THE HALF-HOUR'S SILENCE
PREPARATION FOR THE TRUMPET-SOUNDINGS
THE ANGEL AT THE GOLDEN ALTAR
Revelation 8:1-6
It would have essentially contributed to a clear and
intelligent apprehension of this passage, as well as of the structure of the
entire Book, had the first verse in the present chapter formed the closing
one of the preceding; or rather, had it taken a more distinctive place
still, by forming the terminating words of the first of the three parallel
visions of which the Apocalypse is composed. If we can venture again to use
the simile which we have more than once employed in speaking of this portion
of Scripture, that is, a prophetic drama in three acts, each act
consisting in succession of the vision of the seals, the trumpets,
and the vials, then the opening verse would form the conclusion of
the first great dramatic scene.
A significant interval takes place, before new figures
and personations present themselves to the Apostle-spectator; "There was
silence in Heaven for about half an hour." It is the beautiful remark of
Victorinus (one of the oldest commentators on the Revelation) upon this
half-hour's silence, that it denotes "the beginning of the saints'
everlasting rest." The idea is no doubt a sublime one, and more especially
taken in connection with the antitypical reference, of which we have
previously spoken, to the Feast of Tabernacles—the heavenly feast of rest—the
beginning of "the rest which remains for the people of God."
But we think a more natural meaning is that which we have
just given, that is, to regard the words as simply marking the pause between
the parts in the sacred representation. The Apostle is once more amid the
familiar surroundings of Patmos. Stunned, or, to use a phrase of
Chrysostom's, "made dizzy," with these revelations, he required a temporary
relaxation from the tension of thought and feeling and strong
emotion. Just as Zechariah, overpowered and exhausted with the glories
of one of his prophetic visions, had sunk into slumber, so that the Angel
that talked with him had to come again and "wake him as a man is wakened out
of sleep;" or just as John's great Master, when on earth, required such a
period of respite and suspension from prolonged bodily and mental toil, to
satisfy the requirements of His humanity; so, on that memorable Lord's Day
in Patmos there is a break in the imagery, in order that the favored Apostle
may enjoy a season of needed rest before the second great act in the
apocalyptic drama opens, with its fresh revelations of the mysterious
future.
The half-hour's silence being concluded, the curtain anew
rises, and a fresh series of visions is unveiled. We are not, however, to
suppose that the vision of the seven trumpets and the trumpet-blowing angels
(the new section on which we now enter) follows that of the seals
chronologically. This could not be. The seven seals conducted us down to the
end of the world, to the Day of judgment, and the very threshold of Heaven.
If, therefore, the trumpets speak of earthly things, as they unquestionably
do (the trees, the seas, the rivers, the lights of Heaven), they can only,
under new phases—a new set of symbols with varying representations, traverse
the same ground. Indeed we are constrained to regard the seals, the
trumpets, the vials, as constituting a triple "equivalent" series
of visions—a series not consecutive, but parallel, each embracing
seven figures, each complete in itself, each starting from the same point of
departure (the commencement of the Christian era), each depicting the
various fortunes of the Church, until these culminate in the triumphs of her
great Head, the destruction of His adversaries, and the salvation of His
people. This parallelism will be found to be accurate and complete.
As the opening of the seventh seal indicated the
beginning of heavenly bliss, so the blowing of the seventh trumpet
similarly announces the completion of 'the mystery of God,' and is ushered
in by a song of thanksgiving—by great voices in Heaven, saying, "The
kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His
Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever. . . . And the temple of God was
opened in Heaven." And so also is this harmony sustained in the pouring out
of the seventh vial; for then we read, "There came a great voice out
of the temple of Heaven from the throne, saying, It is done."
Let us proceed, then, in profound reverence, to open this
new volume of the great prophecy, and to follow, though with extreme
brevity, this new train of revelations. The Apostle, refreshed after his
half-hour's silence, is ready for the new invitation, "Come up here." The
dull, commonplace scenery of his rocky home once more fades from view, and
in a revived heavenly ecstacy, he waits his Savior's summons. Seven angels
standing in the presence of God have had seven trumpets put into their
hands. And here, too, we have preliminarily to note, that the parallelism
and uniformity in the structure of the Apocalypse is still farther
preserved. The reader will remember, that previous to the breaking of the
seals, there was a sublime opening vision given to the Apostle—a
"glorious appearing" of Christ as the Mediator of His Church, under the
strangely blended symbolism of the Lion and the Lamb, worshiped by ten
thousand times ten thousand and thousands of thousands. This formed a
magnificent preparation—a grand prologue to the first section of the Book.
There is a similar preparatory vision or theophany before
the sounding of the seven trumpets—a similar glorious revelation of
the Lord Jesus as the Great King and Head of His Church, to whose Divine
will and pleasure these trumpet-angels are all subordinate and subservient;
just, as we found, were the avenging angels of the winds in the chapter
preceding. As the former preliminary vision was that of the God-man
Mediator, and specially of "the Lamb," as pointing to His atoning death and
great propitiatory sacrifice, so now it is the same Divine Being, only
symbolized as an Angel-priest engaged in the performance of His great
intercessory work; standing (not now by the brazen altar of burnt-offering,
at whose base we heard the "souls of the martyrs" uttering their cry), but
by the golden Altar of incense in the Heavenly Temple. There He is
represented as offering in "the golden censer filled with much incense, the
prayers of all the saints"—the hundred and forty-four thousand
mentioned in the sealing vision—the numerical symbol of completeness, and
including, therefore, the entire multitude of the redeemed on earth.
(n. b. The Angel-Intercessor, receiving and offering the
prayers of the whole symbolized Church, is clearly beyond the capacity or
functions of any mere created angel. Moreover, the priestly symbol is
no new figure, but only the reappearing of Christ under the emblem by which
He is first presented to us in the opening of the Book. The same
observations apply to the imagery regarding "the mighty angel," in the
beginning of chapter 10. He is "clothed with a cloud," the invariable emblem
of Deity. The "rainbow upon his head," "his face as it were the sun, and his
feet as pillars of fire," crying "with a loud voice, as when a lion
roars"—all equally identify Him with the majestic Being in the opening
chapter, at whose feet John fell as one dead; whose countenance was as the
sun shining in its strength, whose feet were like unto fine brass, as if
they burned in a furnace, and His voice as the sound of many waters.)
It was a prelude-vision of glorious comfort to His
servant and to the whole Church. Whether in the case of those gigantic
persecutions which were more specially symbolized by the subsequent
trumpet-soundings, or in the trials and tribulations of individual
believers, there was a voice within the veil sending its word of consolation
to every desponding spirit, "Simon, Simon, Satan has desired to have you,
that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your
faith fail not."
The Old Testament incense-offerings are associated
with two very different occasions in the services of the Jewish Temple.
Solemn and imposing must have been the scene on the great day of Atonement,
when the Jewish high priest, divested of his customary gorgeous robes, and
dressed in a pure white vestment, stood before the great brazen altar. After
the preliminary sin-offerings and burnt-offerings for himself and for the
nation had been presented, burning coals were taken by him from the altar
and deposited in a golden censer. Carrying with him a handful of sweet
incense, he proceeded within the curtain into the Holy of Holies. As he
stood in this majestic presence-chamber of Jehovah, he took a portion of it
"beaten small," and cast it among the burning embers; the cloud enveloped
the mercy-seat, the fumes filling the most Holy Place with grateful odors.
Similarly imposing must have been the scene which is more
probably referred to here—the daily offering of the incense by the
ministering priest, morning and evening. Standing by the same great brazen
altar, and placing, by means of a silver shovel, some live coals in his
censer—carrying at the same time a handful of frankincense, he advanced to
the Golden altar in front of the veil which separated the Holy Place from
the Holy of Holies. The whole of the congregation, during these solemn
moments, preserved a profound silence. They remained outside engaged in
devout prayer; as we read in connection with the ministration of Zechariah,
"he was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary and burn incense in the Lord's
presence. While the incense was being burned, a great crowd stood outside,
praying." The priest on an appointed signal, after laying the censer on the
golden altar, cast the incense on the fire, and the fragrant cloud ascended.
By combining these two interesting Temple memories, have
we not, in this vision, strikingly brought before us the great
Antitypical Priest, standing in the Heavenly Temple, receiving into His
golden censer the prayers of His waiting people on earth? Perfuming them
with the incense of His adorable merits, the grateful cloud ascends! The
petitions of the Church throughout the whole world, individual and
aggregate, rise with acceptance before God Almighty.
Let us pause for a moment by this consolatory vision. A
vision of comfort it was intended to be for John and for the Church of his
day; and it is designed to be so also for us. The Angel-Intercessor revealed
in Patmos is "that same Jesus"—the same High Priest who stood in His lowly
sacrificial attire beside the altar of burnt-offering on earth. The glowing
embers of His own awful sacrifice He has carried within the veil—within the
curtained splendor of the true Holy of Holies, and there, He ever
lives to make intercession! What an encouragement to prayer! Mark, they are
the "prayers of all the saints" which are received into the censer, and
incensed with the odor-breathing spices. The prayers not only of those
'strong in faith giving glory to God,' but the prayers also of the lowliest,
the humblest, the weakest—the tremulous aspirations of the penitent, the
lisping stammerings of infancy; the prayer of the palace amid tiled
ceilings and gilded walls; the prayer of the cottage, where the
earthen floor is knelt upon, and where the only, although, after all, the
noblest altar is that of the lowly heart, and the purest sacrifice that of
the broken spirit; the prayer ascending from the time-honoured sanctuary and
'the great congregation;' the prayer rising in the midst of the silent
desert, or from the voyager on the lonely sea.
Poor and utterly unworthy as these petitions may be in
themselves, they are perfumed by the fragrant merits of the
Covenant-Intercessor! They are made acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.
His pleading voice is never heard in vain. No variety, or amount of prayer,
can bewilder Him. He can receive all, and attend to all, and answer all.
The glowing coals in His censer are feeble emblems of the burning love which
glows in His heart. Penitence can still go, as of old, to His
feet, to pour out in silent tears the tale of sadness. Sorrow can
still rush, as of old, with throbbing emotion, and cry out, in His own words
as the Prince of Sufferers, "If it be possible let this cup pass." The hand
of faith can still touch the hem of His garment, and the voice of faith
still utter its cry, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy upon me!"
And as the "all saints" spoken of here, refer, in the
first instance, to those who, in the time of John, lived amid
trumpet-soundings and vials (times of judgment and persecution), so is this
vision specially precious and comforting to all the children of
affliction. It is in the season of trial and sorrow Jesus lends most
lovingly His ear to hear His people's voice. It is 'songs in the night' He
most delights to listen to. It is prayers, if we may so speak,
saturated with tears, He loves best to put into His censer. It was the
express Divine injunction regarding the daily incense-offering in the
Temple-service of which we have spoken, that on the lighting of the lamps
'at evening time,' Aaron was to burn sweet incense on the Golden
altar.
Afflicted believers! it is so still. 'At evening
time,' when the bright world is shaded—when the flowers have closed their
cups—when the song of bird has ceased, and the sun of your earthly bliss has
gone down in the western sky—then it is that the lamp of Prayer is kindled
in the soul's temple. Yes! just when other lamps that have lighted your
pilgrimage pathway are quenched in darkness, prayer lights its lone lamp in
the heart's deserted sanctuary. It was amid the darkness of the
night, at the brook Jabbok, that Jacob wrestled of old with the angel
and prevailed. It is in the soul's dark and lonely and solitary seasons
still, that the Church's moral and spiritual wrestlers are crowned with
victory, and as princes "have power with God!"