The theme of holy war plays a major role in Jewish eschatology and particularly in the apocalypses, in the form of the Divine Warrior’s defeat of his enemies, a theme which Yarbro Collins considers ‘the basic principle of composition in the Apocalypse.’119 Bauckham notes, however, a shift towards a more ‘forensic’ interpretation in the post- destruction apocalyptic literature. ‘In the later apocalypses of 2 Baruch, 4 Ezra and the Parables of Enoch the victory of the Messiah over the pagan oppressors of Israel is prominent, but the idea of a victory by judicial sentence takes precedence over military language.’120 The above discussion broadly supports Bauckham’s description, while suggesting that the two narratives operate in concert and not in dichotomy. Relative emphasis on the one or the other paradigm in a given text cannot be used to drive a wedge between the two.
The motif of messianic war is one of the dominant images throughout the book of Revelation. The presence of the ‘combat myth’ in chapter 12, discussed earlier,121 is extremely important but is not the only place warfare imagery appears. Christ himself is portrayed as the conquering messiah, and his people are likewise called to ‘conquer’. The manner of this portrayal, however, is significant not only for Revelation’s
Christology but also for the present discussion of apocalyptic soteriological duality.
The Lion and the Lamb (Revelation 5.1–6)
Revelation 5.1–6 presents a powerful example of the close interrelationship that exists between soteriology and epistemology in apocalyptic thought. In chapter two, I looked at this passage with epistemological questions in mind. I return to it now to consider its
119 A. Yarbro Collins, Crisis and Catharsis: The Power of the Apocalypse (Philadelphia: Westminster John Knox, 1984), 130. Cf. Bauckham, “The Apocalypse as a Christian War Scroll”; Paul D. Hanson,
The Dawn of Apocalyptic: the Historical and Sociological Roots of Jewish Apocalyptic Eschatology (Fortress, 1979), 292–324; P. D. Miller, The Religion of Ancient Israel (London: SPCK, 2000), 6–12; and the seminal P. D. Miller, The Divine Warrior in Early Israel (Harvard University Press, 1973). 120 Bauckham, Climax, 211, citing 2 Bar. 40.1; 1 En. 62.2–3; 4 Ez. 12.31–33, 13.9–11. 37—38. 121 Again see Yarbro Collins, Combat Myth, and Aune, Revelation, 667–74.
soteriology, since its imagery is important for understanding the relationship between two major soteriological paradigms.
And I saw in the right hand of him who was seated on the throne a scroll written within and on the back, sealed with seven seals; and I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?’ And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it, and I wept much that no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. Then one of the elders said to me, ‘Weep not; lo, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.’
And between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders, I saw a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain…
In Mangina’s estimation, ‘how we interpret the entire Apocalypse depends on how we interpret the scene that now lies before us.’122 In this dense and important passage we find encapsulated in visionary form the alleged soteriological dichotomy between ‘deliverance’ and ‘forgiveness’.
In what John hears, ‘the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the Root of David’, is expressed the Jewish Messianic hope for a coming warrior-king who would deliver his people. The above discussion of the Lion in 4 Ezra 11—12 is just one of the key relevant passages; the image goes back, of course, to Jacob’s blessing on Judah in Genesis 49.8–12, and is here combined with the ‘Root of Jesse’ image from Isaiah 11. The overall picture is one of conquest and deliverance of the people of God from their oppressors by the long-awaited Davidic Messiah. But, as Bauckham has convincingly argued,123 what John hears is radically transformed by what he sees: ‘a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain.’ The military conquest implied by the invocation of the Lion is thus redefined through the suffering of the sacrificial Lamb, and this represents a startling and novel reinterpretation of the messianic hope: ‘John has forged a new
122 Mangina, Revelation, 87.
123 Bauckham, Revelation, 74, cf. Bauckham, Climax, 183. Bauckham’s interpretation has been taken up by a number of commentators, including Blount, Revelation, 116.
symbol of conquest by sacrificial death.’124 Furthermore, he has drawn together the two threads of ‘deliverance’ and ‘forgiveness’ in his paradoxical imagery.
In his comments on Revelation 5, Joseph Mangina unpacks further the relationship between the two soteriological perspectives, beginning by affirming Martyn’s dramatic approach to apocalyptic in Paul.
Like all apocalyptic theology in the New Testament, Revelation is shaped by what may be called a ‘three-actor drama’ involving God, human beings, and the anti-God forces of sin and death. The three-actor pattern is one in which God acts to deliver human beings from these forces; the operative soteriological metaphor is that of deliverance from bondage or defeating an enemy in warfare.125
This is essentially the same as the ‘cosmological’ paradigm of soteriology. Mangina continues by describing a second paradigm in which
what human beings need is not so much liberation as reconciliation or forgiveness. Here the primary agents in the drama are not three but two: God and his covenant partner… If in the three-actor drama Christ destroys the power of death, in the covenantal view he submits to death in order to make his atoning sacrifice, the priest who is at the same time the victim.126 So the question is ‘which is operative in Revelation 5’? And if both, which is
dominant?127 Mangina’s response is that ‘there are not two dramas or stories in the New Testament, but only one – the story of the Messiah who is both victorious Lion
and self-offering Lamb. The sacrifice is the victory.’128 This observation, that there is a harmony between ‘apocalyptic’ and ‘covenantal’ narratives, is crucial to the present discussion. Revelation ‘preserves the unity of these two moments’129 through the paradox of the Lion-Lamb. The thematic distinctions of the two paradigms remain without collapsing into each other. The newly-forged symbol of Revelation 5
124 Bauckham, Revelation, 74. 125 Mangina, Revelation, 89. 126 Ibid., 89–90.
127 See Martyn, Galatians, 98 n51. 128 Mangina, Revelation, 90. 129 Ibid.
undermines any sharp division between categories of ‘deliverance’ and ‘forgiveness’. These different soteriological threads, attested in the OT as well as in the apocalyptic literature discussed above, are drawn together in Jesus Christ, the ‘sacrifice that not only redeems but also conquers.’130
Here we might return to Revelation 12, wherein Satan is ‘conquered… by the blood of the Lamb.’131 The above discussion, however, is not in itself an argument for the interweaving of ‘cosmological’ and ‘forensic’ soteriologies, since the sacrificial Lamb is not strictly speaking a ‘forensic’ image. The locus of salvation here is the altar, not the law-court. In order to see how Revelation combines the ‘forensic’ and
‘cosmological’ we turn to another Christological image.
The Warrior and the Judge (Revelation 19—20)
At the other end of Revelation stands another Christological vision.
Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! He who sat upon it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems; and he has a name inscribed which no one knows but himself. He is clad in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called in The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, followed him on white horses. From his mouth issues a sharp sword with which to smite the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name inscribed, King of kings and Lord of lords.132 Here, again, is the Messianic/divine warrior imagery of Isaiah 11, 49 and 63, and of Psalms 2, 96 and 98,133 which is so important to apocalyptic soteriology. The image here is one of the swift and total victory of the divine warrior-king, defeating the beast
130 Beale, Revelation, 351. Cf. now also J. R. Treat, The Crucified King: Atonement and Kingdom in
Biblical and Systematic Theology (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2014), 119–124.
131 Rev 12.11a. The designation of Satan as ‘the accuser’ in 12.10 and the ‘word of testimony’ in 12.11b indicate that legal theme sits alongside the military and cultic. See Treat, Crucified King, 124–6; 206–7. 132 Rev 19.11–16.
133 And many more psalms besides, not least Ps. 89, where the divine warrior ‘rule[s] the raging of the sea’ (v.9). For a survey of the ‘divine warrior’ in the psalter see Hanson, Dawn of Apocalyptic, 305–8.
and his allies (19.19–21) and ruling with a rod of iron.134 After the millennium, the forces of evil gather for a great cosmological battle against the saints, only to be thrown into the lake of fire (20.10). But, before the arrival of the New Heaven and the New Earth, another significant soteriological event takes place. The narrative does not end with a battle, but with a judgment scene:
I saw a great white throne and him who sat upon it; from his presence earth and sky fled away, and no place was found for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Also another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, by what they had done.135 This should not come as a surprise to the attentive reader of the first passage, or to anyone familiar with the Psalms and Isaiah. Revelation 20.11–12 is not simply a juxtaposition of the two soteriological images. Woven into the description of the warrior on the horse in chapter 19, and the OT passages to which it alludes, is important juridical language. The Rider’s designation ‘Faithful and True’ (19.11), echoes the earlier description of Jesus as the ‘faithful and true witness’ (3.14). We are then told that ‘in righteousness he judges and makes war’ (19.11; cf. Isaiah 11.4) and his means of triumph is ‘the sword of his mouth’ (19.15, 21; cf. Isaiah 49.2) which is his word of judgment. John demonstrates no awkwardness in weaving together the ‘cosmological’ victory and deliverance of the Rider on the white horse and the ‘forensic’ judgment and forgiveness of the Judge on the white throne. As Bauckham summarises it, ‘the military imagery is controlled by judicial imagery… early Christians commonly understood Jesus as both Saviour now and Judge at the end, without feeling any of the incongruity modern minds often find in that combination.’136 Crucially, what unites these soteriological themes, and what undergirds the trope of the divine warrior in the Psalms and Isaiah, is the narrative of the covenant, and in
particular the Exodus,137 a theme to which we now turn.
134 Cf. Ps 2.9. See chapter 3 for the eschatological significance of this designation. On the shift from ‘break them with a rod of iron’ to ‘rule them with a rod of iron’ here see, e.g. Beale, Revelation, 962. 135 Rev 20.11–12.
136 Bauckham, Revelation, 105–6. Cf. also Kovacs, “Jesus’ Death as Cosmic Battle”, for whom Rev 19.11 clearly demonstrates ‘the close association of the two types of images’ (239–40).