How strange to think of that white-haired man, severed from all he held most dear on earth, distressed with constant tears for the firmness of his repentant people, bearing in mind many beloved ones whom he yet hoped to see bowing down to the mild sceptre of Jesus, and whom daily he presented before the throne of God in prayer, and fearing ever for the steadfastness of the churches he had established in the midst of the idolatrous and unbelieving, and separated from all who through years of friendly companionship had grown very dear to him.
Well nigh seventy years had passed since John, in the vigor of his youth, had stood a horrified witness of the death of torture to which the Almighty Master had submitted; and there he was, having passed bravely through the raging sea of persecution, bearing up bravely under all the infirmities of age, heightened by a life of exposure and hardship, banished to an island where, we are not aware, was one congenial companion to cheer his lonely hours; compelled, after so many years of unceasing exertion, to what would at first, perhaps, seem a most wretched kind of rest.
A wretched rest? dreary loneliness? Ah, no! such peace, such joy as the most prosperous worldling never knew, made sweet and bright the days of that man’s exile!
God the Father watched over him, assuring him, in the hour when his mortal courage and strength utterly failed him, whispering “it is I! be not afraid!” God the Son, the exalted, glorified Friend, was, though invisible, ever nigh at hand! and John knew it, and as in a dream, he heard the echo of the words the Saviour had once spoken on earth, “Whatsoever ye ask the Father in my name, He will give it you.” And God the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, was ever near, sustaining and cheering with a power nothing less than Almighty.
Was he alone, then? Alone! God was with him, a Friend, a Companion, a Guide, a Consoler. Alone! Methinks in that banishment St. John could scarcely have learned the meaning of the word!
Considering the subject of the Revelation delivered to him, we are struck with the peculiar fitness attending all the circumstances of its delivery.
To whom were the mystical words given? Not to a youth brave-hearted, and fiery, whose feet were newly shod with the “preparation of the Gospel of Peace.” Not to a man who had served the Lord Jesus for a few troublous years, but to one who, from youth to extreme old age, had wrought in the fields of his Master, bearing with all patience and meekness, the burden and the heat of the day, and who now stood upon the very verge of the grave! Observe, too, the time that was chosen for the Revelation to be made. It was not while St. John was borne down by anxiety, and exposed every hour to danger, insult, and all that could distract his mind, but when far-removed from the scene of his labors, it was impossible for him to longer turn up the furrows of the field, or gather in the fruit ripe for the harvest. And the place! far removed from his home, surrounded by a quiet “deeper than silence is,” safe from persecution—away from the jarring sights and sounds of a busy world.
Beholding under such circumstances a vision so wonderful, so miraculous, listening for the first time to a voice whose sound was like the rushing of many waters, it is neither a very strange thing, nor the slightest evidence of a want of entire confidence and faith in God, that John fell as one dead at the feet of the Son of Man, whose countenance was like the sun shining in his strength.
Into that mystery of mysteries, the revelation of the Divine, it is not my purpose now to look.
Its deep things which remain yet unsolved, I cannot flood with light, and as regards much of the Revelation, far-reaching, keen, and subtle minds, have endeavored (with how much of success it were best each reader should determine for himself) to sweep back the clouds which hang around that declaration of things that have been.