When Elaine Pagels describes the writer of these words in Revelation 5:11-14, she describes him “pacing restlessly along the sea by day and lying awake at night.” She elaborates in her book Revelations that this is a guy that is so “horrified by the slaughter of so many of his people by Rome” that he dreams his frustrated cries are sung by angels, living creatures and elders. A guy that dares to dream that in the middle of so much slaughter, hope can come. 

Hope can be revealed in seals and dragons and horsemen and whores and blaring trumpets. Because hope is worthy. Hope is what is revealed upon that throne as we lift our voices to name those things that are filled with blessing, honor and glory. In our worship and our praise, lifted sometimes in song, we get a glimpse of the world that we dream could be. All of those other things that might claim our hope fade away. 

It’s what an apocalypse does. That hope that we couldn’t see gets uncovered. That vision that was hidden is revealed. That dream is unveiled. For this particular writer so horrified by slaughter it comes with some very bizarre images — metaphors that we would probably not choose. But, it is the same hope. It is that hope that was and is and will be.

I’m reminded of this poem that swirled around social media several Advents ago when the pandemic was still raging. We are in another kind of chaos right now in the United States of America, another time when it is hard to imagine what is worthy. Or even what hope might feel like and so I’m wondering how we gather in that hope that is worthy of our praise.

The poem might be read first or might be the following element in worship or it might lead to signing a song like this one or a more familiar one.

Inspired by Revelation 5:11-14 

Looking and listening together
to hear the sounds of angels
and some other fantastical creatures
assuring us that we are worthy. 
We listen. 

We wait for that affirmation 
that feels far off amid the cacophony 
of so much shock and awe.
We are still listening. 

Not for bird calls
or anything with feathers
that might assure us that hope 
is worthy. This is a grittier, nastier
sort of moment that requires 
dragging our spirits through 
the sewers of despair
to find hope again.
We are listening. 

I hope this gathering prayer might be a beginning to exploring the weird and wonderful world in the Revelation from John this Easter Season. If you use these prayers, and I hope you do, I hope that you will give me credit somewhere in your bulletin or worship slide by adding “created by Elsa Anders Cook from Cooking with Elsa (cookingwithelsa.org)."