Great Potluck of God

Sermon

There are many things that American Christianity has given to the world of the Christian faith. Some of those things can be viewed as favorable, like the sentiment of religious freedom sought after by European immigrants leaving the Church of England, or the constant evolution of how church is done and who church is for. Other things can be viewed as not so favorable, like the centuries of denominational divisions, its obsession with consumerism and power, and the faith-backed trade of slaves upon whose backs this country was built. Our country boasts itself as “one nation, under God,” and yet our weekly attendance in church has plummeted in the most recent decades. We have countless cases of faithful people doing faithful things, and we turn on the TV to find heretics taking money from the vulnerable in the name of a gospel of prosperity filled with nothing but empty promises.

While certainly a mixed bag, there is one thing that American Christianity has, in my humbled opinion, perfected—the potluck.

If I were presented the chance to preach this sermon for others, it is at that precise word that ears perk up, that eyes rapidly move from phone to pulpit, and that every Evangelical tummy rumbles like the thunders of heaven. The humble potluck. That most precious meal held nearly as sacred as the meal of the Eucharist—not that it should be—that practically every church holds at least one a year, if not once a month. A wonderful vision of coming together, each family bringing their “signature dish” that never changes, and subtle battles over whose cuisine reigns supreme waged over the newest members of the congregation. The potluck is a time to come and be, to be with each other, to eat with each other. A time to cast off the worries off the week, basking in the over-emotionalized glow of the Sunday morning service. Potluck is almost as if the Holy Spirit herself has manifested in every last bite of Susan’s chili and Dale’s BBQ ribs and Aimee’s gluten-free cupcakes that everyone makes sure to eat first so they can pretend to love their first bite but quickly wash it down with the Target-brand egg salad.

I think potluck is often associated with that American idea of the First Thanksgiving, a wondrous idealistic picture of the Europeans and the Native Americans breaking bread in peace. Images of Rockwell’s “Freedom from Want” and Brownscrombe’s “First Thanksgiving” dance through the imaginations of event committees in their planning meetings for church potluck. The memory smells of apple pies and candied yams entice even the most distant of congregants to dive in by cooking a dish for the potluck.

I’m sure others imagine their church potluck to be another way to recreate Leonardo’s “Last Supper”—since most churches don’t practice the weekly Communion, you can see their confusion. A big table with Jesus and the disciples wine-ing and dine-ing, that wonderful meme from the interwebs, where Jesus says, “Table for 26, please” and the waiter responds, “But there are only 13 of you,” and Jesus replies, “Oh, no, we’ll all be sitting all one side.” After all, if Jesus saw the chance for a meal and took it, why shouldn’t we?

Or how about this beautiful description of a not-so-famous feast? “17 Then I saw an angel standing in the sun, and with a loud voice he called to all the birds that fly in mid-heaven, ‘Come, gather for the great supper of God, 18 to eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of the mighty, the flesh of horses and their riders—flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great.’ 19 Then I saw the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies gathered to make war against the rider on the horse and against his army. 20 And the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet who had performed in its presence the signs by which he deceived those who had received the mark of the beast and those who worshipped its image. These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire that burns with sulfur. 21 And the rest were killed by the sword of the rider on the horse, the sword that came from his mouth; and all the birds were gorged with their flesh.”

Makes you wanna tuck in your bibs and chow down, right?

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

If you don’t recognize it, this is a passage from the end of Revelation 19 depicting the “great supper of God” after the defeat of the beast and its armies. To give you a full context of what I’m describing here would be an enormous challenge, but I’m going to try and give you enough information so that you can see some of what is going on. To bring it to you simply, making some choices about how I interpret Revelation along the way, the previous chapter of Revelation describes the fall of Babylon. That chapter describes this great city, Babylon—who represents Rome in the 1st century—that is the home to all things foul, and it has finally been destroyed in the narrative of the Revelation that John, the author, describes. A voice from heaven is imploring that believers depart from her, for anyone who benefited from her exploits will be in deep mourning that the city has fallen.

Moving into chapter 19, we see a large praise song by a vast crowd, shouting the victories of God, praising God that Babylon has fallen, and blessing the guests of the wedding feast of the Lamb. And then, a shift in focus in the narrative. “Then,” John continues, “I saw heaven opened, and a white horse was standing there. Its rider was named Faithful and True, for he judges fairly and wages a righteous war. 12 His eyes were like flames of fire, and on his head were many crowns. A name was written on him that no one understood except himself. 13 He wore a robe dipped in blood, and his title was the Word of God. 14 The armies of heaven, dressed in the finest of pure white linen, followed him on white horses. 15 From his mouth came a sharp sword to strike down the nations. He will rule them with an iron rod. He will release the fierce wrath of God, the Almighty, like juice flowing from a winepress. 16 On his robe at his thigh was written this title: King of all kings and Lord of all lords.”

Now, obviously, there’s a lot of imagery here, and it is tied to a whole bunch of Scripture passages, including some from Revelation itself. First, we get a call back from Revelation 6 that many people who haven’t even the Bible have heard of—the pale horse, whose rider’s name is Death—which one of the seven plagues upon the earth. This clearly shouldn’t be the same rider, here, who is instead named Faithful and True, words used to describe Jesus. The eyes like flames of fire is another example of Johannine literature’s emphasis on Jesus as a light for the whole world. The many crowns on his head are symbols of power, much like the crowns worn by other powerful characters in Revelation, like the beast. The robe dipped in blood is a reference to Isaiah 63, where warriors would have had the blood of their enemies on their robes after battle, but John, the author, most likely had in mind an image of the cross and Jesus’s own spilt blood, reminding us that the Christ who conquers is the Christ who suffers. The sharp sword in his mouth remembers Hebrews 4:12: “The word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword.”

All of these images are designed to show the audience the grandness and the splendor of this ultimate coming victory against evil and the beast. And they accomplish this well, only to be followed by something even more spectacular and terrifying.

We have arrived at the great potluck of God; “Then I saw an angel standing in the sun, and with a loud voice he called to all the birds that fly in mid-heaven, ‘Come, gather for the great supper of God, 18 to eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of horses and their riders—flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great.’”

Let’s break this down a bit. There’s an angel standing in the sun. What do we picture here? Revelation describes angels in wondrous and frightening terms, with many eyes and wings of all sorts, and this one is standing in the sun. What an image of power and strength, and in front of the sun, no less. An image that evokes thoughts of light and, at least in Johannine literature, truth and glory. So this angel stands in the sun and calls out with a loud voice, this booming voice, to all the birds that fly in mid-heaven. What are these birds? Perhaps they are vultures, birds that fly lower to the ground and feed on death, as in Ezekiel 39 when he describes this same great supper. He calls out in a loud voice to these birds, these vultures, “Come! Gather!” It’s not enough that these birds of prey will undoubtedly feed on the death of this battle, but the angel is calling them forth. There is intent here, there is directive.

Come, gather, to eat the flesh of kings, captains, and the mighty. These birds were to first feed on those who were in charge in this fallen whore, Babylon. The ones profiting the most from her whorings and exploits would receive the first of this horror. But notice, it isn’t just those in power. Come, gather, to eat the flesh of horses and their riders—flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great. It’s not enough that the high-powered wicked would be feasted upon, no. Anyone who gained or helped others gain or were entrapped by Bablyon’s wickedness was set to suffer the same nasty, grizzly fate of being snacked about by these vultures, these birds that fly in mid-heaven.

This supper is supposed to be a parody of the wedding feast that is mentioned earlier at Revelation 19:9, where the redeemed are invited. This supper invitation is, instead, extended to the wicked of the earth. This invitation is just a bit different, of course—the wicked are not the guests, but the main course! This is gruesome. It is probably the portion of this book that disturbs me most. It references Ezek. 39:17-20 which is even more disturbing. Both of these scenes obviously depend on hyperbole, as there cannot possibly be any real intention for such feasting and cannibalism, right? Well, I had to consult some other sources.

Sigve Tonstad is a professor at Loma Linda University in California who recently released his commentary on Revelation. He says that this passage of Ezekiel being referenced is discussing the fall of the armies of Gog, and is making the theological assertion that “the armies of Gog will self-destruct.” Tonstad says that Revelation is showing something similar, that those who loved and benefited from Babylon and her exploits will inevitably reap the destruction that they themselves have sowed.

Tonstad notes further that this great supper functions to fulfill earlier scenes in Revelation where it is thought by some that God does not act justly in redeeming the victims of Babylon’s violence. That this is the feast that begins that final battle in vv. 20 and 21 is meant to make it up to those victims that were previously left unsatisfied.

Scattered throughout Revelation are references to a final battle, which John labels as Harmagedon, and that is the subject of these final three verses; “Then I saw the beast and the kings of the earth with their armies gathered to make war against the rider on the horse and against his army. 20 And the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet who had performed in its presence the signs by which he deceived those who had received the mark of the beast and those who worshipped its image. These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire that burns with sulfur. 21 And the rest were killed by the sword of the rider on the horse, the sword that came from his mouth; and all the birds were gorged with their flesh.”

Here it is, this final battle. What we are most likely to expect here is an epic scene, like the climax of a war or action movie, with details of heroism and valor, mighty face-off between the beast and this rider on the white horse, army versus army. You picture explosions of literary imagery, much like that which covers the pages of Revelation. Michael Bay is doing sound-effects and Hans Zimmer is conducting a grand orchestra that builds upon the senses in this glorious battle. I mean, 19 chapters of text, all gearing up for the defeat of evil by God, and we get this; “And the beast was captured.”

We go right from John, the author, seeing these armies gathered for war, to the very next sentence telling us the outcome. We have to ask ourselves, “Is something missing?” “Is the text incomplete?” “What are we to make of this???”

See, there is a funny thing about those intense action scenes in the movies. They are designed to ultimately show much tension and excitement that instills a slight bit of doubt in the audience, that makes them ask themselves, “Will good win over evil here?” Will the heroes prevail? Will Bugs Bunny and Michael Jordan prevail over the evil Mon-stars basketball team? But see, the thing that is so very important to the entire message of Revelation is simple.

The outcome was never in question; God was always going to win.

That’s the difference here. There is no need to explain how it happened, if it was never going to change the outcome. Telling the story feels more like a waste of time than a crucial part of the text. The entirety of Revelation points to this outcome, and is not concerned with convincing the audience that God will win—God IS going to win, so we better be ready and begin to choose good over evil, choose God over Babylon the great whore.

What’s interesting here is that only the beast and the false prophet are captured and cast alive into the lake of fire, while everyone else was killed by the sword of the rider on the horse. Remember, I said that the sword is a reference to Hebrews—it’s the Word of God. So it was not God or any angel who would kill the rest of them. It was their knowledge and encounter with the sword of the rider, the Word of God ignored and disobeyed, that ultimately brings about their downfall.

As Tonstad said to us earlier, “the armies of Gog will self-destruct.” What is the significance of this horror scene from the Bible? It is not necessarily to inflict fear and dread, but to encourage hope and obedience. This passage shows us as an audience what is to come if we refuse, so, call it passive-aggressive, if you must. God has given this Revelation to John, the author, to warn the people, to warn the seven churches referenced in chapters 2 and 3. God and John, the author, are ultimately concerned with changing and saving lives before things go poorly, rather than showing them that they are doomed from the start.

The crux of Revelation is found in the 21st chapter, where the new heaven and the new earth meet each other in a glorious city, New Jerusalem. The most fascinating thing about the newness is not that it simply replaces the old, but renews it. Much like God’s holiness grows within us as we become more sanctified, so does the splendor of God grow within the redeemed, renewed Creation. This is what Revelation ultimately points to—great change done by God through Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Ghost. Great change done to restore all of Creation back to its Creator. And when it comes to plain old me, I am not a “new” creation inasmuch as I’m a person entirely different from before, but insofar that I am made new and am being made new continuously as God breathes fresh, renewing life into me! And while, with enough grace, I might not recognize my “former” self, it does not mean it has been replaced. God would not replace what God has created—not again, not this time, not me.

So, even though it’s scary as all get-out, even this scene in Revelation 19 is one mighty fine potluck.