Tag: LambOfGod

Revelation 4

Revelation 4

This is a series of short expositions of Revelation 4-22 from a futurist perspective. Follow along with a timeline here.

After the revelation of Jesus’ messages to the churches (Rev 1:9 – 3:22), the apostle John sees something else. A door is open in heaven, like an invitation. A voice booms out at him—the voice of Jesus. It was he who ordered John to copy down the messages to the churches (“the first voice which I heard,” cp. Rev 1:10-13), and it’s him again who says: “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after these things” (Rev 4:1). Some bible teachers argue passionately that Revelation’s events here (Rev 4-19) focusses on Israel, because the church is in heaven, because the pre-tribulation rapture must have happened sometime between the end of Revelation 3 and the start of Revelation 4.[1] This is a weak argument from silence (see the article “Does Revelation 3:10 Teach a Pre-Tribulation Rapture?”), and instead we will simply take the text as we find it.

Immediately after receiving this open-door invite, John tells us he was “in the Spirit,” which likely means he felt as if he’d entered a different spiritual plane—this is an ecstatic vision given by the Spirit, not just shown to him but experienced, too. He sees, as if beyond the beckoning door, a strange figure seated on a throne in heaven. In words reminiscent of Ezekiel’s so long ago (Ezek 1:26-28), John tells of a man glittering as a jewel, surrounded by a rainbow that glinted and sparkled in deep emerald hues (Rev 4:3).

24 creatures sit on 24 thrones arrayed round about this mysterious man (Rev 4:4). John calls them “elders,” a word which could mean older men, or religious leaders (i.e., pastors). Here, it seems to refer to angelic creatures of some stripe[2] (we’ll come back to them soon). They’re clad in white robes and wear golden crowns.

As is his way, the apostle John borrows old covenant language to describe the scene. Just as when the people of Israel did when they came to Mt. Sinai (Ex 19:16), John sees “flashes of lightning and sounds and peals of thunder” coming out from the throne (Rev 4:5).

Seven lamps of fire, which are God’s seven Spirits, flicker and burn before the throne (Rev 4:5). These seem to be the heavenly reality which the temple’s golden lampstand foreshadowed (Ex 25:37). Much ink has been spilt on these “seven spirits of God,” which are likely the Holy Spirit. John’s visions include letters to seven churches, seven Spirits before the throne of God above, seven seals on the judgment scroll which Jesus slowly cracks open throughout this book, seven trumpet blast judgments within the seventh seal judgment, and seven bowl judgments nestled within the seventh trumpet judgment. Elsewhere, Daniel tells us of that 70 “sevens” will elapse before the Lord’s program for this present evil age is complete (Dan 9:24-27). In short, “seven” is a number that inevitably calls to mind “fullness” or “completeness.” If the seven lamps are the Holy Spirit, then because we will shortly meet the Lamb who was slain standing between the elders and the throne (in ch. 5), then we have the Trinity in God’s throne room.

Also, in this scene there are images so fantastic that John scarcely knows what to make of them. We get the strong impression that he tries his best to describe the indescribable. Imagine an average American in 1850 trying to describe to his family a vision of a mobile phone with the Amazon app! He wouldn’t have the words or concepts to imagine such a thing—the conceptual distance is far too great. Perhaps the best he could do would be to liken it to a portable telegraph without wires—but even that would be inaccurate. John seems to be doing something like that.

There is a glassy sea, like crystal, surrounding the shimmering, rainbow-emerald throne. Around the throne are four bizarre creatures bursting with eyes all around, sporting faces of (in turn) a lion, a calf, a man, and that of an eagle. They each have six wings (Rev 4:6-8).

  • These are remarkably similar to what Ezekiel saw when he beheld an image of God’s throne room (Ezek 1:4-21). The figures he described are not identical to John’s, but they are close. They’re so close that surely they saw the same thing.
  • It’s not worth our time to object that Ezekiel’s creatures had four wings and different faces. Both John and Ezekiel are describing the indescribable in the best language they knew. To return to our 19th century analogy: it doesn’t matter if one time-traveler from 1835 Kentucky describes a portable telegraph, while another tells of a glowing black brick with a burning silhouette of an apple on the back—they’re clearly seeing the same thing!
  • Isaiah saw and recorded almost exactly what John did and called these creatures “seraphim” (Isa 6:1-3).

The point is not what the seraphim are—they’re otherworldly creatures, accept it and move on! The point is what they and the 24 elders do and why they do it.

  • First, the four seraphim: “[A]nd day and night they do not cease to say, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God, the Almighty, who was and who is and who is to come’ (Rev 4:8). This is precisely what Isaiah heard (and saw) during his own ecstatic temple vision (Isa 6:1-3). The seraphim praise God’s eternity—he always was, always is, and always will be. He has no beginning and no end.
  • Second, the 24 elders: As the seraphim sing their praise, the elders bow down to the figure on the throne, cast off their golden crowns, and declare: “Worthy are You, our Lord and our God, to receive glory and honor and power; for You created all things, and because of Your will they existed, and were created” (Rev 4:11).

This is very dramatic, and it’s meant to be that way. If this were a movie, there would be haunting music, ratcheting tension, and expectation of some “big moment.” Jesus, the lamb slain to rescue his people and to reclaim a ruined world, is about to unleash judgment upon the kingdom of darkness. This vision of praise and solemn majesty is the backdrop for this unfortunate but necessary event.

  • YHWH is eternal—this means he has the jurisdiction and authority to move against a terrorist insurgency.
  • YHWH is the creator of everything—this means he has the power and justification to put down Satan’s rebellion.

Our dramatic scene continues in the next chapter with a ceremony of sorts that ends with Jesus taking the scroll of judgment. It is this document which, when slowly cracked open, unleashes divine fury upon the antichrist and his kingdom of evil (Rev 6-18).

[1] John Walvoord, The Revelation of Jesus Christ (Chicago: Moody Press, 1966), 101-103.

[2] Walvoord suggests they represent the Body of Christ (Revelation, 106-107), but this is largely driven by his assumption that the church has been raptured away to heaven—an argument from silence.

Analogies to understand Christ’s atonement

Analogies to understand Christ’s atonement

In this article, I’ll discuss two common questions that Christians have about Christ’s atonement. By “atonement,” I mean the means by which Christ’s sacrificial death removes our guilt for wrongdoing and therefore reconciles us to God.

Atonement is a key tenet of the Christian story:

  • The prophet Isaiah spoke about a mysterious servant who would be pierced for our offenses, crushed for our wrongdoings, upon whom God would lay our punishment, by whose wounds we are healed. “[T]he Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isa 53:7, RSV).
  • The blood sacrifice rituals of the old covenant provided atonement for the participants (Lev 4:20ff) as a living parable of Christ’s perfect sacrifice (Heb 9:9).
  • Mark, the gospel writer, says Jesus came to give his lie as a ransom for many (Mk 10:45).
  • The apostle Peter writes that Christ “suffered for sins once for all time, the just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God …” (1 Pet 3:18).
  • John the baptizer declared that Jesus was “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (Jn 1:29).

Over and over, we see that somehow, someway, Jesus’ voluntary sacrificial death for his people brings about legal and personal reconciliation with God.

Christ, by his obedience and death, did fully discharge the debt of all those that are justified; and did, by the sacrifice of himself in the blood of his cross, undergoing in their stead the penalty due unto them, make a proper, real, and full satisfaction to God’s justice in their behalf (2LBCF, §11.3).

Fair enough. But here are the two questions:

  1. How, exactly, does God apply the benefits of Jesus’ death to a sinner’s account? The Christian story says it does, but can we logically explain this? How does it work?
  2. How is Jesus’ sacrificial, substitutionary death not a cruel measure? That is, how is it right or fair to punish an innocent man for crimes he did not commit?

I’ll answer these two questions with two analogies.

Question 1—How does atonement work?

The first analogy is that of a representative or delegate.

  • Your state has two U.S. Senators. These senators represent you in Washington D.C. They represent your interests, your concerns. They speak and vote on your behalf. You don’t have to go to Washington because your U.S. senators are there for you. Their actions (and votes) are imputed to you. They are you, in a sense.
  • Your state also has individuals who act as “electors” in each presidential election. We do not elect presidents by popular vote—they’re chosen by electors, who are representatives chosen by each state.

These are two common examples of “representatives” we accept in everyday life. It’s just the way it is. The application of Jesus’ atonement shouldn’t be a problem, then, because the Christian story has always worked through representatives:

  • Adam and Eve are our first parents. The apostle Paul spends much time explaining that they represent us (Rom 5:12ff, 1 Cor 15).
  • Abraham is the great patriarch from whom all true believers are descended.
  • Moses is the great representative of the old covenant—the one through whom God spoke and worked on behalf of the people.

Theologians often call this “federalism.” It means that God works through a representative whose actions set the course—good or bad—for his constituents. The two great representatives in the Christian story are Adam and Christ.

  • Adam is the bad representative. His failure to love and obey God brought sin and its penalty of death to everyone (Rom 5:12). We’re born belonging to him, by default, because God legally imputes Adam’s actions to his constituents. God does this because Adam represents us—he’s our delegate. This is bad news for us—unless we jump ship for a better deal with a better representative.
  • Jesus is that better representative. His success in loving in obeying God brings legal pardon and personal reconciliation for all who belong to him.

The apostle Paul says:

So then, as through one offense the result was condemnation to all mankind, so also through one act of righteousness the result was justification of life to all mankind. For as through the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the One the many will be made righteous (Romans 5:18-19).

The question is: “How, exactly, does God apply the benefits of Jesus’ death to a sinner’s account?” The answer:

  • Because, like Adam, Jesus is a representative or delegate whose actions are reckoned or imputed to his constituents.
  • God reckons or imputes the benefits of Jesus’ perfect life and sacrificial death to everyone who trusts in him for spiritual rescue.
  • Those benefits are legal pardon and personal reconciliation with God.

If this seems too fantastic to believe, then I ask you to consider your U.S. senators—don’t you realize they act in the name of their constituents, and their actions are imputed to you? Think of your state’s electors in the 2024 presidential election—do you reject the votes they cast on behalf of your state when they chose the current president?

Jesus is the federal representative for everyone who trusts in him. That’s how and why God cheerfully applies the benefits of his eternal son’s sacrificial death to his people.

Question 2—Cruel and unusual?

The second analogy I’ll offer is that of vicarious liability.

  • Say your state’s Department of Transportation is fixing a highway. They close a lane. They set up cones and warning signs. But they don’t do a good job. A driver misses the signs, crashes into a work truck, and is horribly injured. He can sue the state for negligence and attempt to recoup monetary damages.
  • Suppose an inmate in a state prison needs urgent medical attention. He doesn’t get it. The prison doctors misdiagnosed his symptoms early on. He becomes terribly ill. By the time the prison doctors realize what’s wrong, it’s too late. The inmate dies of stomach cancer two months later. The inmate’s family can sue the state.

This makes sense, right? Nothing controversial here. Nothing outrageous. This is the principle of vicarious liability. The Department of Transportation guy is the one who messed up. The prison doctors are the ones who made the awful mistake. And yet—it is the state who is sued.

Why?

Because the state has voluntarily and willingly said: “If our guys mess up, you can hold us responsible.” It has taken on that responsibility. The state has chosen to bear the guilt of another. Of course, because the prison doctor is an agent of the state (i.e., a state employee), then in certain circumstances the state truly is responsible. But the principle of vicarious liability stands—one person is punished in place of another, as a substitute.

This is precisely what Jesus has done. He died, the just for the unjust, in order to bring us to God (1 Pet 3:18). The great difference, of course, is that we are not like the prison doctor—we aren’t agents of Jesus. He did not have to own us and our guilt, but he chose to do it anyway. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life” (Jn 3:16).

So, the question is: “How is Jesus’ sacrificial, substitutionary death not a cruel measure?” The answer is that:

  • Because Jesus willingly and voluntarily offers to bear the guilt of his people’s crimes,
  • God the Father makes his eternal son vicariously liable for our sins,
  • The just for the unjust, in our place, as our substitute, representative, or delegate,
  • And so, Jesus suffered and died to atone for our sins.

If this sounds absurd, then remember that the next time you read about somebody suing a government agency for negligence. I recently investigated an instance in which foster parents physically and sexually tortured a nine-year-old boy. There was one instance when the parents brandished garden shears and tried to castrate the child. Much later, after police intervened and removed him from that evil place, the boy sued the state for negligence because the state placed him in that home. Of course, the state didn’t torture the boy. But the state made the decision (in certain circumstances) to own the actions—good or bad—of the foster parents it licensed.

If you believe the boy can file suit against the state (and I suspect you do), then you also ought to believe that it’s fine for Jesus to be vicariously liable for our crimes. True, Jesus did nothing wrong (2 Cor 5:21). But that’s why vicarious liability is vicarious. It’s also why God is love (1 Jn 4:8).

Helpful?

Christians sometimes know something is good and true even if they can’t fully explain why. We know Christ died for us and his actions change our relationship with God. But the logical mechanics of how and why can be elusive. I hope these two analogies—that of a representative in the form of a U.S. senator or electoral college elector, and the legal concept of vicarious liability—help us understand Christ’s atonement a bit better.