Revelation 17–18

A Tale of Two Cities

Introduction

This morning, we will focus on Revelation 17-18. It is the vision of Babylon’s defeat. But first, let’s remind ourselves how to read Revelation and what Revelation is trying to do. So, two questions:

First, How Do We Read Apocalyptic Literature?

Revelation is a letter, but it is also apocalyptic literature. That means it uses symbols, visions, and imagery that point to ultimate realities. You cannot read Revelation the way you read the newspaper. You don’t look at these visions and say, “Oh, this is literally going to happen exactly as described.” Instead, the symbols reveal the deeper spiritual realities behind what you see on the surface.

Think of apocalyptic literature as a kind of political cartoon mixed with prophecy. If you saw a cartoon of a giant eagle fighting a bear, you’d know it wasn’t about literal animals but about nations. Revelation works the same way. God gives us these visions because they pull back the curtain on history and show what’s really happening underneath.

Second, What Revelation is Trying to do?

That’s a question we’ve asked again and again in this series—not just what Revelation is saying, but what it’s doing. Because it’s not just here to give us information about the end times or spiritual realities; it’s meant to shape us, wake us up, and open our eyes.

The churches in Asia Minor—ordinary Christians in cities like Ephesus, Pergamum, and Laodicea—weren’t yet being thrown into prison or burned at the stake. The real danger was subtler: compromise. Comfort. Forgetting who they were and why they were here. The temptation was to blend in, to go along with the culture, to be impressed by Rome’s power and prosperity.

And Revelation is like God pulling back the curtain and saying, “Don’t be fooled. Don’t be seduced. This is what’s really going on.”

Revelation is meant to reshape the Christian imagination. It exposes the way the world trains us to see life—through the lens of power, wealth, and self—and gives us a new lens: the Lamb, the throne, the New Jerusalem. It’s not just about changing how we think—it’s about changing how we see.

That’s why Revelation gives us these powerful visions—thrones and beasts, dragons and bowls, plagues and angels, and two cities: Babylon and the New Jerusalem. They aren’t just wild images; they’re God’s way of jolting us awake and helping us see the truth behind what looks so normal and appealing.

So today, as we open chapters 17 and 18, we’re invited to look at Babylon—not through the world’s eyes, but through God’s eyes. We’re invited to see through the enchantment and to stand firm in Christ.

With that in mind, let’s walk through the picture Revelation 17–18 paints for us.

What we have in this final section of Revelation is a Tale of Two Cities

But first, let me tell you a story—a story about a man named Augustine, who lived in the early 400s. Some of you may have heard his name. He was a pastor, theologian, and one of the most influential Christian thinkers in history. His most famous book is called The City of God, and he wrote it after something shocking happened: the city of Rome, which people thought was indestructible, fell to invading armies in the year 410. The pagans in Rome quickly blamed the Christians for the disaster. They said Rome fell because people turned away from the old pagan gods and followed Jesus. Augustine knew that wasn’t true, but he also realized something deeper: the fall of Rome was exposing where people had put their hope.

So, Augustine wrote The City of God, telling a story of two cities—the earthly city, built on self-love, pride, and idolatry, and the heavenly city, built on the love of God. In his mind, all of human history was a conflict between these two cities. His book would become the most widely read work in the Western world for a thousand years, shaping not only the church but whole civilizations. And in many ways, Augustine was reading the same book we are reading—Revelation.

That’s why it is so important that we go back to Revelation and listen to it on its own terms. Because Revelation, too, tells a tale of two cities—Babylon and the New Jerusalem—and it asks each of us a question that echoes through time: Which city do you want to inhabit?

The Structure of the Tale: Two Women

Picturing a city as a woman was common in the prophetic Jewish tradition in which John lives and from which he draws: Jerusalem was pictured as virgin (Isa. 37:22; Lam. 2:13), faithful wife and mother (Isa. 66:7–14), a married woman who became unfaithful (Ezek. 16); Nineveh and Tyre as harlot (Nahum 3:1–7; Isa. 23).

You’ll remember, as we’ve been working through Revelation, that John has already seen a woman. Back in chapter 12, there was a woman clothed with the sun, standing on the moon, crowned with twelve stars. She gave birth to a child who would rule all nations. That woman represented the faithful people of God.

But in chapter 17, John sees another woman, and she could not be more different. The angel calls her the harlot—the prostitute. She is seated on a scarlet beast. That beast is covered with blasphemous names. It has seven heads and ten horns—ugly, threatening, powerful. This beast is the same one we saw earlier, rising from the sea to wage war on the saints.

The woman on the beast is dressed in purple and scarlet, dripping with gold, precious stones, and pearls. She holds a golden cup, but it is filled with filth—abominations and the impurities of her immorality. Written across her forehead is a long and terrible name:

“Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and of the Abominations of the Earth.” (Rev. 17:5)

John tells us she is drunk, not with wine but with the blood of the saints—the blood of those who witnessed to Jesus. This is an evil parody of the Lord’s Supper. Instead of a cup of blessing, it is a cup of slaughter.

The angel explains that she sits not only on the beast but on many waters, which are “peoples and multitudes and nations and tongues.” This woman is a picture of global influence and corruption. She also sits on seven hills, an image that every first-century reader would recognize immediately. We will talk about this in a moment.

So, here is the contrast: the first woman is a mother, giving life to God’s people. The second is the mother of harlots, spreading death and idolatry across the earth.

Now… What exactly does John mean by “Babylon”?

She’s described as “seated on many waters.” That phrase comes straight out of the Old Testament—Jeremiah 51:13, to be exact—where it referred to the ancient city of Babylon. That made perfect sense back then because Babylon sat on the Euphrates River and was surrounded by canals. It was literally a city on many waters.

But here’s the thing—Rome wasn’t built on a river like that. It’s not a port city with canals and waterways. So what’s going on? This isn’t about geography—it’s about theology. John is using biblical language to say something deeper: Rome is the new Babylon.

She’s not just sitting on water—she’s sitting on a multinational empire that spans across the world, just like the sea. Revelation 17:15 actually explains that the “many waters” represent peoples, multitudes, nations, and languages. So this image is showing us Rome in all her power, sitting on top of the world’s systems—political, economic, and spiritual. And not just that—she’s also sitting on the beast, the monster from the sea, which symbolizes chaos and evil.

And John says the kings of the earth have committed adultery with her. That’s Bible language for idolatry. In other words, they’ve joined in Rome’s worship—not just of false gods and Caesar, but of Rome itself. They’ve made Rome their ultimate source of security and meaning. That’s idolatry.

And what Revelation is showing us is that Rome might look powerful and glamorous—she wears royal colors, drinks fine wine—but it’s all a lie. Her riches are stained with the blood of God’s people. She’s not a queen. She’s a prostitute, drunk on the blood of the saints.

Then we come to her name, written across her forehead: “Babylon the Great.” That’s not just a nickname. It’s a theological label. In the Bible, names reveal character. And in the Jewish tradition, after Rome destroyed Jerusalem in A.D. 70—just like Babylon had done centuries earlier—“Babylon” became shorthand for Rome. Peter even uses it that way in 1 Peter 5:13.

So what’s the point? John is telling us, in powerful symbols and vivid images, that Rome may look like she’s in charge—but she’s just another Babylon. And like Babylon, her end is certain.

But Babylon is not only Rome. Babylon is a spiritual reality that shows up in different cultures, different times, different places. Babylon is any society that worships its own power, wealth, and pleasure instead of the living God. And that means Babylon shows up in our cities too.

This is why John calls her the “mother of harlots”—because she gives birth to more Babylons. And this is why you and I can wake up one day and realize we’re living in Babylon.

Revelation 17:10 says that the beast has seven heads, which John says are seven mountains and seven kings. He says, “Five have fallen, one is, and the other has not yet come; and when he comes, he must remain for a little while.” (17:10)

There are three possible ways to understand this.

The first approach is to treat them as seven great kingdoms, looking at the kingdoms of the world from the perspective of biblical history. The five kingdoms that have fallen would be Egypt, Ninevah, Babylon, Persia and Greece. The sixth kingdom that “is” would be Rome. The seventh kingdom, “to come for a short time,” we don’t know: perhaps a collection of anti-Christ kingdoms. And then, the beast, the anti-Christ himself.

The second possibility is to treat the seven kings as seven great leaders of Rome. Here things get tricky because, from the time of the founding of Rome until John’s day, there are more than five fallen leaders. So you have to do some adjusting of the lists to make the five-one-one scheme line up.

The fact that none of these counting matches the way history actually goes says to me that we are dealing here with symbols.

So the third possibility: treat the seven kings as a picture of the whole. Seven is the number of completeness, symbolizing the whole of Roman history, which is the whole of Babylon’s history. The eighth is the beast himself. John says that he is “an eighth but it belongs to the seven” (17:11). Not “one of the seven,” but simply “of the seven” or “that belongs to the seven”. That is, the beast is the power behind all seven—the power behind the whole history of Babylon. One day, when all Babylons have come, the beast himself will make himself known.

The ten kings? They are powers representing “the totality of the powers of all nations on the earth,” which have been carried on the back of the beast.

I think that interpretation is most faithful to the nature of Revelation as an apocalyptic literature.

But here’s the key: all of them together wage war against the Lamb (17:14). And what happens? The Lamb wins. The Lamb overcomes them, simply because of who He is—the Lord of lords and King of kings. The Lamb defeats them. And it’s not even a close fight. This is meant to encourage John’s readers—and us. Rome looked invincible. It had the military, the money, the propaganda machine. But Jesus had something Rome did not—ultimate authority.

So, what John is showing us in verses 12-14 isn’t a detailed timeline of future events—it’s a powerful picture. He’s reminding us that no matter how strong evil looks, it doesn’t win. Jesus has already won the decisive battle at the cross. Evil is fighting a losing battle because it’s already been defeated by Christ.

And then something remarkable happens in 17:16-18: the beast turns on the harlot. “The ten horns you saw, and the beast, will hate the prostitute. They will bring her to ruin and leave her naked; they will eat her flesh and burn her with fire.” (17:16) In other words, evil destroys itself. The same power that carried Babylon eventually devours her. Her alliances turn on her. Her idols betray her. John wants us to see that this is how it always works—every empire built on pride and injustice eventually collapses from within.

Evil is not only judged and destroyed by God; evil is self-destructive. It’s a sobering reminder: Babylon always falls.

Now, when we come to Revelation 18, the reasons for Babylon’s fall—Rome’s fall—are made crystal clear.

And we don’t just hear it from heaven’s voice announcing judgment; we see it in how people respond to her collapse.

There are four key charges against Rome—called “Babylon” in Revelation—that help us understand what brought her down: idolatry, violence, pride, and wealth.

First, Rome was the world leader in idolatry. She didn’t just tolerate it—she promoted it, especially through emperor worship. That’s at the heart of John’s imagery when he calls Babylon a harlot. That’s Bible-language for spiritual adultery. Rome invited the world to trade worship of the true God for the worship of power, status, and man. John’s been sounding this alarm since chapter 13.

Second, Rome was built on violence. She ruled with fear. Those who resisted—especially Christians—were seen as threats. Some believers lost their lives. But John zooms out even further, saying Babylon is guilty of the blood of all who’ve been slain unjustly on the earth. This isn’t just about Rome versus the church—it’s about any system that uses fear and force to maintain power. In that way, Babylon also mirrors faithless Jerusalem, who persecuted the prophets.

Third, Rome was guilty of pride and self-glorification. She said, “I sit as a queen and will never mourn.” She believed she was untouchable. But that kind of pride is rebellion against God. The words translated as “luxury” in our Bibles could also mean arrogant defiance. Rome thought she would rule forever—but God had other plans.

Fourth and finally, Rome was obsessed with wealth. Revelation 18 reads like an ancient version of Wall Street crashing. Luxury goods (v.9, 11-13), merchants (v.13, 15), cargo ships (v.11-13)—it’s all there. For Christians in John’s day, the pressure wasn’t always physical persecution. It was economic compromise. Following Jesus could mean losing your status, your income, or your place in the community. Trade guilds—business associations connected to specific crafts—often required loyalty to pagan gods and the emperor. To keep your business, you had to go along. And John is honest: the pull of that lifestyle was strong. But Rome isn’t just judged for tempting believers—she’s judged for building an entire economy that enriched the few at the expense of the many.

Those are the fours charges agains Rome: idolatry, violence, self-glorification, and obsession with wealth.

Friends, this is why it’s hard to be a faithful disciple in the city. Babylon’s pressures are real. They come at us through advertising, politics, entertainment, and yes—sometimes even through the church. But Revelation pulls back the curtain and shows us what’s really going on.

Babylon looks permanent. It looks impressive. But John tells us it will fall in one hour—suddenly, unexpectedly, decisively.

Think about ancient Rome. In John’s day, it was the only superpower in the world. Its armies were unmatched. Its roads and architecture promised stability for centuries. People called it the Eternal City.

But in 410 AD, that illusion shattered. After centuries of moral and political decay, the Visigoths marched to Rome’s gates. Led by Alaric, they broke through, and for the first time in 800 years, Rome was plundered. Fires burned. Treasures were carried off. Citizens were killed or enslaved. People were so shocked, many thought it was the end of the world.

In the midst of that moment, Augustine began to write The City of God. And his message was simple but profound: no earthly city—no matter how powerful—can last forever if it’s built on pride, injustice, and idolatry. Augustine was reading history through the same lens as John. Babylon always falls.

That’s why John gives us this vision—not to frighten us, but to free us. Free us from trusting in kingdoms that will crumble. Free us to give our hearts fully to a kingdom that can’t.

Now, here’s something unexpected. When Revelation 18:17–24 describes the fall of Babylon, there’s no sense of gloating or celebration over her destruction. Instead, what we hear is a kind of funeral song—a lament. One by one, the voices that once filled the city go silent. The merchants who once grew rich from her luxury now stand at a distance, weeping. The sea captains and sailors who depended on her trade cry out in shock: “In a single hour she has been laid waste!”

What follows is deeply moving. The music stops—harpists, singers, flute players, and trumpeters are all silent. The artisans disappear—no more craftsmen shaping and creating beauty. The mills stop grinding—no more work or provision. Even the joy of weddings is gone—no more brides or grooms celebrating new beginnings. What was once a bustling, vibrant city becomes still, dark, and lifeless. A ghost town.

It’s a sobering picture. Babylon was powerful, wealthy, and full of life—but all of it was built on corruption, pride, and violence. Her downfall reveals just how hollow her glory really was. And you can almost feel John’s heaviness as he writes. Yes, God’s justice is good and necessary. But there’s also grief here—grief over what was lost, what could have been beautiful if it had been devoted to God instead of turned inward in rebellion.

This part of Revelation reminds us that God cares not just about personal sin, but about the systems, economies, and cultures we create. When those systems glorify wealth over justice, power over love, and idols over the living God, they will fall. And when they do, the silence is deafening. It’s a warning to every generation: don’t build your life—or your world—on a foundation that cannot last.

But it’s also an invitation: to build something better. To long for the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

Next week, we’ll step into Revelation 19 and the glorious transition from Babylon to the New Jerusalem. But today, the question is: What do we do with Babylon?

Conclusion: Come Out of Her, My People

What does Jesus want us to do with this vision? Listen to Revelation 18:4:

“Then I heard another voice from heaven say: ‘Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues.’”

What does that mean? It doesn’t mean we all move out into the countryside or try to avoid the world entirely. Babylon is everywhere. You can’t escape it by changing your zip code.

What Jesus is calling us to is deeper. He’s calling us to live with a different set of loves and loyalties. To be in the world, but not of the world. That’s exactly what Jesus prayed for us in John 17:

“Father, I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one.”

So we don’t retreat. We engage. We work, we love, we serve, we speak the truth—but we do it as citizens of another kingdom. And we do it together.

Because let’s be honest—if you try to resist Babylon on your own, it will wear you down. Its messages are constant. Its pull is relentless. That’s why God gave us the church—not as a weekly event to attend, but as a community of resistance and hope.

The church is a preview and a foretaste of the New Jerusalem. When we gather to worship, to pray, to sing, to hear God’s Word, to take the Lord’s Supper—we are getting a glimpse of the world to come. We’re reminding each other who we are, and whose we are.

That’s why we don’t treat church like an optional part of life. We commit. We love. We serve. Because this is the community that helps us stay awake in a world that wants to lull us to sleep. This is where our hearts are re-centered on what matters most.

So tomorrow—whether you go into an office, a classroom, a job site, or back into the daily rhythms of family life—remember: you are living in a tale of two cities. One is fading. The other is eternal.

And the Word of God is telling us: Come out of Babylon in your heart. Don’t let its values shape you. Don’t let its idols capture you. Stand firm with your brothers and sisters in Christ.

Let’s not get too comfortable here. Babylon may look strong—may even look beautiful at times—but its end is certain. The people of God have always lived as strangers and exiles in this world. Just like Hebrews 11 says, we are looking for a better country. A heavenly one.

Our hope isn’t in building our own little kingdoms here.

It’s in the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.

So come out of Babylon. Set your heart on the city to come.

Because that’s where your true citizenship lies.

And that’s the kingdom that will never fall.

May the Lamb—who is Lord of lords and King of kings—strengthen us to be His faithful witnesses until that city comes in all its fullness.

Transition to the Lord’s Supper

As we reflect on the fall of Babylon and the emptiness of all that stands against God, we’re invited now to turn our eyes to something far more lasting and true—the table of the Lord.

Even while we’re surrounded by Babylon, Jesus invites us to come to His table—a table that belongs to the New Jerusalem.

Here, at the Lord’s Supper, we are reminded that our hope is not in the kingdoms of this world, but in the kingdom of Christ. While Babylon falls, the Lamb reigns. While the world feasts on luxury that fades, we are invited to a different kind of feast—a meal of grace, given by Jesus Himself, that nourishes us for the journey and anchors us in the kingdom that will never be shaken. The bread and the cup are signs that the Lamb who was slain has already overcome.

So if you trust in Jesus Christ today—if you belong to Him—this table is for you. Come and be reminded that you are not alone. Come and taste the grace that sustains us as we wait for the city that will never fall.

Prayer (Call the elders)

Gracious Father,

We thank You for this vision You have given us—a vision that pulls back the curtain on our world and shows us what is real and lasting. Thank You for reminding us today that no matter how powerful Babylon may look, it is always falling, and that Your kingdom will stand forever.

Lord, we confess that it is so easy for our hearts to be drawn to the things of this world—to its pride, its comforts, and its idols. Forgive us for the times we have loved the city of man more than the city of God. Forgive us for the ways we have compromised and drifted. Would You renew our hearts and set our affections firmly on Christ, the Lamb who was slain and who has overcome.

We pray that You would strengthen us as Your people to live “in” but not “of” this world. Help us to be faithful witnesses. Give us eyes to see where You are at work, and hearts that long to serve You above all else.

And as we come now to this table, Lord, we ask that You would use these simple gifts of bread and cup to nourish our faith. Remind us that Jesus gave His body and His blood so that we would belong to Him forever. Fill us with gratitude for Your grace, and with hope for the day when we will sit at Your table in the New Jerusalem, with every tear wiped away.

Father, prepare our hearts. Set us apart from the empty promises of this world, and anchor us in Your unshakable love.

We pray all of this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.