February 28th, 2026
by Lars Dahl
by Lars Dahl
Finding Peace in What We Don't Know
There's something deeply unsettling about not knowing. We crave certainty. We want the diagnosis explained, the timeline clarified, and the future mapped out with precision. In a world where we can track packages in real-time and access information instantly, the idea that some things remain hidden feels almost unfair.
Yet in the middle of the book of Revelation, that grand unveiling of the end times, we encounter a startling moment of divine restraint. Seven thunders speak with intelligible voices. The apostle John understands what they say and reaches for his pen to record it. Then heaven intervenes: "Seal up the things which the seven thunders uttered, and do not write them."
God deliberately withholds information.
The Mighty Angel and the Little Book
The scene is dramatic. A mighty angel descends from heaven, clothed with a cloud, wearing a rainbow like a crown. His face blazes like the sun, his feet stand like pillars of fire, one planted on the sea, the other on land. This is no ordinary messenger. This is authority personified, spanning the entire earth.
In his hand, he holds a small, open scroll. Unlike the sealed scroll from earlier in Revelation that contained the full redemptive plan of God, this "little book" represents a specific portion of the remaining revelation. It's open, meaning its contents are being disclosed. It concerns "many peoples, nations, tongues, and kings."
Then the angel roars like a lion, and seven thunders answer.
The imagery is powerful. Throughout Scripture, thunder accompanies divine judgment and authority. At Mount Sinai, thunder shook the mountain as God gave the Law. The Psalms describe the voice of the Lord thundering over the waters. In Revelation's throne room, thunder rolls from God's presence.
These seven thunders speak real words. This isn't symbolic noise or atmospheric effect. John comprehends their message and prepares to document it for future generations. But heaven says no.
The Revelation God Chooses to Withhold
This is remarkable. In a book literally titled "Revelation", meaning unveiling, God pulls back the curtain on cosmic warfare, final judgment, and the return of Christ. Yet here, He intentionally conceals specific content.
Why?
The text doesn't explain, which is perhaps the point. We're told in Deuteronomy that "the secret things belong to the Lord our God, but those things which are revealed belong to our children and to us forever." God has disclosed much. The Bible contains everything we need for life and godliness. But not everything God knows is ours to know.
This teaches us something crucial: revelation includes both disclosure and restraint. Heaven speaks, but God also withholds. We live with imperfect knowledge, and that's by design.
Sweet and Bitter Truth
When John finally receives the little book, he's commanded to eat it. This echoes the prophet Ezekiel, who was told to consume a scroll before speaking God's word. The message must be digested before it can be declared.
John discovers the scroll is sweet in his mouth but bitter in his stomach. God's Word is glorious and true, sweeter than honey, as the Psalmist says. But its content includes severe judgment. Truth is both beautiful and sobering, comforting and convicting.
This is the nature of divine revelation. It satisfies our deepest longings while confronting our deepest sins. It promises ultimate redemption while pronouncing inevitable judgment. It offers hope to those who believe and a warning to those who reject.
The little book reminds us that before judgment is complete, God makes sure His Word is proclaimed. Even in the darkest moments of human history, divine revelation continues. The mighty angel wears a rainbow, that ancient covenant symbol from Noah's day, promising that God will never again destroy all flesh with a flood. Even in judgment, there is mercy. Even in crisis, there is hope.
Living With Unanswered Questions
So what do we do when life doesn't make sense? When the diagnosis arrives without explanation? When the relationship crumbles without resolution? When the future feels uncertain, and God seems silent about the details we desperately want to know?
We anchor ourselves in what we do know.
Ancient mariners caught in storms would drop anchors to keep their ships from drifting off course. When the winds of confusion howl and the waves of uncertainty crash, we need anchors, too.
God is all-powerful. Whatever problem we're facing, God is bigger. There is nothing too hard for Him. He made the heavens and the earth by His great power and outstretched arm.
God knows everything. He's not just powerful; He's omniscient. He knows our sitting down and our rising up. He understands our thoughts from afar. Nothing about our situation surprises or confuses Him.
God is good. He's not just powerful and knowledgeable; He's morally perfect. He is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. His plans are not malicious. His purposes are not cruel.
God loves us. This is where theology becomes personal. God demonstrated His love toward us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. The cross proves that even when we don't see the whole picture, God's love is certain.
The Table of Trust
When Jesus gathered with His disciples for that final meal before the crucifixion, they didn't have everything figured out. They didn't understand the cross. They couldn't comprehend the suffering that awaited their Teacher in just a few hours. They had more questions than answers.
But Jesus didn't give them a detailed blueprint. He gave them bread. He gave them the cup. He gave them Himself.
Communion reminds us that we don't have to understand everything to trust the One who does. We don't come to the table because we have life mapped out. We come because Christ has already settled the most important thing: our redemption.
The cross proves that even when we don't see the whole picture, God is sovereign. Even when life feels unclear, His love is not. Even when we lack answers, we have a Savior.
Enough to Trust
We will know enough. We will not know everything. And that is enough to trust Him.
God reveals what we need. He withholds what we do not. And in that tension between disclosure and mystery, we learn what faith really means, not having all the answers, but knowing the One who does.
There's something deeply unsettling about not knowing. We crave certainty. We want the diagnosis explained, the timeline clarified, and the future mapped out with precision. In a world where we can track packages in real-time and access information instantly, the idea that some things remain hidden feels almost unfair.
Yet in the middle of the book of Revelation, that grand unveiling of the end times, we encounter a startling moment of divine restraint. Seven thunders speak with intelligible voices. The apostle John understands what they say and reaches for his pen to record it. Then heaven intervenes: "Seal up the things which the seven thunders uttered, and do not write them."
God deliberately withholds information.
The Mighty Angel and the Little Book
The scene is dramatic. A mighty angel descends from heaven, clothed with a cloud, wearing a rainbow like a crown. His face blazes like the sun, his feet stand like pillars of fire, one planted on the sea, the other on land. This is no ordinary messenger. This is authority personified, spanning the entire earth.
In his hand, he holds a small, open scroll. Unlike the sealed scroll from earlier in Revelation that contained the full redemptive plan of God, this "little book" represents a specific portion of the remaining revelation. It's open, meaning its contents are being disclosed. It concerns "many peoples, nations, tongues, and kings."
Then the angel roars like a lion, and seven thunders answer.
The imagery is powerful. Throughout Scripture, thunder accompanies divine judgment and authority. At Mount Sinai, thunder shook the mountain as God gave the Law. The Psalms describe the voice of the Lord thundering over the waters. In Revelation's throne room, thunder rolls from God's presence.
These seven thunders speak real words. This isn't symbolic noise or atmospheric effect. John comprehends their message and prepares to document it for future generations. But heaven says no.
The Revelation God Chooses to Withhold
This is remarkable. In a book literally titled "Revelation", meaning unveiling, God pulls back the curtain on cosmic warfare, final judgment, and the return of Christ. Yet here, He intentionally conceals specific content.
Why?
The text doesn't explain, which is perhaps the point. We're told in Deuteronomy that "the secret things belong to the Lord our God, but those things which are revealed belong to our children and to us forever." God has disclosed much. The Bible contains everything we need for life and godliness. But not everything God knows is ours to know.
This teaches us something crucial: revelation includes both disclosure and restraint. Heaven speaks, but God also withholds. We live with imperfect knowledge, and that's by design.
Sweet and Bitter Truth
When John finally receives the little book, he's commanded to eat it. This echoes the prophet Ezekiel, who was told to consume a scroll before speaking God's word. The message must be digested before it can be declared.
John discovers the scroll is sweet in his mouth but bitter in his stomach. God's Word is glorious and true, sweeter than honey, as the Psalmist says. But its content includes severe judgment. Truth is both beautiful and sobering, comforting and convicting.
This is the nature of divine revelation. It satisfies our deepest longings while confronting our deepest sins. It promises ultimate redemption while pronouncing inevitable judgment. It offers hope to those who believe and a warning to those who reject.
The little book reminds us that before judgment is complete, God makes sure His Word is proclaimed. Even in the darkest moments of human history, divine revelation continues. The mighty angel wears a rainbow, that ancient covenant symbol from Noah's day, promising that God will never again destroy all flesh with a flood. Even in judgment, there is mercy. Even in crisis, there is hope.
Living With Unanswered Questions
So what do we do when life doesn't make sense? When the diagnosis arrives without explanation? When the relationship crumbles without resolution? When the future feels uncertain, and God seems silent about the details we desperately want to know?
We anchor ourselves in what we do know.
Ancient mariners caught in storms would drop anchors to keep their ships from drifting off course. When the winds of confusion howl and the waves of uncertainty crash, we need anchors, too.
God is all-powerful. Whatever problem we're facing, God is bigger. There is nothing too hard for Him. He made the heavens and the earth by His great power and outstretched arm.
God knows everything. He's not just powerful; He's omniscient. He knows our sitting down and our rising up. He understands our thoughts from afar. Nothing about our situation surprises or confuses Him.
God is good. He's not just powerful and knowledgeable; He's morally perfect. He is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. His plans are not malicious. His purposes are not cruel.
God loves us. This is where theology becomes personal. God demonstrated His love toward us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. The cross proves that even when we don't see the whole picture, God's love is certain.
The Table of Trust
When Jesus gathered with His disciples for that final meal before the crucifixion, they didn't have everything figured out. They didn't understand the cross. They couldn't comprehend the suffering that awaited their Teacher in just a few hours. They had more questions than answers.
But Jesus didn't give them a detailed blueprint. He gave them bread. He gave them the cup. He gave them Himself.
Communion reminds us that we don't have to understand everything to trust the One who does. We don't come to the table because we have life mapped out. We come because Christ has already settled the most important thing: our redemption.
The cross proves that even when we don't see the whole picture, God is sovereign. Even when life feels unclear, His love is not. Even when we lack answers, we have a Savior.
Enough to Trust
We will know enough. We will not know everything. And that is enough to trust Him.
God reveals what we need. He withholds what we do not. And in that tension between disclosure and mystery, we learn what faith really means, not having all the answers, but knowing the One who does.
Lars Dahl
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