“What is an apocalypse?”

Thursday March 17, 2011

Psalm 46

Over the past week – and even in this moment – it is safe to say that our hearts have been heavy with concern for the people of Japan. The earthquake, the tsunami, the fears of the effects of radiation, the daunting future that now lies before them – it is hard for any of us to imagine how devastating the effects of these past few days will be on the Japanese people, and even on generations yet unborn.

Over these past few days, we have heard the disasters that have beset the people of Japan described in many ways – as catastrophic, as devastating, as unimaginable. Just the other morning, I heard an interview on the radio with an official with the Japanese government who repeated, a number of times, the fact that the disaster was “of biblical and apocalyptic proportions”.

It was an interesting description – a series of disasters of biblical and apocalyptic proportions.

We hear the words “apocalyptic” and “apocalypse” in a number of different contexts. The famous movie “Apocalypse Now”, which was a retelling of Joseph Conrad’s novel, “The Heart of Darkness” re-envisioned during the American invasion of Vietnam, presents the backdrop of war and horror as the context for that understanding of the apocalypse. So many other famous movies and stories have used these same images of destruction and devastation as the setting for their apocalyptic themes that we have come to equate the words “apocalypse” or “apocalyptic” as synonymous with images of the end of the world and the triumph of despair and devastation over hope and life.

But is this what an apocalypse means?

It is interesting to realize that the words “apocalypse” and “apocalyptic” actually find their origin in today’s reading from the Book of Revelation.

The Book of Revelation, as we all know, is a book filled with mysterious and mystical visions that were written down by a character named John after he had been imprisoned on the island of Patmos in the first decades of the Christian movement. As the claims about the supremacy of Jesus began to spread, the followers of Christ sometimes came into conflict with others, and sometimes with the authorities of the day who saw, in those proclamations, the potential for conflict with the established powers of the world. As a result, some of the early Christian believers experienced persecution and imprisonment for their beliefs. The author of this text – who identifies himself as John – had experienced that persecution and imprisonment.

During that imprisonment, however, he had come to receive some form of vision that he wrote down and wanted to share with the other followers of Christ – from whom he was cut off because of his imprisonment.

And it is in the opening words of this passage that we come to the origin of the modern use of the term “apocalypse”. That is, in Greek, the words that begin this passage – and the words that begin the book of Revelation – are these – apocalypsis jesou christou, or the apocalypse, or revelation of Jesus Christ.

And what did John mean by the use of this term in the opening of his book of visions?

Although there are a number of theories about the ways that John’s book is intended to be used and interpreted, I find one of the most intriguing arguments to be in relation to words that are found in 1 Corinthians 14, in which Paul, while describing what should happen during Christian worship, states, “When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation”. The word that Paul uses in this passage for ‘revelation’ is, like that of the opening passage of the Book of Revelation, the word apocalypsis. In other words, apocalypses were meant to be understood, not as the fodder for horror films and sensational television commentary in the aftermath of disasters and tragedies, but as visions which were to be shared during the context of Christian worship. These apocalypses, these revelations, these ‘visions’ were intended to offer hope and encouragement to people of faith, even in times of great distress and despair.

Which, when we continue to read the Book of Revelation, we begin to realize is exactly the purpose of John’s vision. John was not able to be with his fellow believers because he had been imprisoned and cut off from them on the island of Patmos – but he had a vision, an apocalypse, a revelation to share with them that he had received while he was in the spirit on the Lord’s day. His comments in verse 3 about blessing resting upon those who read and heard his written words were not offered as a part of a nice or polite greeting – rather, he was trying to send as clear and as forceful a signal as he could that the text was meant to be read aloud for the good of the gathered community of faith. This was not a text whose meaning could be properly discerned by individuals who poured over these texts by themselves, seeking in them some esoteric clues to the chronology of the end of the world. Rather, this text, this apocalypse, this revelation was a message to the churches – to which John is directly told to address his comments.

But if this is the case, then how do we read the words and passages that follow it?

Too often, our modern cultural conception of the book of Revelation – and of apocalyptic themes and letters – do not tell the whole story of what John saw. They get caught up in the most horrifying images of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, of the mysterious beasts and dragons that threaten and ravage the earth, of the destruction of all things in their strange and cosmic visions of conflicts and clashes that seem to tear the heavens apart.

But that is not the whole story – nor was it John’s intention in writing down the words of this apocalypse. Rather, John’s purpose was to convey and to communicate a powerful message – not of despair, but of hope. John’s purpose was to help his readers to confront the fragility of the human condition in the face of conflict and violence; but his vision did not end in death and destruction. He was writing to a people who felt threatened by the authorities of the world, by the crushing power of natural disasters, by the seemingly invincible power of human systems and ideologies, characterized most powerfully – in his time – by the power of the Roman Empire that had imprisoned him and that was persecuting the followers of Christ.

But, to those very followers, John was offering a revelation, a vision, an apocalypse, a proclamation of hope. And the hope was this – that God’s power had not been overcome, and that God’s power could not be overcome. The Lamb of Revelation would be slain; but that Lamb would triumph. The powers of the world – both natural and imperial – could be threatening and destructive, but they could not overcome the purposes of God. Life was fragile, of that there was no doubt, but life would triumph over death. There were beastly systems of human ideology and power who had come to think that their power was equivalent to that of God, but God was still in control. There might be suffering, but the final word would be hope, peace, justice, reconciliation, love. The people who read John’s words were meant to remain grounded in their faith, renewed in their hope, and rededicated to love, even in the face of persecution, suffering, disaster and devastation.

And, perhaps, this is the apocalyptic vision that we need to embrace at this moment. The events of the past week have reminded us that life is fragile and that suffering is a terrible and inexplicable mystery. The earthquake and tsunami have reminded us that we are not in control, but that events in the natural world can, in the blink of an eye, bring widespread devastation and calamity. The dangers that continue to concern and confront us in the heart of the nuclear reactors remind us that our sometimes unexamined confidence in human power, scientific innovation, technological progress and ingenuity can sometimes be misplaced.

Our only hope, therefore, may be the very same hope that John was trying to convey to his fellow believers in this apocalyptic vision that he received. And that hope was this – that God is still sovereign; that we should not give in to despair, that we should reach out in love, even in the face of suffering, in the confidence that the power of life and of love will prevail.

Perhaps the events of the past week were, in fact, an apocalypse, a revelation, a vision – but not simply of tragedy and destruction – but rather a revelation of the call to faith, to hope and to a love that will – inevitably and ultimately – be triumphant.