Anyone else ever watch the “Public Right to Know” Facebook group? Someone posts about a pothole, a question about the city, or some other random thing and within hours it just might turn into a digital mob scene. One person makes a snarky comment, then another piles on, and suddenly everyone’s competing to be the cleverest critic. Before you know it, real people are being torn apart by their neighbors.
From time to time, I think about adding a comment and then delete it. Not because I don’t have opinions, but because speaking against the tide feels like stepping in front of a freight train. Once that online momentum gets going, anyone who suggests grace or nuance gets labeled naive, stupid, or worse. So sometimes we stay silent, or worse—consider adding our own little jab to fit in.
This digital pile-on phenomenon reveals something ancient about human nature. We’re wired to run with the pack, especially when the pack is angry. Standing alone feels dangerous because, historically, it was. But what happens when the crowd is heading toward cruelty? When everyone’s racing to throw the next stone?
Today’s scripture from Revelation 13 speaks directly to these pressures. John’s vision isn’t about distant future events—it’s about the very real systems that pressure us to trade our values for belonging, whether in ancient Rome or modern social media. As we continue our series through the book of Revelation, we’re learning to recognize which voices deserve our trust. Today we discover how God gives us courage to choose faithfully, even when our whole news feed is heading in a different direction.
We’ve been walking through the book of Revelation over the last several weeks. We started with Christ walking among us, then saw heaven’s throne room, and witnessed the Lamb’s victory through sacrifice. Last week’s vision showed every nation gathered around God’s throne—unity through diversity, each group bringing unique gifts.
Today presents the opposite: false unity through force. While the Lamb draws people through love, beasts unite through fear. While heaven celebrates diversity, the beast demands conformity. This contrast raises our crucial question: When everyone bows to pressure, how do we know which voice to follow? John’s vision gives us discernment tools that work whether facing first-century Rome or twenty-first-century Facebook.
Let me share a story from the book of Daniel in the Old Testament that may help illuminate today’s passage. Picture Babylon’s plain filled with officials in finest robes. The ninety-foot golden statue gleams as musicians prepare. At the signal, everyone drops to the ground—a human wave of submission. But three figures remain standing.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego understood the real choice. They’d earned leadership positions through integrity. One quick bow would protect their careers, preserve their influence for good. Their minds could list reasonable justifications.
But they recognized what was happening. This wasn’t respecting authority—it was replacing God. Nebuchadnezzar’s spectacle used peer pressure and career threats to enforce worship. Fellow exiles whispered rationalizations: “It’s just protocol.” “We’ll resist privately.”
Standing before the furious king, they spoke words echoing through history: “If our God—the one we serve—is able to rescue us from the furnace of flaming fire and from your power, Your Majesty, then let him rescue us. But if he doesn’t, know this for certain, Your Majesty: we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you’ve set up.” That phrase—“But if [God] doesn’t”—is revealing. They weren’t bargaining for miracles. They chose faithfulness regardless of outcomes.
You remember that the furnace blazed so hot it killed the soldiers. Yet in those flames, a fourth figure appeared. Not removing them from fire but joining them in it. Sometimes courage looks like this—not avoiding hard things but finding we’re not alone in them.
John’s vision reveals how oppressive systems throughout history demand our ultimate allegiance, just as Nebuchadnezzar’s statue demanded worship.
John wrote from Patmos, Rome’s prison island, addressing Christians facing Emperor Domitian’s increasing demands for worship around 95 CE. Burning incense to Caesar wasn’t just religious—it was your membership card for trade guilds, business, social life. Refusing meant an economic dead end.
In some ways, chapter 13 forms Revelation’s dark center. After showing heaven’s reality and the Lamb’s victory, John reveals evil’s earthly operation through two beasts. The first emerges from chaos, combining history’s worst empires—Babylon’s lion, Persia’s bear, Greece’s leopard. This portraits how oppressive power works across all times.
The second beast appears religious—“horns like a lamb” but “speaks like a dragon.” This represents corrupted religion serving power instead of God, using miracles to enforce the authority of the first beast. Together, they control belief and business.
The “mark” parodies something beautiful. Jewish people wore scripture-filled boxes on arms and foreheads during prayer, showing God’s word guiding hands and thoughts. The beast’s mark twists this devotion into economic control—no mark, no marketplace.
The text tells us that the number 666 is “a human number.” Seven meant divine perfection; six falls short—human power pretending divinity but failing. Triple six intensifies this failure. However impressive, the beast system remains merely human.
This echoes Daniel’s furnace and Jesus’s temptation—faithful people facing systems demanding compromise. The message: When earthly powers demand ultimate loyalty through fear and economic pressure, God’s people must discern truth from deception, choosing faithfulness and trusting the Lamb’s victory despite costs.
This call to choose faithfulness connects powerfully with Methodist understanding of how grace enables human decisions. John Wesley taught that God’s prevenient grace — that grace that goes before—gives everyone ability to respond to God despite sin’s power. Even under oppression, Revelation shows people retain the capacity to choose. Those refusing the mark aren’t spiritual superheroes but ordinary people empowered by grace to say no to evil, yes to God.
Wesley called this “practical divinity”—beliefs shaping behavior. Early Methodists refused profiting from slavery despite financial loss, opened schools for poor children despite mockery, visited prisoners when respectable people stayed away. Like Revelation’s witnesses, they learned grace doesn’t remove difficult decisions but strengthens us as we make them.
This illustrates Wesley’s Christian perfection—not sinless perfection but perfect love choosing God above all. Revelation’s witnesses don’t choose death; they choose love and accept the consequences. Their patient endurance flows from grace-transformed hearts.
When facing pressure to compromise values for acceptance or advancement, we’re not alone. The same grace empowering first-century resistance to Rome empowers us against today’s beasts, whatever form they take.
The beasts haven’t disappeared today—they’ve updated their methods. Modern pressure to conform may feel less dramatic but equally powerful. Sometimes it looks like Facebook comment threads.
Let me paint three pictures of when the pressure to conform may hit home.
There are times in our life when faith stops being theoretical and demands a decision. Maybe illness shatters your sense of control. Maybe someone’s authentic faith awakens hunger in you. Suddenly you face the question: Will I follow Jesus? Like ancient believers, you count costs—family confusion, friends’ mockery, or judgment from a neighbor.
There are other times when comfortable Christianity gets exposed as hollow performance. Maybe success became your god. Disappointment crushed your trust. You know the church vocabulary but lost the heart connection. You’re quicker to judge than offer grace. Then, something shakes you awake: Have you been playing church rather than being transformed?
There there are times when daily life demands courage. Your workplace rewards those who exploit others. The group chat turns cruel about someone struggling. That racist joke hangs in the air. These aren’t abstract ethics—they’re Tuesday afternoon choices with real consequences.
Each scenario shares the same tension: choosing between comfort and conviction, between the crowd’s approval and the Spirit’s prompting.
The good news is that we never face these decisions alone or unprepared. Revelation shows us that even under the beast’s oppression, God’s grace empowers choice. Before we ever consider following Christ, divine love has already been drawing us, awakening our hearts to possibilities beyond empire’s promises.
This prevenient grace means our decisions aren’t desperate attempts to earn God’s attention but grateful responses to love already extended. The Lamb who was slain has already chosen us; our choice simply accepts what grace offers. We don’t generate faith through willpower but receive the gift already given.
When we say yes to God, the Holy Spirit doesn’t abandon us to figure things out alone. Like that fourth figure in Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace, divine presence accompanies us through whatever follows our faithful choices. The community of faith surrounds us with wisdom, encouragement, and practical support. We discover strength we didn’t know existed—not our own but Christ’s strength working through us.
We each hear today’s call from scripture from a different place today. So, I want to offer a few specific responses that might resonate for you:
If you’re curious about faith but unsure what you believe, start small. Grab coffee with that friend whose faith intrigues you. Maybe you start by reading Mark’s Gospel this week; it moves fast and shows Jesus in action.
If something inside you is saying “yes” to God, don’t overthink it. Faith begins with a simple prayer: “Jesus, I choose to follow you. Help me learn what this means.” That’s enough. Come find me after worship—I’d love to talk about what comes next.
If you’ve been going through the motions and want something real again, get specific. What needs to change? Write it down. Tell someone who loves you enough to ask hard questions. Next time you’re tempted to join an online pile-on, try typing something kind instead. Small choices lead to big transformations.
Like those three friends standing while thousands bowed, we face our decision moment. The beasts still prowl—through Facebook groups and office hallways, demanding conformity through subtle pressure and not-so-subtle threats. But the Lamb calls us to follow differently—not the path of least resistance but most love. Some have circled this decision for a long time. Others hear this invitation freshly. Wherever you stanMd in those digital or physical spaces of decision, grace meets you there. The journey begins with one courageous step—maybe even one kind comment.
Will you pray with me?
God, we need courage to choose you above competing voices. Grant wisdom to see through deception, strength to stand when others bow. Thank you for grace empowering our choosing. Amen.
In crafting today’s sermon, I employed AI assistants like Claude and Apple Intelligence, yet the ultimate responsibility for its content rests with me. These tools offered valuable perspectives, but the most influential sermon preparation hinges on biblical study, theological insight, personal reflection, and divine guidance. I see AI as a supportive aid to enrich the sermon process while ensuring my own voice in proclaiming the Word of God.
Rev. Andrew Conard 