The Revelation of John is written to a place in history where believers were being persecuted and suffering was all around.  It is assumed that the writer of this text is performing a very important pastoral duty orientating the persecuted and suffering people toward the hope of Jesus Christ.  And I imagine that part of the hope was that God’s triumph would come in the form retributive justice; holding the oppressors responsible for their actions.  What makes this interesting for me, is that, if I draw the meaning of this scripture, in the framework of our own context, than more often than not, I would be the oppressor.  I am a person of privilege.  I am white, I am male, I am heterosexual, I am able bodied, able-mind, and have generations of financial stability to lean on.  The social structure of my time floods my door with more resources than I can use, and no matter how bad I feel about my privilege, no matter how much I try to transcend it, the system isn’t going to stop benefiting me for reasons that I am not responsible for.  I bring my privilege to this scripture, and the message I hear is a call for reorientation, a call for willing priestly servants.

The Revelation of John reminds us to be orientated towards God, even amidst suffering, even if we have caused the suffering.  For the oppressors, this orientation causes us to recognize a new king, who transcends privilege by offering freedom from sin to ALL people.  And out of that unity God calls us to service in creating a new kingdom.  God has prepared this kingdom for all believers, and with it comes both the joy and the responsibility of serving as God’s priests.  In these acts God does that incredible thing of reconciliation.  Bringing privileged and oppressed to the same table and offering us communion with each other and with God’s self.

This type of reorientation takes more than a lifetime to perfect, and often is slow work done through the soft movement of the Spirit.  But there are times when the brokenness and persecution of our society is clear, and the opportunity for orientation is abundantly available.  I recently experienced a situation like this on the rails of Chicago’s public transit, where all things are possible.  A friend, my wife, and I entered a train on the way home from a dinner party, and it was clear that something was up.  We, unfortunately, timed our travel with the end of a Cubs game and the cars were packed with fans; some were drunk, and most were restless due to another disappointing Cubs season.  The crowded car was made more volatile by a woman who was screaming obscenities into her cell phone.  The people in the trained egged her on, and yelled out their own foul language adding to the tension.  Soon it was clear the woman wasn’t really on her phone; she was screaming, swearing, and arguing with people who were only present in her own mind.  While I am not a doctor, I assume she was having something similar to a schizophrenic break.  Even though it was becoming clear that the woman was dealing with mental illness; the crowd mentality was set, and the behavior of the people around us grew worse.

We were amidst the persecution just as the churches in Revelation.  And although we were not saying anything derogatory to the woman; our privilege anchored us with the side of the persecutors.  We felt bad for her, I felt the familiar guilt which comes from privilege, and I wanted for it to stop; but no matter how much I sympathized; she was the oppressed and I was not.  She was searching for hope, searching to make it out of this ill-deserved persecution; while my hope was secure, because I had the ability to blend in, to get off at my stop, and to go about my way.

The crowd continued to mock her, and seemed in agreement that her new name was crazy “lady”, and by “lady” I mean the offensive swear word of your choice.  And as her suffering grew the potential for reorientation became powerfully clear.  As an oppressor I could have used my privilege to call my peers under a new kingship.  Under Christ’s kingdom we could not deny the humanness or this woman’s suffering.  We could have joined together, and helped her receive the medical attention she needed.  Once healthy we could have brought her out of the isolation she experienced as the oppressed and dealt with our own ignorance and guardedness; which kept us from seeing her as one of the beloved.  We could have joined in priestly service, but we passed it up.  We needed reorientation.

Later that evening my wife looked at me and asked, “Where was Christ on that train?”  If I take the text from Revelation seriously, it seems that Christ was in the suffering of the woman.  No doubt the Spirit was also desperate to take form in a priestly servant, but no one was willing.  Many of us on the train probably wished it had gone differently, because we all left isolated.  But hopefully the lesson was learned, at least by me, and in the next moment when reorientation is knocking at my door, I pray that I will work to fulfill God’s kingdom by becoming a priestly servant.  By bringing about justice and reconciliation through Jesus Christ, whose faithful witness and love for us frees us from our sins, AND gives us another chance.  Because of my privilege, I am often going to find myself on the side of the persecutor, but my hope is that I will become a willing servant and with the power of Christ a new kingdom will take form.  May it be so in my heart and may it be so in yours.