1 Thy Kingdom Come: Picturing the Apocalypse V.K. McCarty Art masterpieces through the ages depicting the Book of Revelation In exploring the Book of Revelation as an apocalyptic text, remember that when we pray the “Our Father,” perhaps every day, we pray “thy Kingdom come.” This simple prayer, so deeply attested that Jesus may have actually said it, draws on affirmations and petitions from our life in relationship with God—and our hope for the future. There may be times when one phrase, or even one word, comes into focus for you; days when we almost twinge to pray “Forgive,” or “temptation;” and times when we fairly glisten at the mention of “heaven.” Your understanding of “Thy kingdom come,” will deepen over your lifetime as a Christian making that petition, and reading Scripture such as the Book of Revelation which attempts to describe what the Coming of the Kingdom and the Return of Christ might look like. We will look at visual masterpieces, art throughout the centuries, which has attempted to show what “Thy kingdom come,” looks like. Hopefully the complex elements of the Book of Revelation are becoming more familiar by now; and, it may be helpful to explore some of the artistic masterpieces through the ages which have sought to express the dramatic archetypes John of Patmos uses to articulate his vision of the Apocalypse. John has taken such a radical step in focusing almost entirely on Apocalyptic Eschatology, rather than on literal chronological history. 1 And, since the Book of Revelation is the only significantly visionary text in the New Testament, its principle elements can be 1 He is demonstrating his view that it is necessary to “turn from history, or the current time, as the acceptable place and climate of belief in which the sacred can be restored.” John A. Grim, Apocalyptic Spirituality in the Old and New Worlds: The Revisioning of History and Matter (Chambersburgs, PA: ANIMA Books, 1992), pg. 3.
Transcript
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Thy Kingdom Come: Picturing the Apocalypse V.K. McCarty
Art masterpieces through the ages depicting the Book of Revelation
In exploring the Book of Revelation as an apocalyptic text, remember that when we pray the
“Our Father,” perhaps every day, we pray “thy Kingdom come.” This simple prayer, so deeply
attested that Jesus may have actually said it, draws on affirmations and petitions from our life in
relationship with God—and our hope for the future. There may be times when one phrase, or
even one word, comes into focus for you; days when we almost twinge to pray “Forgive,” or
“temptation;” and times when we fairly glisten at the mention of “heaven.” Your understanding
of “Thy kingdom come,” will deepen over your lifetime as a Christian making that petition, and
reading Scripture such as the Book of Revelation which attempts to describe what the Coming of
the Kingdom and the Return of Christ might look like. We will look at visual masterpieces, art
throughout the centuries, which has attempted to show what “Thy kingdom come,” looks like.
Hopefully the complex elements of the Book of Revelation are becoming more familiar by now;
and, it may be helpful to explore some of the artistic masterpieces through the ages which have
sought to express the dramatic archetypes John of Patmos uses to articulate his vision of the
Apocalypse. John has taken such a radical step in focusing almost entirely on Apocalyptic
Eschatology, rather than on literal chronological history.1 And, since the Book of Revelation is
the only significantly visionary text in the New Testament, its principle elements can be
1 He is demonstrating his view that it is necessary to “turn from history, or the current time, as the acceptable place
and climate of belief in which the sacred can be restored.” John A. Grim, Apocalyptic Spirituality in the Old and
New Worlds: The Revisioning of History and Matter (Chambersburgs, PA: ANIMA Books, 1992), pg. 3.
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experienced quite forcefully in artistic expression. With its highly symbolic language and non-
linear intentionality, John’s apocalyptic message almost welcomes artistic visualization,
especially since John describes so many dramatic actions happening all at once. Of course, this
was not a new idea, and Revelation certainly has distinct Old Testament forebears.
Here, for example, we are looking at John’s visions painted by Hans Memling around 1475 as
part of his magnificent triptych for St John’s Hospital in Bruges and on display in the Refectory
or Dining Room. The Apocalypse of John is depicted in the right-hand panel, shown on the first
page; and here in a detail, you can see him witnessing the presence of God in the heavenly throne
room, surrounded by the illumination of a rainbow. John of Patmos was passionately driven to
express the restoration of the world as the return of Christ. To accomplish this, his apocalyptic
spirituality is driven by his visions of divine disclosure, much of it conveyed in symbols, for
example, as Christ as the suffering Lamb of God. Up close, the viewer can see, across the seas,
details of the story farther and farther away, such as a little man within a rainbow, and out on the
horizon, too small to make out with the naked eye, is the great Sea Monster.
As far as we know, this triptych panel is the earliest artistic depiction of the whole expanse of the
episodes of Revelation in one artwork. Since the implication is that much of the action is
unfolding all at once, with some of it even just outside the eyesight of the diners, Memling is
rather exquisitely depicting what it must have been like to actually go through a visionary
experience with all its exhilaration and confusing details. The very fact, then, that this
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magnificent art-work was created to be viewed by hospice patients demonstrates that the artist
meant to express in the “St. John Apocalypse Triptych” hopeful elements of Eschatology for
those challenged by sickness and approaching death.
Indeed, John of Patmos himself was likely aiming to help transcend the pessimistic despair he
witnessed in the early Christian communities to whom he was writing. Glimpses of the end time
haunted early Christians suffering under the brutal heel of the Roman Empire. We tend today to
generally operate cooperatively within our current government system more or less; but, John
was adamant in advocating defiant resistance for all Christians to the Roman regime which he
found utterly hostile—even seductively antagonistic—to the life of faith for his early followers.
And it is this fierce defiance which amplifies and colors so vibrantly the power of his use of
archetypes, such as the Four Horsemen, and Babylon and its Whore—and it is also why these
archetypes may seem bizarre to us now. Furthermore, with cataclysmic events in the generation
before John of Patmos was writing—the eruption of Vesuvius in 69 CE and the Destruction of
the Temple in 70 CE—the original listeners to his Apocalypse were alarmingly alerted to recent
and terrifying acts of global destruction; and in response, John of Patmos was teeming with
cautionary images and harsh messages.
In our current time as well, with wildfires,
and the Pandemic plaguing us, and global
warming, it may seem like a natural human
response to ask, now as then for John, if
God’s ultimate judgmental retribution has
not indeed begun to reign down on our
mortal world—it is certainly a lot to think
about. Here, in another example of Flemish
Apocalyptic art, is possibly the first
surviving example of an illustrated Book of
Revelation. In this manuscript illumination,
“The Flemish Apocalypse,” you can see the
four Living Creatures symbolizing the Four
Evangelists in attendance around the throne,
and how the sweeping gesture of the central
Angel makes it appear that John’s vision of
the Lord’s Throne Room is being suddenly
crafted by God out of thin air—and note how
John himself is left awestruck in the corner
and humbled by its magnificence. The angel,
displaying the throne room in all its glory, is
asking John a searching question in Rev. 5:2:
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“Who is worthy to open the scroll” in God’s right hand? John’s bitter realization is that neither
he nor anyone is worthy to open the scroll, for no one is equal to God—but the Lamb that was
slain is worthy before God.
As Christians today, in Easter season,
celebrating the love of the resurrected Lord
Jesus, perhaps the Book of Revelation
challenges us to ask different questions. For
example: Are we part of a world today which
will be judged and found to be admirably
reflecting God’s transcendent power? Or are
we backsliding in an existence which will
finally refuse to acknowledge God’s rule? And
in that soul-searching process of discernment,
we do well to realize that there are people
around us today who are making overly
simplistic use of John’s Apocalypse as a literal
predictor of current events, and maybe even as
a call to arms. However, the Book of
Revelation may better help us by far in
developing for ourselves “a distinctly
Christian view of the inner meaning of history
as transcendent, revealed, and purposeful.”2
Here is a traditional Greek icon of the Apocalypse, which focusses on John’s frequent use of the
sacred number seven, highlighting its eternal quality—you can see the seven Angels of the Seven
Churches, and the seven stars, and the seven candlesticks. These images demonstrate that
Revelation and its futuristic visions may be best seen as a guidebook to inspire our present
reality, in order to “create a spiritual framework of assurance and guidance.”3 One of our tasks,
therefore, in looking at the ways art has depicted this book of Scripture is to discover how to
re-claim this ancient document for ourselves as an experience of our own faith.
It is encouraging, then, to realize that the key figure in Revelation is indeed Christ Jesus and his
return, often depicted as the archetype of the Lamb of God. It is Christ who assures us again and
again with his glorious promise of the reconciliation of all things in him: “See, I am coming
soon; my reward with me, to repay according to everyone’s work. I am the Alpha and the
Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end” (Rev. 22:12-13).
2 Grim, Apocalyptic Spirituality, pg. 7.
3 Ibid., pg. 6.
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There may be no better place to see the Lamb of God at work than the Ghent Altarpiece from
1432. After John’s cornucopia of world-punishing woes, and the final battles between good and
evil, still the centerpiece of his book is actually the culminating image of heavenly redemption.
In John’s first-century interpretation, the divine leader who will come again is so different from
the avenging warrior Old Testament hearers longed for that it was best to see the expected
fulfillment of Christ in the symbol of a Lamb. It may seem at first glance that Jesus Christ
doesn’t even appear much in the Book of Revelation; but, actually the symbol of the Lamb of
God, referring to Christ, appears almost 30 times in Revelation. This symbol, the Lamb of God,
appearing in a New Jerusalem makes it appear that the Kingdom of God to come will look like
a return to the Garden of Eden, and this heavenly vision presents what commentator Richard
Bauckham calls “the sphere of ultimate reality,” where John can see revealed: “God’s universal
purpose of overcoming all opposition and establishing his kingdom in the world.”4
This is high sacramental theology wrapped in a paradox, for the Lamb of God has been
slaughtered—you can see him here pierced and bleeding. In fact, the Blood of the Lamb is
offered into the Eucharistic Chalice—but the sacrificed creature is, nevertheless, triumphant and
haloed in gold, rather like a fringe tiara. The Lamb that was slain is worthy to open the scroll and
its seven seals, and “to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and
4 Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993),
pg. 31.
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blessing” (Rev. 5:12). In John’s vision, the whole
concept of the coming Jewish Messiah is turned
upside-down and replaced with “a symbol of
humility and sacrifice, for the Lamb that was slain
refers to the Crucifixion.”5 So, John’s use of
symbolic archetypes may have been part of his
effort to veritably map the spiritual cosmos, as
he saw it.
Here is a modern mosaic that clearly depicts the Lamb’s worthiness to break open the Seven
Seals. The essential message of the Lamb, then, is that Christ has conquered through suffering.
In the fluid nuance of John’s text, the symbol of the Lamb holds within it God the Son, the Alpha
and the Omega; he is the executioner and also the victim, all for the love of humanity; and
hearing about the Lamb in the text emphasizes both its salvific and simultaneously its suffering
and reconciling functions. Then, in an arc expanding over the entire book of Revelation, the
humble Lamb, as the principle character, pulls open the First Seal and sets in motion the entire
cataclysmic progression to follow, which ultimately brings about the descent of the New
Jerusalem from Heaven. Therefore, the viewer is drawn up toward the splendor of Heaven and
a glimpse of God, but it is through the suffering of the Lamb that Salvation is offered.
While we hasten on to look at other archetypes
in Revelation, let us consider for a moment
the Four Horsemen from Rev. 6:2-8, because
they often symbolize everything apocalyptic.
They are described in the midst of the seals
being opened, and they carry out extravagant
global destruction. The Dürer woodcut here
of the Four Horsemen has come in some ways
to represent the very essence of the Apocalypse
in art, ever since it was crafted in 1497. This
work is amazingly effective in depicting
movement, and is powerfully rich in detail.
See, for example, in the upper-right corner,
the angel sending God’s blessing, and down
in the lower-left, Dürer depicts a bishop
being judged and condemned to
Hellsmouth.
5 Natasha O’Hear, Anthony O’Hear, Picturing the Apocalypse: The Book of Revelation in the Arts over Two
Millennia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), pg. 56.
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The Opening of the Seals, one by
one, in the Book of Revelation is
given roiling and complex expression
in another Dürer woodcut, with so
much cataclysmic violence
happening all at once. You can see
John’s visions of judgmental
retribution reigning down from
heaven in wave upon wave, and even
specific people crying out for God’s
mercy as they experience the
destruction of the world. Then,
“when the Lamb opened the seventh
seal, there was silence in heaven for half an hour” (Rev. 8:1). Ten seconds of silence can be
powerful; two minutes of silence even more than that. Half an hour of silence is almost
unfathomable and certainly definitively apocalyptic. For some of us on pilgrimage together from
St. Luke’s in England a few years ago, a moment of apocalyptic silence which has haunted me
ever since unfolded watching Canterbury Cathedral late at night, as I was tucked in to my guest
room window sill. All lit up, the Cathedral towering above me, filling the whole window, it
suddenly silently went pitch-black. The utter silence, the utter darkness of it made me think I was
witnessing the end of life. In complete silence, the lights simply stop at 1:00 a.m. It remains my
own never-to-be-forgotten picture of Revelation’s stunning silence at the end of days.
Let’s look at two female archetypes that John uses in Revelation. We meet the Woman Clothed
in the Sun in Rev. 12 as in the painful labor of childbirth, although artists usually depict her after
the baby is already born. Here is an early example, the French Angers Tapestry. With its
monumental scale, over 14 feet tall, it was woven for Louis I of Anjou. In one of the panels, the
Woman floats in the cosmos while the Dragon rears up to threaten her child. From this work, it is
easy to see how John meant for the Woman to symbolize the Church and its future being
threatened by apostasy
and heresy. But popular
imagination picked up
on this image and began
to see in the Woman
Clothed in the Sun the
Virgin Mary instead;
so, a transition in artistic
interpretation was
taking place.
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Here, however, in rather vivid stained glass, the Woman Clothed in the Sun is no longer seen
symbolizing the Church, but rather the crowned Virgin Mary in heaven. And by the time Dürer
depicted the woman Clothed in the Sun for the title-page of a Latin translation of the Apocal-
ypse, the St. Mary connection was firmly in place. Furthermore, the image Our Lady of
Guadalupe is a direct descendant in the artistic etiology of this iconic scriptural image. Even
though Juan Diego indeed experienced his vision in Tepeyac, not long after, a Spanish commen-
tary interpreted the image as directly influenced and inspired by John’s Apocalypse.6
In a modern artwork from the turn of the nineteenth
century, seen on the right, the cosmic battle between
good and evil rather electrifies this dramatic artwork
by romantic poet and visionary artist, William
Blake. Sweeping lines slash across the watercolor
depicting lightning, and wind and flapping wings, and
it is inspiring to encounter the Woman standing her
ground in the face of such a beastly assault. “The
Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the
Sun” depicts the eternal conflict between the
characters; the woman’s outstretched arms, which are
mirroring the dragon’s so that they arc toward each
other, suggest the continual tension of good and evil
at work in the world.
The potency of the archetype, Babylon and its Whore,
is enhanced, or maybe exacerbated by the use of both
of these identities together—Babylon and Whore—
6 See Miguel Sanchez, Imagen de la Virgen Maria Madre de Dios de Guadalupe.
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so that to our modern ears, the terms even comingle in seductive temptation. The warning to
early Christians, however, embodied in the archetype of the Whore of Babylon by John of
Patmos signified the provocative danger of the domination of Roman culture, as here in a
twelfth-century illumination from The Hortus Deliciarum. Rather than simply sexual threat,
she represented the entire realm of “luxury, sensuality, licentiousness, vice, and also exoticism,
the allure of false values, and the seductiveness of pagan cults.”7
It was really only in recent centuries that her
image—and even the phrase, Whore of Babylon—
came to focus on just sex, with the woman regarded
as the singular sinner. Furthermore, it is good to
remember, even as we engage with this compelling
Scripture text from John of Patmos, that it is
possible, in the spiritual life of this emotionally
fraught celibate monk, that stereotypical
characterizations of female archetypes persisted
for him more readily than for all of us who interact daily with actual women and men. Isn’t this
a rich image in Medieval stained glass? The Apocalypse Rose Window in Sainte-Chapelle
does not reveal the true evil nature of the Babylon figure, except for her crimson red feet. For
John could clearly see in his vision “that the women was drunk with the blood of the saints and
the blood of the witnesses to Jesus” (Rev. 17:6). So now, for the worshipper in this Parisian
royal chapel, “when the light streams through the windows, the colors become richer and more
luminous, with the physical embodiment of the dilemma posed by this outwardly attractive yet
intrinsically demonic character.”8
7 O’Hear, O’Hear, Picturing the Apocalypse, pg. 156.
8 Ibid., pg. 165.
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“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed
away. And the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out
of heaven from God…I heard a loud voice from the throne saying: ‘See, the home of God is
among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with
them; he will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying
and pain will be no more, for the first things will have passed away’” (Rev. 21:1-4). The Angers
Tapestry is shown here in situ, in the mighty fortress of Chateau d’Angers in the Loire Valley; it
is rather breathtaking to behold.
So, finally, in the last chapter of Revelation, we are presented with a positive and hopeful vision
for the Kingdom of God to come, and for the future, one where the four corners of the earth are
brought into alignment with the vision we remember from the heavenly Throne Room, and “the
seemingly impenetrable barrier that existed between the two realms—the heavenly and the
earthly—is dissolved forever.”9 And is not Parry’s beloved Anglican hymn “Jerusalem,”
beginning to be sung in the background? “O day of peace that dimly shines…”
9 O’Hear, O’Hear, Picturing the Apocalypse, pg. 212.
11
Generations of people have come to focus on this theme of the New Jerusalem again and again in
times of great war and plague, and of Millennium. In addition, I would suggest that in this last 20
years since our recent Millennium, and especially in the last year, faced so abruptly with climate
change and Covid, that we indeed are actively part of this; we dream eagerly of restoration and
for the New Jerusalem. In artistic renderings, often there are hints of both futuristic urban
renewal, but also elements of a return to the Garden of Eden. Furthermore, the tantalizing
thought of a New Jerusalem may not just be a future reality, but in some ways partially
accessible to us in our present day in the fullness of our Christian life together.
As for the new city itself,
Revelation offers us an
irreconcilably psychotropic
description, a 1500-mile cube
resting on a foundation of precious
gemstones, with the River of Life
running through the city square.
So, perhaps the actual city is better
to dream about in meditation than
in visual art—though many have
tried. Here, in the Flemish
Apocalypse, for example, quite a
bit of the textual narrative has
been squeezed into one painting.
As you can see, the Lamb rests in
the center of the city, and the scale
of it is so big that the Lamb is
shown as much more significant
than even the twelve angelic
Apostles who stand in the
threshold of the gates of the city.
The Angel hovers overhead with
the large measuring rod, still
carrying one of the Bowls. And
look: the turrets at the four corners
of the city are manned by the Four
Living Creatures from the Throne
Room; so, the wisdom of the
Word of God by Four Evangelists is protecting the restored world. Near us, down in front, an
emperor and three kings are bringing gifts; for “the nation will walk by its light, and the kings of
the earth will bring their glory into it” (Rev. 21:24).
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Returning to the Ghent Altarpiece, you can see that it also focuses on the New Jerusalem, here as
the second Garden of Eden and the water of life. “Salvation history is, in short, the idea that
everything that has happened within human history is part of God’s ultimate plan for the
salvation of the human race;”10
so, Adam and Eve stand at the outside corners on the top as a
sign of their ultimate redemption within the saving economy of God.
As you gaze at the panorama below, you can see how the design of the painting moves
diagonally in two lines toward the center, toward the Lamb of God, so that everything and
everybody there is moving toward the Lamb, the Christ figure, ingathering toward the Lamb.
See those lines in the design of the composition?11
And the Return of Jesus Christ is depicted
with the Lord blessing from the throne, displaying his stigmata-wounded hands, and
demonstrating that Redemption has been made possible by his suffering and sacrifice.
10
O’Hear, O’Hear, Picturing the Apocalypse, pg. 227. 11
So,“the sophistication inherent in such a visualization marks out the [Ghent] Altarpiece by the Van Eycks as
something quite unique within its late medieval/early modern context.” Ibid., pg. 228.
13
This study of apocalyptic artworks as not looked at many modern examples; but this 21st-century
painting rather captivates the imagination meditating on the New Jerusalem, particularly the idea
of it descending from heaven. For here, is “Rivers of Bliss” by Gorgon Cheung. While the River
of Life (Rev. 22:1) emerges in the front, towers of urban life or of business life are shown crafted
from pages of the Financial Times, and they are seen here being consumed by fire in the
background; so, while this painting is beautiful for the mind to behold, we can see that it
oscillates between utopia and dystopia. Yet both this and the medieval masterpieces that we
have examined continue to evoke the key message of reconciliation of all things, human and
divine, in Jesus Christ.
So, it is natural to find, working through these apocalyptic concepts and visionary images, that
you are developing elements of your own Eschatology, a healthy right-spirited view of what may
be coming with the return of Christ, and how the images we have explored relate to your own
life now, even though the final cosmic end of the world is ultimately a future event—even an
event outside of time altogether—but, breaking into our world now in glimpses as we progress in
faith together. Because John highlights the urgency of suffering of his listeners, for many people
over the centuries, the figures in the visions have come to stand for real elements of their lives
and history. Thus, Babylon becomes the Roman Empire for John; but then, in a different age, it
becomes the Papacy, or any despised regime or current political enemy. In fact, in the case of the
Angers Tapestry, the enemy was the English invaders. You can see, then, that the ethos of good
and evil in the Book of Revelation is rather over-simplified—it is harshly binary in a way that
doesn’t always make moral sense. So, “the text’s black and white philosophy may be best
avoided as a blueprint for a call to direct action.”12
12
O’Hear, O’Hear, Picturing the Apocalypse, pg. 291.
14
Of course, the centerpiece of the New Jerusalem, the point of all, is that we get to see the Return
of Christ, as John saw him and as artists over the centuries saw him. Sometimes we see Christ as
the Lamb, or Christ himself, as here, in Ravenna, Christ with the Lamb. These visionary
depictions always reflect in some ways an image of the Eschaton. And there is a wise connection
made there in the earliest centuries of art and of faith which shows us Christ as the way home,
the Shepherd who will lead us home, the one who brings comforting order to the frightening and
chaotic elements of the experience of dying.
Jesus Christ can be seen as the unchanging presence of divine love, now and also in moments of
crisis, and throughout the great wandering for home which is the pilgrimage of life. Although the
Book of Revelation is not exclusively about this current world, or for that matter, exclusively
about the world to come, what it does tell us is quite relevant for our conduct in this world today;
for John is exhorting us to a moral transformation in which we are driven to worship the
resurrected Christ seen as the Lamb of God who suffered and was sacrificed.
Exploring these masterpieces through the ages allows us as the faithful “to recalibrate and
rebalance impressions of Revelation, so that amidst the battles the centrality of the Lamb is
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acknowledged, and the Armageddon offset by the New Jerusalem.”13
In one last image from
modern art, we can see the Shepherd who is waiting to lead us home, in a larger than life-size
painting, one whose frame is inscribed with Rev. 3:20. Look: “I am standing at the door,
knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and
you with me.” Here is the English Pre-Raphaelite work by William Holman Hunt, “The Light of
the World,” in its third iteration, which graces the large west-entrance Altar of the Middlesex
Chapel at St. Paul’s in London—it has been called his “sermon in a frame.”14
Each of us, then,
can glimpse God’s kingdom, “thy kingdom come,” where “thy will be done,” through the eyes
of master-artists over the centuries, and better see into the depth of the text. Artworks and
architecture and church music all help you arrive at an informed opinion regarding the Book of
Revelation and its essential themes and undercurrents; and this can ultimately aid in your own
growing understanding of Eschatology.
For Further Study
This article is available online at: https://www.academia.edu/46907406/
Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1993.
Emily Edmondson, “Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Apocalypse,” Church Life Journal
(December 2017) Available at: https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/our-lady-of-guadalupe-
and-the-apocalypse/ (accessed 5 April 2021)
13
Ibid., pg, 287. 14
See Alan Woods, “A Sermon in a Frame: Holman Hunt and ‘The Light of the World,’” The Cambridge Quarterly
