The Book of Revelation? The Book of Revelation! Why do serial killers and cult leaders always focus on the Book of Revelations?! There are twenty-six other chapters, some very hopeful and friendly, in the New Testament of the Christian Bible. If you are looking for punishment and scare tactics, the Old Testament has wrath and fire in abundance.
It’s as if the Book of Revelation has a branding problem—or maybe a branding success, depending on your level of menace. All thunder, beasts, and plagues, it practically screams to the disturbed to pick it up and call it prophecy. But past the fever-dream imagery, you’ll find a letter meant to offer hope to the persecuted, not a blood-soaked blueprint for mass hysteria. Still, for every gentle shepherd in the Gospel of John, there’s a would-be doomsayer eager to latch onto the horsemen and scream about seals and trumpets like they’re headlines in tomorrow’s tabloid.
I think it’s just laziness masquerading as insight. The Book of Revelation is cinematic, full of spectacle—a buffet for anyone trying to conjure fear or claim divine judgment. But if these self-styled prophets actually spent time with the New Testament as a whole, they’d have to contend with the Sermon on the Mount’s compassion, mercy, and radical forgiveness. That doesn’t make for a thrilling cult recruitment poster. So they flip to the back, circle the fire and brimstone in red pen, and ignore the part where love wins.
That’s the real irony: Revelation, misunderstood and misused, becomes the playground of those who crave control. They twist a complex, symbolic vision of endurance and ultimate redemption into a horror script with themselves as the chosen survivors. But scripture—any scripture—isn’t a mask to hide behind. It’s a mirror, and it’s a lamp. For those who read with open hearts, it reflects not just wrath, but hope, healing, and fierce, unyielding love. The end of the story isn’t destruction—it’s restoration and hope.