Creekside Church Sermon of April 26, 1998 "Hope To Cope" Revelation 5:6-14	Rev. David Bibbee
Send this sermon to a friend

How hopeful are you? The answer you give will be conditioned by several factors: your vision of the future? How you respond to the challenges each new day drops at your doorstep? What you do to bring pleasure and purpose to your life? How you cope with the adversity and pain which makes regular appointments? Having what it takes to face tomorrow depends upon who you believe holds the future and who, finally, unequivocally rules the world.

On a cold, cloudy February day in 1987, I was looking out a picture window over a snow- covered field of corn stubble. In a chair next to the window sat Daisy. Her 88-year-old life was much like the recipes she submitted to the church cookbook...simple and substantial. Daisy was dying. She was on oxygen and she spoke between gasps for air. She talked about how hard her life had been and how hard it was to say goodbye to the people she loved most in this world. "I'll be leaving soon," she said. Then after a long, reflective pause she said, "But we still have the story." As Daisy was weaned from this life, she held fast to the hope of the story of faith...the story of unseen things above, of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love. Daisy had hope because of her basic belief that the outcome of her life and the world was not in question.

We are continuing to examine the ramifications of the resurrection. God's work of Easter wasn't a one-day affair...it continues. The Easter of my youth was quaint and cozy...colored chickens and baby ducks at Woolworth's, the sunrise service with Ray Ballinger leading the singing, and breakfast following. Jesus was risen, God was in his heaven, and all was right with the world-the world defined by the corporation limits of Marion, Ohio. But it was for the world that he rose, and it didn't take long to learn that the world was in trouble and bereft of hope. It is more so today, despite the best face we try to put on things.

When the New Testament scholar, N.T. Wright was fourteen, he read the book of Revelation straight through. He said he didn't understand what on earth it was about, but he experienced the explosive power and beauty of it and the sense that this testament he held in his hands was a thunderstorm no one had warned him about. "Easter," he says, "is such a thunderous event the church can't cope with it, so we scale it down to fit our little minds. It is not just about you and me and our spiritual experiences or our hope beyond the grave. Easter is the beginning of God's new world."

Anyone interested in a new world? Have you grown accustomed to the world as defined by the evening news of the latest genocide, homicide, or physician-assisted suicide, or do you want to kindle the hopeful view that comes from knowing that God raised Jesus, God is working towards creating a future where only justice and goodness and loving relationships shall remain? Well then, Revelation 5 has something to tell us. We shouldn't dismiss it because the strange, mysterious, symbolic style is hard to understand, or because of literalists who reduce its beautiful, terrifying imagery into a detailed code for the end of the world.

The last book of the Bible paints a portrait of the last things and who we can count on being in control. The opening verses of chapter five reveal God upon the throne holding a scroll while an angel shouts, "Who is worthy to open the scroll?" John says no one in heaven or on earth could open it, and he wept. Why? The scroll contains information we don't have. It reveals the future. It tells us how it all ends, not in terms of "when does it stop?" but "what is its purpose?" It answers, "what does it all mean?" If no one can open it, then kiss finding any direction, meaning, and hope goodbye and go through life blind.

But there is one who is worthy who approaches the throne and takes the scroll. When he does, all heaven breaks into singing. Myriad upon myriad of angels shout to the one who is worthy to receive power, wealth, wisdom, might, honor, glory and blessing. And who is this stupendous being? A lamb. That's right...a lamb. Not exactly the sort of opponent you would put up against the monstrous anti-Christ. Lambs are for petting zoos, 4-H projects and fabric softener commercials, not the final conflict between good and evil. But this isn't just any lamb. The Greek which John uses only appears in this passage. Arnion means an especially vulnerable little lamb. This lamb will be an easy target. It looks like it has already been through a bloody ordeal. "Worthy is the lamb who was slain."

But who is this lamb? One of the earliest portraits of the crucifixion is in a wall painting in a Byzantine church. The painting shows a stone hill and a wooden cross, and nailed to the cross beam is a lamb...the lamb of God. John's vision is of a strange new world, not run at all like this one. The world that is coming is governed by different rules. A lamb fights a beast...a hopeless confrontation...hopeless that is, for the beast. This future toward which we are headed doesn't employ our conventional methods-no political tactics, no fighting fire with fire, no brute force, no holy terror. The bloodied little lamb conquers through holy, sacrificial love. "Crown him the Lord of love, behold his hands his side. Rich wounds yet visible above, in beauty glorified."

By chapter five, the winner has already been crowned. There are battles yet to be fought, but the war is already over, and every creature in heaven and earth sings, "To him who sits on the throne, and to the lamb be glory and might for ever and ever." To me this says we need a long- term hope to inspire our short-term trials.

I think of the story of a prisoner in a concentration camp who was sentenced to death, but who loved the other prisoners and was fearless and free. One day he was in the prison square playing his guitar and singing. A large crowd gathered around and they became as fearless as he. The authorities ordered him to stop, but the next day he was back playing and singing. The guards drug him off and had his fingers cut off. But the next day he was back singing and playing with bloodied stubs. Now the crowds were cheering, so the guards drug him away and smashed his guitar. The next day he was singing with all his heart. The crowds joined and their spirits grew strong. The angry guards took him away and cut out his tongue. A hush descended upon the camp, like the hush of the Saturday before Easter. But to the amazement of everyone, he was back in the square, dancing and swaying to music no one but he could hear. Soon, everyone was holding hands and dancing around the bleeding, broken man while the guards stood frozen in wonder.

When the powers of darkness have given their last best shot, the myriad of choirs will sing, "Worthy is the lamb who was slain." This does not mean we will not struggle or suffer. It means that we are sustained. Like Daisy said, "There is nothing good about what I'm going through. I hurt. I'm dying, but there is still the story."

In recording this fantastic vision, John could not do it justice with plain language. He had to resort to grand, cosmic images to transport us to another realm, because another realm is what God is in the process of creating. I remember my reaction when I read Revelation for the first time. I had no clue what it was about or the circumstances in which it was written. I only knew it all seemed rather terrifying. What I didn't understand then is that it is finally all about hope. The underlying assumption we hold fast to in reading and reflecting upon God's blueprint for the future is this-the promises of God are not given to terrify us, but to lead us to hope.

In her book, the Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris likens the reading of Revelation with a visit to the intensive care unit, a hospice or a nursing home. It can be overwhelming because it takes the world you know and turns it inside out. The world we enter is radically different from what we know and all the things we value so highly...our productivity, the control of mind and body and the illusion of personal autonomy and freedom. All this gets swept away. We are served up a hefty slice of reality. Our choice is to either be depressed or run...or stop, look and listen enough to realize that in this strange, overwhelming place, there is love and grace and yes, hope.

In composing thoughts for this sermon, a song from the upheaval of the late 1960's came to mind. "You tell me over and over and over again, my friend, you've got to believe, we're on the eve of destruction." It feels that way sometimes. The wonders of nature I love so much are being sacrificed to the god's of progress, economic development and bigger malls. The stock market soars while more and more people struggle to survive. Children are shooting each other in our schools. The dark side of human behavior which once caused us to shake our heads is now the subject of the entertainment industry. Hate groups. Racism. Ethnic cleansing. And do I need to mention the struggles which we each carry? The sickness we carry in our bodies and minds. The sorrows and griefs and burdens we bear. The struggle in our souls to cling to the belief in a God who couldn't care more in a world that could seemingly care less.

"There will be signs in the sun and moon and stars," Jesus said. "There will be distress among the nations, people will faint with fear and foreboding at what is happening. Now when these things take place, raise your heads, your redemption is drawing near." (Luke 21: 25-28)

Even now, in the midst of our personal struggles and in this world which totters in a precarious balance, God is up to something good. Darkness and death do not give up easily. The wounds they inflict are real. But we have a story. In Revelation 5 we hear a victory song sung by a countless choir to Him who has the scroll of the future. The Lamb on the cross, this weak, little bloodied thing, is the lamb on the throne. The promise is not to terrify us, but to give us what we need most to cope.

While eating breakfast, Norman Cousins overheard two oncologists discussing papers they would present that day at a national meeting of the American Society of Clinical Oncologists. One complained bitterly, "I don't get it, Bob. We use the same drugs, the same dosage, the same schedule, and the same entry criteria. Yet I got a twenty-two percent response rate and you got seventy-four percent. That's unheard of for metastic lung cancer. How do you do it?"

He replied, "We are both using Etoposide, Platinol, Oncovin, and Hydroxyurea. You call yours EPOH. I tell my patients I'm giving them HOPE. Sure, I tell them this is all experimental, we go over all the long lists of side effects together. But I emphasize that we have a chance."

It makes a difference if you know you have a chance. Because of Easter, we have and the world ultimately has more than a chance. We have a hope...a hope for Him who is beyond our hopes.

All of the sermons that have appeared in text form on our Web Site since August 1996 are available here in the On-Line version. Use the search engine below to find the sermon you want. You may search by date, sermon title, or content. The sermons are full-text searchable.

Sermon Search:



Exact phrase    All words (AND)    Any word (OR)