Dn 7:1-3, 15-18
7 November 2010
All Saints’ Sunday
“Scary Monsters”
Over a time span of about fifteen years, I had a recurring dream. I might even call it a nightmare. It involved McDonald’s, where I worked when I wasn’t at college. I would be in various places. I might be at home, or maybe I’d be driving my car. And in the back of my mind was this nagging fear that I should be at work—at McDonald’s.
In the dream, it was always the case that it had been days, even weeks, since I’d been at work there. I would have the feeling that I needed to go to the store and check the schedule. Was I in fact supposed to be at work? But I don’t remember ever making that trip. Instead, I would wake up and realize, with a sense of relief, that I was now at seminary, or later on, that I was now pastor of a church.
I haven’t had that dream for five or six years now. Banu has told me that I was subconsciously expressing my fear of working at McDonald’s for the rest of my life. I believe there’s something to that! At a deeper level, though, I think McDonald’s represented my sense of not moving forward. It was a symbol of my feeling being trapped.
I say that because, after graduating from college, I worked there for over two years before going to seminary. I was waiting for God to speak to me, to tell me what to do. Lord, please give me a sign! Give me a dream; give me a vision of what I need to do!
Maybe I would have been satisfied with what we see in our Old Testament reading in Daniel 7. We’re told that Daniel has a dream.
Our scripture reading suffers from a similar malady that afflicted last week’s epistle reading, 2 Thessalonians 1. At least, it would seem to, since the lectionary designers have again cut out some pieces—and in this case, it’s major surgery. We’re not just talking about snipping a verse here and there.
Again, like last week, I can understand the impulse. With twenty eight verses, not only would it make for a fairly long reading, but if you look at the chapter, you can see what gets deleted: scary monsters!
Starting with chapter 7, the last part of the book of Daniel is what’s known as apocalyptic literature. The book of Revelation is in the same category. Apocalyptic books are like movies with all kinds of weird special effects: dream worlds, cosmic calamities, and yes, scary monsters.
It’s
been observed, “One could say, calmly and rationally, that the
world is a bleak and dangerous place, or one could make the point more fully
and dramatically through apocalyptic fantasy. The latter…will more quickly trouble and
terrify us (as they [do] Daniel), which is the point.”[1]
Think about it. Even
though the parables of Jesus and apocalyptic images aren’t the same thing, they
serve similar purposes.
For
example, Jesus could talk about grace and give us a definition. He could call it “a free gift” or “an
undeserved reward.” He could do that, or he could tell a story about it—say, a story about a son
who asks for his inheritance, shames the family, goes abroad and squanders the
money, and is still welcomed home with a lavish banquet. Which of those makes a bigger impression?
So, even though apocalyptic language can be troubling and
terrifying, that’s not the end of the story.
These images of mighty angels and stormy seas really do tell the story of God’s people being delivered from the
foul beasts that would keep them down.
And those “foul beasts” are typically of the two-legged variety, a
variety that walks around upright.
There is another
reason why our reading in Daniel has been chopped up. It has to do with the way the Old Testament
is often contorted to suit the purposes of the Christian church. Today being All Saints’ Sunday, the
lectionary zeroes in on verse 18. That’s
why it is a text for this day.
Daniel’s
vision of the four great beasts, with its interpretation as four kingdoms, is largely
passed over in setting up this verse.
Where the Good News Bible says, “the people of
the Supreme God,” the NRSV says that “the holy
ones of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess the kingdom
forever—forever and ever.” In making a
statement about all the saints, that’s not a bad quote from the Old Testament.
Still, we need to pay attention to the dream—or
should we say nightmare? Daniel
certainly seems to think so. Look at the
way the chapter ends in verse 28: “I was
so frightened that I turned pale, and I kept everything to myself” (Good News
Bible).
He
sees four great beasts rising from the sea.
In the ancient Hebrew consciousness, the sea is symbolic of chaos. In the book of Revelation, this is an image
that John makes ample use of. This is a
symbol that is primordial. It goes back
to the chaos at creation. This is
“darkness [covering] the face of the deep” (Gn 1:2). So, toss in the tempest that’s going on in
Daniel’s dream, and you really do
have some chaos!
There’s
some question as to which kingdoms the four beasts symbolize. Some say they’re the Babylonians, the Medes
(who lived in what is now northwest Iran), the Persians, and the Greeks. Others say they’re the Babylonians, combine
the next two as the Medo-Persians, the Greeks, and finally, the Romans. My point is that these are all empires that
persecuted the Jews, the people of God.
Or in apocalyptic terms, they’re scary monsters that tried to devour the
holy ones.
John J. Collins says, “In its historical context, the vision functioned to give hope to the persecuted Jews. This rather trite statement, however, does scant justice to the power of the vision, which attempts to shape a whole new view of history.”[2] A whole new view of history.
It is difficult for us to realize how powerful this is. Imagine the audacity of this apparently powerless group of people. They’re just one among an array of ethnicities and nations that have been swept up in the dragnet of empire. How dare they exhibit this holy defiance? How dare they tell these stories?
As the church, we have inherited that legacy. Still, we have to watch ourselves. We must be careful about how closely we identify with the qualities of not Greek or Roman, but American empire. Believe it or not, we aren’t immune to acting like the rest of the human race. We too can behave like a beast ready to devour.
All Saints’ Sunday is the story of that great cloud of witnesses that surrounds us (Heb 12:1). It’s the story of the faithful from every walk of life. It’s the story told in our final hymn, “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God.” Referring to the saints, the second stanza ends like this: “And one was a soldier, and one was a priest, / And one was slain by a fierce wild beast: / And there’s not any reason, no, not the least, / Why I shouldn’t be one too.”
Today is the story of saints past and present—and can we say, even of saints yet to come? It’s the story of the faithful from every background. It’s the story of those who have faced all manner of scary monsters. (Even a scary monster symbolized by a fast food restaurant!)
What are our scary monsters? Are there any great beasts that haunt our dreams?
I saw a movie this past week that I haven’t seen for years, Ordinary People, which came out in 1980. It won numerous Oscars and starred Mary Tyler Moore, Donald Sutherland, and a young Timothy Hutton. A boating accident that claims the life of the older son introduces themes of death and guilt and overlapping layers of guilt. It is a heavy movie. (Although the musical presence of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” helps to lift the spirits!)
As I watched the movie, I was thinking to
myself that these are some people dealing with their own scary monsters. They’re carrying around mountains of guilt,
and it takes its toll. It’s similar to
the grief Paul speaks of in 2 Corinthians:
“godly grief
produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death” (7:10).
In the movie, the guilt of the Jarrett family would
be in the latter of Paul’s categories.
Still, by the end of the story, there is a sense of resolution—a new
sense of life being found.
A moment ago, I asked about our scary monsters. Do we carry around undeserved guilt? Are we trapped by the past? The primary theme of All Saints’ Sunday is
celebrating the past, not being condemned by the past. It’s about those saints, those humble
warriors, who have cast their burdens onto Christ.
This may come as a shock, but there are those who
like to zap us by reminding us of our past.
Would you believe that that company includes dear brothers and sisters
in the church? I fear that, at some
level, that tendency resides within us all.
But to the extent that we give way to that tendency, we only speak from
our own fear, our own insecurity. It
isn’t our job to pass judgment on a brother or sister.
In Christ, the great beasts are rendered
toothless. We’re given a whole
new view of history. We are ushered into
the communion of saints, the holy ones of the Most High, who shall receive the
kingdom and possess the kingdom forever.