Dreaming Beyond Empire: Finding Hope in Apocalyptic Times
Last Sunday marked the conclusion of our Shadowboxing series, where we've been exploring our deepest fears and how they intersect with our faith. We've wrestled with the fear of being zombified, confronted the monster of the false self, and explored our theologies of evil. Just last week, we honored the lives of those we've lost, facing our fears of death head-on.
Originally, I planned to speak about natural chaos - hurricanes, unpredictable disasters, the forces beyond our control. But sometimes the Spirit leads us in unexpected directions, and I found myself drawn instead to the apocalyptic visions of Daniel 7. Not because they offer some secret code to predict the end times (they don't), but because they speak profound truth about how to remain human in times that feel apocalyptic.
The Power of Apocalyptic Imagination
When most people hear "apocalypse," they think of destruction, end times, perhaps even those Left Behind books that were popular in the '90s. But the word itself simply means "unveiling" or "uncovering." Apocalyptic literature, strange as it may seem to our modern eyes, was actually a genre of hope - a way for marginalized communities to interpret their present circumstances and find courage to endure.
In Daniel's vision, four bizarre beasts emerge from a chaotic sea - a lion-like creature, something resembling a bear, another like a leopard, and finally a terrifying beast with multiple horns. For Daniel's original audience, these weren't abstract monsters but representations of very real empires: Babylon, Media, Persia, and Greece. The little horn that grows and speaks arrogant words? Most scholars believe it represented Antiochus IV, who was actively persecuting Jewish communities and desecrating their temples.
Today, we face our own beasts. They may not have horns or wings, but they're just as real: white supremacy, transphobia, ableism, xenophobia - systems of oppression that morph and adapt but continue to threaten human flourishing. Like Daniel's beasts, they often seem too massive, too deeply rooted to defeat. But Daniel's vision offers us crucial wisdom for such times.
The First Revolution is Internal
At the center of the Book of Daniel, something profound happens. Daniel stops interpreting the dreams of kings and begins to have his own dreams. This shift is more significant than it might appear. In our context, it means refusing to live by empire's values or fight on its terrain. It means rejecting the narrative that safety comes through becoming elite, that power-over is better than power-with, that community is less valuable than individual success.
We need fresh dreams born from our own experiences and perspectives. Dreams that imagine possibilities beyond current systems. Dreams that come in our own languages, from our own unique viewpoints. It's notable that after this vision, the book switches to Hebrew - the language of the marginalized, not the empire. Our dreams of justice must emerge from the communities most impacted by injustice, not from those benefiting from current systems.
The Revolutionary Power of Remaining Human
Perhaps the most striking aspect of Daniel's vision is that amid these terrible beasts, salvation comes through "one like a human being." Christian interpretation has often identified this figure with Jesus, and I believe there's profound truth there. In a world of dehumanizing systems driven by insatiable hunger for power, the divine chooses to appear in human form.
This reveals something crucial about resistance: our power lies not in becoming beast-like ourselves, but in remaining fully human. What does this mean practically? It means:
- Grieving openly instead of suppressing our pain
- Admitting when we don't have answers
- Embracing vulnerability rather than false strength
- Feeling fully, even when numbness seems easier
- Maintaining our capacity for empathy and connection
- Turning our pain into bridges rather than walls
- Being students of stillness amid chaos
- Sharpening our empathy against the stone of our discomfort
As your pastor who identifies as Black, queer, and gender nonconforming, I want to be clear: your humanity - in all its power, fragility, and limitedness - is exactly what any new world to come will need if it is to be just and joyous. Empire always wants you to forget who you are. Resist by remembering.
Confronting the Source of Beasts
There's another layer to Daniel's vision that's easy to miss. The beasts emerge from a great sea - what ancient minds would have seen as primordial chaos. Throughout scripture, large bodies of water often represent chaos and danger. But these same waters also consistently signal new creation on the horizon. Think of God's spirit hovering over the waters in Genesis, or the parted Red Sea leading to liberation.
This tells us something crucial about resistance: we must address not just individual "beasts" but the conditions that create them. Whatever monster appears on our horizon, we have to keep our focus on the systems and structures that give it life. This is harder, slower work than just fighting individual manifestations of injustice, but it's essential for lasting change.
Finding Hope in Holy Darkness
I'll be honest - these are heavy times. The temptations toward cynicism and apathy are real and powerful. But apocalyptic literature reminds us that our ultimate allegiance is to God, not to unjust laws or elite dreams. And this God, revealed in Jesus Christ, walks on chaotic waters and invites us to do the same.
As Valarie Kaur beautifully puts it, "The darkness of the tomb is usually exactly the same darkness as the darkness of the womb." When we see chaos and the monsters it feeds, we must remember that God is on the move. New creation is coming. Our task is to remain human, to keep dreaming, and to take Jesus' hand as we walk on these troubled waters toward God's future.
The beasts will roam, yes. But they will not have the final word. That belongs to the God who appears as the Ancient of Days, who chooses human form, who brings justice, and who invites us to participate in the renewal of all things. May we have the courage to accept that invitation.
