Revelation

“After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the lamb of God….All the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell down on the faces before the throne and worshipped God.” (Revelation 7:9a, 11)

One glance at a newspaper should be enough to remind us that heaven is foreign territory. If the paper is not enough the book of Revelation should cinch it. On earth a child dies of extreme poverty every three seconds. In heaven winged lions crowned with eyes never stop saying, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.” Earth is not paradise, and heaven takes getting used to. Every Sunday we enter the sanctuary mauled by the world, and joining singing lions in praise.

When conscious of our situation it can seem surreal. Or, as the ancient church would put it, we enter a mystery.

Worship is at once as easy as losing oneself in a song or a prayer or moment of awe. It is also grappling with the great tragedies of life and the eternal truths of God. It can leave a person with a sense of true home. On other occasions it will seem like the most pointless, ridiculous thing we do during the week. In sober moments we realize that we have no idea what we are doing, but we are glad for having done it. Such are the paradoxes of worship.

We should never get too comfortable with worship. Worship, after all, is not a matter of comfort. Every Sunday we intentionally place ourselves in the Almighty's thunder rumbling, earth crushing, cross bearing path. It is a wonder we say anything at all. If the book of Revelation teaches us anything it demonstrates that God will shake the stars out of the sky to get our attention. When God draws near he strains the laws of nature and shatters our most cherished assumptions. To worship is to voluntarily enter into life on God's terms. The experience can be disorienting and terrifying.

Surrounding the Almighty, however, are concentric circles of worship. The beasts of nature, the elders of our faith, the denizens of heaven and the saints who have gone before us are eternally engaged in worship. Every language and people is represented--even beings we have never encountered. They explode with praise, sound our deepest concerns and at times remain deafeningly silent. “Holy! Holy! Holy!” they sing. “How long?” they cry. “Come, Lord Jesus!” they hope. And all this occurs in the midst of tragedy and victory. If we are not disoriented we are not paying attention.

On Sunday, we enter an event already in progress. We practice the customs of heaven here on earth. We fail. But we return to try it again. And every now and again we hear the strains of a choir beyond ourselves. Sometimes we are singing their song and sometimes they are learning ours. In the swirl of sights, sounds, tastes and smells we enter the mystery, and there discover God himself enthroned among his people throughout time and around the world; God among us right here and right now. It’s a wonder we can ever be the same.