There’s a fascinating scene that appears at the end of Matthew 19, in which Peter, speaking on behalf of the rest of the apostles, makes the same self-righteous claim that the “rich young ruler” made to Jesus’s face only a few moments prior. It’s this erroneous assertion by Christ’s disciples that leads him to tell, perhaps, the most intriguing and unsettling parable of the kingdom in all of Scripture.
There are several portions of the Bible, for one reason or another, that stand out from among the rest. These passages are usually ones we would call “pillars of the faith.” Such is what the first ten verses are of Ephesians 2, in which the apostle Paul relays a gloriously grandiose picture of God’s colossal gospel.
Whenever I hear a speaker open with the words, “Turn to the Book of Revelation,” I tend to get a little uneasy. I get nervous because I never know how that speaker is going to handle the mysterious material in the book. Oftentimes, the comfort derived out of Revelation is from “knowing what’s going to happen.” But, very plainly, that’s not even close to the comfort Jesus gives.
Mooring refers to something permanent or fixed to which a ship is secured. It’s what keeps a vessel protected from the perilous waves that could otherwise leave it adrift. The mooring is absolutely essential to the life of any seafaring vessel. Similarly, unless we are moored and fastened to something (Someone) permanent, we, too, will be tossed about, to and fro, in this life.
Sermons from the Book of Revelation tend to make me nervous. I squirm in my pew when I hear the words, “Turn in your Bible to the Book of Revelation.” This is usually because the speaker is about to “impress” with their eschatological knowledge and expertise. However, such trepidation at Revelation is unfounded, and such eschatological dot-connecting superfluous when you consider the first five words of the entire book.