Face to Face: The Final Hope of Scripture
Revelation 22:1–7, 20–21
Introduction
The closing chapter of Revelation invites us into one of Scripture’s most breathtaking visions—a world renewed, creation healed, and the people of God finally home.Revelation ends not in darkness but in a river that renews, trees that heal, light that never fades, and grace that welcomes us home. We are carried back to Eden not to mourn what was lost, but to witness its restoration. Everything broken by the fall is mended; everything stolen by sin is returned in richer fullness. This is the fulfillment of God’s long story of redemption, showing that the end is not an ending at all, but a beginning—a world remade in the beauty and peace of God’s presence.
Yet this radiant finale only shines in full brilliance when we see the dark backdrop against which it is set in Revelation 17–20. These chapters form the dramatic conclusion of God’s judgment against evil. Revelation 17–18 unveils the fall of “Babylon,” the symbol of human arrogance, worldly power, economic exploitation, and spiritual corruption. John portrays Babylon as a seductive city and an immoral woman—images meant to expose the glittering façade of a world that lures people away from God. Its collapse is sudden and total, reminding us that every empire built on pride and injustice eventually crumbles before the Lord of history.
Revelation 19 shifts the scene to heaven, where a great multitude rejoices because God’s judgments are true and just. The “marriage supper of the Lamb” is announced, revealing that God’s victory is not merely destructive—it is celebratory, relational, and joyful. Christ rides forth as the Faithful and True King, overthrowing the powers that oppose Him. Revelation 20 then presents the final defeat of Satan, the last enemy to fall. The great battle is brief—evil is not God’s equal opponent, merely a defeated rebel. The “books” are opened, justice is done, and death itself is thrown into the lake of fire. These chapters show that before the new world can dawn, the old world—with all its violence, idolatry, and injustice—must be brought to an end. As N.T. Wright notes, God’s judgment is His “yes” to goodness, truth, and beauty, and His final “no” to all that destroys His creation.
Throughout history, however, these visions have often been misunderstood. From the earliest centuries, Christians tried to decode Revelation by reading its symbols as contemporary political commentary. Many identified Nero as the Beast—an interpretation not without historical logic, yet one that reduced Revelation’s sweeping vision to a code about a single tyrant. Centuries later, during the rise of Hitler and the horrors of the Third Reich, believers once again saw Revelation unfolding in real time. Though the evil was undeniable, the temptation to force every symbol into a single moment in history obscured the deeper truth: Revelation portrays recurring patterns of human empire, idolatry, and oppression—not a one-time prediction to be cracked, but a divine critique of every age.
The last century amplified this problem. The Cold War, nuclear fear, and the formation of the European Union produced a wave of prophecy books confidently predicting the end of the world. Hal Lindsey’s The Late Great Planet Earth, Edgar Whisenant’s 88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988, and Grant Jeffrey’s various end-times timelines treated Revelation as a precise schedule rather than a symbolic revelation of Christ’s victory. Dates were set, revised, and abandoned. These books shaped the imagination of millions—but they often missed the heart of Revelation, which calls the church not to speculation but to steadfast faithfulness.
Against this backdrop of misunderstanding and misinterpretation, the new heaven and new earth of Revelation 21–22 emerge in astonishing glory. The contrast is intentional: judgment clears the ground for joy; justice makes space for renewal. What God removes is all that harms; what He restores is all that truly gives life. At the center of this restoration stands Jesus’ repeated promise: “I am coming quickly.” Three times He speaks these words (Revelation 22:7, 12, 20), pressing their urgency upon our hearts. Yet Jesus was equally clear that no one knows the exact time of His return: “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:36; Mark 13:32). These words are not meant to create fear but to shape how we live.
First, the timing is God’s secret—so we stay humble. William Barclay reminds us that the hiddenness of the hour turns us from speculation to preparation.
Second, His coming will be unexpected—so we stay awake. Eugene Peterson writes, “The point is not to calculate, but to cultivate readiness.”
Third, His delay is mercy—so we stay patient. “The Lord is not slow… He is patient with you” (2 Peter 3:9). Every moment of delay is love.
Fourth, our task is not to know the time—but to be faithful in the time we have. “Keep watch… be ready” (Matthew 24:42, 44). Readiness looks like everyday discipleship—loving God, loving people, serving with compassion.
When we hold Jesus’ promise—“I am coming quickly”—together with His warning that no one knows the hour, a beautiful tension emerges: certainty without predictability, urgency without anxiety. Tim Keller reminds us that Revelation’s hope is not escape from the world but the renewal of the world—God dwelling with His people in a restored creation. Revelation 22 is not written to satisfy curiosity about the future; it is written to transform how we live today. These final verses of Scripture invite us into exactly that kind of life—anchored in hope, shaped by holiness, widened by love, and always praying with longing: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”
Opening Prayer
Heavenly Father,
As we open Your Word and step into the final vision of Scripture, draw our hearts into the beauty of Your presence. Quiet every distraction, and let the river of life You promise flow through our thoughts and desires. Give us eyes to see the Lamb who is our light, ears to hear Your voice, and hearts ready to receive Your grace.
Lord Jesus, You said, “I am coming quickly.” Teach us to live in the holy tension of expectancy and trust—not anxious about the hour but awake, faithful, and longing for Your appearing. May Your Spirit illuminate these closing pages of Revelation so that we may understand not only with our minds but with our lives. Transform us as we study. Heal what is wounded, strengthen what is weak, and renew our hope in the world You are making new.
Come, Holy Spirit, fill this time with Your wisdom and Your peace. Lead us deeper into the love of the Father, the victory of the Son, and the comfort of the Spirit. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Revelation 22:1 – The River of the Water of Life
“Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” Revelation 22:1
The Bible’s story begins and ends with a river. John’s vision in Revelation 22 gathers together the great streams of Scripture into one final, breathtaking picture. In Eden, “a river watering the garden flowed from Eden” (Genesis 2:10), a sign of God’s provision and delight. Later, Ezekiel saw a river flowing from the temple—ankle-deep, knee-deep, then deep enough to swim in—bringing life, fruitfulness, and healing wherever it went (Ezekiel 47:1–12). Jesus Himself stood in the temple courts and cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me… Whoever believes in me… rivers of living water will flow from within them,” which John explains as the Holy Spirit poured into believers (John 7:37–39). Revelation’s river gathers all these streams into one: the life of God flowing, clear as crystal, to renew His people and His world.
William Barclay notes that this river would have been especially precious to the ancient world, where water often meant survival itself. He connects this image not merely to physical refreshment but to the Holy Spirit—God’s life poured out abundantly and without measure. Eugene Peterson, in Reversed Thunder, reminds us that Revelation is not a roadmap of future events but a training in “praying imagination.” It helps us see present reality in the light of Christ’s reign. Here the river teaches us something essential: every living thing in us—faith, hope, love, holiness, mission—flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb. We do not generate spiritual life; we receive it. “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God” (Psalm 46:4), because its source is not human effort but divine generosity.
This river also confronts us with a choice. Throughout Scripture, God invites His people to receive His life rather than dig “broken cisterns that cannot hold water” (Jeremiah 2:13). The Lamb offers “the water of life without cost” (Revelation 21:6), leading His people to springs where they “will thirst no more” (Revelation 7:17). In a world thirsty for meaning, exhausted by self-reliance, and parched by disappointment, the river of Revelation calls us back to the source: life flows from the throne. When we stand before that throne—today in prayer and one day face to face—we find not scarcity, but abundance; not stagnation, but living water; not our own strength, but the Spirit who makes all things new.
Revelation 22:2 – The Tree of Life and the Healing of the Nations
“down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.” Revelation 22:2
The Tree of Life is one of Scripture’s most beautiful and mysterious symbols. It appears at the beginning of the Bible, is lost because of sin, becomes a promise through the prophets, and finally reappears at the end of the story—whole, flourishing, and accessible. In Eden, humanity was barred from eating its fruit (Genesis 3:22–24), but in the New Jerusalem the angel does not guard it—God invites His people to draw near and eat freely. What was once closed by judgment is now opened by grace. William Barclay notes that this tree echoes ancient Jewish hopes that, in the age to come, God would renew a tree whose fruit would never fail and whose leaves would bring healing to the world. Revelation picks up that hope and amplifies it beyond anything Israel ever imagined.
The tree stands on both sides of the river, rooted in the water of life that flows from the throne of God and the Lamb. This imagery mirrors Ezekiel’s vision: “Fruit trees of all kinds will grow… their leaves will not wither… their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing” (Ezekiel 47:12). The Spirit-deepened river becomes a healing ecosystem; life multiplies wherever God reigns. Patrick Miller emphasizes that the Old Testament’s climax is not Israel alone healed, but all nations streaming to God to be restored (Isaiah 2:2–4). Revelation fulfills that longing: the tree’s leaves bring the healing of the nations—every wound between peoples, every historical injustice, every ethnic hostility undone under the Lamb’s peace (Ephesians 2:14–16).
The tree bears twelve crops of fruit, “yielding each month.” This is not merely botanical detail; it is theology. Twelve represents completeness—the twelve tribes, the twelve apostles, the fullness of God’s people. And fruit “every month” means God’s grace is seasonless. J.B. Phillips paraphrased James by saying, *“Every good and perfect gift is from the Father of lights”—*a reminder that God’s gifts do not fluctuate like shadows (James 1:17). So here: God’s provision never dries up, never fails, never comes late. Eugene Peterson writes that Revelation teaches us to “see our lives in terms of God’s abundance, not our scarcity.” The Tree of Life is the sacrament of that abundance—a perpetual harvest of mercy, joy, renewal, and strength.
C.S. Lewis once wrote, “Nothing that you have not given away will ever be truly yours.” In a similar way, this tree reveals the generosity of God’s heart—He gives, and gives, and gives again. This tree is not ornamental; it is restorative. It answers every hunger of the human heart. It is the healing of trauma, the reconciliation of enemies, the mending of history, the restoration of creation. It is the undoing of the curse (Revelation 22:3), the final banishing of pain, sorrow, and decay. Its fruit feeds God’s people; its leaves heal the world. The Lamb’s work does not merely save individuals—it heals nations. The gospel is personal, but it is also cosmic.
In the end, the Tree of Life is a picture of Jesus Himself—the true Vine (John 15:1), the One whose wounds bring us healing (1 Peter 2:24), the One through whom we have life, fruitfulness, and peace. The tree that once stood barred behind a flaming sword now stands open to all who have washed their robes in the blood of the Lamb (Revelation 22:14). The story that began with a garden broken ends with a garden restored—a world healed, a people renewed, and a God who dwells with us forever.
Revelation 22:3 – No More Curse, Only the Throne
“No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him.”
Revelation 22:3
Revelation 22:3 declares one of the most hopeful sentences in the Bible: “No longer will there be any curse.” This is the great reversal of Genesis. In Genesis 3:14–19, the curse enters through human rebellion—fracturing creation, labor, relationships, and even our fellowship with God. The ground resists us, our bodies decay, and fear enters where communion once dwelt. But here, at the end of Scripture, the effects of sin are not merely softened—they are undone. Paul says in Romans 8:20–21 that creation was subjected to frustration because of sin, but it will one day be “liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.” That moment has arrived in the New Jerusalem. Galatians 3:13 adds the foundation for this hope: “Christ redeemed us from the curse by becoming a curse for us.” What He bore on the cross is now finally removed from the world forever.
At the heart of this curse-free world stands “the throne of God and of the Lamb.” This is the fulfillment of every longing in Scripture for God to dwell unhindered with His people. Alexander Maclaren loved to say that “holiness is happiness”—that true joy comes not from escaping God’s authority but from finally being aligned with His heart. In Revelation’s final vision, God’s throne does not dominate in terror but radiates life, light, and love. And “his servants will serve him.” This service is not toil or drudgery; it is worshipful, joyful participation in the very life of God. It is the restoration of vocation—humanity ruling and serving under God just as Adam and Eve were meant to do. Service becomes delight because God is the One we serve, and the Lamb—the One who served us—is the One who reigns.
E. Stanley Jones described the kingdom of God as “a kingdom that cannot be shaken… because it’s ultimate reality,” reminding us that its strength comes from the eternal and unchanging character of God, not from the fragile structures of human power. Once the throne of God stands unhindered, all that is corrupt or temporary—sin, curse, injustice, and decay—loses its grip and simply falls away. Revelation shows not our flight from the world, but the world restored, healed, and brought into its true wholeness. Tim Keller captures this beautifully: “The ultimate purpose of redemption is not to escape the material world, but to renew it under God’s loving rule.” The end of the curse means that creation is restored, human relationships are mended, and work becomes pure worship. Every place where sin brought pain—marriage, labor, community, the earth itself—is now transformed. The world finally becomes what God intended from the beginning: a place where He dwells with His people, where peace flows like water, and where joyful service rises like incense. The throne of God and the Lamb is not the end of the story—it is the beginning of everything restored.
Revelation 22:4 – Seeing His Face, Bearing His Name
“They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”
Revelation 22:4
Revelation 22:4 unveils one of the Bible’s greatest promises: “They will see His face.” In the Old Testament, the face of God symbolized His unfiltered glory and holiness—so radiant that even Moses, God’s friend, was told, “You cannot see My face, for no one may see Me and live” (Exodus 33:20–23). Humanity’s sin meant distance, veiling, and mediated encounters. Yet William Barclay marvels that what Moses was denied will become the daily experience of all God’s redeemed people. This is Eden restored: no shame that hides, no sin that separates, no darkness that blinds. The God who once shielded His glory now reveals it in tenderness, and the people who once trembled from afar now behold Him in intimate fellowship. The story that began with humanity hiding from God (Genesis 3:8) ends with humanity seeing Him face-to-face.
Jesus promised, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Matthew 5:8). J.B. Phillips captured this beautifully in his paraphrase: “Happy are the utterly sincere, for they will see God.” Phillips believed that the supreme human happiness is not achievement, pleasure, or success—it is beholding God Himself. Paul writes that now we see “through a glass, darkly,” but then we shall see “face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12). John adds, “We shall see Him as He is,” because we will be made like Him (1 John 3:2). C.S. Lewis famously said, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy… I was made for another world.” That deep ache behind every beauty, joy, or longing—an ache nothing earthly can fill—is finally answered in this moment. Every desire ends in delight. Every longing ends in sight. Every tear ends in the radiance of God’s unveiled glory. Heaven is not primarily a place—it is the presence of God seen and savored forever.
Not only do God’s people see His face—they bear His name: “His name will be on their foreheads.” In Revelation, the forehead symbolizes allegiance and identity. The beast marks his followers (Revelation 13:16), but God marks His own (Revelation 14:1). This is not a mere label; it is a transformation. To bear God’s name means to belong wholly to Him: “The Lord knows those who are His” (2 Timothy 2:19). But it also means reflecting His character—His holiness, His love, His purity—in every part of our being. Just as priests in the Old Testament wore a gold plate inscribed “HOLY TO THE LORD” (Exodus 28:36–38), so God inscribes His holiness upon His people. We become what we behold. The God whose face we finally see is the God whose likeness we finally mirror. As Paul writes, we are “being transformed into His image with ever-increasing glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18). In eternity, nothing in us will contradict His name; every thought, desire, and action will harmonize with His heart. To see His face is glory—to bear His name is wholeness restored.
Revelation 22:5 – No More Night, Reigning Forever
“There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.” Revelation 22:5
Revelation 22:5 declares, “There will be no more night… for the Lord God will give them light.” From the opening chapter of Scripture, darkness represents uncertainty, danger, and the effects of sin (Genesis 1:2–3). Here, in the last chapter of Scripture, darkness is finally banished. Isaiah foresaw this moment when he wrote, “The Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory” (Isaiah 60:19). No lamps, no sun—because the presence of God Himself becomes the illumination of His people. Jesus has already stepped into human history declaring, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). In the New Jerusalem, that promise is fully realized: His light fills every corner of life, every memory, every relationship. There are no shadows left—no hidden sin, no fear of the unknown, no night of sorrow. Every moment is lived in the radiance of the God who dwells with His people.
J.B. Phillips beautifully paraphrases this verse: “Night shall be no more… the Lord God will shed His light upon them and they shall reign as kings for timeless ages.” Here we discover the astonishing dignity God gives to His redeemed people—not only will we live in His light, but “we will reign for ever and ever.” This echoes Revelation 5:9–10, where the Lamb has made His people “a kingdom and priests… and they shall reign on the earth.” This reign is not tyrannical or self-exalting but reflects the Lamb’s own rule—gentle, sacrificial, joy-filled. Paul writes, “If we endure, we will also reign with Him” (2 Timothy 2:12). Yet Revelation reveals a paradox: our reigning is deeply connected to our serving (Revelation 22:3). Eugene Peterson notes that Revelation redefines power, teaching us that real authority is shaped by self-giving love, not domination. We reign because we share the character of the Lamb; we rule because we have first learned to serve.
The everlasting light in Revelation 22 is not a sterile brilliance—it is the light that shines from the crucified and risen Christ. Walter Brueggemann reminds us that new creation comes through God’s “costly engagement and waiting”—that is, through the suffering love of God who enters the world’s pain and overcomes it from within. The light of the Lamb is the radiance of wounds healed, sins forgiven, and death defeated. This is why there can be no more night; darkness cannot exist where the Lamb’s love reigns. Isaiah foretold this glory when he wrote, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you” (Isaiah 60:1). In this final scene, God’s people stand in that glory—renewed, restored, and radiant themselves. And as they bask in His everlasting light, they reign forever—not by grasping power, but by reflecting the Lamb who gave Himself for the world. The throne shines with grace, and the kingdom rests on love. In that unending daylight, redeemed humanity finally becomes what God intended from the beginning: a people who serve, shine, and reign in the light of the Lamb.
Revelation 22:6 – Trustworthy Words and the God of the Prophets
“The angel said to me, ‘These words are trustworthy and true. The Lord, the God who inspires the prophets, sent his angel to show his servants the things that must soon take place.’” Revelation 22:6
Revelation 22:6 opens with a strong affirmation: “These words are trustworthy and true.” In a world filled with shifting opinions and fragile promises, God anchors His people in something unshakable—His revealed Word. The angel identifies God as “the Lord, the God who inspires the prophets.” This links Revelation not to a new, isolated vision but to the entire prophetic tradition: the God who spoke to Isaiah in the temple (Isaiah 6), who touched Jeremiah’s mouth (Jeremiah 1:9), who opened Ezekiel’s heavens (Ezekiel 1:1), is the same God who now speaks through John on Patmos. The phrase used here—literally “the God of the spirits of the prophets”—signals that the source of every true prophetic utterance throughout history is one and the same. Revelation is the final movement in a long, divine symphony. The God who promised through the prophets is the God who now unveils the final act of His redemption story.
Peter captures this unity in 2 Peter 1:21: “Prophecy never had its origin in the human will, but prophets… spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.” No prophet, from Moses to Malachi to John, wrote out of private imagination; all were borne along by the breath of God. Eugene Peterson emphasizes that Revelation is not a strange appendix tacked onto Scripture but the culmination of God’s patient, persistent speaking throughout the ages. It gathers the longings of Isaiah, the visions of Daniel, the laments of Jeremiah, and the hope of Ezekiel into one final, Spirit-inspired crescendo. The Spirit who hovered over the waters in Genesis (Genesis 1:2) is the same Spirit who now unveils a new heaven and new earth. Revelation is not the book of a fevered imagination; it is the book of a faithful God who finishes what He begins.
The angel adds that God sent this revelation to show His servants “the things that must soon take place.” This phrase is not about setting dates—it is about divine certainty. “Must” signals necessity in the plan of God; “soon” signals nearness and urgency in the experience of the church. History is not random, nor is it controlled by empires, economies, or the chaos of human ambition. It unfolds under the sovereign direction of the Lamb, who was slain and now reigns (Revelation 5:9–10). Jesus echoed this confidence when He said, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away” (Matthew 24:35). Revelation lifts our eyes above the turmoil of the present world and reminds us that every chapter of history bends toward Christ, and every promised event will come to pass in God’s perfect timing. The One who spoke through the prophets is the One who now seals history with His trustworthy and true Word.
Revelation 22:7 – “I Am Coming Quickly” and the Blessed Obedient
“Look, I am coming soon! Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy written in this scroll.” Revelation 22:7
Revelation 22:7 begins with Jesus’ declaration: “Look, I am coming soon!” This is the first “quickly” in the passage, and William Barclay notes that Jesus repeats this phrase not to encourage date-setting or prophetic speculation, but to assure believers of the certainty and nearness of His return. The Greek word tachu means “suddenly”—swiftly, decisively, without delay when the moment arrives. Throughout Scripture, God holds together two truths: His coming is “soon,” and yet “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8–9). The tension is intentional. Jesus is not giving us a timeline; He is giving us a posture. Just as He taught in Matthew 24:42—“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come”—the call is to readiness, not prediction; expectation, not calculation. The King’s return is certain, and the church is invited to live each day as though the heavens might open at any moment.
The second half of the verse pronounces a blessing: “Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy written in this scroll.” This echoes the blessing at the very beginning of the book: “Blessed is the one who reads aloud… and blessed are those who hear it and take to heart what is written” (Revelation 1:3). To “keep” the words of Revelation does not mean to solve its symbols or decode its timelines; it means to guard, treasure, and obey the message. James 1:22 reminds us, “Do not merely listen to the word… do what it says.” Rick Warren captures the heart of this obedience: “When you live in light of eternity, your values change… You place a higher premium on relationships and character instead of fame or wealth or achievements.” To keep the words of this prophecy is to let Revelation’s vision of the Lamb reorient our priorities—to pursue holiness, justice, worship, and love because we know the world’s true destiny. Blessedness belongs not to the curious, but to the committed; not to the interpreters, but to the obeyers.
This readiness Jesus calls for is not anxious waiting but confident expectancy. E. Stanley Jones said that when a person knows they belong to “an unshakable kingdom,” they can face life boldly, saying, “Come on, I’m ready for anything.” That is the spirit of Revelation 22:7. Because Christ is coming suddenly, believers can live with steady courage and joyful anticipation. Matthew 24:44 says, “You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect Him.” This readiness is rooted not in fear, but in love—because the One who is coming is the Lamb who was slain for us. To live in readiness is to walk in steadfast hope, sacrificial love, and faithful obedience. It is to live each day as if the King might step into the story at any moment. And blessed is the one—the woman, the man, the child—who lives wide awake, heart aligned with heaven, hands ready for service, lips whispering, “Come, Lord Jesus.”
Revelation 22:20 – The Final “Quickly” and the Church’s Cry
“He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” Revelation 22:20
Revelation 22:20 gives us a sacred dialogue—the last conversation in Scripture. John writes, “He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’” Here Jesus Himself is the witness—the One who has spoken every promise, every warning, every vision of hope and judgment throughout the book. J.B. Phillips captures the urgency beautifully: “He, who is witness to all this, says, ‘Yes, I am coming very quickly!’” These are the final recorded words of Jesus in the Bible, and they are not a threat but a promise, a reassurance that the story is headed toward His personal return. And then come the final recorded words of the Church: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” Jesus speaks His promise; the Church answers with longing. The risen Lord offers His final word; His Bride answers with her final prayer.
John’s response, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus,” echoes the ancient Aramaic cry Maranatha (1 Corinthians 16:22)—a prayer that holds together grief and hope, suffering and expectation. Walter Brueggemann describes biblical hope as a “decision against despair,” a refusal to accept that the world’s violence, injustice, or sorrow will have the last word. Every time the Church prays “Come, Lord Jesus,” it is protesting everything in the world that contradicts God’s kingdom—poverty, tyranny, suffering, death—and declaring that the Lamb alone is worthy to write the final chapter (Revelation 5:9–10). This prayer is not escapist; it is insurgent. It insists that history belongs not to empires or armies but to the crucified and risen King. It is the same hope that Paul voices when he says, “The night is nearly over; the day is almost here” (Romans 13:12). The Church does not surrender to darkness; she calls for the dawn.
Tim Keller notes that Revelation ends not with believers escaping the world but with the New Jerusalem coming down (Revelation 21:2)—God dwelling with humanity on a renewed earth. “Quickly” is therefore not a word of dread but a wedding word, spoken between Bridegroom and Bride. It is the Bride saying, “Hurry—my joy is in Your arrival.” It is the Bridegroom saying, “I am on My way.” And as C.S. Lewis observed, “Christians who think most of the world to come are the ones who do the most in this world.” This final verse pushes us toward active hope—living now as people of the coming kingdom. We pray “Come, Lord Jesus,” and then we live in ways that anticipate His return: working for justice, loving sacrificially, forgiving generously, worshiping joyfully, standing firm with courage. The promise fuels the prayer; the prayer fuels the life. And so Scripture ends with a cry, a vow, and a vision: Jesus is coming; the Church is longing; the world will be made new.
Revelation 22:21 – Grace as the Final Word
“The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.” Revelation 22:21
The Bible ends with this simple, luminous blessing: “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.” (Revelation 22:21). After all the visions of dragons and beasts, judgments and bowls, promises and warnings, the final word is not terror, command, or even glory—it is grace. This echoes the pattern of Paul’s letters, where grace forms both the opening and closing benediction (for example, Romans 1:7; 16:24). Grace is God’s first word in salvation and His last word in Scripture. Revelation does not minimize the seriousness of sin—its pages expose rebellion, idolatry, injustice, and the sobering consequences of rejecting God. But even its severest judgments serve to highlight the wonder of divine mercy. The story ends with the same note on which it began: God’s disposition toward humanity is one of undeserved kindness, covenant faithfulness, and redeeming love.
Grace appears throughout Revelation, but nowhere more clearly than in its images of salvation. The redeemed are those who “have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” (Revelation 7:14). The paradox is deliberate: purity comes through sacrifice; forgiveness comes through the wounds of Christ. And in Revelation 22:17, the invitation is wide and free: “Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the water of life without cost.” What God gives at the end of time He offers freely—no payment, no merit, no achievement but Christ’s alone. Eugene Peterson writes that Revelation is ultimately a book of worship and pastoral encouragement, not fear. Its message to weary, persecuted believers is that the Lamb who was slain is the Lamb who reigns, and His grace is what sustains His people from first to last. The judgments warn, the visions inspire, but grace is what embraces and carries the church home.
Rick Warren reminds us that “God views our lives from and for eternity, so He is never in a hurry.” Jesus says He is coming “quickly,” but until that day, His grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9). Grace enables us to wait with courage, witness with compassion, worship with joy, and work with perseverance. It is grace that steadies the heart when the world shakes, grace that keeps faith alive when prayers seem unanswered, grace that empowers obedience when the road is hard, and grace that whispers hope when night feels long. Revelation ends with a world made new, a Bride made ready, and a Savior returning in glory—but until we see His face, the blessing that sustains us is grace. The final “Amen” of Scripture invites us to rest in it, walk in it, and live as people shaped by it. The Bible’s last word is grace because God’s eternal word over His people is grace.
Conclusion
As the book of Revelation comes to its magnificent close, we discover that the Bible’s final horizon is not fear, confusion, or catastrophe—but grace. After chapters filled with visions, symbols, judgments, and cosmic conflict, the last word spoken over God’s people is a blessing: “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people.” That matters deeply. The Scriptures that begin with God calling light out of darkness end with God speaking grace into a world made new. From Genesis to Revelation, the story has been moving steadily toward this: the Lamb who heals all things, the God who completes what He begins, the Savior whose mercy stands as the final truth over all creation. Revelation does not leave us trembling about the future; it leaves us resting in Christ’s faithful love.
These final verses also remind us who we are in God’s unfolding story. We are people of the river, refreshed and renewed by the life that flows from God’s throne. We are people of the tree, healed by its leaves and called to be agents of healing in a fractured world. We are people of the light, walking in the radiance of Christ where darkness has no power. And we are people marked with His name, belonging wholly and securely to Him. Above all, we are people of the promise—those who take seriously Jesus’ repeated assurance: “Yes, I am coming quickly.” E. Stanley Jones once said that those who stand in an unshakable kingdom can face anything with courage: “Come on—I’m ready for whatever comes.” Revelation shapes that same posture in us—courage grounded in Christ’s victory, hope anchored in His return.
At the heart of this hope stands one of the earliest prayers of the Christian church: Maranatha. This single Aramaic word carries two beautiful meanings—“Come, Lord Jesus,” and “Our Lord has come.” In one breath it looks backward with gratitude and forward with longing. It celebrates the Savior who has already come near and yearns for the day when He will come again in glory. This dual movement is the essence of Advent: living faithfully in the tension between what Christ has already accomplished and what He has promised to complete.
The ancient hymn O Come, O Come, Emmanuel beautifully captures this holy longing. Its melody, known as Veni Emmanuel, did not rise from triumphal fanfare but from the quiet devotion of 15th-century French Franciscan nuns. Sung as a processional chant, later used for the funeral hymn Libera me, it grew out of lives marked by simplicity, silence, and prayer. This tune, born in the shadows of cloisters, carries within it a deep ache for redemption and a steady leaning toward the light. It is music shaped by waiting, grieving, trusting, and hoping—all at once.
This is why the melody feels both mournful and expectant. It holds lament and hope in the same breath, mirroring the spiritual posture of Advent and the longing of Revelation 22. The sisters who first sang it knew what it meant to live hidden lives—waiting with open hands, trusting God in mystery, and letting longing itself become a form of worship. Their chant echoed through stone corridors like a sacred yearning, reminding them—and reminding us—that waiting is not wasted time. It is the space where God forms our hearts for His appearing.
And so the final prayer of the Bible rises naturally from this place of longing: “Come, Lord Jesus.” It is the prayer of the weary and the hopeful, the broken and the joyful. It is the prayer of the Church in persecution and the Church at peace, the Church in every century and culture. Walter Brueggemann observes that Christian hope is a “refusal to accept the world as it is”—a declaration that injustice, sorrow, and death will not have the final word. As we finish this study, we join that ancient chorus of expectation. We pray for Christ’s coming, and we commit ourselves to living as those who anticipate it—loving deeply, serving humbly, forgiving freely, and witnessing courageously.
Until that day when faith becomes sight, when we behold His face and stand in His unending light, may the grace of the Lord Jesus sustain us, strengthen us, and send us into the world as people of hope. May His grace be with us all—today, tomorrow, and until He comes again in glory. Amen.
Closing Prayer
Lord Jesus,
We thank You for leading us through this final and glorious vision of Your Word—where the last line spoken is grace and the final hope is Your return. As we conclude this study, write these truths deep within us: that You are renewing all things, that Your light drives out every shadow, and that Your grace sustains us day by day. Let the promise of the new creation shape the way we live now—in holiness, in love, and in steady, quiet courage.
Father, form us into people of the river, continually refreshed by the life that flows from You. Make us people of the tree, rooted in Your healing and extending Your healing to others. Make us people of the light, carrying Your radiance into the world. And make us people of the promise, awake and ready for the appearance of our Lord. Place within us the ancient cry of the Church: “Come, Lord Jesus.”
Until that day dawns, keep us faithful in our calling, joyful in our hope, watchful in our walk, and overflowing with grace. May Your Spirit strengthen our witness, enlarge our love, and anchor our hearts in the unshakable confidence we have in You.
We pray in the name of the Lamb who reigns forever and ever. Amen.
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