Easter IV - May 11, 2025

Easter IV

Church of the Atonement

The Rev’d Charles Everson

Revelation 7:9-17

May 11, 2025

I’m not sure about you, but when I hear passages from the book of Revelation, I’m emotionally moved…sometimes to tears…at the beauty of the vision St. John describes. And I’m usually comforted in some way. And yet, the supposedly intelligent part of me thinks, “This isn’t real. It’s a fantastical vision that can’t possibly be describing something real.” It reads like something between a stained-glass window and a Tolkien fever dream—except perhaps with more incense and fewer hobbits.

The book of Revelation belongs to the genre of apocalyptic literature—a kind of writing common in post-exilic Judaism and early Christianity that’s rich in symbolism and visionary experience. These visions, often mediated by angels, depict heavenly realities that operate by a logic quite foreign to us. Unlike poetry or narrative or science fiction, this genre doesn’t exist in modern English, which can make interpretation tricky. To complicate matters, some contemporary Christians read Revelation literally, as if it were predictive journalism. But this book isn’t forecasting headlines. Reading it that way isn’t just misleading—it distorts its message and risks missing the radical hope it proclaims. Rather than offering a coded timeline of end-time events, Revelation unveils the deeper reality behind what we see and suffer in the present. In this apocalyptic vision, John is not describing a fantasy, but pulling back the curtain to show us what is most real: the triumph of the Lamb and the worship of the saints in heaven.

At this point in his vision, John sees a great multitude of people from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages robed in white worshipping the Lamb of God. Paradoxically, their clothing was made white by being washed in the blood of the Lamb. The white garments represent the purity and cleanliness that comes from our baptism, a symbol that persisted for centuries as new Christians were baptized in a simple, white alb like this one that I’m wearing.

Notice how John underscores the catholicity—the universality—of the Church. The fourfold phrase, “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,” signals the fulfillment of God's ancient promise to Abraham: that all nations would be blessed through his seed. This multitude is not marked by uniformity, but by unity in Christ. Every language is preserved, every culture redeemed, as they together offer praise to God and to the Lamb. It is a vision of what the Church is called to be even now: a reconciled people gathered in worship, diverse in origin, united in purpose.

These white-robed worshippers had just come out of the “great ordeal”. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that it’s God’s job to keep us and our loved ones safe from all harm. On the contrary, John’s vision shows us that pain and suffering are inherently part of the Christian life. These worshippers went through a great ordeal, and are in need of shelter. They have known hunger and thirst and scorching heat. They have tears in their eyes. In other words, they are not immune to human suffering.[1]

And neither are we. Sometimes, we may think that our entire life is one “great ordeal,” to use John’s words. Whether it’s the burden of caring for a loved one who cannot care for themselves, or trying to pay all your bills on a shoestring budget, or dealing with a frightening medical diagnosis with a bleak outcome, you and I suffer in a multitude of ways each and every day.

During this Easter season, the Church shouts from the rooftops that our Lord Jesus Christ has won the victory over suffering and evil and death by his resurrection from the dead. At Easter, the Passover Lamb was sacrificed for us, and at our baptism, our souls were marked like the doorposts of the Hebrew homes at the first Passover. And while the Resurrection of Jesus doesn’t mean that our suffering ends right now, by the message of an angel, we are given a foretaste of that day when all our suffering will end:

They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.[2]

What hope! What balm for our suffering souls! And thanks be to God, this hope is made tangible to us today in the bread and wine of Holy Communion. John Paul II, speaking of this heavenly vision in Revelation, once said,

This luminous image of the heavenly glory is anticipated in the Liturgy of the Church. Those who celebrate it here, live already in some way, beyond the signs, in the heavenly liturgy, where the celebration is totally communion and feast. It is in this eternal liturgy that the Spirit and the Church make us participate, when we celebrate the mystery of salvation in the sacraments.[3]

When we gather for the Eucharist, we are not merely remembering something from the past—we are being drawn into something present and eternal. Our worship joins with that of angels, elders, and living creatures encircling the throne of God. The doxology they sing—'Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever'—that doxology becomes our own. Earthly liturgy is not a shadow of a future glory, but an active participation in that glory even now.

Dear friends, John’s vision is not meant to be taken literally, but that makes it no less real. In his bodily resurrection at Easter, Jesus Christ defeated suffering and evil and death once and for all. We will not fully see the culmination of this great victory on this side of the grave, but we are given a foretaste of that heavenly banquet in this bread and this cup. What hope! As you receive the pledge of your salvation at the altar rail today, know that this meal is a taste of the same glory revealed to John—a pledge that God is already guiding you to the springs of the water of life and will one day wipe every tear from your eyes.  Amen.

[1] David Lyon Bartlett, and Barbara Brown Taylor. Feasting on the Word. Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.  Kindle edition, location 14590 of 18450.

[2] Verses 15-17.

[3] https://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/audiences/2004/documents/hf_jp-ii_aud_20041103.html He was actually speaking of a similar scene in Revelation 5 which is somewhat of a sister passage to this one, but I didn’t want to take the time in the actual sermon to explain that.