"After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, 'Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!'
And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, 'Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.'" [Revelation 7:9-12]
There's a song which, I will work up the nerve to admit, sometimes still gets stuck in my head once a snippet of the lyrics pops into my consciousness, even though it's been more than 20 years since its radio debut by a one-hit wonder named "Deep Blue Something." But something about the song, for all of its quintessentially mid-90s feel, still pulls me back to it.
It's a song about people on the verge of a break-up. The opening verse says,
"You'll say that we've got nothing in common
No common ground to start from,
And we're falling apart."
And despite the fact that the beloved in the song seem to think that they have no reason to stay together, the singer offers this reply in the refrain:
"And I said, 'What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?'
She said, 'I think I remember the film,
'And as I recall I think we both kind of like it.'
And I said, 'Well, that's the one thing we've got.'"
And so, the curious radio hit of 1995, "Breakfast at Tiffany's," goes. Even for people who have nothing else in common, there can be one thing that holds them together... or at least which has the possibility of holding them together. It's funny to me, that song, because I have seen that song catch on people's lips, too, when they hear it out in public. Others who can remember that song on the radio twenty years ago will join in mouthing the lyrics along if they catch it playing in the background of a restaurant or bar, or in the elevator somewhere or at a department store. Without anyone coming over the loudspeaker and saying, "We will now all sing mid-90s radio hits together," the words come back to us, and you will catch someone humming along, or singing, "Well, that's the one thing we've got," as Deep Blue Something plays over the air. Sometimes the song itself feels like the only thing I may have in common with the strangers at the store or in the restaurant.
I have been thinking about that song lately, because in a sense, we followers of Jesus can feel like we are often on the brink of coming unglued. There are so many ways we are different, so many different places we start from, and it can feel like, well, "like we're falling apart."
And I don't think I'm being overly dramatic here. Even in the New Testament itself, there is this stark admission that the people of Jesus are a hodge-podge of different ethnicities, classes, languages, and backgrounds, and from the beginning there has been a tension simmering, between "insider" and "outsider," "Jew" and "Gentile," and the many shades of humanity that have been gathered into this thing called "church."
After all, the people of Jesus come from everywhere. We come from every nation, every language, every culture, every place on earth. We are young and old, rich and poor, women and men, educated and uneducated, with every color, gender, size, and shape in the crowd. And perhaps sometimes we wonder how this ragtag band of people ever decided to stay together in the first place.
Now, it is interesting to note that, in the same time as the community of Jesus was beginning, there was another massively diverse institution around--the Roman Empire. And Rome also had to deal with a population of different languages, cultures, classes, and nationalities in the conquered peoples it ruled. And Rome's way of trying to maintain some semblance of cohesion was to force it from the top down. Roman soldiers would keep people in line and silence any talk of rocking the boat. Roman crosses would keep any would be revolutionaries fearful and afraid. Roman propaganda would keep people distracted by gladiator battles and impressive parades of triumph through the streets, so they wouldn't think to question the empire's rule. And Rome's leader, Caesar himself, would insist on shows of allegiance and devotion to the Empire, and to the Emperor itself. Roman flags and banners announced the Empire's presence everywhere, and Caesar set up temples to his own worship across the empire, insisting that everybody recognize Rome's authority, along with images of the majestic and fierce symbols of Rome like the wolf and the eagle. With its insistence that everyone in the Empire give allegiance to Caesar and his rule, Rome attempted to force unity from above, with shows of strength and military might, required homage to Caesar, and a propaganda blitz of banners and symbols and even a unifying color scheme of Roman red capes, flags, and insignias everywhere.
The people of Jesus, by stark contrast, had no such forced program of homogenous propaganda. We met, at first, in small groups scattered across different houses in a city, different towns within a region, all across the empire. We came from all sorts of different nationalities, languages, and backgrounds, and there was no one at the top threatening you with centurions. Something held the people of Jesus together that was even more powerful than Rome's weapons, threats, and waving imperial banners. Maybe it was only one thing that this diverse group called "church" had in common... but it was enough. All they had in common, of course, was Jesus.
And still, what binds the people of Jesus together, then, for all that immense diversity and otherness, is... Jesus.
Jesus, this One who is depicted as a Lamb in the throne room of heaven, this One who is somehow one with the God of the universe, is what all of those different faces "that no one could count" have in common. And because this Lamb, Christ, has saved us and claimed us and called us beloved, our voices can be brought together in praise and song. Jesus, the Lamb who seems precisely the opposite of the predatory Roman wolf and eagle, is the One who binds all these nations, all these languages, all these different backgrounds, together, without issuing a single threat and without a hint of propaganda to it.
And in a way, it's like the people of Jesus are a lived and enacted version of the Deep Blue Something song. Except, instead of an Audrey Hepburn movie as "the one thing we've got," the people of Jesus are bound together by the love of this One who has gone all the way to death for us and claims us all, across our various cultures and languages and places of origin. No forcing is necessary, no cajoling from the Emperor, and no distractions with "bread and circuses," either, as the Romans did. There is simply the love of this One who is the Slain-but-Living Lamb, and that love calls forth our response of thanks and praise.
It is love that leads the countless multitude there in the book of Revelation to cry out in praise, "Salvation belongs to our God, and to the Lamb!" It is love that leads them to fall on their faces in a posture of absolute adoration and to kneel before God in worship--not because it is commanded by a Caesar trying to enforce uniformity, but because when you have been first met with such self-giving love as the Lamb's, you cannot help but fall down in love.
And so because it is this Lamb, Jesus, and his love that binds us all together, the same song forms on the lips of this vast multitude. Nobody dictates from the heavenly throne room--no divine propaganda minister or angelic PR manager calls out, "Okay, everybody, we all have to sing it together now." None of Rome's antics to try and force an allegiance or love by fiat. There is simply the Love of the Lamb who has laid his life down, which binds all these beautifully different faces together, and then which puts the same song on their lips.
That is how it still is for the people of Jesus. There is an awful lot that is different about us, the people of Jesus through time and space. We come from different continents and languages, have different likes and dislikes, different opinions and customs, and Jesus does not compel uniformity of devotion--some pray with arms wide open and raised, while others kneel on padded kneelers in sanctuaries, while others sit in quiet silence praying without words. Jesus is the "one thing we've got," and his love calls forth our praise. And that is enough. That has always been enough.
Being the church in this day means recognizing who should, and should not, get our allegiance, and how such allegiance is called forth. Will it be the top-down decrees of a Caesar trying to fool himself into believing the masses are all behind him with mandated imperial worship? Or will it be the power of Love that lays down its life for us in all of our different-ness and other-ness, which proves enough to hold us together and call forth our praise?
And if we dare to allow Jesus the Lamb to hold us together simply with his love, then can we dare to accept that Jesus loves us in all of our diversity, too? It seems, after all, that even in the great climax of the heavenly throne room, we will still be from every nation and language and tribe and people. It seems, in fact, that this has been God's intention all along.
And it seems, as well, that the living Jesus himself believes that is enough, even if it feels like "that's the one thing we've got."
Lord Jesus, hold us in your love, and let our praise and allegiance come back to you in thankful devotion for all you have done to save this whole fractured world.
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