2nd 3rd or 4th
Michaelmas Sunday
Revelation 19, 11-16
And I saw the heavens opening up. And behold, a white horse! And the
rider who sat upon it is called faithful and true, who judges justly and
battles for justice. His eyes are like flames of fire, and his head wears many
crowns, inscribed with a name which no one knows but he himself. The cloak that covers him has been dipped in blood, and
he is known by the name “Word of God”.
And the warriors of the sky ride behind him upon white steeds, clad in
clean, white linen. And he has a sharp-edged sword coming out of his mouth with
which to strike the nations down, and he will shepherd them with a staff of
iron. He treads on the winepress holding the wine of the wrath of the will of
God, the ruler of all.
And written on his cloak and on his thigh is the name: King of all
kings, Lord of all lords.
4th Michaelmas Sunday
Revelation 19: 11-16
Even in the mild climate of Southern
California , we are no strangers to wind storms, firestorms,
flooding. They demonstrate the incredible power and strength that manifests in
the natural world. They can strip the leaves off trees, down the deadwood. They
are nature pruning itself, ridding itself of the no longer useful. They are a
part of life.
Today’s reading is a stormy one. It gives us a mighty
picture of the strength and power of the Michaelic countenance of Christ. He
rides a white horse, the image of the purified soul. He is loyal to truth and
true justice. The cloak that covers Him, is dipped in His own blood of
sacrifice. And although no one knows His inner name, we call Him the Logos, the
creating Word of God. He it is who impels evolution.
We may wonder that it says that He strikes the nations down,
but it is part of rightful evolution that cultures, nations rise and fall. His
winepress extracts the useful essence of every human life, of every culture, to
nourish the future. On His cloak of sacrifice and on His thigh, the ‘pillar’ on
which He stands, it is written that He is the King of kings, the true and just
leader of all cultures, of all of humanity, into our future development.
It is a powerful picture, and an uncomfortable one. But the
old, the no-longer-useful, the no-longer-living must be cut away, wrenched free
from that which is capable of moving into the future. We too can become those
in clad in white, who have cut away the deadwood and are ready to ride into the
future. In the words of the poet, we pray:
Strike, too, O Michael,
Red human hearts as well
Lightning-like let surprise
Waken our clouded eyes.
Kindle our thoughts with sight
Till they leap crystal-bright.
Forge us, O Autumn Lord,
Fiery, sun-like
Into your sword.[1]
