29.07.2025
Saint Francis
The Gift of Courage in Difficult Times
Revelation Series Part 3
Sermon for July 27, 2025
7th Sunday after Pentecost – Pr. Bea Chun, St. Francis Lutheran Church
Grace to you and peace
from the One who is,
and the One who was,
and the One who is to come.
Welcome back to our sermon series
on the Book of Revelation.
Today is Part 3 of the series.
So—what have we discovered so far?
There were seven churches
in seven cities:
Ephesus,
Smyrna,
Pergamum,
Thyatira,
Sardis,
Philadelphia,
and Laodicea.
They were all located
in roughly the same geographical area,
in what is today western Turkey.
At the time, that area had been conquered
by the Romans and organized
as a province—
the Province of Asia.
These cities were real places.
We can still go to Turkey and see them.
In some cases, only ruins remain.
In other cases, the cities have evolved
into thriving modern-day urban centers—
just like Rome and Jerusalem
are both ancient and modern cities.
The faithful in these churches were facing hard times.
It was the reign of Emperor Domitian,
and he had begun pressuring
those small Christian communities.
Their places of worship were raided,
and their leaders detained.
Perhaps it wasn’t so different
from what our undocumented siblings
are experiencing now—
with ICE raids disrupting homes and lives.
There was a sense
that all of this was just the beginning,
and that things were getting worse—
more difficult, more dangerous.
There was a man—
his name was John—
and that’s all we really know about him.
And no—he was not John the Evangelist.
Most Bible scholars agree on that.
This John had been banished
to the rugged island of Patmos.
He cared deeply
about the seven churches
in the seven cities.
From his writing, it’s clear
he knew them well,
loved them,
and carried them in his heart.
We can imagine his anguish—
how hard it must have been for him
to be exiled and unable
to visit the faithful,
to comfort and strengthen them.
And it was during this time,
when things were so hard,
that John received a series of visions.
These visions were meant
to bring comfort, hope, resolve,
and courage to those churches.
Today, I want to take you back in time
to the church in the city of Philadelphia—
and no, not the Philadelphia in Pennsylvania,
but the ancient city
that was one of the seven in the Book of Revelation.
Of the seven churches,
the church in Philadelphia
was the smallest, poorest,
and most faithful.
I always like to invent
a little scenario—
a slice of everyday life—
imagining what life might have been like
for people who lived at that time.
By the way,
this kind of imaginative engagement
with Bible texts
is actually an ancient Christian practice.
It was developed in particular
by Ignatius of Loyola—
a Basque Spanish Catholic priest and theologian
from the 16th century,
and the founder of the Jesuits.
Ignatius recommended this approach
as both spiritual practice and prayer:
- Visualize the scene in detail—sights, sounds, smells, people, the weather.
- Use all the senses to make the scene vivid.
- Interact with the characters—perhaps speak with Jesus or be one of the disciples.
- Notice the emotional responses that arise—these are ways the Holy Spirit speaks.
I love this kind of imaginative engagement.
It helps me bring the text to life.
After all, people are people—
in every time and age.
We have fears and worries,
hopes and desires.
And God is God—
responding with mercy and goodness
in every age.
By entering a text with imagination,
it comes alive—
and helps us make connections
to our own lives.
So here is the scenario I imagined for today:
We travel back in time
to the church in the city of Philadelphia.
Now, when I say "church,"
don’t imagine a beautiful basilica
with marble pillars and gilded icons.
All of that came much later.
When I say the church in Philadelphia,
I mean a house church—
a small group of people
gathering in someone’s home
to share meals, worship, and pray together.
To learn about Jesus
and to support one another
as they follow his teachings—
in a world that was, in many ways,
opposed to everything he stood for.
It is early morning.
The sun is peeking over the rooftops.
The city of Philadelphia is slowly waking up.
There is a widow —
let’s call her Damaris.
Life is hard,
as it often is for widows.
She has two children —
a little boy,
and a 16-year-old son named Timon.
Timon is no longer a child,
but not yet a man.
Damaris is lucky —
she has a home
large and spacious enough
to host the weekly gatherings
of the faithful.
She’s been up since dawn,
sweeping and preparing.
The door opens.
Her older son bursts through,
his tunic damp with sweat,
his arms full of firewood.
“Thank you, my son,” she says,
brushing a lock of hair from her face.
“Mother… are we hosting tonight?”
“Yes, we are.”
“And we have to be careful, right?”
“Yes. You know that. We have to be careful.”
“But why?
Why are we even doing this?
Why can’t we be more like Marco’s family?
Why can’t we go to the festivals,
to the temple of Zeus?
Why not join the parades?
Why can’t we be more Roman?
And what have we gotten from this Jesus?
We’re always afraid. Always hiding.”
Damaris is quiet.
She’s heard it all before.
She knows better than to argue.
Timon has to find his own way
in this complicated world.
But she knows Rome is not the answer.
Not all that glitters is gold.
Beneath the shining marble and glittering festivals,
Rome hides a dark and cruel underbelly—
built on oppression, cruelty, and injustice.
A world where the mighty get their way.
And that is not the way of Jesus.
Damaris spends the day
finishing her chores and preparations.
Evening comes.
The sun sinks behind the rooftops,
and the faithful begin to arrive.
One by one, they come —
men, women, children —
with baskets, lanterns, and cushions.
They bring flatbread, olives, dried figs,
and warm embraces.
They murmur greetings, share news,
and settle around oil lamps.
They share a meal.
They sing praises.
They pray —
for the sick,
for each other,
for their children
growing up in uncertain times.
Then Dimas — beloved Dimas,
their leader for the past few years —
pulls out a scroll.
A letter has arrived from Patmos.
From John.
The room stills.
People lean forward
as Dimas begins to read.
It is a letter for all seven churches —
a letter of love and care,
but also a warning
that more hardship is to come.
And then it tells of a vision —
a vision John received from God.
“Then I saw a throne in heaven,
with someone seated on the throne…”
Damaris leans in.
She can picture the throne,
the creatures,
the beauty,
the light,
the singing,
the incense.
She hears the words:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,
who was and is and is to come.”
Then John continues:
“Then I saw in the right hand
of the one seated on the throne
a scroll written on the inside and on the back,
sealed with seven seals…”
A scroll unlike any other —
full, complete, nothing omitted.
But sealed. Hidden.
Then a mighty angel cries out:
“Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?”
And no one — no one in heaven or on earth
or under the earth —
is found worthy.
“I wept and wept,” John writes,
“because no one was found
who was worthy to open the scroll or look inside.”
But then —
One of the elders says:
“Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah,
the Root of David, has conquered.”
Yes! The Lion.
A symbol of strength and power.
The Messiah. The rightful king.
Damaris looks at her son.
He’s listening closely now.
He sits up straighter.
Yes, the lion —
that speaks to him.
Someone who could stand against Rome.
Someone strong. Worthy of admiration.
And then John says:
“Then I saw a Lamb —
standing as if it had been slaughtered.”
What?
A lamb? Slaughtered?
Not a lion with teeth and claws —
but a lamb with wounds and blood?
What kind of king is this?
What kind of power bleeds?
How can a slain lamb
stand against the power of Rome?
How can a broken lamb compete
with Rome’s seductive glitter and grandeur?
Now — this question
is what the Book of Revelation is really about.
Yes, it’s a book full of lurid images:
- The Four Horsemen (Rev. 6)
- The Great Red Dragon (Rev. 12)
- The Beast from the Sea (Rev. 13)
- The Beast from the Earth (Rev. 13)
- Plagues and Judgments (Rev. 8–11, 16)
- The Lake of Fire (Rev. 20)
- Babylon, the Great Whore (Rev. 17)
These images have frightened people for centuries.
They have been exploited — used to scare and control.
But that is not the core message.
The Book of Revelation is about a cosmic battle —
yes — but a battle that takes place
in our own hearts.
Every day, we face a choice:
Bow to the powers of empire
or bow to the Lamb.
Worship at the altar of greed and might
or seek refuge in the Lamb.
Put our faith in worldly rulers
or in the One who was slain.
That’s the choice.
Every day.
Always was. Always will be.
Back in Damaris’ house,
she listens as the vision continues:
The Lamb has seven horns and seven eyes —
symbols of complete power and perfect wisdom.
This lamb is not weak.
It is powerful in a different way —
a way that Rome cannot understand.
The Lamb takes the scroll —
and the whole throne room erupts in worship:
“You are worthy to take the scroll…
For You were slain,
and have redeemed us by Your blood
from every tribe, tongue, people, and nation…”
More voices join in:
ten thousand times ten thousand.
Every creature—heaven, earth, sea—sings:
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain,
to receive power and riches and wisdom,
and strength and honor and glory and blessing!”
“Blessing and honor and glory and power
be to Him who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb, forever and ever!”
Do those words sound familiar?
They should.
They are part of our worship to this day.
Another reason why the Book of Revelation matters;
so much of our liturgy comes from it.
In a moment, we will sing
Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty —
one of the most beloved hymns of all time.
And guess where those words come from?
From Revelation.
“Casting down their golden crowns
upon the glassy sea…”
— directly from Revelation.
The Book of Revelation tells us:
The power of Rome may look dazzling.
It may reward some with wealth.
But it is a false, death-dealing power.
The true power comes from the Lamb —
from wisdom and compassion,
from a world where the last are first,
and the littlest matter most.
Where justice and mercy reign.
At the center of it all is worship —
joyful worship
that gives strength, hope, and courage.
Worship becomes an act of resistance.
And what about us?
We, who live through the strange summer of 2025 —
when corruption is daily news,
when power is misused,
when violence is justified in the name of security,
and the vulnerable are crushed?
What kind of power will we trust?
What kind of power will we model to our children?
Will we walk the way of Rome?
Or the way of the Lamb?
May we find strength — real strength —
to face the challenges of our time.
Not in the clenched fist,
but in the outstretched hand.
Not in fear,
but in love.
Not in the roar of the lion,
but in the victory of the Lamb who was slain.
Amen.
The text: Revelation 5:1-13
The Lamb of God
Then I saw in the right hand of the one seated on the throne a scroll written on the inside and on the back, sealed with seven seals, and I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it. And I began to weep bitterly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. Then one of the elders said to me, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”
Then I saw between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered, with seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God sent out into all the earth. He went and took the scroll from the right hand of the one who was seated on the throne. When he had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell before the Lamb, each holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. They sing a new song:
“You are worthy to take the scroll
and to break its seals,
for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God
saints from every tribe and language and people and nation;
you have made them a kingdom and priests serving our God,
and they will reign on earth.”
Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders; they numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, singing with full voice,
“Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
and honor and glory and blessing!”
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea and all that is in them, singing,
“To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb
be blessing and honor and glory and might
forever and ever!”
