Those wacky historicists!

For some time now I’ve been interested in Victorian Biblical interpretation, particularly regarding the Apocalypse. I love this stuff! One of the major authors on the subject in the period was a man who was somewhat of a Hal Lindsey in his day, the Reverend Alexander Keith of Edinburgh, who I’ve mentioned before. Two of his works, The Signs of the Times and Evidence of the Truth of the Christian Religion, were immensely popular, the latter going through thirty-nine editions! I’ve got a fifth edition (1834) of The Signs of the Times, and a thirty-fifth (1854) and thirty-ninth (1872) editions of Evidence…. Both books are often referred to in later works in the historicist tradition of interpretation of prophecy, like Daniel and the Revelation by Uriah Smith of the Seventh Day Adventists, but were of less direct lasting influence in the genre than Edward Bishop Elliott’s four volumes of Horae Apocalypticae, which went through five editions by 1862. In common to all of the above are the direct linking of the prophecies of the Book of Revelation to various historical events long post-dating the Apocalypse’s writing, in Keith’s place, particularly, bringing it up to the immediate past of his own day, as we’ll see below. Perhaps it’s the sheer, outrageous boldness of the interpretations that strikes me so, and to which one cannot respond but with some certain amount of gentle amusement, really, and a degree of bewilderment. It’s fascinating stuff.

In the back of volume two of Keith’s Signs of the Times is a tabular summary of the two volumes of his interpretation, serving as an index. If you never thought to see the American Revolution or Napolean in the Apocalypse, be prepared! The language and emphasis in the below is his, of course. So, here we are, an historicist interpretation of the Book of Revelation from 1834:

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The Rose

There once was a beautiful, wise and courageous woman, the daughter of a wise and wealthy father. Her favorite pastime was to tend her rose garden, which was well-known for the beauty of form and size and scent of its roses. A day came when she plucked, from among these most beautiful and perfect roses, the most perfect rose. Its shape and the softness of its petals brought to mind all the beautiful things in the world. Its scent was strong and perfect, seeming to lift cares from a troubled mind. She carried her rose with her into the streets of the city in which she lived, wishing to share such bounty with all her friends, her neighbors, and any strangers she might meet. Everyone loved the rose, except for a few who were envious of its perfection. These people surrounded the wise and beautiful woman, and demanded the rose of her. With a gentle smile, she handed the rose to the most violent among them. They took the beautiful rose, perfect in form and scent, and viciously tore at it, ripping it apart with their hands, stomping on it with their feet, wishing to eliminate it entirely. The wise and beautiful woman stood to the side, watching with her wise and gentle smile, now seeming to be a trifle sadder for the solitary tear that slid down her cheek. When the rage of the mob was ended, all stood quiet, as though stunned. The wise and beautiful woman stepped forward and quietly said, “Now, smell your hands, smell the scent of the perfect rose which you have released for all to enjoy.” Indeed, the scent was even stronger now, even seemingly more perfect. It wafted on a gentle breeze throughout the city. The mob, ashamed, went their ways, and the wise and beautiful woman went home to tend her garden.

That rose is Christ.

I wrote this on Lazarus Saturday (the Saturday before Holy Week), 3 April 1999. At the time I’d been compiling a number of lectionary indices (see the Lectionaries menu, above), and for that Lenten season, read the various appointed readings daily for various Western (Roman Catholic, Revised Common Lectionary) and Eastern (Coptic, Greek, Georgian, Armenian, and Syrian) lectionary traditions that I had collected by that point. The Coptic Orthodox lectionary was the strongest influence, I think, with the Georgian and Armenian, both representative of the practice of the Jerusalem church ages ago, in a tie for a close second. By Lazarus Saturday in the Eastern calendar, this metaphorical story had distilled itself, and I sat down at an outdoor table at a local pub and wrote it out in the space of just a few minutes. It was a truly remarkable experience.

Subconsciously, before writing my odd little metaphoric tale, the readings had obviously gotten to me. The pattern of suffering as purifying, enriching, strengthening, even divinizing, was not something I was consciously thinking of. I hadn’t, at that time, read much in Patristics. Still, those readings worked in an unexpected way. I mentioned above that the Coptic lectionary was probably the strongest influence. In fact, I came to look forward to my Coptic readings every day, moreso than to any of the others. The Coptic lectionary is deftly arranged, opting for a very skilled, highly literate thematic arrangement of readings related to the part of the year in which they fall. One can’t help but think that the Copts are well-familiar with suffering. They learned a secret about suffering and passed it on in their lectionary: to shine, one must burn.

A Shepherd in South Lebanon

It was late summer when He and three other men first walked upon that road yonder. It was evening, and He stopped and stood there at the end of the pasture.

I was playing upon my flute, and my flock was grazing all around me. When He stopped I rose and walked over and stood before Him.

And He asked me, “Where is the grave of Elijah? Is it not somewhere near this place?”

And I answered Him, “It is there, Sir, underneath that great heap of stones. Even unto this day every passerby brings a stone and places it upon the heap.”

And He thanked me and walked away, and His friends walked behind Him.

And after three days Gamaliel who was also a shepherd, said to me that the man who had passed by was a prophet in Judea; but I did not believe him. Yet I thought of that man for many a moon.

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