Apokalypsis

The Greek word apokalypsis means "unveiling" or "disclosure"—literally, the pulling back of a veil to reveal what was hidden. When John titled his final book "The Revelation (Apokalypsis) of Jesus Christ" (Revelation 1:1), he wasn't describing obscure predictions requiring decoding but a disclosure: God pulling back the curtain on reality's true nature. What seems hidden will be made manifest. The point isn't to mystify but to reveal.

Paul uses apokalypsis throughout his letters, usually for present disclosures rather than future events. He speaks of "the revelation (apokalypsis) of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but has now been disclosed" (Romans 16:25-26)—referring to the gospel itself, now unveiled. He describes receiving truth "through a revelation (apokalypsis) of Jesus Christ" (Galatians 1:12), not through human teaching. Apokalypsis happens whenever God discloses what human wisdom cannot discover: "God has revealed (apekalypsen) them to us through the Spirit" (1 Corinthians 2:10).

The word appears in contexts both corporate and cosmic. Paul writes that "the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing (apokalypsin) of the sons of God" (Romans 8:19)—a future unveiling when believers' true identity becomes manifest. Peter speaks of "the revelation (apokalypsei) of Jesus Christ" at his return (1 Peter 1:7), when what faith now perceives dimly will be visible to all. History is moving toward comprehensive disclosure, when "every knee shall bow...and every tongue confess" (Philippians 2:10-11).

Yet apokalypsis also describes present spiritual sight. Paul prays for "a spirit of wisdom and of revelation (apokalypseōs) in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened" (Ephesians 1:17-18). Christians already participate in unveiled reality—"we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed" (2 Corinthians 3:18). The veil is lifted now, even as we await final unveiling.

Here's the literary irony: Revelation, the Bible's "apocalyptic" book, is actually the least coded document in its genre. Ancient Jewish apocalypses like 1 Enoch or 4 Ezra were genuinely cryptic, written under persecution using symbolic codes. But John's Apocalypse explains its own symbols—the lampstands are churches (Revelation 1:20), the woman is the bride of Christ (Revelation 21:9). What modern readers find baffling, ancient audiences found surprisingly straightforward. We've made apocalyptic literature more mysterious than intended, missing that apokalypsis means revealing, not concealing. The genre itself is ironic—maximum clarity dressed in maximum symbolism.