Sidelights from Patmos

IT HIS is not a volume of sermons; had it been, I should have tried to be more direct and more concrete. Originally it was a series of separate studies contributed to the pages of the “Expositor.” At the suggestion of the Editor I have collected these, added to their number, and brought them out in book form. Any of the chapters can be read apart from the others.

By “Sidelights from Patmos” I mean some¬ thing equivalent to “flashes of modern suggestion from the ancient Apocalypse.” I have called them sidelights to show that I am not giving an exposition of the Book of Revelation, nor of any part of that book. I am rather a recipient than an actor. I receive and photo-VI

graph certain luminous impressions that come to me occasionally and from separate points. I believe the design of St. John in Patmos was to state the principles which would regulate the good time coming. He wishes to indicate what in any world would be to him the consummation of happiness. He does so, some¬ times in sober language, sometimes in allegoric symbols. I have made a few selections, both from the sober language and from the allegoric symbols, with a view of testing the adaptation of the picture to our modern ideas of optimism. The one question I wish to consider in these otherwise disconnected chapters is whether St. John’s ideal is still our ideal, whether we should still accept his principles as those which should regulate the good time coming.

“I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day.” Such is the initial note of the greatest allegorical poem that ever was written. It is hardly the note we should have expected. We should have expected the day itself, rather than its spirit, to have been the subject of the opening chord. A man about to receive a revelation from heaven might be supposed to be looking first of all upon the curtain, to have his eye riveted originally upon the lifting of that veil which was interposed between him and the mystery. We should imagine that his earliest thought would be, What was the nature of that mystery which would be rent into sunbeams when the curtain fell? what would he see when the veil was withdrawn? This ST. JOHN’S VIEW OF

in truth is not his thought at all. His primary question is, not what he will see, but whether he will be fit for the sight The arduous part of the work to him is not the opening of heaven nor the revelation of heaven; it is the preparation for heaven. He feels that what he needs before all things is the spirit of the sabbath. He feels that the things inside this veil cannot be revealed to the eye. There are few spectacles indeed that can be revealed to the eye. I doubt if the most beautiful sights in nature are not indebted for one-half at least of their charm to the voices of the spirit. How many things are beautiful this year that were commonplace last! Why is this? It is no additional painting from the outside; perhaps the tear and wear of time may have diminished the actual glory. But the added charm has come from the spirit of a new day — a day which has lent its association to the onceignored scene, and invested with imperishable interest what yesterday we passed by on the other side.

The question now is, What, in the view of St. John, is the spirit of the Lord’s day — that spirit which the seer regards as essential and preliminary to any rending of the veil between earth and heaven? Every anniversary day requires its appropriate spirit. Without that spirit, nothing which happens outside will reveal anything to the spectator. The day of a Queen’s jubilee requires the spirit of loyalty; without this, no streaming of flags will convey it to the eye, no blast of trumpets will communicate it to the ear. The day which commemorates a victory needs the spirit of patriotism; without this the roll of artillery is

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all in vain. The day which keeps the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth demands the spirit of poetry; without this the banquet has no significance. The sabbath is, in John’s view, also an anniversary. It is the anniversary of creation and resurrection. It too can only be understood by its appropriate spirit. What is the appropriate spirit of this day as it appears to the seer of Patmos? It is a very important question, because, according to him, in finding that spirit you have found the spirit

ST. JOHNS VIEW OF

preparatory to the Apocalypse. Is there any sign of the seer’s opinion? It is something in his favour that, unlike his countrymen in general, he lays more weight upon the sabbath spirit than upon the sabbath hour. Has he given us any indication of what he takes that spirit to be? Do we find in this passage any trace of the thought which lay beneath the words, and which led him to connect the visions of his book with the breath of the seventh morning?

I think we do. I believe that, if we join the second clause of the verse to the first, we shall reach a luminous understanding of the idea which dominated the mind of the apostle: “I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet.” I take the explanatory clause to be the hearing of the trumpet behind him. The idea is clearly that of retrospect, looking back. When we hear the sabbath called the day of rest, the question at once arises, What rest? Rest is a relative term; what is rest to you may be hard work to me. I want to know what is that ideal of rest with which you wish me to associate this day. Now, John’s ideal of the sabbath rest is that of a satisfied past It is the ability to look back and say, “It was all very good.” The trumpet behind is the triumph behind. It is the sense of happy memory. It is the conviction that “hitherto the Lord has helped us.” It is the heart’s hymn of retrospect over the way by which it has been led, and the wreathing of that path with flowers across which perhaps it had been brought with tears.

Now, it seems to me that this view of the sabbath rest is borne out both by the Old Testament and by the New. In the book of Genesis it is described as God’s rest from creation; but it is a retrospective rest. It is not the joy of prospect, but the joy of memory. It is the looking back upon the work that has been done, and finding that it has been done well: “God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good.” In the New Testament the day has the significance of a triumph. It is the rest of

ST. JOHN’S VIEW OF

the soldier who has fought the battle and ascended up on high, leading captivity captive. Yet here again it is a restrospective rest. It is the triumph of a work done. It is the glory of looking back rather than of looking forward. Olivet has vindicated Calvary; that is the burden of the resurrection song. It is a rest that centres round the exclamation “It is finished!” rather than round the vision of a new world begun. Alike in the Old Testament and in the New, alike in its Judaic and in its Christian dress, the sabbath strikes one chord — the chord of memory. The spirit of the Lord’s day is the spirit of retrospective rest.

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