I’m currently looking at illustrated Bibles to understand how Revelation’s throne room is depicted visually. In the process, I stumbled across a visual representation of one of my favorite Revelation “side quest” topics-John’s status as Jesus’ beloved as a reason behind Revelation.
As you may or may not know, the Fourth Gospel, long believed to have been authored by John, references a “disciple that Jesus loved” (20:2; 21:20). This disciple is the one who reclines on Jesus’ breast at the Last Supper, and from the cross, Jesus establishes a familial connection between his mother and the beloved, an in-law kind of relationship (19:26-27). Finally, the “beloved disciple” claims gospel authorship in 21:24.
Even though the gospel does not use the term used for “beloved” in ancient Greek homoerotic/ pederastic relationships, the language can be read in erotic terms. Put another way, the text potentially gestures toward a romantic relationship between Jesus and the disciple.
Christ and Saint John the Evangelist, Germany, 1300–1320. Cleveland Museum of Art.
As discussed by medievalist Jeffrey Hamburger in his book St. John the Divine: The Deified Evangelist in Medieval Art and Theology (2002), some medieval traditions add to this by suggesting that the Wedding at Cana, where Jesus turns water into wine, is John’s wedding. However, John ditches his betrothed to follow Jesus in virginal devotion. This tradition is visually evoked in depictions of John as young or virginal. People often think he looks like a woman, as in da Vinci’s Last Supper, where people (ahem, Dan Brown) have confused John with Mary. Nope. John is simply depicted as Jesus’s beloved or younger lover.*
And, here is where Revelation comes in . . . some medieval interpreters believe Jesus grants John the Revelation because of this closeness. Revelation is a gift from lover to beloved.
I’d mostly considered this a medieval tradition, but I found it referenced in an illustrated Bible from 1889, written by Louise S. Houghton and published by the American Tract Society. You can find the Bible on the Internet Archive (see below).
Moreover, the story of John being Jesus’s “special friend” as a reason for John’s visionary experience finds its way into at least one contemporary children’s Bible. Hmmmm . . . .
A Child’s First Bible, Kenneth N. Taylor, Tyndale House, 2000.
*If you find the medieval traditions about John and Jesus interesting, check out Hamburger’s book or take a look at my book Thinking and Seeing with Women in Revelation (2013).
I’m currently working on a book project on Revelation and I’m hoping to use this venue as a tool for articulating and organizing my ideas. This work is preliminary, although I hope that some of the ideas I present here will be original and, consequently, I ask that you cite me if you use them in any academic work. TIA.
The project is on Revelation’s color symbolism and how it intersects with both ancient thinking about skin color and people groups (think Benjamin Isaac’s idea of “proto-racism” in antiquity) and how modern interpreters (academic and more popular) deploy this in racialized ways. Specifically, I am interested in bringing to the fore how Revelation has been used in support of Whiteness and anti-Black racism. I think this is especially important in the present moment, as some sectors of the population, especially in the US, are doubling down on White Christian Nationalism.
Detail from a Gertrude Morgan illustration of the New Jerusalem, n.d. From the Louisiana State Museums.
One of the images (or set of images) I am thinking about as I embark on this project is Gertrude Morgan’s depiction of herself as Bride with her Bridegroom Christ. She has multiple representations of this, including this one from the New Orleans Museum of Art. I briefly mention this White Jesus in Thinking and Seeing with Women in Revelation (Bloomsbury 2013). I don’t really do enough with it there, since I wasn’t thinking explicitly about race (which I think is a problem). Even though this present project is not about Morgan’s work specially, these images will be in my mind as I write.
In a future post, I’ll say a bit more about color and Revelation’s image of God/ Christ.
Since I teach courses in Religious and Jewish studies at the university where I work, I was asked to be a roundtable discussant at a teach-in on the current conflict in the Middle East. The idea for the event was to have faculty members from a variety of disciplines (Religious Studies, Political Science, Journalism, Economics, Art History, World Languages and Cultures, Geography, etc.) offer a brief intro to their disciplinary perspective on the conflict and then lead a conversation with the 7-9 students at the table. After about 20 minutes, students would move on to another table and topic, participating in three conversations in the 1.5-hour event. Around 250 students attended and the conversations, according to most of the discussants, were fruitful.
On Wednesday morning, I was not looking forward to the table discussions. The day before a hospital in Gaza was bombed and there were conflicting stories about the source of the missile. This made the situation even more raw and complicated than the day before. Another colleague from my department shared a similar sentiment, wishing that there weren’t conflicts like this to discuss, and we talked about how these kinds of events are ultimately what we are here to do—the religious studies professor’s raison d’etre. Among our responsibilities as scholars of religion is to complicate how religious worldviews are constructed and contribute to a world filled with conflict, oppression, and violence. Of course, knowing this does not make our job any easier.
Honestly, I was anxious about the teach-in because, as someone not immediately connected to Israel/ Gaza but with friends and colleagues with deep connections in both places, I was afraid of misrepresenting the motivations of others. I was wary of causing harm by misspeaking. However, as I waited for students to come to my table, I realized that probably the most authentic thing I could do was to speak out of my own experience and from my own social location. I didn’t scrap my topic, “Ancient Claims to and Conflicts over the Land,” but I tied this to the Christian appropriation of Jewish sacred texts about the “promised land” and Christian supersessionism.
As someone who grew up in an evangelical Church, I have heard all my life that God blesses whoever blesses Israel and curses whoever curses Israel. Even though the biblical texts cited for this idea, Genesis 12 and Numbers 24, predate the modern state of Israel, evangelical Christians seemingly see these texts as a foundation for US foreign policy. In fact. according to a 2013 Pew Research Center poll, the percentage of US Christians who believe that Israel was given by God to the Jewish people was higher than among US Jews. And, while 55% of Christians overall believed this, 82% of evangelical Christians reportedly held this view. A more recent poll suggested that evangelical Christians in the US were more approving of Trump’s policies toward Israel, which include moving the US embassy to Jerusalem and recognition of Israel’s claim to the Golan Heights, than Jews in the US. When we consider who in the US demands unquestioning support of Israel, we need to look at evangelical Christianity.
Evangelical Christian support of Israel is not altruistic. It does not, for the most part, emerge out of respect for the shared history between Jews and Christians nor does it reflect a genuine concern for Jewish religious beliefs or cultural traditions. I’m not suggesting that individual evangelicals don’t genuinely care for their Jewish friends, family, and colleagues. Rather, I am saying that evangelical Christianity, as a tradition, treats Jewish control over Jerusalem as a necessary condition for Jesus’ return at the end of time. Jesus’ return, moreover, will inaugurate a thousand-year period in which faithful Christians will reign as kings alongside Christ (Rev 20:4-6). Desire for this millennial kingdom is a primary motivation for evangelical interest in Israel as a nation.
Even though many evangelical believers attest to being “friends of Israel,” they simultaneously believe that Jews will recognize Jesus as the Messiah. In Armageddon: The Cosmic Battle for the Ages, an installment in the Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, a character explains, “When Jewish people such as yourself come to see that Jesus is your long-sought messiah, you are not converting from one religion to another, no matter what anyone tells you. You have found your messiah, that is all.” In other words, Jews will come to recognize that they were wrong. Personally, I wouldn’t count this as being a friend of the Jewish people or of Israel.
One of the things I find frightening about evangelical responses to the current conflict is the prevalence of eschatological (meaning things about the “end-times”) thinking and language to describe the situation. Evangelical pastor Max Lucado published an op-ed in which he cast the situation, along with the war between Russia and Ukraine, in apocalyptic language. These are the “wars and rumors of wars” that precede the second coming of Christ. “Nation will rise up against nation and kingdom against kingdom” (Matt 24:6-7). So, Lucado calls his audience to repent and accept Jesus and, most importantly, “pray for Israel.” Even though Lucado nods to the innocent in Gaza, the focus of his is on Israel, presumably a Jewish Israel since he describes Israel as “special to God” because of God’s covenant. which was made with Abraham. There is little or no recognition that Israel includes non-Jews. One wonders whether the call to “pray for Israel” means one should pray for the healing of those injured by Hamas and for the return of hostages or for their eventual “conversion.”
A church sign in Burlington, NC. 10/25/23
Even more disturbing is the perspective revealed in a “pop-up” ad on evangelical preacher Mark Driscoll’s webpage. Not only does Driscoll suggest that the current situation in Gaza might be a harbinger of the end times, but the use of “spirit of Hamas” is coded language suggesting that the organization is evil and satanic. The depiction of the crescent moon dripping blood underscores this. The attacks on Israelis by Hamas were brutal and horrifying, but casting the movement as a spiritual evil completely dehumanizes members of the organization and those connected to it. These actions were horrific, but I believe people are not evil. Compare Driscoll’s characterization of Hamas to the gesture made by Yocheved Lifshitz, the 85-year-old Israeli hostage who grasped the hand of one of her former captors upon release and uttered “shalom.”
In addition to predicting the coming of the end, The description of Driscoll’s book refers to “how to be prepared for a potential attack on U.S. soil.” Clearly, the concern here is not with those killed or taken hostage, not to mention the people in Gaza who suffer as a result.
I know that my observations here are nothing original. The millennial underpinning of evangelical Christian support for Israel is something many have explored. The new piece for me, personally, is the recognition that my upbringing within evangelical Christianity and the cultural capital that has given me demands my action. As someone who came out of this tradition and who is now a biblical scholar, I have an obligation to call out these perspectives as inherently antisemitic and contributing to the oppression of Palestinians.
Instead of “praying for Israel,” I will work to combat antisemitism in all its forms, especially Christian antisemitism. I will support those working for peaceful solutions for coexistence in the Middle East, like those Israeli Jews working together with Arab Israelis who believe continued attacks on Gaza and aid restrictions are counter-productive and immoral.
Lynn R. Huber 