Revelation: The Church at War in Liturgical Worship

Rev. Dr. Donald P. Richmond

The book of Revelation, also known as the Apocalypse, is among evangelicals almost entirely interpreted as an eschatological text. Authors such as Lindsey and Bloomfield, as well as a multitude of others, are clear examples of this. However, while not rejecting eschatological applications, it is the issue of worship – most specifically warfare worship – that dominates the pages of St. John’s revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ.[1]

A casual glance through Revelation appears to offer a great deal of information which does not initially seem to fit a liturgical pattern. Many of the images, if not the bulk of them, are not obvious when we attend our service of worship each Sunday or on holidays. I have personally never seen some of the bizarre personalities and activities that Revelation records. I am quite certain that everyone I know has never seen some of these activities or personalities either. How do strange creatures, judgments, plagues – in all of their bewildering expressions – fit into the liturgical pattern of the Eucharist, of the Church at worship?

At least part of the answer can be found in looking at broad patterns as opposed to becoming bogged down in every specific detail. This does not mean that, for the diligent reader, the specifics cannot yield immeasurable riches of insight. Indeed, they can.  Nevertheless, in keeping with commonly believed folk wisdom, we sometimes miss the forest because of the trees. And, while I will address a few of the “trees” along the way, the focus of these thoughts will be upon the “forest” as a collective whole.

The Revelation was given to St. John in order for him to reveal it to the Church (Rev. 1: 1). It is a revelation of Jesus Christ (Rev. 1: 1), a revelation that has very clear implications for worship.[2] St. John is true to his calling, and immediately begins to address the seven churches (Rev. 1: 4; 2 – 3).

The Service of Worship begins in chapter 1 with the introduction of our Great High Priest, Jesus Christ himself (Rev. 1: 12 – 16). He is clothed in the robes of a priest on the Lord’s Day (Rev. 1: 10 – 13). It is interesting to note that our Lord’s words to the seven churches (Rev. 2 – 3), the number seven representing the whole church (i.e. having universal and timeless application to the entire “body of Christ”), are formulated as a Collect. A Collect, a collection of thoughts focused upon a particular subject being addressed, broadly includes three parts: invocation, the reason why God should answer, and the petition.[3] Although technically not a prayer, our Lord’s address to each of the seven churches fits the general pattern of a Collect and occur at the beginning of what can be considered the Eucharistic Service — with our Lord himself being both priest and sacrifice (Rev. 5: 6 – 14). As such, each of the seven churches receives a collect specific to the “season” of their spiritual pilgrimage. Therefore, in chapters 1 – 3, we have the introduction of the priest, the emphasis on the need for cleansing, and a Collect specific to each church — an outline very much akin to the Rite of Holy Eucharist in our Book of Common Prayer.

Chapters 4 -5 of Revelation now begin to provide more detailed expressions of the purpose of this book: worship, warfare worship. In these chapters we note a throne (cathedra), elders (assisting priests), a rainbow (symbolizing God’s Covenant), lamps (candles), a pool (as with the Old Testament pool for cleansing), and the worship of God — complete with both verbal (Rev. 4: 8, 11) and physical (Rev. 4: 9 – 10) expressions. These, along with the “sealed book” (J. B. Phillips) in chapter 5, constitute the Service of the Word. The liturgical setting cannot be missed or underestimated. If liturgy implies the work of the people, God’s people, then it is abundantly obvious that the people of God are working at the worship of God as expressed toward the Lamb who was slain (Rev. 5: 6 – 14) and yet lives.

When we move on to chapters 6 – 11 (as well as interspersed in later texts), the liturgical elements of worship appear to become obscured or entirely lost. Now we have the judgments of God. How does this square with the liturgical worship of the Church? Much has been written about liturgy as prayer. Worship also involves warfare. St. Paul clearly states that we are at war (Eph. 6). This war involves “principalities and powers.” Lives will be lost (Rev. 6: 9 – 11).

It is imperative that we understand this emphasis upon warfare as worship if we are going to understand the purpose of Revelation as a liturgical text. When we pray well, we are in fact waging war against the principalities and powers to which St. Paul makes reference in his epistles. When we pray we are, in fact, in the process of reclaiming and renewing what was lost to the devil and his minions. Revelation 19 – 22 highlights the ultimate redemption and consummation of all things in God through Christ by the Holy Spirit. However, between the promise (Rev. 1: 7-8 ) and the fulfillment (Rev. 22: 12 – 17) we must engage in the warfare of worship. If the Eucharist has eschatological significance, as has often been suggested[4], Revelation has a great deal to do with how our Lord achieves his eschatological purposes through the church at worship.[5]

At the end of chapter 11, we once again return to the subject of worship proper. Now we enter the Liturgy of the Sacrament. Christ is proclaimed king (Rev. 11: 15), the “Temple of God” (Phillips) is “thrown open,” and the Ark of the Covenant — the place of the Eucharist — is revealed. The correspondence between Covenant and Eucharist is amply demonstrated in that most Old Testament covenants involved an agreement, a sacrifice, and a shared meal.[6]

As we enter chapter 12, the “woman” as the Church playing a dominant role, we are confronted with an important question. If at the end of chapter 11 victory is announced, why do we continue to have warfare in chapters 12 – 18?  The answer is liturgical and practical. Practically, as with the ending of the “War of Northern Aggression” (i.e. American Civil War), time is needed between when there is a surrender and the fighting finally concludes. General Lee surrendered at Appomattox in April of 1865. It was several months, and, in some isolated cases, years later before the fighting actually stopped. Skirmishes between North and South occurred long after the war was “officially” concluded. Similarly, in spiritual warfare, there is often a lag between the proclamation and realization of victory (Dan. 10).[7]  During the life of our Lord, there was an attentiveness to time that was observed between the institution of the Lord’s Supper (St. John 14 – 18), the sacrifice of Christ, and the realization of his resurrection victory. The victory was in promise until the resurrection.[8]

We see such an orientation in the liturgy on at least two fronts. First, between the time that our Lord first instituted the Sacrament and today, many years have passed. Many spiritual wars have been waged, in spite of our Lord’s death, resurrection, and ascension. The war was provisionally won two thousand years ago, but the Church continues to wage many battles as the Church Militant. The Church continues to share in the work of actualizing what the Eucharist actually is and proclaims: Christ, the hope and reality of glory.  These battles are waged and won in prayer.

Second, we know the reality of ongoing warfare within ourselves. Christ has redeemed us, like the slaves of the Civil War were set free, but it takes time and work and place to be able to practice what is proclaimed. Every time we take the Eucharist, engaging in active prayer, we are again taking up our oaths like good soldiers to do battle against world, flesh and Devil (Karl Barth). Every time we do the Daily Office, or energetically engage in any properly ordered liturgical practice, it is a call to arms. It is a call to continue to do battle because “Between the idea/And the reality [...] / Falls the Shadow.”[9] Revelation 12 – 18 is the place of the shadows, the final yet hopeful descent before arising to the promise of paradise on our own Easter morning. It is in this place of shadow that we must “stand in the gap,” waging war against the forces of darkness. “Blessed be the Lord my God/ Who trains my hands to war/ And my fingers to fight” (Psalms).

And now, with the final victory realized (practically and liturgically), there is rejoicing in heaven (Rev. 19: 1 – 8 ) and the actual fulfillment of the Lamb’s Supper (Rev. 19: 9) of which our weekly Eucharist is finally and totally fulfilled. No longer are we living in a liturgy of hours or of history, but one that has existed well before time began and will extend well beyond the bounds of time and space.[10] In Revelation 21: 1 – 8 we are enjoying the liturgical reality of the Living Eucharist.

Revelation is certainly an eschatological text. There are far too many internal and external references to suggest otherwise. Nevertheless, it is a particular type of eschatological text. It is an eschatological text that is in many ways mediated through militant liturgical practice. Revelation outlines the Church in and beyond history, Her living liturgy, and Her King at war.

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[1] While Dr. Scott Hahn did not in any way address the issue of liturgy as spiritual warfare, I am, nevertheless, grateful to his excellent text The Lamb’s Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth (Doubleday, 1999) for its emphasis on Revelation and its connection to liturgical worship.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Dudley, Martin R. The Collect in Anglican Liturgy: Texts and Sources, 1549 – 1989 (Liturgical Press, 1994) p. 4 -5

[4] Dix, Gregory. The Shape of the Liturgy: New Edition (Continuum, 2005) p. 4 – 5

[5] As an aside, albeit of significance to our topic, I have always been impressed with the rhythmic similarities between The Great Litany and St. Patrick’s Breastplate. To be sure, I do not believe that the author of the Litany used St. Patrick’s Breastplate as a source of inspiration. Nevertheless, as one who is somewhat familiar – in my life before Christ – with the nature of Wiccan incantations, the tone and rhythm of these texts with the human need to ward off evil is both profound and pronounced. Liturgical worship, whether within the assembly or in private, has a similar function — albeit within a decidedly and devotedly Christian context.

[6] Hahn, Scott. Swear to God: The Promise and Power of the Sacraments (Doubleday, 2004) p. 66

[7] It must be noted that, during the Rite of Holy Eucharist, repeated proclamations of victory are made. The realization of this can only be seen, however, after we are dismissed into the world. While victory is proclaimed in the liturgies of Word and Sacrament, the practice of this proclamation (its practical realization) comes later. The parousia is, of course, the ultimate victory when once again all things will be “from, through and to Him” to the glory of God the Father.

[8] This concept of victory fulfilled, and yet needing time to be fully realized, is also wonderfully illustrated in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Return of the King. After many years and battles, the king is restored to his rightful place. And yet, although the war is won, the “little people” (i.e. “Hobbits”) will return home to their garden paradise in the “Shire” only to have to continue to do some “clean up” work.

[9] Eliot, T.S. The Complete Poems and Plays: 1909 – 1950 (Harcourt Brace, 1980) p. 58 – 59. The apocalyptic significance of “The Hollow Men” must not be overlooked.

[10] “Christ crucified from the foundation of the world.”

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