Sermon Notes: Surveying the Text: Ezekiel
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The book of Revelation is written in a genre that we in the modern world no longer use, and consequently it can be a very difficult book for us to understand. G.K. Chesterton said that John the apostle saw many strange monsters in his vision, but none so strange as any one of his commentators. And Ambrose Bierce said that it was a book in which St. John concealed all that he knew. The revealing, he said, is done by the commentators, who know nothing. So as we attempt to survey this book in one message, the goal will be to tread lightly, but with some hope of edification.
“I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star. And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely” (Revelation 22:16–17).
The images from Revelation are quite familiar. But the language of those images is not, and one of factors in the difficulty is found in how the entire book is set. There are four basic options. The first is the idealist view. In this understanding, the book is a giant parable in the sky, with no actual historical anchors. The second is the futurist view, in which the book is understood to be talking about events at the end of the world, which is of course in our future. The third is the historicist view, which understands the book of Revelation as finding its fulfillment down throughout church history, like an unrolling carpet. And the last is the preterist understanding (preter referring to the past), which locates the fulfillment of most of the book in the first century (i.e. in the prophet’s future, but in our past).
My approach here is preterist, with the exception of the last two chapters, which I think must be read in a historicist fashion.
Another major factor in interpreting this book is found in when you believe it was written. There are two basic schools of thought—one holds that it was written in the nineties, during the reign of Domitian. The second view, the one I hold to, is that it was written prior to the destruction of Jerusalem, and is in fact all about that destruction. If you locate the book after the leveling of Jerusalem, it is difficult to understand what the book could possibly be about, thus opening the door to killer bees, atomic blasts, and nefarious computers in Brussels. The late date depends largely on external evidence. Irenaeus, a disciple of Polycarp, a disciple of John, says the vision “was seen not very long ago, almost in our own generation, at the close of the reign of Domitian.” Domitian died in 96 A.D. The evidence for an early date depends largely on internal evidence. “Things which must soon take place,” etc.
One of the advantages of approaching your study of this book with a preterist understanding is that the past happened the way it did, and there is little opportunity for any funny business. By way of contrast, the future is infinitely malleable. Your creative interpretation can always fit exactly . . . until it doesn’t. Here are three examples of how the fulfillment of Revelation can be understood in a preterist way. All of these examples have to do with numbers.
42 months—the dragon gave power to the beast, and it says: “And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies; and power was given unto him to continue forty and two months” (Rev. 13:5). The beast, which is Rome, is given power to persecute the saints for 42 months. Nero set the city of Rome on fire, and when suspicion fell on him, he blamed the Christians for it, and launched the first Roman persecution of the church. That persecution lasted from November of 64 A.D. and it continued until June 8, 68 A.D. It lasted for 42 months.
666, the number of man—“Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six” (Rev. 13:18). Notice that John knew who he was talking about, and he expected some of his readers to be able to figure it out. Recall that the practice of gematria was common then. So why would it take someone who had “understanding”? If you transliterate the Greek of Nero Caesar into Hebrew, it added up to 666. And if you go from Latin into Hebrew, you get 616, which some manuscripts of Revelation have, even though it is not nearly so spooky.
5 are fallen—“And I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns . . . And here is the mind which hath wisdom. The seven heads are seven mountains, on which the woman sitteth. And there are seven kings: five are fallen, and one is, and the other is not yet come; and when he cometh, he must continue a short space” (Rev. 17:3, 9–10). Rome was renowned as the city of seven hills. We know instantly what is meant by the Big Apple, or the Windy City, or the Big Easy. It was the same kind of thing here. But the seven heads are seven kings, not just seven hills. So let us count—Julius, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius. There are the five, and the one that is “now” is Nero.
The dragon hates the woman, and the dragon has always hated the seed of the woman (Rev. 12:1ff). But the seed of the woman will crush the head of the seed of the serpent. And thus we have the main characters in this cosmic drama—we have the antagonist, Satan, and we have the Christ and we have the woman. And so it is that both the Spirit and the bride issue an invitation to all mankind—who have only two choices. Either you remain with the serpent, or you come and drink the water of life freely. We know the course of wisdom here because we are told how the story ends.
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We are evangelical Christians, and so we are very familiar with the word testimony. We have heard a good many of them. But we are also reformational Christians, and this means that a number of us grew either weary or suspicious of the practice because of how it has been mishandled so regularly in pop evangelicalism. But this is profound error on our part. Rightly understood, the Christian faith is testimony.
“And I fell at his feet to worship him. And he said unto me, See thou do it not: I am thy fellowservant, and of thy brethren that have the testimony of Jesus: worship God: for the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy” (Rev. 19:10).
Near the climax of the book of Revelation, the apostle sees the judgment of the harlot, the false bride (Rev. 19:3), and the great preparations for the wedding of the true bride, the Christian church (Rev. 19:7). A mighty angel confirmed everything that the multitude of joyful voices were saying. And John, overcome, fell down to worship the mighty angel, and was stopped by him. The mighty angel said that he was a fellow-bondslave (sundoulos), a fellow bond-slave with John’s brothers, who had the testimony (marturia) of Jesus. Worship God, he said, for the marturia of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy. We get the word martyr from this word for witness or testimony, but sealing your testimony with your blood is simply an exclamation point on something that all of us have. Every Christian is a martyr; every Christian has something to say. We all have the testimony in our midst.
One of the reasons we have drifted away from telling our testimony is that we have heard it done poorly. But slipshod work should never make us despise fine work. Counterfeit money should not make us reject real money. Clichés are a problem, but they are also a problem with sermons, books, songs, blog posts, Twitter feeds, and so forth. If we don’t like something done poorly, then we should not run in the other direction of not doing it at all. We should labor to do it right. This is particularly the case when the activity in question is a biblical one—which the idea of witnessing or testifying most certainly is.
One of the ways that people fight ho-hum testimonies is by means of making it really exciting—the way a lousy movie director tries to rescue a lame script by adding motorcycles and explosions. This is the testimony that makes the wild story the norm—as though you don’t really have a testimony unless you rode with the Hell’s Angels and beat up Mick Jagger’s bodyguard once. But for those of you growing up in the church . . . this is not what you should be shooting for. You do not have a boring testimony, but take care that you do not make the mistake of defining boring from the wrong dictionary.
The ark of the covenant was called the ark of the testimony numerous times (e.g. Ex. 26:34). The two tables of the Ten Commandments were called the “tables of testimony” (Ex. 31:18). The tabernacle was called the “tabernacle of testimony” (Num. 1:53). We testify to God’s testimony. God says “I am here,” and we say “Yes, He is.”
“That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life . . . That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us: and truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.” (1 John 1:1, 3).
There it is—testimony. Even though the word testimony is not there in that passage, the idea of it is. But one of the characteristics of modernity is that Hume and Kant, in a frenzy of high conceit, helped to banish “testimony” as a reliable source of knowledge. We want a way of knowing that we think is indubitable. But we are finite, and so it has to be testimony or nothing. We are like the fellow who says the world is a flat disk, resting on the back of a turtle. “What’s the turtle standing on?” a friend asked. “Another turtle,” was the reply. The friend started to ask another follow up question, and was cut off. “Look. It is turtles all the way down.” Our only choice is true testimony or false.
What do we testify to? We testify to the presence of Jesus. The Lord your God is in the midst of you. Jesus is under your sternum, and in the congregation. That is what we are talking about.
“The Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; He will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; He will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing” (Zeph. 3:17).
Our testimony is based upon receiving God’s testimony. He testifies, and we either believe Him or we do not. Jesus came from Heaven and testified (John 3:31).
“And what he hath seen and heard, that he testifieth; and no man receiveth his testimony. He that hath received his testimony hath set to his seal that God is true” (John 3:32–33).
Not to believe Jesus is to call Him a liar. And here in 1 John we have the statement that “He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness [marturia] in himself: he that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the record [marturia] that God gave of his Son” (1 John 5:10).
So what then is true testimony? In order for us to have the right kind of testimony, we have to know that it isGod’s testimony. If He has no testimony concerning us, then we can have no testimony concerning Him. We are telling the story of what He has done, and when we tell the story of what He has done, He is continuing to do it. We tell our testimony faithfully when we are keeping His testimony (Ps. 119:88).
We do not serve a “pie dough” God, where the further it spreads, the thinner it gets. The longer history goes, it is not like playing the telephone game over three thousand years instead of two thousand, with increasing garble as we go. Going to Heaven will not be like going to a conference where ten thousand people are hoping to shake hands for two seconds with the main celebrity. If you have Jesus Christ in your life, you do not have afraction of Him. If God is with you, if Christ is in you, if the Spirit is upon you, you are not on the outskirts of His purposes. When you pray, it is not to a distracted God, who has billions of people chattering at Him. You—little old you—have His undivided attention. This means that He and you together are in this thing that is happening to you, and you are both all in, and you have the privilege of talking about it.
When you tell others what God has done, and it is what He has done according to Scripture, this testimony resonates with the way God made the world. A true testimony obligates belief in the one hearing it. This is not affected by whether he does or does not believe. Often anger or irritation is present because the unbelievers knows this. The obligation is there, and it is felt, regardless of whether the faith is there.
“Long time therefore abode they speaking boldly in the Lord, which gave testimony unto the word of his grace, and granted signs and wonders to be done by their hands. But the multitude of the city was divided: and part held with the Jews, and part with the apostles” (Acts 14:3–4).
So write your story. Tell people about Jesus. Put it on Facebook. Facebook could use a little more of the spirit of prophecy.
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This is a season for personal inventories, and for resolutions. This is appropriate and fitting . . . unless one of your resolutions needs to be to rely less on resolutions and more on actually doing something. Assuming your resolutions help you get things done, you don’t want to lose ground here in order to gain ground there. Sanctification is accumulative—one virtue should not displace another.
“Be watchful, and strengthen the things which remain, that are ready to die: for I have not found thy works perfect before God” (Rev. 3:2).
“Nevertheless, whereto we have already attained, let us walk by the same rule, let us mind the same thing” (Phil. 3:16).
Our first text is taken from the admonition given to the church at Sardis, and it is a pretty stern rebuke. The church there had a reputation for being alive, but was dead (v. 1). It become apparent in the next verse that they were not completely dead (v. 2), but the remaining life there was about to die. There were just a few embers in what had been a roaring fire, and those needed to be blown back into a blaze. “Strengthen the things that remain” means that they needed to get back to first principles, they needed to go back to the word they had first received (v. 3). In the words of the admonition to the church at Ephesus, they needed to return to their first love.
The second text assumes that those reading the exhortation have been faithful, and the call is not to repentance. At the same time, there is no sense of “having arrived.” Paul does not consider himself as having “apprehended” but he continues to press on toward the goal (v. 13). The mark that he strives for is the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus (v. 14). Anyone who is mature should think the same way, which shows us that maturity is not complacency (v. 15). Let us continue to do what got us here (v. 16). Let us live up to what we have already attained.
If we have wandered off the path, let us return to it. If we have stayed on the path, by the grace of God, let us keep on.
In this world, time is not an automatic friend. We have just passed one of our culture’s milestones for time, going from the year 2009 to the year 2010. This is good . . . or it is not. Time deepens wisdom, but it also hardens folly. Time is given so that we might have time to repent, but it also given so that we might be without excuse. Time allows the grain to ripen, and it allows the weeds to grow. Time allows the meat to roast in the oven, and is also what causes it to burn.
God is triune, and reveals Himself to us as triune. The principle way He chose to do this is through the Incarnation of Jesus. In other words, the doctrine of the Trinity was made necessary by God’s complete identification with us—which seems counterintuitive. How can the fact that the eternal Logos became a human being forever and ever lead us to the a complex doctrinal formulation that makes our heads hurt? Well, if it makes our heads hurt, then perhaps we are not as Trinitarian as we might like to believe. It is a given that the infinite God cannot be comprehended by finite minds. That much even unbelievers can know. But our glory is that this infinite God who cannot be comprehended took on human flesh forever, and has assumed a dwelling place among us. The relationship we have with Emmanuel, God with us, is not a relationship with a figure of speech. This is gospel; this is what God has done—a perfect man, living a perfect life on our behalf, and then offering up that life in blood sacrifice, so that we might be put right on the basis of His resurrection from the dead. Put right? Put right with what? With everything . . . put right with ourselves, put right with the creation, put right with our neighbor, and put right with our God.
This gospel, in its experienced reality, is transformative. It changes things, and, as it happens, it often changes things that didn’t want to be changed. Over time, one of two things will happen. The first is that we persevere in staying on the path, just as we ought to have done. If this is the case, then we need to be encouraged to “keep on keeping on,” as we used to say. The other option is that we slide back into the ways of death, as the saints at Sardis did, all while keeping relics of the gospel around. We revert to the sin while keeping this very fine catechism. As time progresses, that catechism becomes a large pebble in our shoe, one that makes us walk funny.
The way we deal with this is that we objectify the truth, putting it “out there,” giving credence to it “in its place.” Thinking that we have created a safe house for the truth to live in, we are actually killing it. The truth is meant to be lived, and if it isn’t lived it isn’t our truth. The truth is meant to be loved, and if it isn’t loved it isn’t our truth. Now truth is objective, but we must not objectify it. That is what Paul is talking about when he says that the letter kills but the Spirit gives life. Paul is not hostile to letters—he wrote “the letter kills” with letters. His words are objectively true, and by this we mean that they are not made true by our applause, and they are not falsified when we withhold our applause. But we objectify truth when we say, “Yeah, uh huh, I heard that before.” Or “I knew that once.” For those in this position, they must either come to their first love, or they must return to it.
This year our congregation will be 35 years old. During that time, children born in the first years have grown up, married, and are bringing up children of their own in this same congregation. Things we knew and learned have been successfully passed on—let us continue to live up to what we have already attained. Some have joined the conversation part way, and feel like they are always catching up. Some other things we have drifted away from, and so let us return to the basic things, the simple things—love God and hate sin. Love His Word, despise the world, and learn to love the world.
A fitting conclusion is provided by a couple songs—the old gospel song Sweet Jesus says, “Everybody talking about heaven ain’t goin’ there.” And as the song Denomination Blues puts it, “Ya gotta have Jesus, and that’s all.”