Christians must continue to pursue the highest and best, even in the presence of dire need. No period of undisturbed tranquility is just over the horizon, the arrival of which will then permit a Golden Age of pursuing the best that has been thought or written. The time for beauty, higher learning, and the pursuit of excellence is now, whether we are in Monaco or Monrovia. If we, in the name of wartime-lifestyle-gospel-centred-radical-whatever-you-call-it, eschew beautiful instruments and quality hymnals, all that will happen is we will sing inferior songs on inferior instruments.

“Why this waste?” said the greediest member of the Twelve. Judas’s supposed concern with helping the poor and for efficient use of ministry finances was really a facade for his unvarnished envy. Judas wanted money, and like every jealous soul, disliked money being spent lavishly on someone else.
The sentiment that it is frivolous waste to spend money on anything except dire need is popular among some Christians. It’s an easy sentiment to have, even a lazy one, perhaps. What could be a better use of money than giving it to those who have the least, right? And what could be a more wasteful use of money than spending more on those who already have enough, correct? Such “automatic-entitlement” functions rather like the Left’s politics of victimization. Find a race, gender, or “sexual orientation” that has been supposedly oppressed, and such a group automatically receives the unassailable position of victim, requiring special treatment, and requiring no defense of its now-privileged status. The same Leftist sentimentalism often brews within Christianity, and bubbles out when spending is on anything except extreme need.
My church is not wealthy, relative to some others in the city. Our monthly budget is exactly half of some of our sister churches not far from us. Of course, that same budget is several times larger than some of the other churches we know and fellowship with. That’s simply life, and as anyone who understands biblical economics knows, inequality is not injustice.
But given our middle-sized budget, what justification is there for spending a considerable amount of the hard-earned and saved money of our church on a very expensive musical instrument, and on hard-cover hymnals?  How could we do this, amidst a sea of poverty? “Why this waste?” one might opine. Why not a few guitars and a simple Powerpoint projection?
One of the best answers comes from C.S. Lewis, in his essay “Learning in War-time.” Lewis faced a similar criticism during World War 2. What was the point of having scholars study medieval literature or Anglo-Saxon linguistics when there were Nazis bombing European cities? Wasn’t this an almost literal enactment of fiddling while Rome burned?
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Satan’s malignant forces shape-shift, donning different disguises in different eras. Whatever forms his attacks may take, Satan is already defeated (Rev. 12:7–13; 20:1–3). So, the triumphant Lamb gave us the book of Revelation to instill in us the discernment, courage, and fidelity to hold fast to His Word as we eagerly anticipate the blessing of His presence in the new heaven and earth (Rev. 1:3; 22:7, 14).

Confusing. Controversial. Troubling. Terrifying. If the book of Revelation brings these descriptions to your mind, you are not alone. Yet God’s purpose for Revelation is to reveal, not conceal—to encourage, not distress. Revelation promises blessing to “the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and . . . those who hear, and who keep what is written in it” (Rev. 1:3, emphasis added). Envision the scene in the first-century congregations to which Revelation was first sent: one leader stands to read the scroll aloud, while everyone else listens. They can grasp Revelation’s message and receive the blessing it promises simply by hearing it read aloud and taking its truths to heart. So can we. To receive the blessing, you should know three things about this climactic book of the Bible.
1. Revelation unveils the triumph of the Lamb in a world run amok.
The first verse of Revelation is the book’s title: “The revelation of Jesus Christ” (Rev. 1:1). The Greek term represented by “revelation” (apocalypsis) suggests that an “unveiling” is needed for us to see through the surface appearances of our experience and world history, and to perceive the core reality that lies behind them and explains their source. If we see only superficial symptoms—war’s atrocities, environmental catastrophes, economic collapse, famine and starvation, disease and death—we will never discern why our world has run amok. Only a glimpse behind the veil into the spiritual realm where God, who is sovereign over everything, combats “the great dragon . . . that ancient serpent, . . . the devil and Satan” (Rev. 12:9; 20:2), makes sense of the miseries and mysteries that surround us.
This book is a “revelation of Jesus Christ” in two senses: Jesus is both the agent who unveils and the subject who is unveiled. First, “God gave” this revelation to Jesus Christ “to show to his servants the things that must soon take place” (Rev. 1:1). That transfer from the Father to the incarnate Son is dramatized in Revelation 4 and 5, as the Lamb receives from the Enthroned Sovereign a scroll and then breaks its seals, one by one, to initiate and control the events that unfold in history. The Lamb alone is worthy to disclose and execute God’s agenda since the Lamb has triumphed by enduring violent death to ransom “people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Rev. 5:5–10).
Second, Revelation also unveils Jesus Christ.
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Now in Sydney with Ian’s parents, we investigated long-term employment and made ends meet with his General Practice locums. My stress accrued with his long hours away, morning sickness, and our unsettled, energetic boys. Our morale sunk lower with each long-term job prospect that turned out negative. We had insufficient funds to buy into any practice, without incurring a huge loan—a burden we didn’t want to bear. As parents would understand, we longed to exit this instability, sleep in our own beds, and get a steady income. Weeks turned to months. Each day, we prayed and seriously sought God in the Bible. Ian felt confident that God was leading us along the best pathway for our lives (Psalms 32:8).

Whenever anxiety rolls in like a black cloud, I try to remember the memorable way God taught me that He really means what He said: Do not be anxious (Matthew 6:25). 
It bugged me that my husband, Ian, didn’t stress like I did. In the morning, he went off to work, happy to treat patients while I tackled the housework and kids, and stewed over difficulties. We had moved 15 times since marriage three and a half years before. I’d given birth to two children, and now expected another. Where would this baby be born? The kids cried so much. I felt nauseous. Oh, to stop the world and get off, but Ian and the boys depended on me. How did we get here?
We had recently returned to Australia after 15 months in England, where Ian did postgraduate paediatric training. We had used up our savings, needed to find a job and home, and badly needed rest: Ian had worked in five different NHS hospitals doing 60-80 hour weeks, on call one in two nights and weekends, with six house moves. Now in Sydney with Ian’s parents, we investigated long-term employment and made ends meet with his General Practice locums. My stress accrued with his long hours away, morning sickness, and our unsettled, energetic boys. Our morale sunk lower with each long-term job prospect that turned out negative. We had insufficient funds to buy into any practice, without incurring a huge loan—a burden we didn’t want to bear. As parents would understand, we longed to exit this instability, sleep in our own beds, and get a steady income.
Weeks turned to months. Each day, we prayed and seriously sought God in the Bible. Ian felt confident that God was leading us along the best pathway for our lives (Psalms 32:8). Making God’s principles our priorities, we trusted Jesus’ words: Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided to you (Matthew 6:33).
After a series of jobs, Ian netted a six-week locum in a distant suburb. He phoned around and, against all odds, found a furnished rental home for that time. Delighted to be a nuclear unit again, we packed our bags and rocked up to our new home. I stifled a groan as I looked at the ramshackle building and overgrown garden. Pulling my coat tighter around me, we stepped into the dimly-lit rooms to see some chairs, a table, bed, and basic kitchen equipment. I tried to be thankful at the prospect of glorified camping. Yes, I could endure six weeks here, but how many more jobs and moves could we handle? I poured out my complaints to God but hardly expected a response.
Having had breakfast, with nothing in the house to keep us entertained or warm, I bundled the boys into the pram, hoping for relief with fresh air and exercise. As we walked past houses, I recalled my thoughts as a bride marrying a doctor with a good income and planned my dream house and garden. But as we sought God, the power of pursuing money and status bowed to a much bigger goal: serving—to spread God’s good Kingdom on earth.
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