Perhaps it’s a human symptom of troubled times: Hearts and minds more and more wrapped in thoughts and feelings of nostalgia – sentimental and often-romanticized yearning for the past. When you’re nostalgic, the fond pleasure of precious memory mixes with twinges of sadness for times, places, or people that cannot be recovered.
When the term was coined in the 17th century, “nostalgia” diagnosed a medical condition – “homesickness.” But it’s now understood as a complex emotion that fosters identity, belonging, and meaning. Nostalgia is a double-edged sword that offers emotional benefits like reduced stress and improved mood, but also can it be a burden when longing for the “simpler times” and good ol’ days prevents engagement with the present and stymies assurance of hope for the future.
Nostalgia’s ability to cut to the quick and slice open festering wounds of the past is why the New Testament prophet John wants little do with gazing in the rear-view mirror of past life. In his lead-up to this morning’s Scripture lesson from the book of Revelation, John’s only passion for the past is the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And John is singularly focused on the Lord’s cosmically bright future.
John sees the communion of the saints, the one holy catholic and universal church that is never alone, never without powerful forces guarding it.
John sees the prayers of the saints as precious incense filling up golden bowls, reminding him and now all of us that no prayer is ever lost, no prayer is ever forgotten, no prayer is ever anything less than the most precious commodity in the cosmos, fully worthy of the opulent bowls that hold the prayers.
And above all, John sees the Savior who is both Lion and Lamb, both the powerful Ruler of All and the humble creature who bears all over himself the marks of having been killed.
In the deep mysticism of faith, somehow the death of this One created a whole new reality that just is the one Church of Christ, the communion of the saints, the ones now known as the Kingdom of God who serve this God forever.
See and hear the vision of John, as he continues his prophesy of the coming times for all God’s people. “Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear and who keep what is written in it; for the time is near.” (Revelation 1:3)
After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!”
And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one who knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 7:9-17)
I’ve never attended a Pentecostal service, but the pictures and videos of such over-the-top, pedal-to-the-metal worship glimpse how I imagine the scene that John describes. Freed from the “great ordeals” of earthly existence, God’s people are under the influence: tipsy with boundless joy and inebriated with endless thanksgiving. Their drink is the wine of salvation, drunk along verdant shores of God’s crystal steam. For the Lord’s drying of tears, their loud praise is deafening.
Apparently, in heaven, praising God is an entirely different kettle of fish altogether. Worship in that place of eternal rest is measured in terms of seismic quakes and volcanic eruptions. And under no conceivable circumstance can such worship be anything other than what it is!
As the psalmist declared earlier in our service, the whole of Creation is in on the act of worship: Sun and moon, sea and sky, fire and snow, Holstein cows and white-throated sparrows, old men in walkers and children who still haven’t taken their first step.
Their praise is not chiefly a matter of saying anything, because most of Creation doesn’t deal in words. Instead, the snow whirls, the fire roars, the milkers bellow, the old woman watches the moon rise. Their praise is not something that at their most flattering they say but something that at their truest they are.
“We learn to praise God not by paying compliments but by paying attention,” suggests another. “Watch how the trees exult when the wind is in them. Mark the utter stillness of the great blue heron in the swamp. Listen to the sound of the rain. Listen how to say ‘Hallelujah’ from the ones who say it right.”
Worshiping with such zeal might feel impossibly hard – and maybe even ridiculously embarrassing. But that’s what the Holy Spirit will enable, when God wipes away every pain of your past – even unto wiping away completely your troubled memory of such ordeals, and you’re finally, once and for all freed from the temptation of nostalgia’s aching shadows.
For now, though, we struggle with the bane and blessing of wistful remembering. Which sometimes makes it emotionally challenging to gather on Sunday mornings. Because the wildly powerful forces of worship confront us with the emotional memories with which we do not want to deal. But please remember this: You often must weep before you can rejoice. For Jesus to wipe away tears, you first have to cry.
For now, though, here in this place, worship should hold safe and sacred space to do both: to cry and to rejoice. You’ll remember that – won’t you? – when you’ll soon come to the Lord’s Table. The invitation is for you to gather around the Table with teary eyes, lumpy throats, shattered dreams, and achy-breaky hearts. Yet the feast really is joyful when you remember – won’t you? – that Christ has died! And that Christ is risen! And that Christ will come again!
Most assuredly in Christ Jesus – then, now, and to come, you must taste the bitterness of tears before you can savor the sweetness of resurrection. Now is the time: Come and let wounds be healed, come and let your souls be fed. In Jesus’s name. Amen!
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message during worship on Sunday, January 25, 2026, which included celebration of the Lord’s Supper. The message is part of Pastor Grant’s current series on the New Testament book of Revelation. Scholarship, commentary, and reflection by Frederick Buechner and Scott Hoezee inform the message.