The One in the Midst: A Vision of Christ for the Weary
I’d like you to think for a moment about the word “exile.” It doesn’t just mean being far from home. It means being where you don’t quite belong. It’s the feeling of isolation in a crowd, of holding a conviction that costs you, of weary faithfulness in a world that seems indifferent or even hostile.
If you’ve ever felt that—like an exile—then the book of
Revelation, and our text today, is written for you.
Our passage opens with the apostle John. He is not in a
palace, not in a cathedral, but on the island of Patmos, a bleak Roman penal
colony. He’s there, he says, “because of the word of God and the testimony of
Jesus.” His exile is a direct result of his faithfulness. He is alone, aged,
possibly cold, and certainly oppressed. He represents every faithful heart that
has ever asked, “Where is God in this? Does He see? Does He know?”
And it is here, in the exile’s place, that God
pulls back the curtain.
John hears a voice, turns, and sees a vision. Not of an army
to rescue him, not of a decree to free him, but of someone. And
this someone is “in the midst.”
“Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking with me.
And having turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the middle of
the lampstands I saw one like a son of man…” (Revelation 1:12-13a).
He is in the midst of the struggling church. In the midst of
your difficult family. In the midst of your financial worry, your sickness,
your grief. He is not a remote deity observing from a safe distance. He is the
God who dwells with His people. Your place of exile is precisely where He
chooses to stand.
But then, John describes Him. And this is where “simple”
gives way to “deep,” where comfort meets holy awe. This figure is “like a son
of man”—a title Jesus loved, connecting Him to us. But His appearance is
utterly overwhelming:
- A
robe reaching to His feet, with a golden sash: This is the attire
of a high priest and a king. He is the one who represents us to God and
rules over all things.
- Hair
white like wool, like snow: Ancient wisdom, eternal purity, the
“Ancient of Days” from Daniel’s vision. This is no mere man.
- Eyes
like a flame of fire: He sees. And His gaze pierces through every
façade. He sees your hidden pain and your secret sin. Nothing is hidden.
It’s a disquieting, purifying sight.
- Feet like burnished bronze… voice like the sound of many waters: Unshakable strength and a voice of immense, undeniable authority—like a roaring waterfall that drowns out every other voice of fear or accusation.
- In
His right hand, seven stars: He holds the messengers, the very
angels of the churches, securely in His sovereign grip.
- Out
of His mouth, a sharp two-edged sword: His word is active,
judging, separating truth from lie. It is by His word that
He confronts and defends.
- His
face, like the sun shining in full strength: Unapproachable,
glorious, radiant with the very light of God.
This is the vision. This is who is in the midst of the
lampstands.
If we stopped here, we might simply fall down in terror. And
John does. “When I saw Him,” he says, “I fell at His feet as though dead.” The
exiled prophet is prostrate, overcome. The human meets the Divine, and the only
proper response is death.
But then comes the touch. The most profound moment in the
text.
“But He laid His right hand on me, saying, ‘Do not be
afraid…’” (Revelation 1:17).
The hand that holds the stars touches the shoulder of a
broken man. The voice like many waters now speaks a human sentence: “Do
not be afraid.”
Why? On what basis can fear be banished in the presence of
such holiness? He gives three reasons, which are the bedrock of hope for every
weary exile:
- “I
am the First and the Last.” Your story is bookended by My
eternity. Your exile has a beginning and it will have an end, and I am
there at both. I am outside of time, sovereign over its flow.
- “I
am the Living One.” I am the source and definition of life. The
empire that exiles you is dying. The sickness that weakens you is a
shadow. I have overcome the very entropy of a fallen world.
- “I
died, and behold I am alive forevermore.” Here is the heart of
it. The scars are still on this glorious body. The one with eyes of fire
and feet of bronze is the one with pierced hands and side. The
crucified God is in your midst. He has entered the deepest exile
of all—God-forsakenness on a cross—and He has emerged victorious. Death,
the ultimate exile, could not hold Him.
And then He adds, “I have the keys of Death and Hades.” The
one who holds the stars also holds the keys to the prison house of death. He
has unlocked it from the inside.
So, what does this mean for you, today?
If you are in a place of exile—whether imposed by
circumstance or chosen for faithfulness—this vision is for you.
You are not alone. The one in the midst is not a
gentle carpenter from Galilee instead of this glorious Lord.
He is this glorious Lord. The same hands that touched John and
calmed Peter and broke the bread are the hands that hold the stars. The same
voice that said “Your sins are forgiven” and “Little girl, arise” is the voice
that shakes the universe.
Your High Priest knows your weakness. Your King has fought
your battle. The one who judges with eyes of fire has already taken the
judgment for you upon Himself.
Therefore, you can stand. You can endure. You can be
faithful in your Patmos. Not because your circumstances have changed, but
because your vision has been clarified. The truth about your exile is
this: You are not abandoned in your struggle. You are standing on holy
ground, in the presence of the Living One who died for you.
So, rise. Hear His touch in His word. Hear His “Do not be
afraid.” And see, by faith, not the chains of your island, but the glorious,
crucified, and risen Lord, standing in your very midst, holding the keys to
your future.
