February 17th, 2026
by Lars Dahl
by Lars Dahl
Understanding Divine Love in the Book of Revelation
Love isn't always gentle whispers and warm embraces. Sometimes love shouts. Sometimes it warns. And sometimes, love looks like a father standing between his children and a cliff's edge, refusing to let them walk blindly into destruction.
This is the paradox we encounter in Revelation chapter 9, a passage that appears terrifying on the surface but reveals something profound about the character of God when we dig deeper. What looks like apocalyptic chaos is actually divine restraint. What sounds like judgment is actually mercy's final plea.
The God Who Restrains Evil
We serve a God of order, not chaos. Even in the most devastating passages of Scripture, we see His sovereign hand orchestrating events with precision. The four angels bound at the Euphrates River weren't released randomly; they were held back until "the hour and day and month and year" that God had appointed. This isn't the language of cosmic accident. This is the vocabulary of divine purpose.
The Euphrates River held deep significance for ancient readers. It marked the boundary between civilization and danger, between safety and invasion. For Israel, it was the staging ground of their greatest enemies, Assyria and Babylon. When John wrote that angels were released at this location, his readers would have immediately understood that this represented the unleashing of forces held in check by God's merciful hand.
Think about that. Evil doesn't run free in our world because God is absent or powerless. Evil is restrained. Satan is not the ruler of history. Demons do not set the schedule. God does. And evil, no matter how great it appears, remains on a divine leash.
The Mathematics of Mercy
The numbers in Revelation 9 are staggering. Between the fourth seal judgment and the sixth trumpet, more than half of humanity perishes. Over 4.6 billion people, by today's population estimates. These aren't statistics meant to terrorize us—they're meant to wake us up to the devastating consequences of rejecting God.
But notice what the numbers also tell us: even in judgment, God limits the destruction. It's always partial, never total. One-third of the earth. One-third of the sea. One-third of humanity. Not complete annihilation, but measured judgment designed to provoke repentance.
This is a God who could destroy everything in an instant but chooses not to. This is a God who restrains His own power, hoping that even in the midst of catastrophe, hearts will turn toward Him. As 1 John 4:19 reminds us, "We love because he first loved us." Even when we're reading about judgment, we're actually reading about a God who moved toward us when we could do nothing for Him.
The Army That Defies Comprehension
John describes an army of 200 million, a number that would have been incomprehensible in his day, when the entire world population was only around 250 million. Even today, when you add up all the active and reserve military forces across the globe, you only reach about 38 million.
This massive force, whether literal or symbolic, represents something beyond human capability. The imagery is fierce: riders with breastplates of fiery red, hyacinth blue, and sulfur yellow. Horses with heads like lions, breathing fire, smoke, and brimstone. Tails like serpents that continue to harm even after the initial assault.
The colors themselves tell a story. Fiery red speaks of bloodshed and war. Deep smoky blue evokes a dark, suffocating atmosphere. Sulfur yellow connects immediately to divine judgment—the same brimstone that rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah. The armor matches the outcome. What they wear symbolizes what they bring.
Two Faces of Destruction
Perhaps most chilling is the revelation that destruction has two dimensions. Fire comes from their mouths—the obvious, front-facing devastation. But their tails are like serpents, continuing to harm from behind. This teaches us that rebellion against God produces consequences that are both immediate and lingering, both obvious and hidden.
Sin doesn't just destroy in the moment. It leaves a trail of ongoing damage. It obscures truth like smoke. It consumes like fire. It corrupts like sulfur. And when God lifts His restraint, the full weight of what we've chosen becomes devastatingly clear.
The Mystery of Hard Hearts
Here's what breaks the heart: even after witnessing these judgments and seeing prophecy unfold exactly as Scripture predicted, many still refuse to repent. The survivors don't kneel in recognition of God's sovereignty. They harden their hearts further.
How is this possible? How can people watch the world unravel according to divine script and still refuse to acknowledge the Author? It seems like it should be common sense. The evidence is overwhelming. The pattern is undeniable.
But this is the nature of rebellion. This is what happens when we exchange the truth of God for a lie. The heart becomes so calloused that even the most dramatic intervention cannot penetrate it. This is why God shouts through judgment—not because He's given up on humanity, but because He's making one final, desperate appeal to those who have stopped listening.
A God Who Gives Us the Playbook
Here's the remarkable thing: God reveals all of this beforehand. He gives us the playbook. He shows us the outcome so we can turn before it arrives. Revelation isn't meant to terrify believers—it's meant to warn the lost and encourage the faithful.
We don't have to live in fear or despair. We don't have to wonder what's coming or whether God is in control. Hell is not breaking loose—it's being held on a leash. And when that leash is finally released, it's not because God has lost control, but because His patience has reached its appointed end.
The Heart of the Matter
This is love, not the shallow, temporary emotion we often mistake for love, but the sacrificial, steadfast, real love that reveals a God who never lets go. Love that is patient when impatience feels easy. Love that is kind when kindness costs something. Love that rejoices in truth, endures through struggle, and holds fast when everything else falls apart.
Even in the darkest passages of Revelation, we see a God acting not out of hatred but out of holy love, refusing to let evil go unchecked and refusing to abandon those who are His. As Jesus said in John 10, "No one can snatch them out of my hand."
We were not created for fear. We were made for hope. We were made for freedom. And if you're reading this with a hardened heart, consider this your invitation, not your last, but perhaps your clearest—to soften before the God who loves you enough to shout.
Love isn't always gentle whispers and warm embraces. Sometimes love shouts. Sometimes it warns. And sometimes, love looks like a father standing between his children and a cliff's edge, refusing to let them walk blindly into destruction.
This is the paradox we encounter in Revelation chapter 9, a passage that appears terrifying on the surface but reveals something profound about the character of God when we dig deeper. What looks like apocalyptic chaos is actually divine restraint. What sounds like judgment is actually mercy's final plea.
The God Who Restrains Evil
We serve a God of order, not chaos. Even in the most devastating passages of Scripture, we see His sovereign hand orchestrating events with precision. The four angels bound at the Euphrates River weren't released randomly; they were held back until "the hour and day and month and year" that God had appointed. This isn't the language of cosmic accident. This is the vocabulary of divine purpose.
The Euphrates River held deep significance for ancient readers. It marked the boundary between civilization and danger, between safety and invasion. For Israel, it was the staging ground of their greatest enemies, Assyria and Babylon. When John wrote that angels were released at this location, his readers would have immediately understood that this represented the unleashing of forces held in check by God's merciful hand.
Think about that. Evil doesn't run free in our world because God is absent or powerless. Evil is restrained. Satan is not the ruler of history. Demons do not set the schedule. God does. And evil, no matter how great it appears, remains on a divine leash.
The Mathematics of Mercy
The numbers in Revelation 9 are staggering. Between the fourth seal judgment and the sixth trumpet, more than half of humanity perishes. Over 4.6 billion people, by today's population estimates. These aren't statistics meant to terrorize us—they're meant to wake us up to the devastating consequences of rejecting God.
But notice what the numbers also tell us: even in judgment, God limits the destruction. It's always partial, never total. One-third of the earth. One-third of the sea. One-third of humanity. Not complete annihilation, but measured judgment designed to provoke repentance.
This is a God who could destroy everything in an instant but chooses not to. This is a God who restrains His own power, hoping that even in the midst of catastrophe, hearts will turn toward Him. As 1 John 4:19 reminds us, "We love because he first loved us." Even when we're reading about judgment, we're actually reading about a God who moved toward us when we could do nothing for Him.
The Army That Defies Comprehension
John describes an army of 200 million, a number that would have been incomprehensible in his day, when the entire world population was only around 250 million. Even today, when you add up all the active and reserve military forces across the globe, you only reach about 38 million.
This massive force, whether literal or symbolic, represents something beyond human capability. The imagery is fierce: riders with breastplates of fiery red, hyacinth blue, and sulfur yellow. Horses with heads like lions, breathing fire, smoke, and brimstone. Tails like serpents that continue to harm even after the initial assault.
The colors themselves tell a story. Fiery red speaks of bloodshed and war. Deep smoky blue evokes a dark, suffocating atmosphere. Sulfur yellow connects immediately to divine judgment—the same brimstone that rained down on Sodom and Gomorrah. The armor matches the outcome. What they wear symbolizes what they bring.
Two Faces of Destruction
Perhaps most chilling is the revelation that destruction has two dimensions. Fire comes from their mouths—the obvious, front-facing devastation. But their tails are like serpents, continuing to harm from behind. This teaches us that rebellion against God produces consequences that are both immediate and lingering, both obvious and hidden.
Sin doesn't just destroy in the moment. It leaves a trail of ongoing damage. It obscures truth like smoke. It consumes like fire. It corrupts like sulfur. And when God lifts His restraint, the full weight of what we've chosen becomes devastatingly clear.
The Mystery of Hard Hearts
Here's what breaks the heart: even after witnessing these judgments and seeing prophecy unfold exactly as Scripture predicted, many still refuse to repent. The survivors don't kneel in recognition of God's sovereignty. They harden their hearts further.
How is this possible? How can people watch the world unravel according to divine script and still refuse to acknowledge the Author? It seems like it should be common sense. The evidence is overwhelming. The pattern is undeniable.
But this is the nature of rebellion. This is what happens when we exchange the truth of God for a lie. The heart becomes so calloused that even the most dramatic intervention cannot penetrate it. This is why God shouts through judgment—not because He's given up on humanity, but because He's making one final, desperate appeal to those who have stopped listening.
A God Who Gives Us the Playbook
Here's the remarkable thing: God reveals all of this beforehand. He gives us the playbook. He shows us the outcome so we can turn before it arrives. Revelation isn't meant to terrify believers—it's meant to warn the lost and encourage the faithful.
We don't have to live in fear or despair. We don't have to wonder what's coming or whether God is in control. Hell is not breaking loose—it's being held on a leash. And when that leash is finally released, it's not because God has lost control, but because His patience has reached its appointed end.
The Heart of the Matter
This is love, not the shallow, temporary emotion we often mistake for love, but the sacrificial, steadfast, real love that reveals a God who never lets go. Love that is patient when impatience feels easy. Love that is kind when kindness costs something. Love that rejoices in truth, endures through struggle, and holds fast when everything else falls apart.
Even in the darkest passages of Revelation, we see a God acting not out of hatred but out of holy love, refusing to let evil go unchecked and refusing to abandon those who are His. As Jesus said in John 10, "No one can snatch them out of my hand."
We were not created for fear. We were made for hope. We were made for freedom. And if you're reading this with a hardened heart, consider this your invitation, not your last, but perhaps your clearest—to soften before the God who loves you enough to shout.
Lars Dahl
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