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Revelation 19 offers one of Scripture’s most striking political images: “Then I saw the beast and the kings of the earth, and their armies gathered together to wage war against the rider on the horse and his army” (Rev. 19:19). Whatever interpretive approach one takes to Revelation, this scene makes a clear theological claim: the powers of this world ultimately set themselves against Christ and his kingdom. The conflict is not merely spiritual in abstraction; it involves rulers, systems, and loyalties.
This vision should give Christians pause, especially in an age marked by intense political polarization. Much of contemporary discourse assumes that the future hinges on which side gains or maintains power. Political engagement is framed in near-ultimate terms, as if the survival of what is good, true, and beautiful depends upon electoral victories or institutional dominance. Yet Scripture consistently resists this assumption.
Jesus himself draws a sharp distinction between his reign and worldly authority. When standing before Pilate, he declares, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight. … But now my kingdom is from another place” (John 18:36). Christ does not deny that his kingdom has real-world implications; rather, he denies that it operates according to the logic of coercion, force, or self-preservation that characterizes earthly regimes. His kingdom does not advance by seizing power but by self-giving love, truth, and obedience to God.
The apostle Paul reinforces this perspective when he writes, “For this world in its present form is passing away” (1 Cor. 7:31). Paul does not suggest indifference to the world, but he does insist that its structures are temporary. Political orders rise and fall, often promising stability or salvation they cannot deliver. When Christians forget this, they risk investing ultimate hope in systems that were never meant to bear it.
Revelation’s depiction of “the beast” can help us think more carefully about this temptation. Read metaphorically, the beast represents systems of power that demand loyalty, define truth on their own terms, and resist accountability to God. Such systems are not always overtly hostile to religion. In fact, they often co-opt religious language (cf. Rev. 13) to legitimize themselves. Scripture warns repeatedly that this fusion of power and piety is spiritually dangerous.
Second Peter cautions, “But there were also false prophets among the people … there will be false teachers among you. They will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even denying the sovereign Lord who bought them” (2 Pet. 2:1). These teachers do not announce themselves as enemies of faith; they present themselves as its defenders. The danger lies not in open opposition to Christ but in subtle distortions that redirect allegiance away from him.
This pattern is not new. Balaam, a figure who claimed prophetic authority, ultimately led Israel astray by aligning divine language with corrupt motives (Num. 22–24; Rev. 2:14). He did not curse Israel outright; instead, he counseled compromise that blurred the line between faithfulness and accommodation. His story serves as a warning that spiritual betrayal often comes wrapped in religious vocabulary.
For Christians today, it is not whether to care about public life, but how. Faithful engagement requires discernment, without confusing any political movement, party, or nation with the kingdom of God. When political power becomes an object of ultimate trust or fear, it has already assumed a role Scripture reserves for God alone.
The kingdom of God does not compete for power as earthly kingdoms do. It unmasks them, judges them, and outlasts them. Glory to the Lamb, whose victory is not won by the armies of this world and whose reign endures forever!
About the Author
Alexander Flanders lives in Grand Rapids, Mich. He is a substitute teacher and a deacon at West Leonard Christian Reformed Church. He holds an M.A. in theological studies and an M.A. in Biblical exegesis (New Testament).