Sermon – Empire on Trial

(I preached this sermon on Revelation 4:1-11 at Christ Lutheran Church on Sunday August 3, 2025)

I was called for jury duty last week.

I arrived at 8:15 a.m., passed through the metal detector, and rode the elevator with a group of strangers to the third floor of the courthouse. We filled out a questionnaire and waited in the jury assembly room. Eventually, my number was called. We lined up numerically and followed the tipstaff through a quiet hallway into the courtroom.

Inside, the judge sat at the front, their bench higher than everyone else—clearly in charge. The prosecution presented the charges, the name of the alleged victim, and what witnesses we might hear from. The defense sat across the room, prepared to make their case. The courtroom was filled with order and seriousness. Black robes, professional attire, clear instructions. No maybes. Only yes or no. A room where truth was to be pursued, guilt determined beyond a reasonable doubt, and justice, hopefully, to be done.

There was a sense of reverence for the law, but also an awareness that we were weighing something heavy. Something broken. A person’s life and future. And behind the ceremony and the seriousness, behind the black robes and polished decorum, was an unspoken truth: no human courtroom is perfect. Even the best are shaped by the values of the world. And in this world, empires rule the courts far too often.

But today we’re stepping into a different kind of courtroom—a heavenly one. In Revelation 4, the question isn’t just about guilt or innocence. It’s about power. It’s about who sits on the throne.

Revelation 4 opens with a door. A door standing open in heaven. And John, the seer, is invited to come and see.

What he sees is a courtroom too—but not like the one I entered last week. It’s a throne room. A place of ultimate authority. But here, the judge is not wearing black robes. The throne is not surrounded by lawyers and tipstaffs. It is surrounded by worship.

This chapter is a vivid theological counter-image to everything the Roman Empire—or any modern empire—would display. Rome had its throne: Caesar seated high, surrounded by wealth, violence, and the threat of death. But this throne is different.

Let’s look at the characters who surround God’s throne and what they symbolize:

• The One seated on the throne: Radiating in jasper and carnelian—a shimmering, multicolored light. Not a warlord or politician. No image of conquest or empire. Just overwhelming majesty and mystery.
• The 24 elders: Clothed in white, wearing gold crowns. These likely represent the fullness of God’s people—twelve tribes of Israel and twelve apostles—Old and New Testaments together. They cast their crowns before the throne, surrendering power and glory, offering everything back to God. No one clings to status here.
• The seven torches of fire: These are the seven spirits of God—symbolizing the fullness and perfection of the Holy Spirit.
• The sea of glass, like crystal: In the ancient world, the sea represented chaos, danger, and evil. But in God’s throne room, the sea is perfectly still. God subdues the chaos—not through violence, but through presence.
• The four living creatures: A lion, an ox, a human face, and an eagle. These recall the best of creation: strength, service, wisdom, and vision. In Christian tradition, they also symbolize the four Gospel writers—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—surrounding God’s throne with witness and proclamation. Day and night, they proclaim, “Holy, holy, holy, the Lord God the Almighty, who was and is and is to come.”

This throne room isn’t silent or somber like the one I sat in. It is filled with song. Creation itself is praising. Crowns are laid down. Power is relinquished. All eyes are on God.

Revelation doesn’t just show us heaven for the sake of it. It gives us this image to contrast it with what we see down here.

Empires like Rome—and empires today—have their own thrones. Thrones of wealth. Thrones of violence. Thrones of power built on exploitation. Thrones that demand worship.

Empires conquer. They are never satisfied. They demand compliance, use violence, crush dissent. They are cruel. They operate on the idea that the ends justify the means. They believe in “might makes right” and “the strong survive.”

Empires do not tolerate competition. They consume cultures. They destroy what they do not control.

And we know these empires intimately:

• The entertainment empire that feeds us images of who we should be, while demeaning who we actually are.
• The corporate empires that prioritize profit over people.
• The tech empires that turn our attention into a product and algorithm into god.
• The billionaire empires that hoard wealth while people go without housing, healthcare, and food.
• The political empires that would rather scapegoat the vulnerable than serve the common good.
• The military empires that preach peace while practicing perpetual war.

These empires all promise safety, comfort, power, identity. But they rule by fear. They feed on inequality. And they tell us: this is just the way the world works.

But Revelation 4 cries out: No! There is another throne. There is another way.

Now imagine this as a courtroom—because that’s what a throne room is. But the trial isn’t of you or me. It’s of the empire.

Let’s call the court into session – there will be witnesses, we will hear instructions by judges, lawyers will make arguments. So imagine this:
The Honorable God Almighty, seated on the throne of justice and mercy.
The prosecutor stands—perhaps an elder from Revelation, perhaps someone who has suffered under the weight of empire. Maybe a woman from Allison Hill who can’t afford insulin. Maybe an immigrant child torn from her family. Maybe someone from Gaza.

She begins:
“Your Honor, we bring charges today against the empires of this world—against the systems and rulers and powers that pretend to be god.
We charge them with idolatry—for claiming to save while enslaving.
We charge them with theft—for hoarding wealth while children starve.
We charge them with deceit—for calling violence peace.
We charge them with murder—for sacrificing the poor to maintain the rich.
We charge them with blasphemy—for putting themselves on your throne.”

The defense attorney rises—perhaps a slick lawyer in a tailored suit. He says:
“Your Honor, my clients were only doing what was necessary. It’s the cost of doing business. They provide jobs. They bring prosperity—for some. They keep the peace. These empires maintain order. They are too big to fail. They protect freedom—at least for the winners. They are just doing what it takes to survive in a tough world.  The people choose this system. They could always leave.”

And God leans forward and says:
“Is that justice? Is that mercy? Is that the way of love?”

When the arguments are done, the courtroom waits.

And then the verdict comes.

Guilty.

But this is where God surprises us.

God doesn’t respond with the way empire does. God responds with unveiling. With liberation. With Jesus—the Lamb who was slain. This Lamb is the one at the center of the throne. This Lamb bears the marks of empire’s violence but lives. And because of that, the Lamb dismantles the whole system—not through domination but through resurrection.

God doesn’t just burn the empire down. God builds a new kingdom—not on oppression, but on healing.
God replaces the courtroom of fear with a sanctuary of grace.
God sets the prisoners free.
God feeds the hungry.
God exalts the lowly.
God declares: There is another way.

God declares: “You do not have to serve these empires anymore.
You do not belong to them.

You are not defined by their standards or shackled by their lies.
You are beloved.
You are free.”

And unlike the rulers of this world, God does not hoard power—God shares it. Not by making us kings and CEOs, but by calling us children. God gives us robes, crowns, new names—not because we earned them, but because we were always beloved.

Let’s be clear about who is not on the throne.
Not the President or any president. Not Congress. Not the courts.
Not billionaires. Not celebrities. Not generals.
Not influencers. Not the algorithm.
Not a political party. Not a church denomination.
Not your boss. Not your paycheck.
Not even your fears.

They all want to be there. They think they belong on the throne. But they are not.

The One on the throne is the God of the oppressed.
The One on the throne is the God who favors the poor.
The One on the throne is the God who forgives.
The God who sets people free.
The God who feeds the hungry.
The God who touches the leper.
The God who walks with immigrants.
The God who loves queer kids.
The God whose way is peace.
The God who breaks every chain.
The God who is unfair—in grace, in mercy, in love.

So what do we do?

At Christ Lutheran Church, we don’t bow to empire. We live as people of the throne.

We come here week after week to be reminded that the throne of God still stands.
We keep the beacon shining—bright with love, hope, healing – in a world of cruelty these are a form of resistance.
We run health clinics for the sick and forgotten that the empire ignores.
We feed people when the empire says they’re disposable.
We welcome people when the empire builds walls.
We sing songs of justice.
We pray prayers of defiance and hope.
We lay down crowns of power and pick up towels of service.

We gather around the Lamb’s table. We hear “holy, holy, holy.” We cry out with the elders. We weep with those under the altar. We wait with hope.

Because the throne is occupied.
Not by Caesar or any would be emperor. Not by a politician or a strongman.  Not by wealth or might. Not by any power that pretends to be god.
But by the Lamb.
And he shall reign forever and ever.

Friends, this is good news.

The throne of God is not far off. It’s here. It’s now. It’s breaking in through cracked sidewalks and broken systems and weary hearts.

It’s for you.

You who are poor.
You who are tired.
You who are holding on.
You who don’t know how you’ll make it.

The throne of God is not surrounded by walls—it is encircled by wings, by worship, by creatures crying holy, by people made whole.

So come.
Bow.
Rise.
Live as citizens of heaven, even in the midst of empire.
Because the throne still stands.
And the Lamb still reigns.

Amen.