The Epistle to the Church of
SMYRNA
Revelation 3:8-11
A distance of forty miles separates Ephesus from
Smyrna. The modern traveler finds himself journeying between these
two sacred cities of the Apocalypse, not as in ancient and apostolic days,
by means of horse, or camel, or caravan, but by our own familiar train, the
only railway that has as yet invaded the desolation of a country so rich in
resources of soil, climate, scenery, and imperishable historic interest.
If we found the city of Ephesus specially associated with
John, Smyrna is equally identified with another name of undying celebrity in
the Church of Christ. Sailing along the magnificent bay (the finest in the
Archipelago), at the head of which the city with its 120,000 inhabitants is
situated, the eye discerns on one of the crested heights, amid a cluster of
tall cypresses, the white wall which encircles the reputed tomb of POLYCARP,
the most famous of the early martyrs. This whole Epistle "to the Angel of
the church in Smyrna" has a new pathos and significancy added to it, if we
connect it with this honored member of the noble army of martyrs.
A careful reader will at once observe that it stands out
pre-eminently from the others—as "the Martyr's Epistle." Its theme is
suffering and trial. Nothing could possibly be more appropriate than
its "comfortable words," on the supposition that the Angel or chief minister
to whom these were addressed, was none other than he, who, we know from the
earliest annals of the Christian Church, was an illustrious sufferer for the
Gospel's sake, and was enabled so manfully to endure his fiery baptism.
There is what may almost be called a romance of sacred
interest about the whole history of this saintly Father; "the blessed
Polycarp," as the ancient Church, for successive centuries, seems
distinctively to have named him. He had lived to a venerable age, far beyond
even the allotted fourscore. In the prime of his youth he had become (and
that too by no formal profession, but by ardent attachment) a loving
disciple of the Lord Jesus. Thenceforward, he himself tells us, for many a
long year he served Him with an unswerving and unfaltering devotion. There
was much in the outer circumstances of his life to deepen and stimulate the
ardor of this holy love. He was the disciple of John—standing to John
very much in the relation of Timothy to Paul—"his dear son in the
faith."
Irenaeus, who lived a generation later, touchingly tells
how he himself in early boyhood had been honored and privileged with the
personal friendship of Polycarp—how he used to hear from his lips what had
been told him by John, of Immanuel's person, and converse, and earthly
ministry. We can picture the scene; the aged Apostle from Bethsaida—one of
the inner circle of beloved Disciples, and the most loved of the inner
circle—he who of all the honored twelve had drunk deepest of his Lord's
spirit, and had the nearest place at his Lord's side—how would he delight,
in the mellowed evening of his days at Ephesus, to recall that matchless
fellowship! How fondly would he confide every hallowed memory, as it rose
before his mental eye like a dream of heaven, into the ear of the trusted
friend at his side!—their walks on the lakeshore of Gennesaret—their
confidential communion at early morn or dewy eve on their way from Galilee
to the pilgrim-feasts—their silent meditations as they wandered at sunset
across the heights of Olivet—or during the last and most solemn closing
scenes, at the Supper-table—the Garden—the Cross—the Resurrection
morning—the forty days—in short, the "many other things which Jesus did" he
so touchingly speaks of in the last verses of his Gospel, and which, though
he had the heart, he had no room to record.
Think of him thus making the beloved and like-minded
Polycarp the depositary of this unwritten Gospel! Need we
wonder that the love of the disciple and saint for his great Lord grew and
intensified under such teaching, and that, with a transport of emotion, he
could utter the words as his own—"Whom having not seen, we love: in whom,
though now we see Him not, yet believing, we rejoice with joy unspeakable
and full of glory"?
After a life of noble consistency, the hour of trial—the
hour of suffering arrived. It was under the reign of the Roman
Emperor, Marcus Aurelius. The storm of persecution was first roused
by the malignant enmity of the Jews, who found no difficulty in enlisting
and stimulating the passions of the heathen mob. Not ingloriously to
evade the hour of persecution, but obedient to the intercessions of his
flock, who naturally wished to save for themselves a life of such priceless
value—Polycarp took refuge in the adjoining mountains to await there the
subsidence of the storm; spending his anxious hours, along with a few
others, in wrestling at the mercy-seat—not for his own suffering Church
alone, but for the whole suffering children of God scattered abroad. It
seemed like a Mount of Transfiguration, where angels and the Lord of Angels
strengthened him for the decease which, like a Greater Sufferer, he was
about to accomplish.
The cup, however, as in the case of the Prince of
Martyrs, was not to pass by him, and he accepted it without a murmur. The
secret of his place of concealment was divulged; but the tread of his
frenzied persecutors at the door was heard with no words but those of
uncomplaining submission. On his way to Smyrna, the magistrate met him, and
inviting him into his chariot, sought in vain to shake his constancy. He
offered release on condition of retraction. "What hurt," said he, "I beg
you, shall come thereof, if you say 'My Lord Caesar,' and do sacrifice, and
thus save yourself?" Once more, on reaching the amphitheater, the magistrate
gave him the option of having his hands unbound by consenting to curse his
Savior. "Be good to yourself," said the magistrate, "and favor your old age:
take your oath, and I will discharge you. Defy Christ." The Christian hero
boldly replied, in the memorable testimony, "Eighty and six years have I
been His servant, yet in all that time has He not so much as once hurt me;
how then may I speak evil of my King and Sovereign Lord, who has thus
preserved me?"
The judge rose from his seat, and tried to overawe him
with the threat, "I have wild beasts to which I will throw you." "Let them
come," was Polycarp's reply; "I have determined that I will not turn from
the better way to the worse." "Then," said the incensed magistrate, "I will
tame you with fire." "You threaten me," returned Polycarp, "with fire, which
shall burn for the space of an hour and shall then be extinguished. But you
know not the fire of the judgment to come, and of everlasting punishment
reserved for the wicked and ungodly. Give me whatever death you desire." His
silvery hairs made their silent appeal in vain to his murderers. "To the
lion!" was the cry which rose from a hundred voices, alike Jewish and Pagan;
and it was only because the beast of prey was already glutted, that they had
to resort to the equally terrible alternative of a slow death by burning.
The stake was ready. With calm deliberation he stripped off his upper
garments and undid his sash—making no remonstrance except for the iron hoops
with which they sought to make him fast to the stake. Such appliances he
told them were needless, as his heroic steadfastness proved.
To quote the quaint and touching words of the original
narrative, "Being bound as a ram out of a great flock for an offering, and
prepared to be a burnt-sacrifice acceptable unto God, he looked up to Heaven
and said—(truly no nobler page is there, out of the grand liturgy of dying
martyrs)—"O Lord God Almighty, the Father of your well-beloved and blessed
Son Jesus Christ, by whom we have attained the knowledge of You, the God of
Angels, and powers, and every creature, and of the whole race of just men
which live before You; I give You hearty thanks that You have allowed to
bring me to this day and this hour, that I may have my part among the number
of Your martyrs, in the cup of Your Son, unto the resurrection of eternal
life, both of body and soul, through the operation of Your Holy Spirit;
among whom may I be received this day before You as an acceptable sacrifice,
as You have before ordained. For which, and for all things else, I praise
You, I bless You, with the eternal and heavenly Jesus Christ, Your beloved
Son: to whom, with You and the Holy Spirit, be glory both now and to all,
succeeding ages. Amen."
Owing to untoward causes, he had to submit to lengthened
suffering. The sword completed what the fire had left undone; and
when all was over, the gang of hating Jews, who had been the first to
collect the wood for the fire, instigated their heathen accomplices to
refuse delivering up the charred remains to the Christians and accord them
decent burial. In the words of the old Epistle, which furnishes these
particulars, "By his patience he overcame the unrighteous ruler, and
received the crown of Immortality."
What a light does this touching tale throw upon the older
inspired Epistle, when we bear in mind that all this tragedy of martyrdom,
in which other Smyrna Christians besides Polycarp were involved, must have
been vividly portrayed to the omniscient eye of Him who wrote, as if by
anticipation, the needful message of warning and comfort! What balm-words
for the martyred disciples to carry with them to their scenes of torture,
and to which they might cling when the growl of the hungry lions was in
their ear, or the fuel was collecting in the arena! What was that comfort?
"These are the words of Him who is the First and the Last, who died and
came to life again." Heart-stirring theme of consolation! That He who in
His Divine nature was from everlasting to everlasting, had, in His lowly
suffering humanity, as the Incarnate Redeemer, Himself passed through the
terrors of death, and that these terrors, as in the case of His true people,
were only the passage and entrance into endless life! What could disarm that
amphitheater and these blazing faggots of their horrors, if this could not?
Then the Almighty Speaker proceeds to a more detailed
cognizance of their trials. "I know your works and tribulation" (outward
persecution) "and poverty" (the spoiling of your worldly goods, which, being
a feeble band compared to your adversaries, you are unable to resist)—"but
you are rich." Hostile Jews and mocking heathens and ruthless Roman
officials may "oppress you, and draw you before the judgment-seats and
blaspheme that worthy name by which you are called"—you may be poor in this
world, but you are rich in faith, rich in heavenly treasure. You may be
looked upon with cold arrogant disdain as the filth and off scouring of all.
But very different is the estimate of the mocking undiscerning world from
that of Him who sees not as man sees. I know the world-verdict, "Your
poverty;" but here is Mine, "You are rich." Beneath the outward tattered
garment obvious only to the world's eye, there is a "clothing of wrought
gold."
After forewarning of the blasphemous hate of the
Jews—those who arrogated to themselves the sacred name and prerogative of
God's Israel, but who proved themselves to be rather "the Synagogue of
Satan"—He reveals the unseen leader and instigator of all this foul, and
persistent enmity. He is styled here in the Greek 'Diabolos'—that is,
'accuser' or 'calumniator'. "Behold the devil shall cast some of you into
prison, that you may be tried." Some may affect to discard belief in the
literal personality and power of Satan, resolving these into myth and
symbolism—mere allegorical representations (like Bunyan's Apollyon), of the
force of human depravity and moral evil. But the story of the Church's
martyrdoms tells a different tale.
As Christ seemed often to afford precious discoveries of
His own glorious presence to the faithful in the hour of their sufferings,
so did Antichrist the great counter-worker (with characteristic malignity,
and malice, heading his legions of darkness), come into fierce conflict with
the powers of light in these stern battlefields of torture and endurance. In
both cases—invisible indeed, yet not the less truthful—did Michael and his
angels fight against the Devil and his angels. John would, moreover, be
prepared by a reference to Satan's power in this opening Epistle, to
acknowledge and estimate his activity and influence in the subsequent
visions—playing his own terrible part in the nations' future drama as the
gigantic propagator of evil—"the god of this world"—"the Prince of the power
of the air"—"making war with the saints."
In the present case, the trial, though sharp, is to be
brief—"You shall have tribulation ten days. But the Great Captain of
salvation exhorts—"Fear none of those things which you shall suffer." In the
might of Him—the First and the Last—who, once dying, now lives for evermore,
they are to be made more than conquerors! Greater is He who is with them
than he that is in the world. And even should a cruel and violent death
threaten, they can regard it only as a glorious passage to endless life;
they can mount their fiery chariot, and as they are borne upwards in the
flames, can sing, "Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our
Lord Jesus Christ!"
He ends with the encouraging and appropriate exhortation
and promise to the Angel, in the prospect of what Irenaeus calls "that
glorious and splendid martyrdom"—"Be faithful unto death, and I will give
you a crown of life." Very beautiful is this closing promise, whatever
figurative meaning and acceptance we may give it. At first sight we may
recognize a new and impressive recurrence to the simile which Paul again and
again employs in his Epistles with reference to the Grecian foot-race—the
runners pressing on to the goal, straining every nerve in the exciting
contest—and the crown, the laurel wreath, awaiting the victor at the end of
the stadium, ready to be bound around his brows. More than one commentator,
however—and we think on good ground—dissents from this interpretation.
There is a harmony and uniqueness of design in the
Apocalypse, as in all the other parts of Sacred Writ; and a nice and careful
investigation will show, that though the Book itself be full from first to
last of emblems, none of these are taken from the customs of the
heathen. While the Apostle of the Gentiles never scruples to take a Pagan
custom or rite to enforce a sacred lesson, the imagery of the Apocalypse is
altogether Jewish, or rather is composed exclusively of sacred symbols, from
the Temple candlesticks onwards. And if, as one discriminating writer
remarks, the palm-bearing multitude in a subsequent vision seems at first
sight to refute this theory (with its reference to the symbol of Greek or
Roman triumph), it is strictly speaking no real exception, as a much more
natural and beautiful meaning is its allusion to the palm branches of the
Hosanna-day used by the multitudes at the great Jewish festival, the 'Feast
of Tabernacles'—the eternal commemoration, not so much of victory, as of
rest in the true land of Canaan.
The crown of life, therefore, here spoken of,
would seem rather to indicate a royal crown—"a badge of royal
dignity"—Peter's crown of glory—Paul's crown of righteousness—the crown
given to God's king and priest—the crown especially bestowed on the enduring
martyr, as in that same record of Polycarp's death already referred to it is
said, "he was crowned with the crown of martyrdom."
Yes! we repeat this is emphatically the martyr's
epistle—the flame—the prison—the torture—the sword—are traced through it
all. We in this peaceful age, when the faggot is quenched, and the dungeon
is closed, and the sword sheathed, cannot enter into its especial comforts.
But let us, as we close it, feel as if we had been treading sacred
ground—tracing words of hallowed consolation which ten thousand trembling
hearts have read in their hour of darkness and horror—words which have
breathed many a blessed requiem while the tortured flesh was still
palpitating and the soul struggling to be free; which have revealed to the
sufferers in the hour of death, amid a canopy of smoke and flame, the
white-robed angel—yes, the Lord of Angels—holding out to view an unfading
diadem.
And what seems its great lesson to us? if not
this, LOYALTY TO CHRIST. The Church of Smyrna had no such roll of varied
commendation as that which we found recorded concerning the Church of
Ephesus. But neither is there in her case the "nevertheless" which qualifies
the former, and demands from the lips of the All-Seeing a "Repent." Though
nothing, however, specially and distinctly commendatory is said, she is
spoken of by implication as "faithful"—suffering and willing to suffer, for
her divine Master's sake—poverty, imprisonment, death. For this, the
glorious gift and reward of life is hers—the life purchased by her risen
Head—a part and portion of His own resurrection-life—" Because I live you
shall live also."
Are we faithful stewards to our trust, whatever that
trust may be? Are we faithful to our work, whatever that work maybe? Even
though we may be painfully conscious of our lack of success—seeing at times
our weapons shivered in our hands—the best and noblest efforts and struggles
of life—efforts for God and for Christ apparently a failure—the fire burning
our work—the tide washing our breakwaters away? Never fear! It is
faithfulness, not success, God looks to. The last great words of the Great
Day will be these—"Well done," (not good and successful, but) "good
and faithful servant."
What we have alone to fear is, what is here unfolded in
the closing utterance of all—"the second death"—that death which is the
fearful inheritance of the 'unfaithful'—"the faithless and the
unbelieving"—that death which has too its transition into life—but it is a
life in which the raised and revivified body is married to the lost soul! A
fearful thought truly to the sinner, but bringing no terror to the saint;
for "he that overcomes shall not be hurt of the second death;" "on such the
second death has no power."
Let us be up and doing our appointed task; for soon the
allotted term of working will be past, followed by the hour of reckoning and
recompense. Death will not come, as in Polycarp's case, with the flame and
the sword—but rather most probably with noiseless step and gentle
whisper. But that solemn moment we have so often thought of and so
little thought of—that moment when the last grain of sand in the hourglass
shall run out—come it must—sooner than we dream of. And the great question
is, How shall we meet it? Shall it be with the martyr's prayer and the
consciousness of fidelity? or with the inward shudder of those who are
standing on the brink of an undone Eternity? God save us from such an
alternative! Be it ours now to make a heart and life surrender of ourselves
to that great Conqueror, who has plucked the sting alike from the first and
the second death. Relying on the strength of Him who 'was dead, and is
alive, and lives for evermore,' let us feel assured that victory will at
last crown our steadfast and loyal allegiance to His cause; and that we
shall be able, in some lowly measure, to appropriate that beautiful comment
on this whole Smyrna Epistle contained in the words of James, "Blessed is
the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he
will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him!"