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1:4b Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven spirits who are before his throne, 5 and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, 6 and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

1:7 Look! He is coming with the clouds;
every eye will see him,
even those who pierced him;
and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail.

So it is to be. Amen.

1:8 “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty. (NRSV)

Commentary

The book of Revelation is a fearsome thing. To most of us John’s apocalypse just conjures up fear. We’re accustomed to thinking of this enigmatic final book of the Bible to be a blueprint for disaster. Yet even if we can figure out the symbolic timetables to help us rightly predict the future, we are still full of dread. Sure that the apocalypse is about forecasting the distant future, we are afraid.

Well, perhaps John the Seer’s apocalypse did the same thing to his first hearers, too. They too likely gathered in worship to hear John’s message from Patmos read publicly. But then, the dreaded word tripped off the lector’s lips that first century Sunday morning: the apocalypse. They may have also had reason to fear John’s revelation.

So what does John do?: he starts his apocalypse with a blessing (vv. 4b-5a). John begins Revelation with a gift. From the get-go, John wants to make clear that his is no run-of-the-mill apocalypse. Maybe that’s we he starts his with such an atypical beginning: “Grace to you and peace from the One who is and who was and who is to come.” “Grace to you and peace,” he says. Here we are braced for the worst, and John starts his apocalypse with a blessing.

Now, of course, John’s blessing does sound familiar. Didn’t Paul start all his letters with the same phrase? “Grace to you and peace,” why that’s Paul’s trademark greeting. Yet John didn’t have to begin his apocalypse this way. Crack open any collection of ancient apocalypses and you’ll see. Why, there’s not another one, not a single other example of an apocalypse including such a blessing. John seems to have done this quite on purpose.

Question is: how do you respond to a gift like that? John says with thanks (vv. 5b-6). The seer leads the community in gratitude for God’s blessing received. Of course, when you think about it, it’s all pretty simple. From an early age, we were all taught to show gratitude. By and by it may have even gotten to the point of becoming automatic. Someone offered us a candy treat, and the words thank you just tripped off our lips. If we received a gift in the mail, we knew it was time to scribble off a note of gratitude to the sender. When you think about it, it’s the most natural thing in the world. We respond to any gift with thanks. Well, John helps those hearing his apocalypse to do the same kind of thing. For the Seer, a blessing from God just seems to elicit its own response. Before we even know it, he’s leading us in thanksgiving: “To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood,” John says, “To him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” Oh, it’s nothing too fancy, mind you. But there it is, at the beginning of John’s apocalypse: thanks giving for a blessing. A simple expression of gratitude for a gift.

But then, just when we start to feel at home in Revelation, John starts getting weird on us. Precisely at the point where the Apocalypse begins feeling familiar, then the vision takes off in v. 7. Here, the heavens are rent and John says, “Look, He is coming with the clouds.” Now to be honest, most of us are skeptical. According to the polls, there are not many among us who expect to see Jesus riding on a cloud on a sort of cosmic victory lap. So all of us must wonder why. Why does John break in here with a vision of Christ returning? Well, perhaps its helpful to consider John’s timing here. Please recall that this vision of Jesus follows a blessing for us and a thanksgiving to God. John’s picture of Jesus on the clouds comes after the gift and the gratitude. Perhaps John, trusting this apocalypse would be read in worship, knew he could make a point. For whenever God’s gift evokes thanks, there Christ starts coming--even now. When God’s blessing elicits gratitude, there Christ comes to be present. It’s not so far out, really. Just consider what we do on communion Sundays. First, there’s the gifts: some bread and some wine, Christ’s body and blood. Then comes our Great Thanksgiving. And before we know it, we find ourselves praying: “Come, Lord Jesus.” Eucharist, you see, is a foretaste of the feast of heaven. It is our chance to live in the future present tense. Around the table, Christ already starts coming to be with us. No wonder the old spiritual was sung with such gusto: "We’re gonna sit at the welcome table, we’re gonna sit at the welcome table one-a-these days, Hallelujah!" John might even nod in agreement: ‘cause where God’s blessings evoke thanksgiving, there Christ starts coming...now.

But before we get too carried away, it is good to remember just who comes: the Christ who was pierced (v. 7b). The Jesus John portrays on the cloud is the same one who was crucified. The One who was wounded is the one who comes. Oh, to us the distinction may not seem like much. Though we remember Christ’s death on the cross, we usually focus on his death as part of our common suffering--as if dying on the cross were the same as a car accident, a disease, or old age. But perhaps John wishes to remember Jesus’ suffering for another reason. Not because everybody suffers generally, but because Jesus suffered on a Roman cross. And if you are being persecuted--or fear being persecuted, a vision of One who was pierced returning on the clouds looks a lot different. In fact, it looks a lot like hope. So how about us? Well, let’s be honest. We are not likely to produce flaming martyrs. Nor are we exactly candidates for being fed to the lions. Still, we are a worshipping community in a troubled time and context. Perhaps, then, we too can take some solace from a vision like John’s. If it is the one who was pierced who comes to be with us now, perhaps we too can be vulnerable to our neighbors. Imagine one of those churches with a stained-glass window of Jesus coming on the clouds. When you’re inside the church, you see a picture of Jesus coming toward you--as if Christ longed to be with us even now. Yet as you look through some of the lighter panes of the stained-glass window, you might just see the world outside: a place of broken street lamps, pot-holed roads, and sub-standard housing. And from where you stand, the window would seem to portray a Christ who longs to be there as well. Get the picture? The Christ who comes is the one who was pierced. The wounded one returns in and through brokenness.

So whaddya know? Maybe John’s revelation is not as fearsome as we first thought. The Apocalypse is not so much a cosmic tabloid, as it is a vision of faith for the here and now. This way, perhaps, Revelation can reveal something to us much more important than: a person, Jesus Christ, crucified and risen.

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