Dorothy Day, the Nurse

When World War I rolled around, Dorothy Day struggled with the same dilemma that so many pacifists struggle with: how much service is too much service? Is non-combat service of any kind in the military permissible? Perhaps only non-combat service outside of war zones or in traditionally charitable roles like medical facilities? Must pacifists be removed from the military altogether? Can they be in non-military service that directly abets the making of war? And on and on the questions go. They seem less urgent now that the draft seems like only a remote possibility politically, and in Day's age she was aided (as she would be today) by the fact that she was a woman. Nevertheless, she felt compelled in a time of crisis to render aid to the countless people suffering directly or indirectly from the war effort but needed an ethically defensible means to do it. Her solution was to become a nurse at a municipal hospital in New York.

Never one for self-aggrandizement, her reflections on her time as a nurse admit her frustrations, her disgust, and her doubts about the work she was doing. Most importantly, she adopted the attitude that the care she was giving was not primarily an act of giving but an act of learning in which she came away the recipient of more than she had offered:

From the first, in addition to bed-making and care of the ward, we were given nursing to do, straight nursing, which delights every woman’s heart…My first patient was an old Canadian woman, ninety-four years old. Granny objected to being bathed, saying that she had bathed the day before and that at her time of life she did not see why she had to be pestered with soap and water the way she was. Argument was useless, so she began to fight with the nurses, clawing at them and screaming and sitting in the middle of her bed like a whimpering monkey.

“Let us help you,” one of the other nurses said soothingly. “Can’t you see that we want to take care of you because we love you?”

“Love be damned,” the little old lady cried, “I want my wig.” And she began to cry and whimper again…

“She has been crying for her wig since she came in,” the other nurse said. “We let her have her teeth, but she wants her wig. I don’t see why they don’t let her have it.”

…She had sympathy and understanding and realized that the little old lady needed more than soap and water and clean bed linen. She needed more than to be loved. She wanted to be respected as a person, and for that she needed to have her wishes respected. She needed such appurtenances as her wig. I remember we compromised with a cap and so pleased her.

The result was a better understanding of service, one that neatly parallels Paul's message in Romans:

One thing I was sure of, and that was that these fellow workers and I were performing an act of worship. I felt that it was necessary for man to worship, that he was most truly himself when engaged in the act.

Re-Reading Revelation: Songs of the Church (Excursus 1)

With the exception of the Psalter, there is no text quite so littered with songs as Revelation. Yet, unlike with Psalms, questions of worship rarely arise when reading through Revelation. They are buried unceremoniously under a spate of eschatological quandries. With the exception of the occasional hymn writer, most readers skim quickly over the at least fifteen distinct songs in Revelation. That sad fact is unfortunate when one considers the rich fruit even a cursory study of them can bear.

One of the most immediately striking facts about the worship is Revelation is precisely who is engaged in praise of God. The congregation of praise ranges from the limited company surrounding the throne of God (4:8,11; 5:9-10; 7:12) to a comprehensive picture of the whole creation (5:13). Certainly this should teach us that none of God's creation is exempt from the obligation to worship, but lest we think that the phrase "every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea" is just a euphemism for all humanity, John throws a few curveballs our way. For example, at one point (16:7) the altar of God joins in the praise, singing "Yes, Lord God the Almighty, true and just are your judgments!" Not to be outdone, later (19:4) the throne of God will offer its own worship: "Praise our God, all you his servants, you who fear him, small and great." Without trying to be too flippant, it is clear that John truly believes that if God's people won't praise Him then at least His furniture will.

More critical, though perhaps less amusing, than who is doing the praising in Revelation is who the object of that praise is. John makes a particular point of contrasting throughout the book those who worship God and those who worship the beast (14:9) or those who worship demons (9:20) or the dragon (13:4). Much of the contents of the hymns deal directly with God's worthiness to receive praise. From the outset (4:11), the elders declare "Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power," and, of Christ, the multitude in heaven says (5:12) "Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!" At the triumph over the beast (15:3-4), the victors ask in praise "O King of the nations! Who will not fear, O Lord, and glorify your name?" Finally, as the narrative winds down (19:1-3), "Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God." In contrast, those who worshiped the beast are recipients of God's wrath (14:9-11). The good news for those who are constantly tempted to offer devotion to false gods--whether it be the genius of Ceasar or the perennial temptress of wealth--is that John shows himself not entirely immune to the temptation of false worship. On two occasions (19:10; 22:8) John tries to offer worship to an angel. In each instance, the angel rebukes John and offers him the simple command "Worship God." The latter of these instances occurs at the very end of the text, indicating that John's message is central to the whole book: whatever other idols vie for our allegiance, the duty of the whole creation can be distilled into "Worship God."

Finally, the content of the songs in Revelation have a great deal to teach us, in part because they say so little. While Psalms is notorious for its, at times, expansive, florid poetry, the psalms of Revelation are often no more than a couplet of Hebrew verse. For the most part, the conspiciously short hymns all have the same basic theme: glory to God. This is, undoubtedly, in part because the overarching purpose of Revelation is to demonstrate the superiority of God to all other powers which may be oppressing the churches. Still, it cannot be denied that John clearly demonstrates that the unqualified--not to mention unassuming--worship of God is appropriate in every situation. Before God has done anything (4:8), they sing, "Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!" When God is blessing (7:12), they sing, "Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen." When God is punishing (16:5-6), they sing, "Just are you, O Holy One, who is and who was, for you brought these judgments." And when the end of the book comes (19:6-8) and God has fulfilled all His people's expectations, the same theme resounds, "Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory." At all times, in all places, in all situations, the core message, simply and repeatedly expressed is fitting: "To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!" (5:13)

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For a full list of "Re-reading Revelation" posts, see Re-reading Revelation: Statement of Purpose.

Re-Reading Revelation: Throne Room (Chs. 4-5)

At the close of Chapter 4, with nearly one fifth of the book now completed, John has spent strikingly little time doing anything like predicting events of the near or distant future. Chapter 4 itself, quite the opposite, is dedicated to John's first direct experience of God. He finds himself standing before the divine throne in a surreal and awe-inspiring landscape. Heralded into the throne room by a trumpet like voice, he beholds the divine person seated on a throne, ruddier than the most fiery gemstones, and crowned with a emerald rainbow. The great throne, from which issues pleas of thunder and flashes of lightening, is surrounded by dozens of lesser thrones, seven burning flames, and a sea of crystal. Just to punctuate the scene, the four most gruesome creatures ever devised in Old Testament apocalyptic--all eyes and wings and bestial visages--surround the throne.

What should immediately strike the reader, and it is hard to imagine that this was not John's intention, is that these creatures--infinitely more terrible and wonderful and awesome than John himself--devote themselves constantly to worship. "They never cease to say, 'Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!'" These creatures are the kind of divinities etched on hundreds of ancient Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian reliefs; they are the type of figures you would expect to find Canaanite idols of scattered throughout the Levant. They represent the epitome of human imagination and our conception of the supreme otherness of the demons and deities which populated the ancient world, and yet they have no other purpose in the throne room of God but to declare His holiness for all eternity. What's more, as often as they offer their praise to God--which is ironic, since John has always told us that this is a continuous act--the two dozen regal figures on the lesser thrones prostrate themselves before the throne of God and cry out "Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power..." In other words, John bursts into the throne room of God, and no sooner does he describe the splendor of its royal figures and mythic creatures than the whole scene erupts into a celestial liturgy in which all the most magnificent inhabitants of heaven take turns bowing and praising God eternally. The reader can even infer, by turning back to the narrative in Ezekiel 1 which John is clearly invoking, that John himself responded much as he had when confronted with the presence of the Lord in chapter 1 and joined the divine company in worship.

It is perhaps enough to take from this scene that the God whom we serve and who the persecuted readers served is greater than all other powers, familiar and fantastic. Certainly this is true and would have come to John's readers as a continued reassurance that the forces which oppressed them, both civil and celestial, were immediately reduced to nothing in the presence of God. There is, however, an additional message which can be derived from experiencing this scene with John. A professor of mine as an undergraduate once told our New Testament class that the greatest lesson that no one takes away from Revelation is that it teaches us who we worship and how we should worship Him. It is telling that the worship of God begins first with who He is and moves into what He has done. Beginning with a tripartite recognition of that supreme divine quality of holiness, the four creatures announce that God is praised as the one who was and is and is to come. Merely that God exists and that He exists as He is seems enough to warrant never ending praise from the four creatures. The elders, in turn, offer an antiphon announcing that God deserves all glory, honor, and power because He "created all things and by your will they existed and were created." If it were not enough that God is God, then the fact that He deigned to create obliges all of creation to glorify Him for their existence. Quite contrary to a modern attitude which praises God most fervently when some blessing is bestowed or some calamity averted, the lesson in worship given by John is that before you ever encounter God on a personal level or entreat Him for any specific blessing He is worthy of your unreserved, unqualified, unceasing praise. The moment He spoke everything which is into existence--and before even that by virtue of who He is--He deserved everything. That He settles for less is a testimony to His mercy; that we expect Him to, a testimony to our hubris.

Much the same formula continues passing into chapter five. After having been introduced to "him who sits on the throne," the reader is then confronted with the equally dramatic image of the Lamb: seated at the right hand of the throne of God with the appearance of a seven-horned, seven-eyed slain lamb. The response of the living creatures and the elders is no less immediate and no less unqualified than it was for the Father. They instantly begin a new song dedicated to the lamb which declares his worthiness for praise in terms equal with that of the one of the throne. The message becomes clear in the closing lines of the whole throne scene which summarize all of creation's appropriate response to God: "And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, 'To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!' And the four living creatures said, "Amen!" and the elders fell down and worshiped." There is no other appropriate response to the presence of our blessed, honorable, glorious, mighty God but immediate, unconditional, and unqualified worship.

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For a full list of "Re-reading Revelation" posts, see Re-reading Revelation: Statement of Purpose.