“I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, ‘To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!’ And the four living creatures said, ‘Amen!’ and the elders fell down and worshiped.” Rev. 5:13–14


Dear Jesus, I’m learning to savor the context of my favorite Scriptures. When John had this heart-enthralling, sensory-overload vision he was under arrest and in great stress. It was a perilous time in his personal and world history. But you invaded his exile with exhilaration. No imprisonment could keep his 83ish year-old heart from soaring.

You brought a bit of our glorious forever into John’s most difficult “light and momentary” suffering. Like the aroma of our favorite dish, baking in the oven. Like a memory-connecting song, wafting in our direction from a neighbor’s backyard party. Like well-timed, well-placed rainbows, decorating the horizon—even before the storm is over… Jesus, you know how to turn us into a whole-body smile. It doesn’t take a lot. It just takes you.

For me this summer, it’s been butterflies. They have invaded my yard like a troupe of grace-dancers—bouncing, soaring, stopping to feast, they come early and stay late. So generous, they don’t attack each other (how refreshing) Their story is one of life emerging from death. Indeed, your resurrection, Jesus, is everywhere, if we have eyes to behold.

Instead of vexing, grating, and being preoccupied with all the “stuff” reflected in our broken culture, I’m moved to worship. Strife and rife, political madness and environment groaning, cancer—in all its forms—these things don’t get the last word. You do, Jesus; your Kingdom does. You sit on your throne now, and you will stand on our all-things-new earth. So Very Amen.