Hymns in the Apocalypse

I was about to write my next entry on the Apocalypse when the new issue of Worship arrived in the mail. Worship is one of the leading academic journals about liturgy and liturgical studies; it always has essays and book reviews that fascinate and illuminate. There was an essay in this issue about liturgical hymnography and look what I discovered: a mention of liturgical hymns in the Apocalypse!

The portrayal of the heavenly liturgy in the Book of Revelation features many hymns that must surely reflect the worship experience of the author and intended audience. Again, they are clearly in a psalm style and their diction mines the Psalter extensively, but they would also have been immediately recognized as a “send-up” of the hymns commissioned for the imperial cult. Take, for example, Revelation 11:17-18.

We give you thanks, O Lord God, the sovereign over all (pantokrator) who are and who were, that you have taken your great power and begun to reign. (Rev. 11:17)

The Christians of the seven churches in the Roman province of Asia would have immediately recognized this as a parody of the acclamations of the divinized Roman Emperor sung at the imperial festivals that were a regular feature of life in their cities.

(Margaret Daly-Denton, “Instilling the Word” in Worship (July 2021), pp. 200-201.

In the Apocalypse, not only do we encounter the history of the Church and the wonderful works of God’s power (told over and over, from a variety of perspectives), we also encounter the Christians thumbing their noses at the imperial power hell-bent on destroying them.

We should remember that as St. Paul and other New Testament authors were urging the Christians to “obey the civil authorities” and “Give unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” it was those same civil authorities and the same imperial policies that were actively putting the Christians to death; the same authorities that were to be obeyed were making martyrs.

Modern Christians who urge cooperation with civil authorities when they think the authorities will legislate in their favor and resistance when they don’t care for the civil policies, quoting those New Testament authors, should remember that: submission to civil authorities was first and foremost given to civil authorities that oppose everything the Church stands for.

Early Christian political theory can be summed up in one sentence: Don’t give your enemies any more reason to arrest you than they already have.

A New Song

The seventh angel of the Apocalypse (illumination approx. 1180)

And they sang a new song, saying: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.” (Apocalypse 5:9)

The angels lead the singing of the “new song” around the Throne of God. Several times, the “new song” is mentioned in the Apocalypse, together with many other “new” things — a new name, a new heaven and a new earth, the New Jerusalem. These “new” things are not simply more recent than what they replace but are different in quality as well. The “newness” is a description of their character and purity as well as their permanence. They will not be replaced or supplanted, much like the “new covenant-testament” established by Christ at the Last Supper.

The psalms frequently mention a “new song” as well — Psalms 33, 40, 96, 98, 144, 149. Again, the “new song” is an eschatological hymn, a song to be sung at the End of Days when God’s people are vindicated and God’s final triumph is celebrated. But what is the “old song” that the new one is being contrasted with? The “old song” — maybe, the “first song” is a better way to describe it–is the Song of Miriam and Moses that God’s people sang on the shore of the Red Sea after escaping from Egypt. This song that celebrates the Exodus is also a celebration of God’s victory and the vindication of his people; it is a dress rehearsal for the victory God will win over his cosmic enemies at the End of Days.

During the Middle Ages, it was common for rabbis to identify the “old-first song” as the song sung when King Solomon dedicated the Temple in Jerusalem and the “new song” being that which was sung when the Temple was rebuilt and rededicated after the people returned from exile in Babylon. This can also be understood as a hymn sung to celebrate God’s deliverance of his people from their enemies and his re-establishment of them in the Promised Land.

Thy Rod and Thy Staff

Mary, the Mother of God, is identified with the Bride in the Song of Songs. As the bride, she is also the Church. Through her consent to bear Christ and through the prayers of the Church, Christ is in the midst of his people who can approach him in the Cup which overflows with blessing (Psalm 23).

Thy rod and thy staff, they have comforted me. (Psalm 23) The great King David tells us that this rod causes a consolation, not a wound. Indeed, it is by this rod and staff that the divine table is prepared and all these other details as well: oil for the head, a cup of unmixed wine (for sober intoxication), the mercy of God that follows us so well, a long dwelling in the house of the Lord. These are the blessings implied by that sweet striking…. hence, that striking must be a good thing since it produces such an abundance of grace…. the divine rod, or staff, that brings comfort and cures by striking is the Spirit…. This shows us that the wounding of the bride, by which her veil is stripped off, is a grace. In this way the soul’s beauty is unveiled and not hidden under the mantle of darkness. (St. Gregory of Nyssa, On the Song of Songs)

Psalm 23 is associated with the Eucharist because not only does King David describe the table that the Lord prepares and the cup of blessing but because King David is said to have composed this psalm when he was hiding from King Saul, who was intent on murdering him. Hiding in the dry Judean wilderness, and on the brink of death without food or drink, he was miraculously saved by God, who nourished him with a taste of the World to Come. David gratefully burst out in song, describing the magnitude of his trust in God.

According to the traditional Jewish interpretation of the psalm, David alludes to how God provided for the Jews’ every need throughout their 40-year sojourn in the desert, and to how they will sing when God brings them back to the Promised Land; David sings, not just for himself, but for every Jew.

As Christians, we understand how King David sings for each of us as well, as we taste the food of the World to Come: the Bread of heaven and the Cup of salvation. We often read Psalm 23 either in thanksgiving after the Eucharist or in preparation before the celebration of the Eucharist.

St. Gregory of Nyssa points out that the rod and staff mentioned in the psalm are the sufferings of the faithful by which God strikes us in order to help us become more spiritually beautiful. Just as David was struck by affliction–running for his life and hiding in the desert as he and his followers nearly starved to death–we are also struck by various afflictions that are certainly hard to see as “good” as we experience them but which we can see later to have enabled us to experience the presence of God afresh. More deeply. More profoundly.

In some liturgical practices, these sufferings that lead us to experience God anew are summarized in the striking of the chest at the beginning of the Eucharist and again just before approaching Holy Communion. (St. Jerome remarked that the reason we strike our chest, rather than any other body part, is because the heart is the seat of all desires and it’s our desire to do our own will that causes suffering by dividing us most from the will of God.)

The shepherd’s staff–the Spirit of God–both wounds and heals. The wounds come, whether we want them or not. It is our choice to see them as the opportunity for healing.