Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Revelation 22:18-19

18 I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book; 19 if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away that person's share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book. (NRSV)

The Curse That Got Cut

If people in the pews happen to take up a Bible to follow the reader Sunday, they may pick up on the skips in the reading – most notably this rather unpleasant malediction. Biblical inerrantists undoubtedly view the cut as further evidence of how liberals, many of whom count themselves among “those lectionary churches”, pick and choose biblical passages to fit their own “live and let live" agenda. It's a valid criticism. But the defenders of loaded terms like “inerrancy” have to work hard to finesse their meanings in order to maintain their position in lieu of the fact that texts do move us to write, rewrite, question, interpret. The words won't stay put as they come off the canonical page. That's the problem and the price of staking loyalty on a term. The placards we tote get very heavy over time. For instance, inerrantists usually have to explain themselves at great length to make room for the possibility of inspired reading. That is to say, reading under the tutelage of the Holy Spirit by which we are led to write the texts for our own God-given moment. Not as canon. But certainly as gospel.

Okay, down to business. Who would alter the book itself? And the book in question is specifically the book of Revelation, not the whole Bible. Since Revelation is, in part, a polemic attack on a policy of the Roman Empire, one could reasonably expect lukewarm believers with strong interests in the empire to tone down the rhetoric – or point the apocalyptic imagery in other directions, picking more convenient enemies. Like barbarians beyond the borders somewhere. This would especially be a temptation to people desperate to accommodate themselves to the cult of emperor worship so as not to put themselves in harm's way. From an historical/critical perspective, this is probably the reason for the curse. The temptation to subvert the text is huge. 

In our own time it's no trick to find a television preacher – most likely an inerrantist and, oftentimes, frequent quoter of Revelation– strutting underneath an American flag stretched from pillar to post that visually overwhelms the central symbols of the faith. Baptismal font, altar, and cross, if they appear at all, are reduced to minutia. The symbolism is usually verified in a well-produced message conforming to the benchmarks of American public religion, perhaps hedging a well-phrased pietistic challenge that gives the sermon some bite. In other words, there is more than one way to monkey with the texts of Revelation. 

No flags fly in New Jerusalem. No images whatsoever. Not even tastefully set to the side of the sanctuary behind potted ferns. Even the structure of the temple has been displaced by the very presence of God. No lamps or candles. All light and all purpose flow from the Creator. The crucified Lamb, now glorified, is a living testimony against the powers that would command the tiniest fraction of loyalty apart from the Creator. No exceptions. Apocalypse shows us stuff with enough psychic displacement to make Jung blush. Home, country, family, soldiers, heroes: they have all been erased from the scene. They are not, in the end, sources of hope. 

But they might be the beneficiaries. 

Just in case we forget, it's probably best to leave the curse with the rest of the passage.

© 2010 Andy Gay