There is so much decay around us. Everywhere. Each one. Declining health, immense poverty, death, broken relationships, unloved children, shame, starvation, mental scarring, oppression, broken systems, corrupt systems, non-existent systems. And that is a short-list for our corner of this globe. Each nation has its own list.
Maybe we just grow numb to it with time. Sometimes it’s a defence mechanism to protect our own hearts, for they were not designed to bear the burden of the entire world. On our best days we invest deeply in trying to stem the overwhelming current of entropy. On our worst we just hang our heads and weep.
To be sure, this world is filled with glory. Glimpses of which pull the heart to a greater reality, a fuller hope. A dream that seems too good to be realised at times. The beauty of the mountains, the expanse of a star-filled sky, the camaraderie of friends, the warmth of a good home. These are the roses among the weeds, the beauty among the ashes. And yet, even at their most beautiful, something about them feels like a haunting memory rather than a present reality. No matter how hard we try, even when we cannot verbalise it, we cannot but yearn for what has been lost.
How did John feel while he sat on the Island of Patmos? A glorious vision of Christ, but then a rebuke to the churches amongst whom he had laboured. Did his heart turn over in turmoil? But his thoughts were soon taken elsewhere. The heavens are opened, and he peers into a glory that few had ever seen. He is enraptured with the very throne of the One who sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, the inhabitants of which are as but grasshoppers in his sight. A throne. An authority. A good and right rule over the affairs of the world.
Suddenly a sound pierces the air:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!”
And again:
“Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honour and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created.”
This majestic Lord of the cosmos, is the transcendent God. He exists outside of time and history, without beginning and without end. Separate to his creation in unique holiness, yet ruling over it. He is vaster than the heavens themselves. He is Creator, distinct from his creation.
Here is glory and beauty like no other. And yet an overwhelming distinction between this scene and the world that John inhabited, where his brothers and sisters whom he loved beyond measure, were suffering for their faith.
He looks up and sees that the One on the throne is holding a scroll, the scroll of history, the telling of the days of this world, the story of the good, the bad and the ugly. Of course the transcendent One on the throne holds it. It is his story to tell. His eternal will to be accomplished.
But then search begins for one who is worthy to open the scroll. Who can actually take this weighty responsibility and deal with what they find there? Will this be another case of searching for a king of old, when Saul had been anointed and yet did not wish to take responsibility for the nation? His reign had left an aching hole in Israel. They needed someone greater who could actually carry out in Israel, the decrees of the eternal God in heaven. One who shared his heart.
And none is found worthy.
John wept.
We all weep.
The pain of this world is too much to bear. Every day as we walk the streets here in South Asia we are bombarded with requests for money from beggars. We cannot help them all. We cannot lift them from poverty. Requests flood in for Dee’s help as a doctor. She cannot heal everyone. She doesn’t even have a functional healthcare system here, into which she can place people. We want to help. We long to help. Our hearts ache for the brokenness to be done away with. And yet we can’t do it. No one can.
Our desire to sort the problem is there. But it is impossible. With John, a man in a suffering world, with a foot in glory, we weep. There is no one to take control of history.
And at times the temptation comes to gaze into heaven, and to wonder if the transcendent God, who is over time and space, who is in charge of his creation, is actually invested in what is going on. Why can nothing be done? There is no one who can help.
And then we turn and look, as the elder puts a hand on John’s shoulder, and on ours. There is One who is worthy after all. Because the One who is transcendent, holy and distinct, has remembered his creation. He has rent the heavens. He has left the throne room. And he has entered into time and space, not just to preside over this world with its immense brokenness, but to overcome it.
The lion of the tribe of Judah, who in his kingly role has devoured sin and death, the true Root of David, who mediates the rule of heaven’s throne room. He is worthy.
And now a new song comes. Not one singing only of the transcendence of God. Other religions have that. No. This is the harmony to that glorious melody of the chapter before. It rises and swells and spreads. The melody began in the throne room, where living creatures and elders proclaimed it around the throne. But as the harmony begins in, they are joined with the voice of myriads and myriads of angels, then every creature in heaven, then every creature on earth, then under the earth, then under the sea. Heaven’s song has spread to all of creation. The transcendent God is the immanent God. The One who has set foot on this broken world to overcome its decay.
“Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on earth.”
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honour and glory and blessing!”
“To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honour and glory and might forever and ever!”
The weeping can stop, the One over the story of the earth has entered into that story, to experience the sorrow that lies therein, to drink the poison offered up by this corrupted world. He has acted in history, to rewrite the course of history. And in his victory he not only became the only one worthy to rule history. But he left something beautiful in his wake, a kingdom of priests to God. Ministers of his victory. Reminders of his entrance into the downward spiral of time, to be the endpoint of said spiral. And to be the beginning of the reversal of it.
This morning I shall go to church. I shall worship there with other bearers of hope. And we shall remember the One who did not remain distant, but entered into the fray and overcame. As we battle the darkness, our hope shall be renewed, and we shall look at each other and see that this hope carries on in each one there.
Yes, we still feel the weight of this broken world. No, we cannot bear all its burdens. Yes, sometimes we still weep. No, we cannot fix the problem. We are priests of the kingdom of the transcendent and immanent God.
But our weeping is different. Our tears are not tears of despair. They are seeds of hope. They are mingled with the notes of praise that rise in the heavens and across the earth toward our God. And with that, they lead us into our work with expectation.
We will walk these troubled streets, as we carry the hope of glory in our hearts and our hands. As new creations, awaiting the new creation. As emblems of the fact that the flow of corrupted history has been stopped, the Lamb has overcome. The darkest days await the shining morn that is certain.
So let all creation sing, in heaven and earth. He is worthy of our praise.
The Healer
Flowers are here,
Aslan is near,
Winter is close to end.
Ice shall he shatter,
Sorrow change to laughter,
Every heart toward him bend.
But til he puts all things right,
And death puts to flight,
He gives a little girl a flask,
And tells her to heal,
For there’s brokenness still,
Until he comes at last.
Imitators of Those 
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