A Short Hot Take About the Book of Revelation (or "Rapture? Frankly It's Crapture!")

Before I go deep diving into the biography of the one called Jesus, I want to take a little side trip to one of the more complicated destinations in Christian literature. Indulge me, if you will.

No two ways about it: the last book of the New Testament is bonkers. Full-tilt, bull goose loony. My pals at Red Star Ministry aptly -- and accurately -- referred to it as "a clusterfuck of symbols with no real connection to anything material." Most Christians politely ignore it, even the Catholic Church, except of course for fundamentalist (typically right-wing) nut jobs who view it -- and tout it, frequently -- as a blueprint for how Christ will come back someday and vindicate their every prejudice, whim, and act of seething hatred.

I'm not here to speculate about the origin. Anyone who has used "magic" mushrooms or "psychedelic" drugs such as LSD or peyote can instantly recognize the content of Revelation for what it is: John of Patmos appears to have had the mother of all bad trips and recorded it for posterity. (Hey, read the Book of Ezekiel if you think that is an unlikely possibility for ancient Jews.)

I'm also not here to discuss who wrote it or what it means. Red Star, for example, has a theory, based in part on the text's terrible grasp of Koine Greek, that it was written by a poor Christian with no formal academic training to scare rich, complacent Christians straight, designed to shame those who collaborated with Roman power and to assure fellow believers at the time that their suffering (which scholars, without adding the Marxist reading to it, have pinpointed as being the persecution under the emperor Nero, specifically) was not evidence of the defeat of their movement, but rather, that it was "all part of the plan," so to speak.

It's an excellent theory that makes a lot of sense, especially when you consider it was likely born from Christianity's early years as an apocalyptic cult that believed Jesus was coming back, the Kingdom of God in tow, any minute now. Literally. Be it tomorrow or after lunch, it would be imminent. In such a setting, a book like Revelation would be a highly effective tool for that purpose (and still is, if you're honest about the fact that you're using it that way though it may not have been intended as such). But that theory is not what I'm here to write about today.

Here's something you may not have known if you didn't go to seminary or study theology: namely, how many church fathers said "LOL NOPE" to Revelation when assembling the accepted canon of the New Testament. No less a prominent early church historian than Eusebius of Caesarea records that some rejected it and others received it (he was on the "keep it" side). Among those who rejected it:

• Cyril, Bishop of Jerusalem
• The Council of Laodicea, convened before the more well-known Council of Nicea
• Gregory of Nazianzus, Bishop of Constantinople
• Philastrius, Bishop of Brixia in Venice
• The Apostolic Canons, approved by the Eastern Orthodox Council in Trullo in 692

To mention just a few.

Chief among the reasons were doubts concerning its authorship and unusual style, as well as its ready acceptance by several groups deemed heretical (e.g., the Montanists), which was a point against it in this early era of figuring out how to punish said heretics. This distrust persisted in the West through the 15th century, and to this day, some groups that derive from the Church of the East (a/k/a the East Syriac Church) continue to reject it.

Frankly, if you ask me, why wouldn't they? Whatever meaning one ascribes to it, real or imagined, it's a Bronze Age horror story, possibly written in a code the modern world no longer understands. None of it has any rhyme or reason. Something about a dragon, something else about floods of blood and earthquakes, political stakes, salvation, a sword-swallowing telekinetic madman, and a woman with a tail like a comet wearing the night sky giving birth while flying. Whatever Jesus was, he probably never envisioned himself coming back to life a hundred feet tall, able to fly, mowing down the armies of Satan with laser eyes and a fiery sword. 

And, apart from being a weird sci-fi revenge fantasy for some of its modern readers, it doesn't have shit to do with shit, by which I mean the word "irrelevant" doesn't begin to cover it:

• Nothing within it reflects the teachings of Jesus, or, frankly, his followers. (Not even Paul was this unhinged in his puritanism.)
• It has zero application to today's church, outside of that Regina George-reminiscent "burn book" addressed to six of the seven churches to whom Revelation was sent at the beginning, which may be useful if you're a pastor trying to galvanize your complacent congregation into action, or those poetic passages that pop up in the lectionary when you meditate on the Second Coming during Advent because the literary value is still important.
• It's a very weird, largely inaccessible, fundamentally misanthropic document rooted in hatred of adversaries, and crystallization of anger. (No wonder fundies love it so damn much.)

So what am I advising? Ignore it, like every other cafeteria Christian. If it doesn't apply to you, put it the hell away, and for crying out loud, stop using it for crystal ball-gazing. To the extent one views it as an allegory about the persecution early Christians were suffering, the only purpose it serves today is to reiterate that "the more things change, the more they stay the same."

If you don't believe me, that's totally fine, but one final point in my favor, if you please: speaking as both a writer and a reader, the Bible, as we know it, is perfectly whole and complete without it. Consider the final words of the Epistle of Jude (I'll use the NRSV pretty much every time, in case you're a translation maven):

But you, beloved, build yourselves up on your most holy faith; pray in the Holy Spirit; keep yourselves in the love of God; look forward to the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life. And have mercy on some who are wavering; save others by snatching them out of the fire; and have mercy on still others with fear, hating even the tunic defiled by their bodies.

For one thing, it reads just fine as closure. Can't argue with what seems like a logical ending to what came before it. It's more human as well, more grounded in reality (to the extent anything in the New Testament is). It's the answer to the question these people faced at the time. 

"Okay, look, maybe Jesus isn't right around the corner. So what do we do?"

The best any of us can do: hang in there, even if by your thumbs, because there's a better day a-comin'. Root your meditations and your actions in hope and love for those around you, even when they fuck up. If it helps you to do so, keep the faith.

Whether you're a believer or not, I think you'll agree that's more important, more necessary, and more relevant than anything you'll find in the Book of Revelation.

But... but... what about the Rapture?

Right, right, the Rapture. For those who don't know or have only heard the term but not the context, a) congratulations on not being subjected to the Left Behind series, and b) the explanation: certain evangelical Christians believe this is when all believers, past and present, will rise into the sky and join Jesus for eternity at the end of time, based in part on their interpretation of this book. A literal union with him, if you will. If you think that's a thing that'll happen, I have waterfront property in the Mojave that's an absolute steal, and it can be yours if you act fast!

If you need the promise of heaven or the threat of hell to be a good person, you're not a good person. You're a bad person on a leash. But assuming that isn't the case, and believing in some form of the Rapture is really important to you, then consider the dictionary definition of rapture for a second: a feeling of intense pleasure or joy. 

Isn't that how you felt when you personally awakened to Christ's message? 

Isn't that (one would hope) how you usually feel when you gather together with your siblings in faith?

Re-define the Rapture to be about something that does happen, that is happening -- for you -- right now: the bliss, the beatitude, the joyful ecstasy when one or two are gathered in his name. Far more positive than shitting on your enemies. After all, if you love only those who love you, what reward have you?