The Slaughtered Lamb

Not just anyone can open God’s mail. We’re in Revelation chapter 5, and the scene is still the heavenly throne room. God’s in the center, behind flaming torches, alongside magical creatures, encircled by a rainbow, and the spiraling thrones of representatives or “elders.” It’s a vision from a sci-fi novel—except it’s there, in the Bible. Here’s 15th century painter Hans Memling’s take:

As I’ve written previously, the action in this “throne room,” which is the inmost dwelling place of God (our hearts, the cosmos, Mother Earth herself), is all worship all the time. Creation, creatures, and matter itself singing praise to the Spirit from which it comes. But then, John writes, the right hand of the unnamed one on the throne holds a scroll sealed with seven seals. Seven is, if you haven’t picked up on it yet, John’s preferred number. There are seven of everything in this book: seals, trumpets, flames, letters to churches, and much more. It represents divine wholeness, what French social critic and scholar Jacques Ellul describes as “the number symbolizing the union and even the unity of God with his creation, the indissoluble relation of the creation to God” (Apocalypse).

An angel cries out in a booming voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” (5:2) No one answers in the affirmative. I wouldn’t dare, either. The absence of response seems to break John’s heart. He weeps bitterly (5:4) because he longs for God’s secret message to be communicated.

One of the elders (representative leaders) says that there is one can receive and open God’s mail. Presumably, the contents of this letter matter, and thus the opener should, too: the topic has something to do with the future, the destiny of the universe, and the fate of humanity. You know, end of days, the original inspiration for Netflix doomsday-algorithmic fare. It’s “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David” who can open the sealed scroll (5:5). Which makes sense, at first. Before C.S. Lewis allegorized Christ as the Lion Aslan, King of Narnia, Lion of Judah served as a metaphor for the ancient Israelite King (see Genesis 49:8–9). The ancient scroll, sealed with wax, perhaps pressed by a signet ring, comes from the Divine Being on the throne, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that a King (or Queen) needs to open it.

What is surprising is the being who shows up to claim the title of Lion and Root of David. It’s not a Lion, it’s a Lamb, and a murdered Lamb at that. Lamb imagery in the Bible is deeply symbolic, stirring associations with sacrifice in the Jewish temple, the lamb’s blood sprinkled on doors during God’s liberation of Hebrew slaves in Egypt, the literal and figurative shepherding that King David does, and more. But what’s most striking to me while reading the book of Revelation is that the Lamb is nonviolent. The Lamb suffers violence but does not retaliate, just like Jesus, the nonviolent heralder of God’s realm. We’re meant, of course, to put two and two together, as John the Baptist did at the beginning of John’s Gospel: Jesus is the Lamb of God (1:29).

Jesus, the victim and martyr for love, is the centerpiece of the throne room and the entire book. On the purely human and ethical level, the equivalency is to place radical, nonviolent witnesses for love and justice at the center of God’s message for the future. It is to picture Martin Luther King Jr., shot down on a hotel balcony after striking with sanitation workers in Memphis as the key image of God’s realm. Or Dorothy Stang, murdered in Brazil for her work defending the rainforest. Or Oscar Romero, outspoken advocate for the poor and Archbishop of San Salvador, assassinated while celebrating mass. These are the Lambs of God who in their own bodies suffer the sin of the world. It’s a jaw-dropping, symbolic move on John’s part.

To name the obvious, Revelation has a reputation as a violent book. There are some violent scenes coming. To be honest, I’m both excited and dreading reading, praying, and studying the coming passages. But as we slowly progress through seals, trumpets, disasters, and cosmic war, it is imperative to hold before our hearts the image of the nonviolent Lamb—the martyr Jesus who faces the Empire’s brutality with transforming love and not retaliation. To quote more Jacques Ellul, writing about Revelation’s Lamb: “If he reigns over history it is not as crowned King but as the incarnation of love itself, the love which goes so far as to give itself, to abandon itself; and if he has power it can be no other power than that of this love” (Apocalypse).

I’m not at all sure what I think about God’s judgment, and whether we can even speak about that in ways that do not traumatize people. But if we dare to speak of judgment, it is helpful to think about the Lamb who is the one doing the judging. The one who loves, faces death, and loves some more. So, if being face to face with the Lamb is what God’s judgment means, then I think we can handle it—and handle the coming chapters of Revelation—because judgment just means coming face to face with love.

Apocalyptic quote of the week: “There has never been a book provoking more delirium, foolishness, and irrational movements, without any relationship to Jesus Christ, than [the Book of Revelation].” —Jacques Ellul

Apocalyptic culture corner: British filmmaker Femi Nylander goes to Niger to trace roots of colonialism in his documentary African Apocalypse. (Note: the trailer contains disturbing images).

Image credit: Hans Memling, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

P.S. I always appreciate hearing from you, whether in response to this email or through comments. I will write back, even if it takes me several days.