& i know the lights have all gone dark on you

still i will love your shadow

Third sermon in our Revelation sermon-series, from Revelation 5:

Today’s scripture from Revelation begins during one of those times. 

And you know them. We’ve all had them…

Those times after the joy of worship. When you go home, and suddenly the comfort you felt in the sanctuary is gone. Or those times after Bible study. How all the answers that came together during the discussion, start to unravel afterward.

And that, that’s what happened to John of Patmos here in the fifth chapter of Revelation. 

The joyful worship at the throne of God has simmered. The service is over. As John is catching his breath, taking it all in, he notices something. A scroll.

The scroll that God holds. A scroll containing God’s will.

As the praise at the foot of God’s throne winds down, John sees that scroll. The scroll that will make sense of why. Why John, after working so hard among the seven churches had his call revoked with the stroke of a pen, sentenced to exile. Or why John, who served tirelessly among these churches had a handful of members he couldn’t be more proud of, and a few others he could envision being a bit more mature in their faith. But nothing he does, seems to make any difference.

Seeing the scroll, John looks around, and the call goes out. “Who can open this scroll? Who will read it for us?”

But no one will. No one, is found worthy. No one comes forward. No one in heaven. No one on earth. And no one under the earth. No one will dare open the scroll of God’s will.

So close to the answers that would finally give him some peace. But at the moment of Truth, no one would come forward to open the scroll, to read it…

Is it any wonder John breaks down. He weeps, and weeps, and weeps. Or, as the NRSV puts it, John weeps bitterly. Bitterly.

There’s no one to open the scroll that would show us God’s will.

…And frankly, that’s what I love most about movies. How they tell a story so coherently. Beginning, middle and satisfying end. The script isn’t sealed away. It’s open for all to see.

You meet the hero, the couple. You start root for them. Before long, something comes along and upsets the balance. A peril to their romance, a hazard to the peace. 

So the protagonists go on a journey to obtain what they need to overcome what threatens their future. Sometimes it’s strengthening their resolve. Sometimes it’s finding themselves. Sometimes it’s finding a secret weapon. Sometimes it’s battling the enemy’s forces. Sometimes it’s building up their forces to stand against evil. 

Whatever it is, though, once they have it; our heroes confront and overcome anything and everything that threatens to ruin their story; be it a love story or hero’s tale.

Or, sometimes they don’t completely. But then there’s the sequel to look forward to. And sometimes they don’t at all. We live in a disillusioned world, after all. The hero doesn’t always win, the director says (triumphantly, I might add).

But I love the way Hollywood knows what to do with stories. Arranging a narrative. Putting a plot in order. Building a storyline with a beginning, middle and satisfying end. The scroll isn’t sealed off, it’s there for all to see…

The thing is, though, this isn’t Hollywood, is it? 

This is real life. And in real life, the plot is never so neat and clear. 

In fact, we live in a time when we’re not so sure if there is a storyline anymore. Perhaps history is just one thing after another. His has no purpose, no meaning. 

**That’s why stories where the hero loses and the couple don’t end up together, become more and more common. That’s our story now. The story of no story. 

Because the thing every one of us has had to face, is the way the stories we tell; stories about the world, stories about ourselves, have been torn apart by what life has thrown our way. 

In fact, if there is a story, it seems to be the story that our lives are just a series of one ripped up story after another. 

Because life has a way of doing that, doesn’t it? Of mangling the stories we’ve told to make sense of our lives and the world. 

All it takes is a divorce, a news report, a call into the office, a fall in the market, an unexpected bill, a despot, an addiction that’s made life unmanageable, a disaster, a funeral. This life has a way of taking the story we’ve been telling about ourselves or the world, and kicking them to pieces. 

And in the face of such senselessness, plot lines are aways the first thing to go. The only story we can put together from all our broken stories is the story of our story being torn apart with no one able to hold it together…

And that’s what John is staring down today, beloved.

After being taken up to the heavenly throne room for his Sunday morning worship on Patmos Isle. As all the congregants are filing out, John notices something. A scroll. 

The scroll of God’s will. 

The scroll that could make sense of why, for just trying to be a good pastor, John’s been sentenced to exile. A scroll that can explain why some folks in the congregation are such steadfast witnesses, and just a few others have given the rest of them a bad name.

As John the Revelator looks at that scroll, the call goes out, “who will open it?” But no one dares to come forward. No one is found worthy. No one.

Not Trump. Not Clinton. Not MSNBC. Not Fox. Not our security forces. Not our protest movements. Not our Silicon Valley gurus. Not our banking industry wizards. Not our denominational leaders. And not even our clergy. No one. 

No one is found worthy to open the scroll and read God’s will. 

So John weeps and weeps and weeps.

And I bet you know those tears, don’t you?

Those tears that come watching a beloved family member lose their memory, their strength, their battle. Those tears of frustration as the company you gave your best years to lays-off employees by the hundreds, while the CEO who ran it into the ground gets a golden parachute. The tears after an addiction has run away with your life, and all you’re left with are the memories of what been stolen. Tears from a vulnerable morning spent wrestling with the headlines. Tears as you lay awake because the answers won’t come. Those tears when the joy of the sanctuary is nothing more than a distant dream.

Tear when you look at the Bible, but with everything life has thrown at you, you can’t bring yourself to open it. That scroll may have the answers, but for all intents and purposes, it’s sealed. No one can open it.

That’s how it was for John that morning. He can see the scroll, but no one will dare open and read it. 

As he is weeping, though, someone speaks up. An Elder tells John, “Don’t weep. Look, someone as fierce as a Lion. As noble as King David has come. Surely he will open the scroll.”

John turns to look, but what he sees is no warrior ready for war. No king dressed in soft robes. Instead, John sees a Lamb!?! A lamb that’s been slaughtered, and yet stands tall.

And this Lamb is the only one who dares to come forward and take the scroll. Open it’s seals.

The reason no one comes forward to open the scroll, is because to do so, would be to suffer the fate of all that rips apart our stories. And no one would dare. No one in heaven. No one on earth. No one under the earth. 

No one.

Except Jesus. Jesus, the Lamb, slaughtered yet standing tall. Jesus who suffered the end of all our broken stories. True nothingness. Deserted by his closest companions. Abandoned by his God. Totally alone, covered in darkness, hanging on the cross. 

That’s what it means to take the scroll of God’s will for all our broken stories,

And John watches as that Lamb does! The lamb takes the scroll, the scroll of all our broken stories, and dares to holds it. Dares to open it. To be torn apart by all our broken stories. To take them all into himself.

John sees the answers to the questions he’s been wrestling with, not in any explanation for why bad things happen. But in his savior. Jesus, the Lamb.

And sisters and brothers, that’s what John shows you today. 

Those places where your story threatens to come apart. Those cracks in your relationships. Those fissures in your medical history. Those ruptures in your bank account. Those pages in the newspaper you’d tear apart if it’d make any difference. Those gaps in your resume. They are all held in the wounded hands of Jesus Christ. The only one who dares to open the scroll of your story, and hold it. 

Jesus is worthy to take the scroll of our broken stories from the hand of God because he is the one who lets himself be broken again and again and again to hold all our fractured stories in his hands. 

As Jesus takes that scroll; what began with weeping, ends in praise. Seeing the one who would dare to take our story and hold it, all creation sings! As the psalmist put it, “you’ve turned my wailing into dancing.”

And that’s true for you. Your wailing will end. Your weeping will cease. Jesus will dry every tear from your eye. He will take the pieces of your broken story, and hold them, let it pierce his hands. He will take the scroll of our broken story, and let it him break him. 

Brothers and sisters, I know how confusing life can be. And I can't answer all your questions. But today your savior has put me in your way to point to him. The one who explains what we can’t. Not with answers, but by his body and blood. His body and blood broken and poured out for you. 

There is a scroll that makes sense of all our stories, sisters and brothers. We Christians call him The Word made flesh.