Pastors spend a good part of our ministry telling our fellow Christians, “You and I are not what we seem! We are more; much, much more!” We share an astonishing identity even now and will inherit an unimaginable destiny.

This fourth beatitude of Revelation reaches back to touch the first Passover meal, the Last Supper, and all the times the people of God have received Communion. But it is also the bright-eyed hope of a bride counting down the days till our waiting is over.

Only God knows if you or I will ever personally be caught up in the upheaval of Armageddon but, regardless, our King tells us to remain awake and dressed, ready for Christ’s sudden return.

On the afternoon of May 2, 1990, I heard holy things. Larry was a husband and father in his 30s and he was near death from cancer. I had gone to serve him Communion because he was too weak to come to church. “Even if I have a short time to live,” Larry said, “God’s given me a great hope….”

Revelation has a voice like no other Scripture. We’ve all seen the enormous public appeal of fantasy books, graphic novels, and Marvel movies, each one more fantastic than the last. Supervillains and superheroes, universe-threatening plots, CGI spectacles, dystopian worlds giving way to utopia. Such is Revelation, only it is all true to the bone, fantastic but never fantasy.

How do we help our people who have been beaten and left half dead in the dust? At first, we listen. We don’t want to be like Job’s friends, so we let people grieve or storm, question or hide. But in God’s good time we are called to bandage their souls, pouring on oil and wine, and give them a safe place to recover.