The Revelation of True Worship

Worthy is the Lamb: Revelation 4 and 5

Shaped like an angel's wing, a harp naturally reminds us of the music of heaven--and with good reason. Yet if this is so, then we rarely hear anything approaching heavenly music. When was the last time you heard harp music--maybe at Christmas? Have you ever seen someone playing a harp in a live concert? Do you know any churches that feature harp music in the worship band? These should not be hypothetical questions if we study the text of Revelation 4 and 5--arguably one of the most misused passages in church music today.

With a little imagination, we might see a harp as a triangle hinting at the ingenious discovery that Aristotle articulated for the perfect flow of communication: the rhetorical triangle. Far from an academic exercise in phraseology or in manipulative persuasion, the rhetorical triangle is inescapable in daily life, for we all communicate every day--or, at least, we attempt to. According to Aristotle, however, the flow of true communication demands a perfect--or at least a healthy--balance of three rhetorical appeals, known in Greek as ethos, logos, and pathos.

Whether we are aware of these appeals or not, we all use them, and most people misuse them. For example, the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood disguises his ethos--his "credibility" and identity as the "speaker"--in the sheep's harmless wool--or, in this case, in Grandmother's clothing. His message (logos) to Little Red Riding Hood is that her grandmother is sick--but this is propaganda, not truth--disguised to deceive rather than to teach. And his pathos--his appeal to pity and emotion--is actually guilt falsely projected onto an innocent and completely vulnerable little girl.

But when we realize that a credible and trustworthy speaker's ethos serves as the origin of everything he says and does, we know that we can trust his message--his logos--as factual and true. And our response (pathos), as an audience with our own beliefs and emotions, is won by both the ethos and the logos of an honest speaker and his message. When one or more of the angles in this triangle is skewed, undue bias and propaganda result--something we often call "fake news" or "misinformation" or "spin." Tragically, much of what we hear today falls into these aberrations of communication, resulting in miscommunication.

Even more tragically, this skewed pattern is nowhere more evident than in modern worship. But rather than launch into yet another eye-rolling critique of the way things are--to stroll down a memory lane of the way they used to be--let us consider instead how they still are in heaven--for, after all, worship in heaven is a daily thing--if, that is--there are actual "days" in heaven.

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We need look no further than the template of worship set in Revelation 4 and 5--the scene of much unnecessary confusion in today's worship market. It might seem logical to expect any communication to begin with a speaker. If I pick up a note on the floor in my classroom, the first thing I want to know--after I read it, of course (and, if possible, aloud--to the delight of my class)--is who wrote it. We spent half the year one year trying to figure out who kept dropping sixth grade love notes in the back of the room during sixth period. I thought I recognized the handwriting and playfully asked him to invite me to the wedding--for I was quite sure the speaker of these notes was sitting right there in the audience hearing his passionate pleas read aloud. What is a message without a speaker? And who dropped the note? Most likely not the speaker but the audience--who rejected the message.

If we apply these simple details of daily life to the rigor of our study of heaven's message, we realize quite immediately that the most important angle of the rhetorical triangle is the speaker. We must understand his ethos if we are to take his message seriously. We know from our study of Revelation 4 and 5 that the speaker is God Himself. Exactly here, we must fact-check our thoughts in a text-first analysis, for strict accuracy does not record any message from God the Father sitting on His throne, or from the Lamb who stands in the midst of the throne, or from the seven Spirits of God who represent the fullness of the Holy Spirit. However, a closer look will reveal that out of God the Father's throne proceed lightnings and thunderings and voices (Revelation 4:5). What these voices say, John does not even record.

Factually, it is the scroll that must speak--and this scroll contains not only the clearest authorship of the Speaker--God the Father--but also the intent of His message in this holy scene. And who takes this scroll--written on both sides--from the hand of God the Father? God the Son, Jesus Christ the Word, who alone is worthy among anyone in heaven, on earth, or under the earth even to look upon the scroll, let alone to take it from the Father's hand. A common misread exactly here assumes that Christ opens the scroll, but He does not. The scroll is bound with seven seals, and as He later breaks the seals one by one in deliberate permission for the Tribulation timeline to unfold, He unleashes--not the contents of the scroll itself--but Satan's evil agenda against it, as hidden within each seal now broken (Revelation 6). This is, in fact, how we know that the scroll itself cannot be confused with the timeline of seals that allows its eventual unrolling.

But the scroll's yet-veiled message that is paradoxically delivered but not yet read can only be anticipated in jubilant suspense--exactly as the magnificent audience of witnesses is doing in supernatural synchrony like the movements of a symphony. The Lamb is praised three times for His worthiness to take the scroll and in ever-greater numbers: first, from an audience made up of the four beasts and the twenty-four elders singing a new song of praise to the Lamb who has "redeemed us to God by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation" (Revelation 5:9).

Second, ten thousands upon ten thousands of angels join the praise, saying the Lamb slain is worthy "to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing" (Revelation 5:11-12). Third, all creatures everywhere in heaven, on earth, under the earth, and in the sea and all that is in them give glory to "him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever" (Revelation 5:13). It is as if all creation from the sixth day of unmarred perfection is exulting in the Day of Rest, the Lord's Day--the Day of the Lord bringing final redemption from the curse of sin.

The ethos of the Lamb is thus far greater even than His death at Calvary, central though this is--and this is what most worship songs from this text miss. His authority as Judge is the focal point of human history, for this scene of the Lamb taking the scroll happens as if with judicial courtroom solemnity. There is no jury placing the Judge on trial--no choral query, "Is He worthy?" There is dismayed silence in heaven, broken only by John's bitter weeping--for no one steps up to take the scroll when the strong angel asks, "Who is worthy to open the book, and to loose the seals thereof?" (Revelation 5:2).

The suspense is unthinkable; the imagery, breathtaking: John is told that the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has prevailed, but when he turns to look, the Lion is a Lamb who "stood . . . as it had been slain" (Revelation 5:6). This Lion-Lamb stands even in being slain, for the Savior-Judge has prevailed to take the scroll. And yet even the Lamb remains silent in the eloquent majesty of His authority--authority won from unspeakable suffering.

Who sings about this? Have we not sanitized the logos of this scene in the many sentimental lip-service renditions given to it in contemporary worship music? Not one modern lyrical version of this scene includes the actual event that causes the worshippers' singing. To miss the logos of the scroll is to narrow the ethos of the Lamb who alone is worthy to take the scroll. If the scroll were but a timeline of judgments, an angel might have opened it. But our culture does not sing of the terrifying Lion-Lamb who judges sin. And because we do not know the silent Speaker who speaks by His silence, we miss what the scroll speaks, too, as God the Father hands the governance of Earth to His conquering Son. The title deed to Earth, written on both sides, speaks first of judgment--the seven trumpets and the seven bowls--to make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Even if no one sings about this today, this is exactly what the audience of heaven is singing about--for a million prophetic capillaries return to the heart of prophecy in this Day-of-the-Lord scene.

So we know who the Speakers are--God the Father speaks in holding the scroll; the Lion-Lamb speaks in taking the scroll out of the Father's hand with His own death-scarred hand; the seven Spirits of God speak, as it were, searching to and fro throughout the whole earth for a perfect heart to worship the Lord. We also know what the message is: the Day of the Lord is at hand in the Second Coming of Christ in all of His glory. And we know why the audience is worshipping: when the Lamb takes the scroll, He takes the government upon His shoulder, and evil will be routed at last. Yes, the conflict will climax in the bloodiest day on earth. But the battle between good and evil is inevitable, for the curse Eve tasted in experiencing the knowledge of good and evil must ultimately be reversed. To sanitize this scene of its Judgment Day reality is to falsify the entire purpose of the audience's worship. It is also, therefore, to sentimentalize that worship.

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If we wish to know the true worship of heaven, it is here revealed for all time, and we have no reason to believe that the twenty-four elders have ceased to worship the Lamb as He prepares to take the scroll--for we understand that John's vision of Him taking it has yet to be fulfilled, and the true jubilation over His having taken it has yet to occur. Yet around the throne those who are present with the Lord are indeed worshipping. What else could anyone do who is in the bosom of the Father? And we see that worship here for this unprecedented occasion sets a pattern for all true heavenly worship.

This is not a worship obsessed with styles or preferences, for we see clearly that the twenty-four elders specifically praise the Lord for redeeming an innumerable crowd of souls from every kindred, language, people, and nation. We would have to be naively rigid indeed if we expected every culture to worship in exactly the same manner. Scripture abounds--and the Psalms in particular--with methods of worship: clapping hands; tapping timbrels; plucking stringed instruments; shouting praise; making a joyful noise; giving offerings; and giving hearts of obedience--for the gift without the giver is bare indeed--as bare as Ephesus, whose worship seemed correct--more correct, that is, than Sardis or Laodicea or Thyatira or Pergamum.

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But what is absent from the worship here is every bit as striking for our modern audience as what is present. If we define this angle of the rhetorical triangle as the pathos of the audience's response, it is riveting, to say the least. This audience begins with the elite rulers of Christ's Kingdom-to-Come, and each is seated on a throne of his own and is wearing a crown and white raiment. These are the best of the best, many of whom have been sent to heaven with the swift executioner's sword, and yet what is absent? Names. And our generation's supposed confusion as to the elders' identity is no fault of the text, but we might say the confusion is worth it when we notice that there are no celebrities around the throne.

And that leads to the second thing absent in this glorious worship scene: there is no human-centered stage. The twenty-four elders, the four beasts, and the myriad angels surround the throne as the horizontal counterpart to the emerald rainbow vertically encircling the throne. The Lamb stands in the midst of the throne: Jesus Himself is the literal center of worship. Have we considered that? And what should we do about that? Some churches are indeed designed to hide the leader in a side stair. But I haven't seen that except in movies or pictures.

What else is missing is noise. We have a mix of singing, instruments, antiphonal speaking, and extremely loud choruses of well-timed praise, but we do not have noise. What is noise? Noise is not the same as volume. Noise is purposeless volume; volume that distracts and that draws attention away from the object of true worship. We worship the audience today--we are the audience, and we worship our celebrity leaders. This is true, and in our hearts we know this. Those of us who don't worship the leaders stand apart from the extroverted parade of personalities. Louder is not better. And we know this, too, because if you look around at megachurch audiences, most people do not appear to be singing. They are looking off as if they are bored of standing--far too much of the time.

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But what about what is present? We notice that the elders fall down--there is an involuntary response of humility in true worship. The popular song of a generation or two ago, "All Rise," has it wrong. At the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow and every tongue shall confess that He is Lord. But here, the greatest of the great fall down. Why is evangelical Christianity one of the few "faiths" that has virtually eliminated kneeling? I can't imagine why this is so. We don't even have the altar up front anymore.

And we have music. Real music. Every single one of the twenty-four elders has learned to play the harp. And our eyes glaze over and we yawn in guilty preoccupation and miss an entire world of beauty in just one word. First, this is a stringed instrument which must be tuned. This says a mouthful in itself--like the heart tuned to sing His praise. Then, playing the harp requires both hands working in perfect synchrony as if in mirror images of themselves in a way found with few other instruments on earth. And as each note is plucked, we hear an unearthly sound so soothing that our spirits find angels' wings to heaven on the harp's strings, and we wonder why we are so afraid to be quiet before the Lord. Is it because this true music of heaven confronts all the noise within our hearts and minds--the noise that never stops even in church?

Perhaps even more beautiful than this is that the harpist virtually embraces the harp as his body moves with the flowing instrument that stays rooted on the floor--larger than himself, ruling out all display of performance or affectation. If we have grown tired already of short-lived AI music blends that lull our senses with the smoothness of plastic on a sunburn, we might turn instead to a myriad of harp types and keys and discover the true beauty of disciplined sound that appeals to the intellect and to the spirit simultaneously. I did not find any drums in heaven. Although the Psalms frequently command worship using the tambourine and the timbrel which were percussive drums, the Levites did not permit the toph--the frame drum--inside Solomon's Temple. This instrument had its place in outdoor worship during victory celebrations and military parades.

In heaven, the battle has already been won, but not to put too literal a point on it, I find it immensely intriguing that harps are the instrument of choice amid creatures that sing. Angels do not sing--there is not a single verse of Scripture that says they do. But it is human beings who are playing the stereotypical angel's harp in heaven here. And it is human beings who are singing. Imagine the beauty of that alone--a twenty-four-voice male choir singing perhaps in four-part harmony. We have truly forgotten the beauty of this instrument alone--the vibration of the human vocal cords.

We see in this scene that our prayers have already gone ahead of us, and not one is lost as the elders raise these golden vials of the prayers of the saints. Imagine that--your most agonized breath turned into golden incense forever fragrant around the throne. I often listen to thirty-year-old cassette tapes of my father's preaching, and when he prays, I pray. It is as if his prayers have a perennial life of their own in the Holy Spirit who has borne each one to the throne.

And finally, we hear the song--the one that explodes with layered voices singing and speaking. We know the content of this song, but we must conclude where we begin: the ethos of this song is bound inextricably into its logos. The song is about Jesus, and this Lamb has been slain. Worship that has been sanitized and sentimentalized rarely even mentions Jesus. He has become the "You" or "He" in cross-over songs on K-LOVE Radio. But we must be intentional to name the name of Jesus--not as a talisman for our own power and magic, but as vitally connected to His finished work: the Cross. Do our songs today honor Jesus Himself? Do they honor the Cross? Do they speak of the Blood--and as more than a power we claim for our own ends? If we want the Lord present in our worship, we must know what we are singing about and Whom we worship. But we notice something else that is inescapable, and that is that this worship begins around God the Father's throne. He is the One who gave us Jesus. Yet modalism today has lost the distinctions of the Trinity which is clearly present here (Revelation 4:3, 5; 5: 6). To worship the Triune God aright is indeed true worship.

God's children have all eternity to worship Him, but we must tune our hearts today! Let's begin by joining in worship with the King's Harpists live from Jerusalem!