“Call forth. Consecrate the people for war. Wake the strong. Draw near. Go up, every man, to war” (Joel 3.9).
The prophet Joel paints a picture of the coming Day of the Lord. It is the moment when judgment will come to every nation of the world following the great and terrible final battle in which those who dare stand against God and those chosen are defeated soundly.
Since the middle ages we’ve called passages like this apocalyptic. They present the world as it will be—a vivid picture of the events at the end of time. This, they tell us, is the way the world ends—in blood and pain. Apocalypse has come to stand for the end of all things.
But the original meaning of the word in English hews closer to its Greek origins. Apokalypsis, where our modern apocalypse is derived, means an unveiling, an uncovering. It is, to borrow from the last book of the Bible, a revelation. Knowledge that has been hidden or obscured is, at last, made known to everyone.
Passages such as this are not so much about the end of the world but about understanding something previously ignored, of realizing some truth that we have overlooked. It is a moment to understand where we’ve gone wrong, what we have not seen and seek change.
The third chapter of the book of Joel appears to show the heretofore hidden knowledge of the coming end of time. It unveils a day when those who saw their way of life destroyed, their land desecrated receive their revenge. Through the actions of the Holy One, they shall be proved right and just. In a last, great battle they will field an army that will leave their enemies bloodied in defeat.
But what if this vision is, itself, a revelation of something more? What if there’s a truth that’s waiting for us to peel back the layer of what we believe about the world and about God?
Again and again in these apocalyptic visions, we see a Deity as violent as ourselves. We see a God whose anger can only be sated by an earth turned muddy with the blood of humanity. Revenge, it appears, is a holy act to be brought down upon those God despises.
But if we peel back this cover, we find beneath the God who stood between stones and a woman accused of adultery. We hear the words of One who gave new sight to a man who stood by when similar stones fell on Stephen. There stands the One who has no desire to condemn the world.
Perhaps, amidst these scenes we are called to see the blood of an innocent man beneath a darkened midday sky. Instead of victory over our enemies, we see an act of mercy and love greater than any army. Maybe we’re mean to see the horror our weapons and our hands can unleash, the depths of the wounds we can cut.
And then to reach out and touch the hands and side that bear the scars.
Merciful One, you told those close to you to put away their swords. Yet, we who follow you have left bloody trails throughout history. Worse, I can still feel a little thrill when reading passages that predict the fall and defeat of those I call enemies. Help me remember that the most powerful weapon is love, the greatest victory is in mercy, and that binding wounds is always greater than causing them.