(An excerpt from my work on John's Spirituality)
That’s one of the major claims of
the Revelation of John: we can only see
the world for what it truly is when we are gathered to worship the Creator and
the Lamb. Since the Apocalypse was
supposed to be read and heard when Christians gathered for worship on the
Lord’s day, it is telling that this vision, filled with idol imagery and false
worship, was part of their worship experience.
You would think a description of such blasphemous things would be banned
from their meetings, that getting Christians to envision idols and false
worship would be counter-productive. It
is a bit odd, isn’t it? Gathered for
worship to focus your attention on the one true God, all of the sudden—as a
part of your worship experience—you’re picturing your neighbors worshipping the
wrong god. It’s one thing to see with
your mind’s eye Michael kick the dragon out of heaven, no longer able to accuse
us because of the “blood of the Lamb.”
(Imagine the cheers coming from the crowd.) But encouraging these Christians to imagine
idolatrous worship, perhaps even stirring up memories of their religious past
as idol worshippers, seems out of place to us.
Idolatry should be the last thing on your mind when you’re worshipping
God. But, first-century worshippers
couldn’t afford to ignore the obvious. They
lived in a world filled with idols. In
their day, you couldn’t open your eyes without seeing one—not to mention the
fact that idolatry was embedded in every facet of life: politics, economics, and religion. Shutting your eyes and refusing to think about
idolatry wasn’t an option. Instead,
according to John’s vision, what Christians needed to do was open their eyes to
the lies, the deceit, the pretense of false worship—especially the worship of
Caesar.[1] And, the only way they could see the truth
was when they worshipped God.[2] The Revelation of John was a call to
“first-commandment faithfulness.”[3] Therefore, “those who bear witness to the one
true God, the only true absolute, to whom all political power is subject,
expose Rome’s idolatrous self-deification for what it is.”[4]
That’s what happens when we worship
God: we not only see the truth about God
but also recognize the pretense of self-deification—those competing for the
honor due exclusively to God. During
worship services, we often say our God is “worthy of worship,” which makes me think
about who or what is not worthy of
worship. Government is not worthy of
worship. Wall Street is not worthy of
worship. The military is not worthy of
worship. Nature is not worthy of
worship. Education is not worthy of
worship. Lawyers are not worthy. Preachers are not worthy. Physicians are not worthy. Politicians are not worthy. Entrepreneurs are not worthy. Entertainers are not worthy. No one or no thing is worthy of worship but
God. You would think, therefore, that we
would be especially vigilant to protect God’s honor, refusing to allow idolatry
to creep into our worship services.
Since God doesn’t share his glory with anyone, we would be reticent to
give glory to any person as part of our worship to God. And yet, it happens all the time. We applaud musical performances. We create church celebrities through
video. We pledge allegiance to
governments. We sing songs about our
native land. We exalt politicians when
they visit our worship services. We praise
soldiers for their military service. No
one questions the legitimacy of these practices. It all happens automatically, as if it were a
natural part of our worshipping God. Our
adoration is impulsive, worshipping God one minute while venerating our heroes
the next. Indeed, it’s not much of a
stretch to praise those we idolize even while we’re praising God. And we thought idolatry was only a
first-century problem.
This particular year, the Fourth of
July fell on a Sunday. The auditorium
was decked out in stars and stripes. An
American flag was draped over the cross.
The choir called us to worship with a hearty rendition of “God Bless
America.” Then we sang several
patriotic songs, “O beautiful for spacious skies,” and “You’re a grand old flag,
you’re a high-flying flag” and “My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of
the Lord.” The pastor stepped forward to
lead us in the pledge of allegiance and offered a prayer for the leaders of our
nation. Next, the music director invited
the congregation to join in a medley of service anthems, asking members of the
Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines to stand while we all sang their fight
songs: “First to fight for the right and
to build the Nation’s might . . . Roll
out the TNT, anchors aweigh. Sail on to
victory and sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray . . . Off we go into the
wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun; here they come zooming to meet
our thunder, at ‘em boys, give ‘er the gun . . . From the halls of Montezuma to
the shores of Tripoli, we fight our country’s battles, in the air, on land and
sea . . . .” With the words “roll out
the TNT” and “give ‘er the gun” still ringing in my ears, the choir sang
“Statue of Liberty” while patriotic and religious images were projected on
screens behind the choir. At one point,
a picture of an American soldier appeared on the left screen while an image of
the crucified Christ was projected on the right as the choir sang, “as the
statue liberates the citizen, so the cross liberates the soul.” Troubled by the vision and audition, I looked
around to see if anyone else was offended.
The congregation was glowing with adoration, taking in the spectacle
with pride and wonder. I kept thinking
about the mixed message, unable to get out of my mind the images of a man who
kills his enemies juxtaposed next to the man who died for his enemies. Throughout the sermon, while the preacher
effortlessly blended freedom in Christ with the religious liberty protected by
our nation, I imagined what a “God-and-Country” worship service would look like
in the first-century world.
That particular year, the autumnal
equinox fell on a Sunday. Christians in
Ephesus are gathered in the hall of Tyrannus for their special worship service.[5] The walls of the lecture hall are covered
with murals depicting momentous events in the life of the Ephesians: citizens welcoming the victorious Mark
Antony, the erection of the temple to Augustus, the birth of Artemis, scenes
from the games held in Domitian’s honor.
In the corners, Roman standards decorate the hall—a Roman eagle perched
on top of the flag at the front. A bust
of Caesar stands in the pediment over the entrance, welcoming congregants as
they gather for worship. As the service
begins, a dignitary recites the inscription etched on the temple to Augustus,
extolling his generous benefaction of the city.
A chorus leads the congregants in singing selections from the Psalter,
mixing in well-known anthems sung during the festival of Artemis—hymns of
gratitude for the fertility of the land, the protection of their city, and the
prosperity of their harbor. After a few
ex-soldiers are encouraged to stand and recite the sacramentum, the preacher
offers a midrash on Isaiah 45:1, comparing Caesar to Cyrus, quoting lines from
Paul’s letter to the Romans: “Let every
person submit to the governing authorities.
For there is no authority unless it is given by God” (13:1). As he points to the bust of Caesar and the
Roman standards, blending the pax Romana and
the pax Christi, the staccato rhythm
of his cadence accentuates Paul’s words:
“he who resists authority opposes the decrees of God . . . It is a
minister of God . . . It does not bear the sword for nothing . . . This is why
you pay taxes, for the rulers are ministers of God . . . So render to them what is due to them: taxes, customs, fear, honor” (vv. 2-7). After the homily, a patron invites everyone
to his villa to celebrate the love feast as members embrace one another,
passing the peace of Christ.
This is how easily idolatry sneaks
into our worship of God.
[1]“The
local manifestations of the imperial cult seek to foster ongoing awe and
gratitude toward the emperor and Rome.
John replaces these feelings with indignation, enmity, and anger in
order to support his agenda for Christian presence in Roman Asia: fostering critical witness, with no room for
idols, no room for assimilation to, and support of, the mechanisms of imperial
legitimation,” deSilva, Seeing Things,
p. 203.
[2]“These
elemental forms of perception of God not only require expression in
worship: they cannot be truly
experienced except as worship,” Bauckham, Theology,
p. 33.
[3]Talbert,
Revelation, p. 11.
[4]Bauckham,
Theology, p. 39.
[5]For
an excellent description of life in Ephesus, see Paul Trebilco, The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to
Ignatius (Grand Rapids: William B.
Eerdmans Publishing, 2004), pp. 11-52.
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