THE SCENE AND SPECTATOR
Revelation 1:1-10
That evening in April can never be forgotten, when
sailing through the Archipelago on the way from Palestine to Smyrna, and
just as the sun was sinking in subdued splendor over its western rocky
ridges, our eyes rested on the Isle of Patmos. Though privileged to
enjoy, a few weeks before, the most hallowed associations of all connected
with the Apostle of Love, while treading the streets of Jerusalem and the
shores of the Lake of Galilee, we had expected to renew these in another
form, as we were afterwards permitted to do, amid the desolate ruins of
Ephesus, where his own saintly life mellowed by venerable age was closed,
and where his Gospel in all probability was written. But sudden and
unexpected was this new souvenir of the Gospel era, seeming to rise on the
bosom of the deep like one of his own visions. The trail of golden light,
brighter had it been seen half an hour before on the molten waters, was yet
sufficient irresistibly to recall the description of "the Sea of Glass
mingled with fire."
The Island itself was obscure, but it took its place
thenceforward in the shrine of memory, among the world's holiest
sanctuaries. Our emotions awakened at beholding the exile home of the
Beloved Disciple—the very spot where, before the eye of the rapt prophet,
there passed the dream of all dreams—"the visions of God"—where the
portals of heaven seemed as if they had descended and the gates of pearl had
been flung open, while he heard unspeakable things which it is not possible
for a man to utter!
More than half a century had elapsed since John had
pillowed his head on his Lord's bosom at the Last Supper, gazed in tearful
agony by the cross, and wistfully followed Him with the other bereaved men
of Galilee gathered on the Mount of Ascension, until the cloud received Him
out of their sight. John alone of all the Apostolic company still
survived—the only living link connecting the Church of his day, with the
ministry of the Great Master; and, like the last plank of a dismembered
vessel, he was now driven by a storm of persecution to this solitary rock in
the Aegean Sea.
We have no account whatever of the immediate cause of his
banishment from his adopted home in the great capital of Asia. We can only
surmise it to have been the faithful, unflinching proclamation of the divine
Person and glory of his Lord—the reiterated sermon on the great opening and
closing texts of his Gospel: "The Word was with God, and the Word was God."
"These things are written, that you might believe that Jesus is the Christ,
the Son of God."
It would almost seem indicated indeed, in this
introduction to the Apocalypse, that that cardinal article in his former
writings was the same for which he was still content to suffer: "who
testifies to everything he saw—that is, the Word of God and the testimony of
Jesus Christ." It was the "new power" on the earth—'the power of God unto
salvation,' which had come into antagonism with the power which, enthroned
on the seven hills, would brook no rival even in name. It was the "another
King, one Jesus," which had roused the susceptibilities—kindled the jealous
fury—of the minions of Caesar throughout every province of the vast
empire—Ephesus not excepted.
Be this as it may; from being the beloved Apostle, the
most honored of men, he was now an exile and castaway on this inhospitable
shore; his hoary locks appealing in vain to Roman clemency for exemption
from galling servitude and drudgery in the mines of Patmos. But where
cannot God find His people and His people find their God? He who to the
lonely Jacob converted the dreary waste and the crudest of pillows into the
gate of heaven, could make the wilds of an island-prison bright with His
glory—resplendent with His presence! He seems, indeed, in every age of the
Church, to have given special proofs and assurances of His grace and love
to His more favored servants, when called either to the endurance of
trial, or tempted to lapse into despondency.
When the heart of Moses was ready to faint under
Israel's repeated murmurings, God set him in the cleft of a rock and made
all His glory to pass before him.
When Elijah, the most heroic of the Old Testament
worthies, waxed weak as other men, when, in a moment of singular infirmity,
leaving work and duty, he could see apparently nothing but godless altars
blazing throughout the land—ten thousand knees bowing to Baal and kissing
his impious shrine—God made all the elements of nature preach to him of the
power he had disowned, and followed these by the 'still, small voice;' thus,
by manifestations alike of omnipotence and love, rebuking his
distrust and reviving his faith.
When Paul, in a later age, had the thorn in the
flesh sent to buffet him—the time and occasion of his trial was made that of
richer communications of divine grace. He was led most gladly, therefore, to
glory in his infirmities, that the power of Christ might rest upon him.
So it was with John. That aged sufferer, whose
ninety years had furrowed his cheek with wrinkles, was now drinking the
foretold cup and being baptized with the foretold baptism of his suffering
Master and Lord. Exiled, forlorn, unbefriended by man, he was about to hold
mystic communings with his Savior, shared by no mortal before or
since. It was to be in the Isle of Patmos as he had before personally
experienced on the Mount of Transfiguration—when the heavenly visitants had
vanished, his best Friend was still left, to extract loneliness from his
solitude and sorrow from his heart. He "saw no man but Jesus only!"
These storms of persecution might rage as they would
around his unsheltered head; but he was about to know, as few have done
before or since, the truth of those grand prophetic words, "a MAN" (the
Brother-man he had loved on earth—the glorified-Man now exalted on the
Throne)—"a MAN shall be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from
the tempest, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land."
The first five opening words indicate the design of the
whole Book—"The Revelation of Jesus Christ." For while in their
primary meaning it is a Revelation made to Christ by God the Father
of things future; still, in no remote or accommodated sense is He the
Revealed as well as the Revealer. As it was the adorable Redeemer
in His Divine and human nature—the God-man whom John in his Gospel had
delighted to honor—so now in his Apocalypse, the Gospel of his old age,
it is still the same Great figure which fills the inspired canvas; not
the Revelation of dogmas and doctrines, but of the glorified
Person of his Living Lord—exhibiting Him as superintending all events in the
future of His Church and the world—overruling all their conflicts for His
own glory and the ultimate triumph of His cause and kingdom.
The Book in the truest sense is the Revelation,
the Unveiling, the Disclosure, the Manifestation of
Christ—the glorious Being in the midst of the golden candlesticks—the slain
Lamb standing before the throne—the Lion of the tribe of Judah—the Conqueror
on the white horse—the enthroned Judge. All the other elements and details
of the visions, gorgeous as they are, are subordinate and subsidiary to
this. The earthly cry is, "Come, Lord Jesus!" The heavenly cry is,
"Worthy is the Lamb!" Christ is thus 'all in all' to the Church on earth
and to the Church of the glorified.
The evolution of successive events in history and
providence is represented as being in His hand as the Church's Great Head
and Ruler. Over that grand scene of earth and its kingdoms—as picture after
picture in magnificent unfolding passes before us—the sublime ascription
seems to reverberate in undying echoes, "Alleluia! for the Lord God
omnipotent reigns!"
The prologue, which occupies the first three verses, is
followed by John's own salutation or dedication. Affectingly simple
is the introduction of his own name in contrast with the doxology with which
it is conjoined. "John, to the Seven Churches which are in Asia."
'John'—no enumeration of his ancestors—no arrogating of title or
assumption of Apostolic dignity or prerogative—no assertion of his near and
privileged communion with his beloved Lord. And again, when he repeats the
name in verse 9, it is only with the touchingly simple addition of, "John,
brother and companion in tribulation." Strong corroborative testimony, were
that required, that he and no other was the author of the Book. He speaks as
one needing no additional or special designation, further than being the
bearer of the honored name known widely and well throughout infant
Christendom.
He utters the opening benediction of "Grace and peace"
from the thrice Holy Trinity (ver. 4). The FATHER is described as "Him who
is, and who was, and who is to come;" the Great I AM in the eternity of His
unchanging nature. The HOLY SPIRIT is described in the plenitude of His
gifts and graces, under the sevenfold symbol of perfection—'like the seven
prismatic colors in the one ray of light;' "the seven spirits who are before
His throne." And inverting the customary order of enumeration, he closes
with the more lengthened adoration of the Divine SON.
This embraces a beautiful description. "The Faithful
Witness"—He who came to bear witness to the truth—the Revealer of the
Father. "The First-begotten of the dead"—the conqueror of the last Enemy—the
first-fruits of those who sleep. The Prince of the kings of the earth—the
mighty Ruler seated on the throne of universal empire, and of whom it had
been predicted, "I will make Him my First-born, higher than the kings of the
earth," adding the yet more endearing delineation, which the Apostle of Love
of all men was best qualified to give, (shall we say with a tear in his
eye?) "Him who loved" (or rather, in the present tense "who loves")
us;" (who loving His own at the beginning, loves with a deathless,
unswerving love unto the end), "and washed us from our sins in His own
blood, and has made us a kingdom—priests unto God and His Father; to Him be
glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen!"
Having appropriately concluded his preface with this
doxology, we expect he will now proceed to put in writing the magnificent
messages, whether in the shape of letter or vision, which had been revealed
to him. But as the succession of bright picturings pass before his mental
eye, he interrupts the narrative, in order that he may add one
sentence—interject one preliminary reference to that Great event to which
all theology—all history—all time points. His inmost burdened thoughts seem
to find relief in the triumphant exclamation, "Behold, He Comes with
clouds; and every eye shall see Him, and they also who pierced Him: and all
kindreds of the earth shall wail because of Him. Even so, Amen!" (verse 7).
Owing to the important place the theme occupies in
the Book, and in order more effectually to rivet upon it the attention of
the reader, we may be forgiven so soon reiterating the assertion dwelt upon
in the Preface, that this last topic takes its befitting place in the
introduction, as the "Key-note" of all the divine music which seems to swell
and circulate in the subsequent heavenly visions. We repeat, "the
glorious appearing of the Great God our Savior," as it thus meets us on
the threshold, so it is interwoven with the faithful counsels to the
Seven Churches. It blends with the intermediate Revelations. It is
the last utterance when the vision and the prophecy are sealed up—the
last voice heard amid the roll of apocalyptic thunders—"I come
quickly; surely I come quickly." While the Evangelist, just as he is
awaking from his entranced dream, when the golden Temple-gates are closing,
and the heavenly glories vanishing from his sight—breathes the fervent
prayer, "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"
One other point has still to be noted in these
preliminary verses. It is the Day on which this Revelation was made
(verse 10): "I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day." The Day whose
morning sun, to the forlorn exile, rose bright with the remembrance of a
completed redemption—when he loved in thought to enter afresh the vacant
sepulcher, and listen in trembling transport to the words of the angels. The
Day on which, ever since that Great Easter, he had been in the habit of
meeting with the faithful to keep the simple commemorative feast, and which
in spirit he sought, even in his present solitude, to keep still. The Lord's
Day! The present may have possibly, probably, been one of special prayer.
The aged Apostle, with all the fire of former love unquenched, may have been
wrestling at the mercy-seat, breathing often and again his favorite
supplication, "COME, Lord Jesus, COME quickly!" He is heard while yet
speaking! That rising sun brings with it the glories of a Pentecostal
Sabbath—"I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day." By this expression
he would seem to denote that he was in a state of holy rapture and
ecstasy—withdrawn from earthly things, like Moses on Sinai, or Elijah on
Carmel.
The material element, for the time being, was
subordinated to the spiritual. The windows of the outer senses were
closed, and the entranced and illuminated inner eye became cognizant of a
higher world of divine realities. Whether it was in the darkness and silence
of his dungeon-vault, or in the traditional cave on the southern rocks of
Patmos—or when, engrossed in meditation, he wandered companionless on the
shore, listening to the music of the Aegean waves, we know not. But of this
we may feel assured, never had John seen such a Sabbath, and never could he
see such again, until the pledge and emblem were exchanged for the
full vision and fruition of the eternal Sabbath above! What sights! what
sounds! what forms! what scenery!—fit recompense surely for years of
conflict and toil. The solitary place was made glad.
What Christian Church was ever consecrated like
this? Where the most magnificent Sanctuary made with hands that has ever
witnessed such glory? The worshiper—one lonely exile. His temple—a
rock in mid-ocean. The theme he listens to—the Church-militant—its
sufferings—its triumphs—its eternal rewards. The Preacher, no earthly
ambassador—but his adorable Lord, arrayed in the lusters of His exalted
humanity. Oh! never did the tones of the Sabbath-bell fall so joyfully on
the ear, as when the exiled and banished Pilgrim was startled from his
bended knees by the trumpet-voice exclaiming, "I am Alpha and Omega, the
first and the last!"
At the moment, indeed, as we shall find, he is struck
down trembling and astonished. He is unable to bear the uncreated brightness
that unexpectedly burst upon him. But a gentle Hand raises him up, and
well-remembered tones restore confidence and inspire love. The tears of
banishment are dried. He is made to forget the absence of a beloved
brotherhood of disciples and saints, in the presence of ONE who 'sticks
closer than a brother.'
What Christ was to John, He is to His people still.
How often does He convert their times of trial into seasons of special
consolation! How often is the couch of sickness and the chamber of
bereavement made a Patmos, where the bereft and exiled soul, shut out from
the world, holds sweet converse with its Redeeming Lord—an island in the
world's heaving ocean of vicissitude, made resplendent with the glories of
Jesus and eternity! Ofttimes, Jesus seems to lay low in the dust, our
earthly hopes and refuges—desolating homes and friendships—making the world
itself a Patmos, only to prepare, as He disciplined John, for an apocalypse
of Himself. How many, thus driven by the windy storm and tempest to the
crevices of the Rock of Ages, have had from its sheltering clefts such
realizing views of a Savior's presence, and enjoyed such hallowed
experiences of a Savior's love, as to make earth's darkest spots of sorrow
radiant with the bliss of a foretasted heaven!
"Behold He Comes!" "Surely I come quickly!" Let these
words, beginning and closing the "Memories of Patmos," ring in our ears
(like a vesper bell) chimes of joy and hope; peals of warning and of solemn
preparation. Nearly twenty centuries indeed have elapsed since they were
uttered, and still the world holds on its course—the trance of the ages has
not been broken by this assured manifestation of the Redeemer's glorified
Person. We put our ear to the earth—there is heard no sound of His
chariot-wheels. There is nothing in the unvarying sequences of the natural
world—there is nothing in past history or in present experience, to indorse
and countersign this predicted imminency of the Advent. Be it so—"For in
just a little while, the Coming One will come and not delay."
Some may indulge unseemly levity as to the apparent
stultifying of the Divine declaration—the bridal lamps kept trimmed in
hourly expectancy of the Bridegroom's approach, while no footfall for weary
centuries has been heard. But of this we may be assured, that He to whom a
thousand years are as one day, has some wise and sufficient reasons alike
for the apparent delay, and for the urgent transmission from age to age of
the stirring and ever-needful prophetic watchword. One of these reasons
doubtless is, that "He is patient with us; not willing that any should
perish, but that all should come to repentance."
Yes, when we shall be at last permitted to take our stand
on the shores of the true Glassy sea, with the Harps of God, and before us
the unmeasured cycles of a limitless future, we shall then, by the use of a
higher than earthly wisdom, be brought to see how brief after all was the
period of probation, and to vindicate the verity and truthfulness of the
Divine utterance "Surely I come quickly!" "It will be good for those
servants whose master finds them watching when He comes."