A Sermon for Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
10 August 2025
Series:
Revelation: An Unveiling for Our Times
Revelation 5.1–14; John 1.29–31
Grace and peace to you,
from the one who is and who
was and who is to come.
Today we stand before one of
the most breath-taking visions in all of Scripture.
Revelation 5 is not just a text
to be read.
It is a drama to be witnessed.
A vision to enter.
A reality to shape our
imaginations and our loyalties.
It is, quite simply, an
unveiling.
Because Revelation, as we’re
discovering in this series,
is not a coded prediction of
future disasters.
It is an apocalypse in the original sense—a revealing.
It rips away the veil that
empire would drape over our eyes.
It shows us the world as God
sees it.
And it calls us to live accordingly.
A couple of weeks ago, we began
this journey
with John’s opening vision of
Christ as the faithful witness,
the firstborn of the dead, the
ruler of the kings of the earth.
Today we move deeper into the
throne room of heaven.
Revelation 5 continues a scene
that began in chapter 4,
where John is summoned through
an open door
to see “what must take place.”
He is shown the true centre of
the universe: a throne.
Not Rome’s throne.
Not Caesar’s palace.
But the throne of God.
Surrounded by living creatures,
elders,
thunder and lightning, singing
day and night:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord
God Almighty, who was and is and is to come.” (4.8)
This is the context for chapter
5.
Because if Revelation 4
declares God’s sovereignty over creation,
Revelation 5 reveals God’s
plan to redeem it.
John sees in the right hand of
the one seated on the throne a scroll.
It is written on the inside
and on the back, sealed with seven seals.
Scholars have debated endlessly
what exactly the scroll represents,
but one thing is clear:
It contains the divine plan.
God’s redemptive purposes for
history.
The answer to the question:
How will God address evil,
suffering, injustice?
It is, if you like, the script
of salvation.
But there is a problem.
John says, “I saw a mighty
angel proclaiming with a loud voice,
‘Who is worthy to open the
scroll and break its seals?’” (5.2)
This is the question:
Who is worthy to reveal God’s
plan?
Who is fit to enact God’s
justice?
Who can bring history to its
true goal?
And no one is found.
No one in heaven or on earth or
under the earth.
And so John begins to weep
bitterly.
And I want us to pause here.
Because this is one of the most
honest moments in all of Scripture.
John is not a distant observer
of celestial visions.
He is a pastor.
A prophet.
A human being who knows his
world is broken.
And when he sees no one worthy,
he weeps.
He weeps for his churches in
Asia Minor, struggling under the shadow of Rome.
He weeps for martyrs who have
died for their faith.
He weeps for a world where evil seems unchallenged,
where empire seems unending,
where hope seems impossible.
John’s tears are our tears.
And we don’t have to look far
to find reasons to weep.
We live in a world where
children go to bed hungry
while billionaires race to
build private rockets.
We live in a world where
refugees drown at sea
while borders close and hearts
harden.
A world where the climate
crisis accelerates,
and those least responsible
suffer the most.
Where systemic racism, sexism,
ableism, and homophobia
persist in structures meant to
serve all.
We live in a world where wars
rage, families are shattered,
and the innocent pay the
price.
We know these things.
They are not distant
abstractions.
They are our neighbours.
They are our headlines.
We weep for Ukraine and Gaza
and Sudan.
We weep for those sleeping on
our streets.
We weep for the violence done to the earth.
We weep for racism and
injustice and cruelty that seem to have no end.
These are the wounds of our
city and our planet.
And like John, sometimes all
we can do is weep.
Because we see that no one
seems worthy to fix this.
No political leader who will
truly choose justice over power.
No system that can truly reform itself.
There is no ‘plan’ that does
not compromise with empire’s logic.
And we know our own complicity,
too.
We see the ways we benefit
from injustice, even as we lament it.
We see our limits, our failures, our fear of sacrifice.
It is right to weep.
It is faithful to lament.
Revelation does not rush past this moment.
John’s tears are holy.
They name the truth that
empire wants to hide:
That things are not as they should be.
That the world is broken.
That we cannot save ourselves.
But Revelation does not leave
us there.
It does not silence our
weeping, but responds to it.
“Do not weep,” says the elder.
Not because there is nothing to
grieve,
but because there is one
who is worthy.
There is one who does not
conquer through violence, but through love.
One who bears the wounds of
empire rather than inflicting them.
One who takes away the sin of the world
not by demanding sacrifice,
but by becoming the sacrifice.
This is our hope:
Not in our own power, but in
the Lamb who was slain.
Not in the strategies of empire, but in the faithfulness of God.
Not in avoiding the cross, but
in trusting resurrection.
And so the vision turns.
The elder says to John:
“Do not weep. See, the Lion of
the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered so that he can open the
scroll and its seven seals.” (5.5)
We expect power.
We expect might.
We expect the Lion.
But John looks—and what does he
see?
“Then I saw a Lamb standing as
if it had been slaughtered.” (5.6)
Not a Lion roaring in conquest.
But a Lamb who has been slain.
This is the heart of
Revelation.
This is the scandal of
Christian faith.
God’s answer to evil is not
greater violence.
God’s answer to empire is not
a rival empire.
God’s answer to power is not
more power.
God’s answer is the Lamb.
Slaughtered.
Yet standing.
Alive.
Victorious through
vulnerability.
Here we are offered an alternative
image that purifies our imagination.
Rome’s images were everywhere
in the first-century world:
- Eagles and standards.
- Statues of Caesar.
- Coins proclaiming his divinity.
- Triumph arches celebrating military conquest.
They all shouted: Power is
violence. Power is domination. Power is fear.
But John offers a different
image.
A Lamb.
Slain.
Yet alive.
Worthy.
This is the vision Revelation
wants to burn into our hearts.
Because the Lamb reveals the
true nature of God.
Not distant.
Not indifferent.
Not a cosmic tyrant.
But one who enters into
suffering.
Who bears the wounds of
empire.
Who refuses to conquer by the sword,
but conquers through the
cross.
It’s here that our companion
text from John’s Gospel speaks so powerfully:
“Behold the Lamb of God who
takes away the sin of the world.”
John the Baptist’s words are
prophetic.
Because the sin of the world is
not just personal failure.
It is the whole system of
violence, exploitation,
idolatry, and empire that
crushes life.
And Jesus comes not to
reinforce it, but to take it away.
Not by killing his enemies.
But by forgiving them.
Not by demanding sacrifice.
But by becoming the sacrifice.
Revelation 5 then shows the
heavenly response to the Lamb.
The living creatures and elders
fall before him.
They sing a new song:
“You are worthy to take the
scroll and to open its seals,
for you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God
saints from every tribe and language and people and nation;
you have made them to be a kingdom and priests serving our God.” (5.9-10)
Notice the logic:
- Worthiness is not in might, but in sacrifice.
- Redemption is not for one nation, but for all
nations.
- The result is not a new empire, but a kingdom of
priests.
This is profoundly political.
Because it challenges every
system that divides, exploits, excludes.
It challenges every boundary
we draw between us and them.
It challenges the assumption that violence is necessary,
that domination is natural,
that security requires
oppression.
It says: There is another way.
The way of the Lamb.
John’s vision culminates in
cosmic worship.
Countless angels sing:
“Worthy is the Lamb that was
slaughtered
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
and honour and glory and blessing!” (5.12)
Every creature in heaven and on
earth and under the earth joins in:
“To the one seated on the
throne and to the Lamb
be blessing and honour and glory and might forever and ever!” (5.13)
This is not escapist fantasy.
It is resistance literature.
Because worship is political.
To say worthy is the Lamb
is to say Caesar is not.
To worship the slain Lamb is
to refuse to worship the beast.
To sing this song is to train our hearts to see the world as God sees it.
We need this liturgical and visionary
purification of our imaginations.
Because empire still trains our
imaginations.
- Advertising tells us our worth is in what we buy.
- Politicians tell us security requires walls and
weapons.
- Economies tell us the earth is a resource to be
plundered.
- Media tells us violence is entertainment.
Revelation says: Look again.
See the Lamb.
Worship the Lamb.
Follow the Lamb.
But let’s be honest:
following the Lamb is not the
path of prestige or ease.
It is profoundly
countercultural—even here, even now.
Because our world still rewards
the roar of the lion
more than the vulnerability of
the Lamb.
We live in a city of ambition,
competition,
branding, and self-promotion.
We are told daily that success
is power,
wealth is security, and image
is everything.
The logic of empire is subtle.
It does not always come with
legions and banners.
Sometimes it comes with
advertising slogans,
corporate strategies, and political
soundbites.
It promises us peace but
demands our complicity.
It offers us comfort at the
cost of someone else’s suffering.
It normalises injustice and numbs compassion.
To follow the Lamb means
refusing those lies.
It means asking hard questions
about how we live, spend,
vote, work, worship.
It means acknowledging
where we have benefited from
systems of oppression.
It means choosing solidarity
over safety,
truth over convenience,
sacrifice over self-interest.
It also means letting ourselves
be changed.
Because the Lamb is not just a
model to admire but a Lord to obey.
He calls us not to dominate
but to serve.
Not to repay violence with
violence but to seek peace.
Not to exclude but to welcome.
Not to fear death but to trust resurrection.
And this calling is not just
for individuals.
It is for us as a community.
What would it mean for
Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church
to be known as a people of the
Lamb?
A community that embodies the
politics of the cross?
A congregation that sings a
different song in the heart of empire?
It would mean shaping worship
that forms our imagination
away from empire’s values.
It would mean nurturing
relationships
that resist isolation and
commodification.
It would mean working for
justice
not as an optional add-on but
as core to our calling.
It would mean opening our doors
and our hearts
to those the world excludes.
Friends, this is the invitation
Revelation offers.
Not an escape from the world
but an unveiling of its truth
—and a summons to live
differently.
Not fear of the future but
faithfulness in the present.
Not allegiance to the beast but
worship of the Lamb.
And friends, this is our
calling.
We are not spectators of this
vision.
We are participants.
We are the kingdom of priests
the Lamb has ransomed.
We are the community that
witnesses to another way of being human.
We are called to resist empire’s lies and embody the Lamb’s truth.
This might look like welcoming
the stranger when the world builds walls.
It might look like refusing the
logic of violence
in our speech, our politics,
our policies.
It might look like sharing our
resources generously in a world of greed.
It might look like telling the
truth even when it costs us.
It might look like worship that
shapes our ethics,
prayer that fuels our action,
and community that practices
forgiveness.
It will not be easy.
Because the Lamb was slain.
And we too may face cost, loss, and misunderstanding.
But John says that the Lamb
stands.
Resurrected.
Victorious.
And so will God’s purposes.
So let us behold the Lamb.
Let us weep with John over a
broken world.
But let us also hear the angel
say: Do not weep.
See the Lamb.
Let us join the song of heaven.
Let us refuse the worship of
empire.
Let us be, even now, a kingdom of priests serving our God.
For worthy is the Lamb that was
slain.
Worthy is the Lamb to receive
our loyalty, our love, our lives.
To him be blessing and honour
and glory and might forever and ever.
Amen.
