Sermon – Worship

(I preached this sermon at Christ Lutheran Church, Harrisburg, PA on August 10, 2025. It is based on Revelation 5:1-13)

In 1960, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said in an interview:
“It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o’clock on Sunday morning.”

Sixty-five years later…
It’s still true in too many places.

You can drive through any town and see it —
One church almost all one color.
Another one, almost all another.
Divided not just by race… but by neighborhood, by wealth, by language, by music preference.

Here at Christ Lutheran, we are something rare.
We already get a glimpse of what heaven looks like — people from many backgrounds gathered as one.
But even here, with all of this beauty, God’s vision is bigger still.

Revelation 5 shows us just how big.

John is on the island of Patmos —
Exiled.
Cut off.
Powerless.

It’s Sunday — “the Lord’s Day” —
and suddenly the veil between heaven and earth is drawn back.

He sees God on the throne, holding a scroll.
Seven seals. Locked tight.

That scroll contains the fullness of God’s plan —
The final chapter of history.
The setting right of all things.
The end of tears.

But no one is worthy to open it.
No prophet. No king. No angel. No human.
The whole universe searches —
…and comes up empty.

John weeps.

This isn’t a polite tear —
It’s the ugly cry of hopelessness.
It’s the ache you feel when you turn on the news and think,
“It’s never going to change.”

Then… one of the elders says:
“Do not weep. The Lion of Judah has conquered.”

John turns, expecting a lion —
Strong. Fierce. Teeth bared.

But instead… he sees a Lamb.
Slaughtered…
…and yet standing.
Alive.
Victorious.

The Lamb takes the scroll — and all heaven breaks loose.

First, the living creatures and the elders — the highest of heaven’s representatives — fall down and sing a new song:
“You are worthy… for you were slaughtered, and by your blood you ransomed saints from every tribe and language and people and nation.”

Then — the angels join in.
“Myriads of myriads” — the Greek means “ten-thousand times ten-thousand.”
Uncountable.

The sound rolls like the rumble of firetrucks and delivery trucks on the street.
Like a hundred city buses braking at once.
Like a packed stadium when the home team scores.

And then — every creature joins in.
Every voice in heaven.
Every voice on earth.
Every voice under the earth.
Every voice in the sea.

The song rises like it’s coming from every direction at once:
“To the one seated on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”

So why does this matter?

a. Worship starts with God

John doesn’t walk into a room and start worship.
He’s caught up in worship that’s already happening.
The universe is already singing — and on Sundays, we join in.

When you speak the words of the liturgy, you’re stepping into a river that’s been flowing since before creation.

b. Worship is centered on the Lamb

Everyone’s attention is on the Lamb —
Not on themselves. Not on the leaders.

Why?
Because the Lamb has overcome —
Not by force, but by self-giving love.

This is power redefined.
Victory through sacrifice.

The Lamb shows that empire’s ultimate power – the power of death – is ultimately powerless.

In a city like ours, where we’ve been told to watch out for ourselves first —
This is a radical, counter-cultural word.

c. Worship is for everyone

Every tribe. Every language. Every people. Every nation.
No one is left out.

Not just humans —
The sparrows on the wires,
The stray cats in the alley,
The trees along the river.
All part of the choir.

That’s why the church can never say,
“These people belong, but those people don’t.”

d. Worship is already in our mouths

Some of the words in Revelation 5 are already on your lips.
In the hymnal, there’s a song called “This is the Feast of Victory for Our God” — straight from Revelation.
Many Lutherans sing it after communion.

Here, we speak the words:
“Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world.”
When we say those words, we’re not just talking to the people in this room.
We’re joining a chorus that never stops.

Who’s missing from the choir?

If heaven’s choir has every voice —
Who’s missing from ours?

Who hasn’t been invited?

We can’t pray, “On earth as it is in heaven,” in the Lord’s prayer
If our worship here doesn’t reflect the wideness of heaven’s welcome.

A few years ago, in my previous call, I saw a glimpse of that worship —
Not in a cathedral.
Not at a church conference with thousands of worshippers.

It was at the back of a Denny’s, at a truck stop.

We’d been meeting people living in their cars.
We’d do laundry together.
Make sure they could get a shower.
And then we’d eat.

Over time, the meal turned into something else.
We prayed before eating.
We read Scripture.
And eventually… we starting worshipping right into the meal.

Picture it:
Long tables jammed with people.
Plates of pancakes, burgers, and fries.
Coffee cups clinking.
The smell of bacon and toast in the air.
Laughter spilling over the music on the speakers.
Someone reading the gospel, their voice competing with the hiss of the grill.
Prayers rising alongside the smell of coffee.
A ragged chorus of “Amen”s mixing with the clatter of forks and scrape of chairs.

Some hadn’t been to church in decades.
Some had no roof over their head.
Some carried all they owned in a backpack.

And yet — in that noisy, messy, holy space —
The Lamb was at the center.
The meal was the feast.
The voices were the choir.

And if you closed your eyes…
You could almost hear the echo of heaven.

Revelation 5 isn’t just about some future heavenly worship service.
Every once in a while — in a sanctuary, at a hospital bed, at the back of a diner — the veil lifts.

You hear it.
The voices don’t all match. The harmony isn’t perfect.
But the Lamb is in the center.

When we worship today, remember:
We’re not just singing in this room.
We’re part of a song that shakes the heavens.
And one day…
Every creature will join in,
Forever and ever.

Amen.