary human experience (Boring, Revelation, pp. 57–58). Boring is correct; however, this does not mean that Revelation makes no sense; its sense is rather “theo-logical.” The meaning of Revelation and other apocalypses is rendered coherent by certain convictions about God and history.
More specifically, every apocalypse, including Revelation, is a theodicy. That is, Revelation seeks to defend the vital presence and participation of a good and sovereign Lord God in a world where the everyday experience is full of human misery and social injustice.[14] John composes Revelation as a cumulative case for God by casting three integral images of God’s Lamb: (1) God’s goodness has already been demonstrated in heaven by the exalted Lamb (Rev. 5); (2) God’s goodness continues to be demonstrated in the history of the community that “follow(s) the Lamb wherever he goes” (Rev. 14:1–5); and (3) God’s goodness will be demonstrated in cosmic splendor at the Lamb’s triumphant parousia (Rev. 19:11–22:6a).
The real power of the secular elite and the powerlessness of the believing community challenge its conviction that the Creator God is in control of creation. Schüssler Fiorenza is surely correct in arguing that John’s concern is with the issue of power: who really has control over history’s destiny? Believers, who might otherwise believe in the sovereignty of God over human affairs, experience oppression and powerlessness that seem to contradict their belief in an all-powerful and caring God: God must be either loving but weak or powerful yet uncaring. Apocalyptic theology argues for the sovereign rule of God: God is creator and has absolute control from the beginning of all things (Rev. 4). It follows that God also has absolute control over the conclusion of all things (of. Gen. 3 and Rev. 21–22). In light of this theological commitment, the problem shifts from God to human beings. At issue for John is the faulty perception of those who define power in secular terms rather than in terms of “the great reversal.” The gospel teaches that God’s promised salvation has been fulfilled not through a mighty Caesar but through a slain Lamb!
Apocalypses not only interpret human experience within history, but promote a particular notion of human history (J. J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, pp. 9–10). The apocalyptic tradition views the political, religious, and economic institutions of the social order on the brink of collapse. Apocalyptic hope is centered by “the vision of human existence as caught up in a transcendent struggle which will express itself in a real history culminating in a total victory of good.”[15] This eschatological inertia toward God’s inevitable triumph forces the readers to interpret the social conditions of their world in a radically different and threatening way: society is in irreversible devolution, and no institution of the social order or any of its ruling elite—not even Caesar—can save society from its own self-destruction. Ironically, society’s institutions do bring a certain order to human existence; however, its orderliness ensures that chaos and death rather than shalom and life make up the fabric of society. Personal crisis has become a way of life for believers who live within the corrupt social order, precisely because their lives are “disorderly” to the extent that they refuse to worship society’s myths and idols.
History’s present crisis is radically redrawn, if viewed from the end of history when God’s reign will finally triumph at the Lord’s return from heaven, from outside of history. Those places of history and those agents of the Evil One who are responsible for history’s misery and evils will be judged and removed from the new Jerusalem, where eschatological Israel lives with God and God’s Lamb. Human life is utterly transformed so that death itself is destroyed. God’s people will be vindicated at the end of history; they will receive their rewards of transformed life and eternal shalom for overcoming evil.[16] This synchronic interplay between the motifs of crisis-judgment-vindication represents the “deeper-logic” of apocalypticism’s “vertical” view of human history: the salvation of history comes from outside of history, where God reigns, to transform history by abruptly ending the reign of evil and by vindicating the reign of God.
One final motif should be considered because it touches on how the seer writes his “theologized” history: apocalypses are dualistic. Their visions intersect two realms of human experience, two orientations toward human existence, personal and societal. They describe the radically different consequences of each domain—one leads to death, while the other leads to life; one leads to the self-destruction of the old social order, while the other leads to a new society. Within this dualistic worldview, the apocalypse seeks to give direction to the tensions all believers experience when trying to live in a fallen, secular world as members of a community of faith for whom the real world is yet to come. The various images of this conflict found in apocalyptic literature reflect the experience of a suffering people of God. The most pronounced conflict in Revelation is expressed by Christian martyrs, whose lament is “how long?” (Rev. 6:10). On the one hand, they recognize their lives on earth are dominated by the powerful enemies of God, who have even succeeded in ending their faithful witness to God (cf. Rev. 11:7–10). They are those most aware of the futility of simplistic idealism and of the real costs of Christian discipleship. Realism is the catchword of the politics of apocalypticism. On the other hand, their lamentation is rooted in a hope for their future vindication because of their commitment to God’s gospel. A. Y. Collins may well be correct in arguing that Revelation’s dualistic and violent rhetoric intends to heighten and intensify an awareness of the community’s powerlessness in the present social order, both to evoke a sense of detachment from the evils of this world and to provide a “catharsis” of those sentiments (e.g., vengeance, discouragement) which might distract from the community’s faith in God (A. Collins, Crisis and Catharsis, pp. 141–63).
At the center of the apocalyptic affirmations is that God’s future vindication corresponds to God’s past faithfulness. Likewise, for John, the future parousia of Christ corresponds to his past exaltation; thus, the past activities of God and God’s Christ provide a concrete basis for present hope in the midst of present crisis. God’s judgment and vindication have already taken place, already in heaven and inevitably upon earth; the future earthly realization of God’s triumph over evil is only a matter of time.
Revelation as a prophetic oracle.[17] The modern distinctions that are sometimes made between an apocalyptic and a prophetic view of salvation’s history, or between the literature of apocalypses (visionary) and of prophecies (oracular), would have been unintelligible to John. The current debate about the literary genre of Revelation reminds the interpreter that even now it is not easy to differentiate between the two. John himself refers to his composition in its prologue as both apocalypse (1:1) and prophecy (1:3). Evidently, the author felt that prophecy could be written with apocalyptic forms; revelation is revelation, whether through vision or oracle. John would also fail to appreciate the modern distinction between prophecy as “forthtelling” and as “foretelling”; his phrase, “words of prophecy,” would have been understood both ways by his audience: prophecy is both proclamation and prediction.
But just what does John mean when he refers to his composition as “this prophecy”? Several recent studies have demonstrated that “Christian prophecy” can be understood as both a revelation tradition and a revealing phenomenon; the prophetic shape of Revelation may be understood accordingly. Especially according to Johannine Christianity, the presence and purpose of “the Spirit of prophecy” was to transmit the continuing instruction of the risen Lord to his current disciples (cf. Rev. 1:11; chs. 2–3; 4:1; 17:1; 21:10). In earliest Christianity, guidance came from the stable “Jesus tradition,” consisting of memories about the historical Jesus, and from the Christian prophets whose Spirit-inspired prophecies transmitted the ongoing teaching of the Risen Jesus who continues to bear witness to the “word of God” within the believing community. Therefore, John’s phrase, “word of God and testimony of Jesus Christ,” suggests a more dynamic relationship between Christ and his disciples than is sometimes supposed by modern scholarship.[18] The belief in the Spirit as the carrier of instruction from the Risen Christ, rooted in the Fourth Gospel’s “Upper Room Discourse” (John 14:26), was a controversial one. The important third-century Christian teacher, Gaius, who objected to the Montanistic use of John’s teaching of the Spirit of prophecy, became an early opponent against the canonization of both John’s Gospel and Revelation. Nevertheless, in more than one early canon list, Revelation follows the fourfold Gospel because the canonizing church recognized that certain of John’s visions contained sayings from the exalted Lamb to the church (e.g., Rev. 2–3). The location of Revelation in these early canon lists suggests an elevated status, similar to the fourfold Gospel in importance for some Christians.
The recognition that Revelation belongs to the prophetic tradition has to do with its perspective toward the readers and does not oblige the interpreter to find all the distinctive forms of prophetic literature in John’s composition. Beasley-Murray has identified several “prophetic-like oracles” strung together in chapter fourteen (Revelation, p. 22), and others have done the same in the final vision of Christ’s parousia (for him, 19:1–21:8).[19] Typically, however, John introduces his various visions by apocalyptic formulae (e.g., “I looked and saw”) rather than by the formulae of prophetic utterance (e.g., “Thus says the Lord our God”). And only once in Revelation does God actually speak to John (21:6–8); this simply does not square with the literary Gattung of the prophetic tradition. In any case, scholars tend to emphasize the theological distinctives of the prophetic tradition rather than its literary forms, which are apocalyptic. Therefore, the interpreter should understand that John’s introduction of his book as “words of prophecy” indicates the overarching purpose of his composition: to transmit a word from God that is constitutive for faith and life.
Not only does John regard the overarching purpose of his composition to be prophetic, he views himself as a prophet, the mediator of the revelation for the churches. That the charismata of the Spirit shaped the religious orientation of earliest Christianity hardly needs mention. John’s self-understanding no doubt was in continuity with this orientation, so that both his vision (cf. Rev. 5:4–7) and his commission to write it down (cf. Rev. 1:19) “would probably still have been understood … in terms of the spirit of prophecy”[20] rather than ecstatic rapture as for the apocalyptist. Sharply put, “we have in the Revelation of John a literary deposit of Spirit-inspired prophecy as is referred to … in early Christian writings.”[21] Thus, both his prophetic vocation and the Spirit’s inspiration to see the visions of divine mysteries (“in the Spirit”; Rev. 1:10) are what give him confidence that his composition has authority for the churches.[22]
There are three important theological distinctives to a “prophetic” reading of Revelation. First, unlike most apocalyptic documents of Judaism, which focus on things outside of history, Revelation shows an interest in history as the context for God’s salvation. The visions contained in Revelation are not all of heaven, nor are they all about what happens after the end of history. The messages to the seven congregations remind the readers that even those visions of heaven and the new Jerusalem are commentaries about God’s salvation as it is worked out within the history of God’s people on earth. Second, John writes Revelation in conversation with his Bible (OT). The visions he receives are presumed to fulfill the biblical promise to Israel—which most NT writers consider a critical feature for understanding the Christ event. Third, building upon the previous two points, in calling his composition a prophecy John indicates that it contains the prediction of future historical events. Its function is to evoke a present response of devotion to God by foretelling the climax of human history at the Lamb’s parousia. Of course, John believed that Christ would return to earth; this was the central tenet of early Christian eschatology. Yet, in referring to his book as a prophecy, he moves this claim of faith to a new level of certainty—from a belief in it to a prediction of it.
Therefore, we prefer to think of Revelation as a “hybrid”—one part apocalypse (forms) and another part prophecy (function), one modifying the other.[23] The prophetic shape of Revelation gives Christian hope a certain concreteness. Its message is transformed into an announcement that the messianic mission is the commencement of the age of fulfillment when the vindication of God’s faithfulness will be realized. The Pastor’s celebration of the exaltation of Jesus Christ, the paschal Lamb of God, yields the Prophet’s prediction of his parousia. In part, the author utilizes the literary forms and themes of apocalypticism to draw attention to the church’s current crisis. On this literary landscape, then, the clear and certain announcement (indeed, a divine edict!) of God’s future triumph over evil within history is made more powerful and profound.
Revelation as a letter.[24] Not only did John use apocalyptic forms and themes to fashion a composition with a prophetic voice; he wrote Revelation as a pastoral letter to his audience. John’s desire to fashion his visions into a letter seems a natural one, since letters are addressed a particular audience in a crisis of faith and since apocalyptic literature was intended for a suffering, oppressed people in need of exhortation. The coupling of letters with imaginative language is one way to intensify an author’s exhortation by recasting the audience’s crisis and their necessary response to it in fresh ways (J. J. Collins, Apocalyptic Imagination, p. 31).
In writing this commentary on Revelation, I will seek to develop more fully the fundamental importance of John’s epistolary format to his overarching literary structure and theological program. In introducing this point, two aspects of letter-writing in the ancient world, and specifically within the earliest church, are important to note.[25]
First, a letter is not a narrative, and letter writers are not chroniclers. While some NT letters contain autobiographical sections (e.g., Gal. 1–2; 2 Cor. 10–12), the letters themselves do not function as historical autobiographies. Without doubt Revelation is informed by a historical perspective, and it predicts an ultimate historical event, the second coming of Christ. There is even the sense of time and movement, when viewed on a macro-historical scale: the composition begins with Christ’s death and exaltation (Rev. 5–11), continues with a vision of the church’s present difficulties (Rev. 12–13), and concludes with Christ’s parousia (Rev. 19–21). Revelation consists mostly of the recapitulation of various themes, concentrated around critical “moments.” The recapitulation of these themes, which link these climatic moments of salvation’s history, reinforces this sense of movement from Christ’s exaltation to his parousia which sandwiches and interprets the church’s intervening history and its crisis. However, Revelation is not a historical narrative as such, which moves the reader chronologically from a beginning episode to a concluding one. The literalistic and reductionistic rendering of Revelation into a precise and specific narrative of future events frustrates John’s epistolary intentions.
Second, a letter is “occasional” literature. A letter is not a systematic theology or academic writing, but a pastoral brief. In the case of Revelation, letters are written as a practical response to the needs of seven struggling congregations. Letters are occasioned by, and are read and understood in relationship to, a real life setting. Interpreters who suppose that Revelation was written as a blueprint of their modern historical situation are surely mistaken, as are those who fail to recover its practical message and interpret it in terms of mythopoetic abstractions. A mistake is made if the interpreter assumes this book of visions conveys esoteric meaning, hidden from its readers. John’s visions were “formatted” as a letter by a prophet-pastor who seeks to form Christian disciples by addressing them clearly and directly about the crisis which threatens their devotion to God and to God’s Christ.[26] By reading Revelation as a letter, the interpreter is reminded that the real battles of Christian faith are fought in local congregations. While it is proper, even necessary, to think of the seven congregations for whom John wrote down his visions from God as constituents of the timeless and invisible church catholic, they are first of all made up of real believers struggling with real problems that threatened their faith. A commentary sensitive to Revelation’s epistolary form is therefore also sensitive to its pastoral intent and it will resist undue abstraction by always seeking to relate its meaning to the deeper realities of human life and Christian faith.
The History of Canonizing Revelation
The third critical period in the history of Revelation follows its course to canonization, which took several centuries to complete. In reconstructing this particular historical “moment,” the interpreter is reminded that Revelation is not a literary composition in an isolated sense; it has been included in the list of twenty-six other writings as one part of the canon of Christian scriptures, the New Testament.[27] In forming an ongoing rule for Christian faith and practice, the church came to recognize the unique authority of the NT, and Revelation within it, for forming the life and faith of God’s people. Simply stated, the church formed the Bible in order to form the church. According to 2 Timothy 3:16 the proper uses of the Bible for its intended role within the church are both pastoral (teaching and training) and prophetic (reproving and correcting). Thus, any interpretation of the Bible must be either pastoral or prophetic and must result in increased wisdom (2 Tim. 3:15) and good works (2 Tim. 3:17).
The purpose of this introductory section, then, is to discuss the special importance of Revelation when viewed as canonical literature. In taking up this point, I am going against the stream of modern commentaries on Revelation. These studies typically attempt to locate John’s composition within the history of ancient religion or within a particular social and literary world. This more historical orientation toward biblical interpretation derives from modern epistemological assumptions that equate truth with historical fact. There is very little interest shown in interpreting Revelation from a canonical perspective, because the interpreter moves the primary locus of meaning from the point of origin to its position within the biblical canon and within the history of its interpretation by forefathers and foremothers of faith. The epistemological assumptions, then, are more religious since the canonical perspective assumes that the act of interpreting the Bible must be influenced, even guided, by its intended role as the biblical rule of faith for the Christian faith community. Meaning is linked to the ongoing role of the biblical canon within the church. In this regard, the particular history of Revelation during the formation of the NT canon, its position within the final form of the NT canon, and the variety of its interpretations provide a set of clues about how Revelation functions as part of the church’s rule of faith, the Christian biblical canon.
Rather than clarify the various criteria the early church used to determine the canonicity of Christian writings,[28] I will simply assume that by including Revelation in the NT the early church recognized that Revelation would perform a canonical role for subsequent generations of believers. Together with the other writings which make up the Christian biblical canon, Revelation would continue to help define what it meant to be the church and to do as the church ought. Further, the early church assumed that the formation of Christian faith is possible only if all parts within the whole are taken seriously; therefore, the interpreter must resist the tendency to work only with a “canon within the canon,” when one portion of the Bible is elevated in status to determine the meaning and authority of the rest; this bias will lead to serious distortions in the manner of Christian discipleship. The distinctive role Revelation plays in forming the church’s faith can be discerned when the interpreter seeks to interpret Revelation in relationship to all other writings which make up the whole biblical canon; only then can the whole truth be discerned. Finally, then, the order of the different parts or units of the NT (Gospel, Acts, Pauline and non-Pauline Letters, Revelation) reflects a specific “grammar” that assigns a specific function to each successive unit of the whole NT. By following the implicit rules of this NT grammar, the interpreter is better able to make a meaning of a particular text or collection of texts that corresponds with the Bible’s canonical role.
Revelation in the history of forming the NT. The interpreter can learn much about how Revelation should function as canon from the history of its canonization. H. Gamble aptly characterizes the canonization of Revelation as “fitful and uneven.”[29] Until the time of Constantine, who used the book’s imperial imagery for self-promotion,[30] Revelation was not recognized as canonical in some important regions of the early catholic church. Opposition to its canonicity was most keen in the East, where skeptical judgments were sustained over the recommendation of Athanasius, and continued to be exercised by some of the most influential leaders of early Christianity (e.g., Eusebius, Gaius, the Cappadocian Fathers). Later, this perspective continued among the Protestant Reformers who generally held to a low view of Revelation’s suitability as canonical literature, although for different reasons (Krodel, Revelation, pp. 13–31). Today, there are still some non-Chalcedon (i.e., Nestorian) Christian communions who reject the canonicity of Revelation and follow the Peshitta, an ancient Syriac version of the Bible that excludes Revelation along with 2 Peter, 2–3 John, and Jude. And the Eastern Orthodox do not include readings from Revelation in their liturgy—tantamount to a rejection of its canonicity.
Actually, Revelation was not used during much of the second century; at least it was rarely cited in the writings of the early Fathers. According to Farmer, not until the emergence of the cult of martyrs during the late second and early third centuries did Revelation become prominent as part of a “martyr’s canon.”[31] This accords with two prominent features in the history of Revelation’s canonization. First, the usefulness of Revelation was more quickly discerned by those believers on the margins of Christianity, such as the Montanists and chiliastic sects, who were largely rejected by mainstream Christians and by the surrounding society because of their sectarian tendencies. Their response toward history in general, informed in part by the ideas and images of apocalypticism, corresponded with their “outsiders” status. Their hope for history was placed at the end of history and in sources beyond history, rather than within history in the resources available from the elite of the sociopolitical order. Second, the elevation of Revelation’s importance for faith among Christian sects became an issue for the leaders of mainstream Christianity, who were suspicious of Revelation’s canonical status for fear that sectarian fanaticism was partially produced by their use (or abuse) of it. Also, the concerns over the apostolicity of Revelation expressed by influential Roman teachers, such as Gaius and Dionysius, were often less about the trustworthiness of Revelation per se, and more about the socioreligious legitimation of groups like the Montanists or the monastic cult of martyrs, who used Revelation as their “canon within the canon.”[32] The issues at stake were often more political than canonical.
Zwingli’s criticisms of Revelation are instructive in this regard. His low view of Revelation was due to its extensive use of angels, which encouraged in his mind a kind of pious mysticism among some immature believers. Also he objected to its liturgical idiom, which was not sufficiently “free” from the Roman Catholic mass to suit him. Luther as well held Revelation in low regard since its symbolism obscured Christ for the rank-and-file believer; and Calvin seemed to agree with this assessment. Luther also thought he detected authorial hubris: John thought more highly of his work than he ought! Luther did not seem to realize that his concerns were actually provoked by the traditional formulae used by apocalyptic writers to “boast” in God, who gave them visions of truth to write down.[33]
Into the modern period, these features of the early history of Revelation’s canonization are repeated over and over again. Those believers who find it an important document of faith tend to be found on the margins of mainstream Christianity, in various fundamentalistic communions of faith, where their interpretation of Revelation advances their own ideas for human life and Christian faith. Because of Revelation’s association with fundamentalism, mainstream Christianity is often frightened off from a serious conversation with Revelation. When Revelation is studied by liberals, too often it is to peddle an anti-fundamentalistic agenda within the church. The consequences of such interpretations are opposed to the church’s essential intention for the Christian biblical canon to form a pluralistic community that is single-minded in its worship of God and love of neighbor.
The history of Revelation’s canonization often illumines the history of its interpretation. The importance of Revelation was often obscured by self-serving interpretations which went unchecked by the church. If the Christian biblical canon was formed by the church to form the faith of the whole church, then any interpretation of Revelation which promotes the ideas or interests of one group at the expense of other communions should be resisted as unedifying. Throughout history, certain groups of believers have elevated the importance of Revelation as their “canon within the canon” either to promote a sectarian sociology or to justify an extreme interest in eschatology. For other believers, the presence of Revelation in the NT is a mere technicality; in practice, Revelation is never used to nurture believers or to measure their fidelity to the rule of faith. Whenever any part of the whole canon is excluded from the actual practice of Christian nurture, distortions in the church’s witness to the gospel will result. A canonical perspective toward Revelation accepts its message as constitutive for and necessary to a vital faith.
Revelation as the NT conclusion. The NT canon in its final form is the product of an intentioned process. In this sense, neither the inclusion of Revelation within the NT canon nor its location within the NT canon is the result of arbitrary and abstract decisions made by a few. The shaping of the NT reflects the actual practice of the church, which came to recognize after a period of some time (two or three centuries) that certain collections of inspired writings, arranged in an inspiring way, best conveyed the rule of Christian faith to the faithful. While the interpreter should not place too much importance on the order of writings within the NT, such a perspective does allow one to construct what Albert Outler has called a “canon-logic” that provides an added dimension of meaning to the whole NT and to individual compositions within it.[34] The final placement of the different parts of the whole NT reflects a canonical grammar that gives coherence to the NT message and purposes to aid the faith community in determining how it should use this biblical message to nurture its Christian worship and witness.
In this light, I have argued elsewhere that the church has given added significance to Revelation by positioning it last in the biblical canon; in my view, Revelation is the Bible’s “conclusion” and should be interpreted as such.[35] The most important theological convictions found in Revelation are highlighted when it is read as the concluding chapter in God’s cosmic struggle with evil powers. The conclusion of the histories of humanity’s evil and its redemption, of the creation, and of the special covenant between God and God’s people are portrayed in John’s visions. In this way, Revelation effects a canonical inclusio with the first chapter of the Bible’s story, the OT book of Genesis. Genesis narrates the beginning of humanity’s rebellion against God in the Garden of Eden, while Revelation narrates the concluding story of God’s eventual triumph over the Evil One and all those the Evil One incites to rebellion. Genesis also indicates the good intentions of God for creation, while Revelation speaks of the realization of those intentions in another Garden—the paradise of the New Jerusalem, where the new Adam reigns with God and with his faithful followers. Further, the stature and purposes of God in Revelation are justified and understood by God’s role as the creator of all things (Rev. 4); thus the Bible begins and concludes its story of God with the very conviction that begins the church’s great ecumenical creeds: “We believe in God the Father Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth.” Even as God is the creator of the present imperfect order, so also God is the creator of the new order, inaugurated by God’s Lamb. Read as the Bible’s inclusio, Revelation gives theological coherence to the Christian scriptures: everything from Genesis to Revelation should be interpreted by a “canon-logic” which asserts that a faithful creator God has kept the promise to restore all things for the Lord and for good.
The close relationship between different parts (i.e., writings or collections of writings) within the NT often signifies another element of the Bible’s “canon-logic.” For example, a consideration of the “special” relationship between the collection of NT letters and Revelation, itself a prophetic-apocalyptic letter, yields important clues for interpreting Revelation.[36] While the letters and Revelation are discrete parts of the NT canon, their common literary form calls attention to their “special” relationship within the NT. Further, their common form suggests common intentions: the intention of every NT letter is to form the distinctive witness of a Christian people. Of course, Revelation carries out its epistolary intention in a particular way; and its message not only contributes to the interpreter’s comprehensive understanding of how the NT letters adapt the gospel to life, but also enhances the interpreter’s ability to locate other parts of the whole truth found in the other NT letters. Let me clarify. Revelation addresses those believers whose spiritual witness is marginal. Its “prophetic” message is clear: they must repent and overcome evil or expect judgment at the revelation of God’s triumph at the parousia (Rev. 2:5; 2:16; 2:21–25 et al.). Revelation also addresses those believers whose social status is marginal but whose witness has remained steadfast. Revelation encourages these believers to maintain their devotion to the Word (2:10–11; 3:10–12) with the promise that they will receive eschatological blessings upon the return of Christ (2:7; 2:17; 2:25–27 et al.). To repeat an important point already made, John’s pastoral commitments are more “hortatory” than didactic: his composition, and the theological convictions it envisions, intend a response of faith and faithfulness. When Revelation is read canonically, its message issues a practical standard by which the ongoing community of believers measures its spiritual condition and decides then whether to repent or hope. The other NT letters can be read as contributing other elements to this essential standard.
In addition, the interpreter recognizes that Revelation forms a prophetic-apocalyptic perspective that should guide the meanings made of the letters; that is, important prophetic and apocalyptical ingredients are added to one’s interpretation of any other NT letter, whether Pauline (Romans–Philemon) or General (Hebrews–Jude). From a careful reading of Revelation, the NT interpreter becomes more acutely aware that God’s imminent judgment or redemption comes at the conclusion of history. As a result, the interpretation of other NT writings is focused by the ultimate consequences of responding to biblical (i.e., apostolic) advice: to reject the biblical “rule of faith” runs the risk of divine judgment and to follow it assures one of divine blessing. Further, when the interpreter relates letter and apocalypse together in mutually informing ways, the significance of Christ’s exaltation and his parousia as the climax of God’s certain triumph over social and spiritual evils becomes more central for faith and life. This theological conviction, which centers John’s Revelation, checks and balances any interpretation we might make of the NT letters.
One final comment in regard to Revelation’s role as the canon’s conclusion. Revelation was first addressed to seven actual congregations; it deals with historically specific problems found in particular groups of Asian believers (cf. Rev. 2–3). When these writings are read within the context of the biblical canon, however, its time-bound and historically conditioned “address” is universalized; and the “cash value” of John’s message to specific congregations must also be universalized—that is, adapted to the life and faith of its current readers. Thus, John’s “true” audience is not the seven Asian congregations; it is the ongoing community of faith. Perhaps this very point, so crucial for biblical interpretation, is best made by Revelation, when the interpreter assumes that the number, seven, symbolizes wholeness or inclusiveness[37] and that the seven congregations of Revelation actually represent the church universal, analogous to the life and faith of every congregation in every age. Care must be exercised in making this point. I am not saying that this is the meaning intended by John. His intended meaning was historically conditioned, occasioned, and quite specific in application. Rather, this is a conclusion made from a canonical perspective, so that John’s composition functions as a reminder that the writings found in the Christian biblical canon are normative for the “seven congregations” of the universal church that continues to bear witness to God in every age.
The History of Interpreting Revelation
The final moment is really the history of the church’s interpretation of Revelation, beginning with its first readers and continuing to today whenever Revelation is picked up and read as the vehicle for “the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ.” Writing such a complex history, covering some two millennia, would be a Heraclean task. The purpose of this introductory section is considerably more modest: five models for interpreting Revelation are summarized in order to establish the “traditional” boundaries for the church’s ongoing conversation with John’s Apocalypse.[38] If Revelation is a composition full of extremes and impossibilities, then the proper role of interpretation is to “moderate” its message by demonstrating how it is adaptable for life. In a sense the importance of a “history of interpretation” is similar to the importance of the Talmud within Judaism. The rabbinical writings that constitute the Talmud, a collection of mostly halakaic midrashim (or commentaries on Israel’s moral code), presume that the Bible is full of impossible (although normative) moral ideals which must be constantly “re-interpreted” for daily life in order to make them intelligible and meaningful. During the history of its interpretation, believers have viewed Revelation in much the same way: the alien nature of John’s images must be “translated” in order to make practical sense of Revelation for the ongoing community of faith.
Five Models of Interpretation.[39] Since the turn of this century, most commentators have included a description of exegetical methods to sketch the history of interpreting Revelation. While cataloging them under different rubrics, scholars generally introduce four different hermeneutical models and identify those who practiced each (Boring, Revelation, pp. 47–51). To these four, I will add a fifth model which reflects a post-critical (i.e., “canonical”) perspective toward Revelation.
(1) The end-historical, or “futurist,” model was employed by the earliest interpreters of Revelation (e.g., Irenaeus, Hippolytus, Tertullian, Justin Martyr; but see Boring, Revelation, p. 50), and versions of it continue to be used today by many leading conservative (esp. premillennial dispensational) interpreters of Revelation (e.g., Walvoord, Tenney). According to this view, the visions given to John predict in detail two future periods of human history, one falling seven years prior to Christ’s return (Rev. 6:1–19:21) and the other one thousand years following the second coming of Christ (20:1–22:6). Except for his introduction (Rev. 1), the messages to the seven churches (Rev. 2–3), and the opening hymns of heavenly praise for God (Rev. 4) and God’s Lamb (Rev. 5), John’s entire description of God’s wrath and eventual triumph over evil refers to world events still in the future.
The good news is that this position recognizes the prophetic nature of John’s composition: the prophet John did intend to predict future events in ways similar to the OT prophet.[40] Especially dispensationalism retains John’s profound sense of the imminence of Christ’s parousia and God’s triumph over the sources of human misery. Although Glasson regards this particular point as a problem for the end-historical position (Glasson, Revelation, p. 11), the interpreter need not deny its fundamental importance for Revelation. Further, from a canonical perspective, John’s sense of “the very near future” of Christ’s return must remain true for every audience that picks up Revelation to adapt its message afresh to its particular life and concerns. As was true for the first readers of Revelation, repentance and devotion are always called for in the light of God’s imminent vindication. Especially in situations of hopelessness and powerlessness, when obedient responses to God become more difficult, the conviction of imminent release can be a word of motivating hope. Moreover, the realistic, even pessimistic view of the social order often linked to this model is in line with John’s description of the anti-Christian kingdom.
Among the more significant problems with this hermeneutical model, however, two are important to mention. First, it fails to understand fully the apocalyptic and epistolary character of this composition. Thus, the symbolic language is misconstrued as literal prophecy, leading interpreters to propose a detailed blueprint for world history, usually referenced by current events. Typically, this blueprint is then presented as divine oracle (rather than human interpretation) in order to promote a theological or ethical agenda. The commentator’s ideological and apologetic concerns tend to diminish John’s pastoral concern conveyed by his composition’s epistolary format.
Second, this model also demotes the significance of the “moment of origin” for controlling the interpretation of Revelation. If John’s book has no significance to those for whom it was first addressed, then the interpreter is allowed to relate it on his or her own terms to his or her audience.
(2) The church-historical, or “historical,” model of interpretation also views Revelation as predictive prophecy, although it views history in a more macroscopic way. Rather than predicting future events which correlate to specific details of John’s visions, the interpreter conceives of Revelation as a symbolic description of history from Christ’s death to his return. Typically, the focus of this interpretation is the interpreter’s own time, which is usually posited at the end of history, near the return of Christ. Thus, the interpreter champions John’s idea of history that all events, especially those considered important to the interpreter’s community, are under the aegis of a ruling God; that all of human society since Christ’s death stand under God’s indictment; and that all humanity moves toward Christ’s second advent, either for judgment or reward. Especially if viewing Revelation from a canonical perspective, the interpreter will concede that it carries this sort of theological freight.
The chief problem with this hermeneutical model is similar to that of the end-historical model: both dismiss uncritically John’s intended meaning for his readers at the close of the first century as holding any significance for his readers at the close of the twentieth. In this case, however, rather than being too ideological or sectarian, the church-historical position is faulty because it is too abstract to be of much practical use for the formation of Christian faith; in this sense, it denies the church’s intent for the biblical canon. To my knowledge, however, this view has no modern proponents.
(3) The non-historical, or “idealist,” model interprets Revelation as a work of theological or poetic power which transcends the intentions of its author. Revelation is a deposit of spiritual insight which is universally binding. Origen’s allegorical treatment of Revelation,[41] or, more recently, the mythopoetic rendering of its meaning by J. Ellul and A. Farrer, are examples of this approach. P. S. Minear’s work on apocalyptic may also fall under this category, although he is interested in Revelation’s prophetic theology and in the historical situations for which its theology was first applied. For him, however, the charismatic nature of apocalyptic theology resists historical critical analysis because prophetic charisma formed, even required, non-historical expressions of language, actions and conceptions. Those scholars such as Bowman and Blevins, who view Revelation as a drama, or Lauchli and Shepherd, who view Revelation as liturgy, do so on form-critical and historical grounds rather than for purely aesthetic reasons.
There is some benefit to this approach. Modern interpreters tend to view Revelation “atomistically”; they are interested in making some sense of various parts or aspects of the written text. The tendency of modern methods of interpretation, characteristic of both conservative and critical scholars, is to get lost in the minutiae of this composition’s manifold images, giving meaning to even the most meaningless part, and to lose the “sense” of the whole message. This model of interpretation bids the interpreter away from an overly scrupulous scrutiny of the visual text of Revelation, to hear it read aloud (1:3) or to see it performed. As a result, the student often is empowered to hear and understand John’s message afresh.
However, unless the interpreter’s hearing or seeing of Revelation is controlled by the theological convictions and ethical commitments of evangelical faith, meanings made will tend to be more existential and individualistic than biblical faith and devoid of eschatological meaning for the whole church. In my view, the tendency of those who practice this method is to diminish Revelation’s canonical intent to “universalize” its meaning, while at the same time rejecting any interest in John’s more pastoral intentions.
(4) The contemporary-historical, or “preterist” (i.e., past), model is preferred by most critical biblical scholars today.[42] According to this model the interpreter seeks to reconstruct the “moment of origin” as the essential locus of meaning for every subsequent moment in the history of interpretation. The assumption is that John had a message to convey to the congregations he addressed; and he wrote in a way that would have been understood by his first readers. John did not write a book for subsequent believers; neither did he write a book for a NT canon which was not yet a reality; rather, he wrote an Apocalypse for a specific audience to resolve a specific crisis.
Of course this is all true, and therefore the full utilization of critical methods is useful for any interpretation of Revelation. Especially when this perspective is coupled with a desire to understand John’s theological (Caird, Beasley-Murray) and political (Schüssler Fiorenza, A. Collins) program, the results continue to be exciting. Further, if the interpreter holds to the importance of the writer as an inspired prophet of God, then there are theological reasons for taking the writer’s intended meanings seriously (cf. 2 Pet. 1:20–21). There are problems associated with historical critical treatments of Revelation, however, that are addressed by the canonical critical model to which we now turn.[43]
(5) A canonical critical approach to biblical interpretation has more to do with a perspective toward Scripture than with a technique or method to interpret it (see above, “the history of canonizing Revelation”). In this sense, it belongs to the “post-critical” period of biblical interpretation, characterized by an approval of critical methods and an appreciation of the advances in understanding Scripture claimed by those methods. At the same time, more and more scholars now recognize that all too often a historical or literary critical understanding of Scripture is rarely translated in practical ways to help form the life and faith of the church. Scholars tend to talk with and write for other scholars rather than for the Christian rank-and-file.
Canonical criticism is a method constructed in response to this problem. Its epistemology is more religious than positivistic; that is, the ultimate aim of biblical interpretation is to acquire knowledge that determines and shapes the identity of God’s people in history. Whatever is the yield of critical methods in reconstructing the author’s intentions, it must be “re-interpreted” and brought into agreement with the canon’s intention: to form the faith of God’s people. The distinctive contribution of canonical criticism is its efforts to recover the idea of a canon as a guide to biblical interpretation—to guide the interpreter to locate meaning in biblical texts that will allow Scripture to function as the church’s rule of faith. Accordingly, the yield of a critical scholarship is centered and given direction by a perspective of the Bible’s authorized role within the church.
Most important in this regard is the recognition that the church formed the NT as a second written testament to God’s gospel, disclosed in the life of Jesus from Nazareth, and placed it together with the first testament (OT), disclosed in the life of Israel, thereby forming a distinctively Christian (rather than Jewish) biblical canon. The church’s intention for this canon, or rule of faith, is to provide the worshiping community with a continuing guide to direct the formation of a distinctively Christian faith and life. Christians believe that God’s promise of redemption from sin and death, first given to Israel and contained in the OT, looks ahead to its fulfillment, effected by Jesus from Nazareth whose story is told by NT writers. All biblical writings, whether OT or NT, are various interpretations of “the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ.” When viewed together, the biblical canon is a composition which bears witness to God’s gospel. Thus, its continuing function is to measure to what extent the people of God bear witness to that gospel, whether to encourage those who measure up or to rebuke those who do not.
This hermeneutical enterprise helps explain the relationship between the OT and the Christ event according to the NT Apocalypse. From a canonical perspective, the OT interprets John’s vision as a testimony to a faithful God, who has disclosed in the slain and exalted Lamb a firm commitment to fulfill the biblical promise to restore all things. In this regard, a principal feature of this commentary on Revelation is a concern to recover allusions to or echoes of the OT as the primary context within which John first understood his visions as the word of God. In writing down his visions as midrashim (interpretations) of various biblical texts or stories, John obligates his interpreters to understand Revelation against this biblical background—in continuity with and the fulfillment of OT faith. My concern for “intertextuality”—for the relationship between OT and NT as mutually informing—is driven, then, by theological rather than literary commitments.
Our second point is that Revelation’s canonical intent differs from its author’s intent. The church included Revelation in the NT as a critical part of a whole, which continues to convey the “word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ” to the present community of interpreters. John’s interest was focused by the concerns of his first-century community of readers. Certainly a canonical perspective is vitally interested in John’s intended meanings; however, its ultimate objective is to understand how his intended meanings continue to frame the core convictions of the Bible’s “eternal gospel” for Revelation’s current interpreters.
The best of many possible meanings, then, are those in continuity with John’s intended meanings, in continuity with the commitments of the Bible’s “eternal gospel,” and adaptable to the life and faith of current interpreters in ways that form them into God’s people. That is, the best interpretations of biblical texts are so ranked because they conform to the Bible’s story of God’s covenant with Israel (theological criterion). Further, the best interpretations of biblical texts result in concrete responses of devotion to God and love of neighbor (ethical criterion). Many historical-literary critical interpretations of Revelation are interested in the first rather than twentieth century; and their interest lies more with philology than praxis. As critical as these interests are for the hermeneutical enterprise, a canonical rendering of biblical texts finds meanings that respond to the church’s present crises. The epistemological assumption behind this perspective is that John’s situation in the first century is analogous to the current situation; the biblical situation is always comparable to the situation of its interpreter. Our point is that the hermeneutical program must include this as a decisive element of its stance toward the biblical text. In fact the Bible’s canonical role insists that the the ultimate locus of meaning is the church’s situation in life, and not the author’s intended meaning, which is subordinate to its canonical intent.[44]
The purpose of this introduction to Revelation has been to establish a context within which to interpret the book. We have done so with a particular thesis in mind: Revelation is an apocalyptic-prophetic epistle written to encourage the whole community of faith to focus its faith and life on the triumph of a sovereign God’s reign which has now been disclosed through the exaltation of God’s Christ. It is God and not the Evil One who sits on heaven’s throne; it is God who exercises judgment against the enemies of the Lord’s reign; it is God who can make good on the Bible’s promise of salvation; and it is God who will dispense the blessings of salvation to the community of those who faithfully follow the Lamb.
Our thesis suggests several ingredients of a hermeneutical model which controls our exposition of Revelation. We will not interpret John’s prophetic apocalypse as a detailed prediction of the final days of salvation’s history, and will we not attempt to find any period of world history lurking behind its rich imagery. Rather, we suppose that John’s composition contains an interpretation of history, a “theologized” history if you will, which asserts that Christ’s coronation in heaven initiates a new period of salvation’s history, which is climaxed at his return to earth when God will make good on the biblical promise to transform the redeemed community into a people fit to live in the shalom and glory of God and God’s Lamb forever.
We will also interpret Revelation as a letter, written by a pastor who utilizes apocalyptic forms and prophetic purposes to pastor his congregations. Letters are not historical narratives; they are written not to tell a story but to address problems that threaten faith in God. Letters interpret those circumstances facing real people that may lead them to draw new, sometimes incorrect, boundaries around their relationships with God, with one another, and with the surrounding world. Revelation is written to interpret the collision of the sacred and profane, when the faithful must own all the more their conviction that God has triumphed and that their devotion is not in vain.
Revelation interprets this conflict with a word of hope that challenges the possible objections to Christian devotion raised by the enemies of God’s reign: where is this professed loving and powerful God in the midst of human poverty and suffering? Has God not heard the laments that rise up even from among God’s people? There is a certain logic to these objections, because there is a certain ambiguity which attends to Christian devotion in a secular, materialistic world. On the one hand, Christians confess their devotion to a sovereign, loving God, whose fidelity and trustworthiness have been disclosed in Jesus from Nazareth. On the other hand, human experience, shaped by the powers and ideals of secularity, is often characterized by coercive power and violence that contradicts what Christians believe about a God who promises shalom and a shared life. For all practical purposes, life on planet Earth is in the hands of those who rule over the anti-Christian kingdom, visible and invisible; they seem more powerful than God.
The “theo-logic” of Revelation challenges the compelling logic of those whose assumptions about God are informed more by the realities of secular history than by the realities of salvation’s history. In that the triumph of God’s reign is rooted in a past event of history—the death and exaltation of Christ—there is sufficient evidence to continue to trust in God’s reign and depend upon God’s love. Especially on those occasions when God seems most absent, Revelation calls attention to the past and toward heaven for a realized Christology, and to the future for the full measure of its historical precipitate as the ultimate vindication of Christian hope.
The point is crucial for understanding John’s reasons for writing Revelation and the church’s reasons for canonizing it. For its first and current readers, Revelation is especially for those struggling believers who need to be reminded that the axis of faith in the world is the gospel of God, which stimulates both the community’s hope and its repentance, which is the triumph and demonstration of God’s sovereign and righteous reign in the exalted and returning Christ.
I. PROLOGUE (1:1–3)
II. GREETINGS to the Seven Churches (1:4–3:22)
A. Greetings from John of Patmos (1:4–20)
1. To the seven churches in Asia (1:4–8)
2. From John, commissioned to write heavenly mysteries (1:9–20)
B. Greetings from Christ (2:1–3:22)
1. To the church in Ephesus (2:1–7)
2. To the church in Smyrna (2:8–11)
3. To the church in Pergamum (2:12–17)
4. To the church in Thyatira (2:18–29)
5. To the church in Sardis (3:1–6)
6. To the church in Philadelphia (3:7–13)
7. To the church in Laodicea (3:14–22)
III. THANKSGIVING for God’s Reign: The Ground of Christian Faith (4:1–11)
A. Throne of God in Heaven: The Sovereign of the Cosmic Order (4:1–6a)
B. The Four Living Creatures: Thanksgiving for God’s Eternality (4:6b–8)
C. The Twenty-four Elders: Thanksgiving for God as Creator (4:9–11)
IV. SERMON on the History of God’s Salvation: An Exhortation to Christian Faithfulness (5:1–22:6a)
A. The Exaltation of God’s Lamb: The “Penultimate” Event of Salvation’s History (5:1–11:19)
1. The exaltation of God’s Lamb (5:1–14)
a. who is worthy to open God’s scroll and its seven seals (5:1–10)
b. who is worthy of worship with God (5:11–14)
2. The revelation of God’s wrath against the fallen creation (6:1–8:5)
a. God’s Lamb opens six seals of divine wrath (6:1–17)
b. Interlude: Reminder of God’s faithfulness to God’s people
(1) the sealing of the “remnant of God” (7:1–8)
(2) the restoration of the “rest of Israel” (7:9–17)
c. God’s Lamb Opens the Seventh and Final Seal (8:1–11:14)
(1) God’s Lamb opens the seventh seal (8:1–5)
(2) Angelic trumpets sound six more judgments of God (8:6–9:21)
(3) Interlude: two reminders of God’s faithfulness
a′ the little scroll of John’s prophecy (10:1–11)
b′ the two witnesses (11:1–14)
(4) Seventh angel sounds the final trumpet (11:15–19)
B. The Third Woe: The Current Conflict Between God’s Kingdom and the Powers and Principalities of the Evil Kingdom (12:1–19:10)
1. Flashback: The genesis of the current crisis (12:1–12)
a. The first heavenly sign: the Woman/Israel and her Child/Messiah (12:1–2)
b. The second heavenly sign: the Dragon/Satan (12:3–4)
c. Messiah’s exaltation into heaven results in war in heaven and Dragon’s defeat (12:5–9)
d. The triumph of God’s reign by the “blood of the Lamb” over a vengeful devil (12:10–12)
2. The war in heaven continues on earth (12:13–13:18)
a. The defeated Dragon pursues the protected messianic community (12:13–13:1a)
b. Dragon enlists the help of a beast from the sea (13:1b–10)
c. Dragon enlists a second beast from the earth, the false prophet (13:11–18)
3. The eschatological outcomes of the conflict: the “eternal gospel” (14:1–19:10)
a. Vindication of the faithful (14:1–5)
b. Judgment of the faithless (14:6–20)
(1) The three angelic declarations of divine judgment against those who worship the beast (14:6–11)
(2) Interlude: exhortation to remain faithful to the end (14:12–13)
(3) Three more angels harvest the earth for the winepress of God’s wrath (14:14–20)
c. The third heavenly sign: bowls of eschatological plagues poured out on Babylon (15:1–19:10)
(1) The exaltation of God’s people (15:1–4)
(2) The seven angels commissioned from the heavenly temple (15:5–8)
(3) The six bowls of plagues are poured out (16:1–14)
(4) Interlude: exhortation to faithfulness (16:15–16)
(5) The seventh bowl: the final destruction of “Babylon” (16:17–19:10)
a′ Indictment: the terrible triumph of God’s rule over earth’s kings and their cities (16:17–21)
b′ Evidence and Execution: The kings’ whore and the seduction of secular power (17:1–18)
c′ Aftermath of Babylon’s Destruction (18:1–19:10)
1′ Angelic pronouncement of doom (18:1–3)
2′ Babylon’s response: lamentations (18:1–20)
3′ Angelic pronouncement of doom (18:21–24)
4′ Heaven’s response: praise of God’s triumph (19:1–10)
C. The Return of the Exalted Lamb: The Ultimate Event of Salvation’s History (19:11–22:6a)
1. The day of the Lamb: the final revelation of God’s triumph over the evil dominion (19:11–20:15)
a. The Lamb returns as Word of God (19:11–16)
b. The Lamb invites his followers to a victory celebration (19:17–18)
c. God, the Lamb, and the Lamb’s people have triumphed over the beasts (19:19–21)
d. God, the Lamb, and the Lamb’s people have triumphed over Satan (20:1–10)
e. God, the Lamb, and the Lamb’s people have triumphed over Death and Hades (20:11–15)
2. The city of God: entering God’s promised shalom (21:1–22:6a)
V. The Epistolary BENEDICTION (22:6b–21)
A. Epistolary Summary of John’s Apocalypse (22:6b–7)
B. Four Exhortations to Heed Its Message: God’s Triumph Is Coming Soon (22:8–19)
1. An exhortation from John who received the Revelation (22:8–11)
2. An exhortation from Christ who gave the Revelation (22:12–16)
3. An invitation to respond to the Revelation (22:17)
4. A closing caveat: John’s Revelation is “tamper-proof” (22:18–20a)
C. The Benedictory Prayer (22:20b–21)