A Funeral Song for a Prostitute

No one will have to turn out the lights on Babylon because “the light of a lamp will never shine in you again.” Darkness will drape the destroyed city as she is abandoned and forsaken. No one visits her anymore. No one parties here anymore. It is dark here, all dark.

The hope of new life, a rebirth, is not in her future. No one falls in love or marries anymore. “Weddings are a thing of the past. The merry sounds of bridal festivities have forever been silenced” (Mounce, Revelation, 339).

The prostitute’s judgment is just. Her merchants were filled with arrogance and pride as “the nobility of the earth.” Not anymore! And all nations were deceived and led astray by her sorcery, her magic spells. She bewitched the nations and led them into destructive foolishness. Now that she is exposed, no one has any regard or respect for her. Her merchants were great but not anymore. Her sorceries worked for a time but never again.

This whore is familiar with blood, but not the saving blood of Christ. No, in her the blood of prophets and saints is found. The blood of Christian martyrs that ran through the streets of Rome has continued to run through her streets around the world for 20 centuries (see 17:6). However, that day will soon be over. Their blood cries for justice like righteous Abel, and God has heard them. And her guilt cries for judgment, and God hears that too!

The Babylon of the Bible might well be called “Vanity Fair” today. Indeed, in poetic rhyme, Ella Wheeler Wilcox describes a world that promised much but in the end, delivered very little. She unwittingly notes that it is the brow with thorns that is the victor! Her words could be a commentary on Revelation 17–18.

VANITY FAIR

In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,

As we talk of the opera after the weather,

As we chat of fashion and fad and style,

We know we are playing a part together.

You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows;

She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows;

We know that under the silks and laces,

And back of beautiful, beaming faces,

Lie secret trouble and dark despair

In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, on dress parade,

Our colors look bright and our swords are gleaming,

But many a uniform’s worn and frayed,

And most of the weapons, despite their seeming,

Are dull and blunted and badly battered,

And close inspection will show how tattered

And stained are the banners that flaunt above us.

Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us;

And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care

In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place,

As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry,

We know the goal is not worth the race—

We know the prize is not worth the worry;

That all our gain means loss for another;

That in fighting for self we wound each other;

That the crown of success weighs hard and presses

The brow of the victor with thorns—not caresses;

That honors are empty and worthless to wear,

In Vanity Fair. (Kingdom of Love, 137–38)