Dancing on Graves and Buying Balloons

Revelation 11:10 has been rattling around my head these last couple of days. And I’ll tell you what–it’s not the sort of verse you stitch on a sampler.

“And those who dwell on the earth will rejoice over them and make merry and exchange presents, because these two prophets had been a torment to those who dwell on the earth.”

That’s heavy. Almost sounds like Christmas with a dark twist: prophets lying dead, and the neighbors rushing to the dollar store for wrapping paper.

Now, I’m no saint, but I do know human nature. And if there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s throwing a party when we think we’ve won.

Doesn’t matter if the victory is clean, cheap, dirty, or short-lived. Somebody always buys balloons.

The verse paints a picture of folks so fed up with being told the truth that when the messengers finally fall silent, they treat it like Mardi Gras. Think about that.

Imagine a town where the only two voices calling out, “Hey, stop setting fire to your own houses!” finally get knocked over the head, and instead of grief, everyone lines up to bake casseroles, light sparklers, and shout, “Good riddance!”

Sounds absurd, right? Except, if you’ve lived long enough, you’ve seen it play out.

I’ve watched people cheer when the “do-gooder” finally fails, when the guy with the unpopular opinion loses his job, when the woman who stood up for decency gets worn down and walks away. It’s almost a relief to the crowd.

No more mirrors’ reflection held up to their faces. No more voice making them itchy in the conscience. They can go back to business as usual, thank you very much.

But here’s the funny part. The “torment” these prophets caused wasn’t with swords, tanks, or bad table manners.

It was just words. Truth spoken out loud. That was their big crime. And yet, truth is always the hardest burr to pull out of your sock. People will suffer a lie gladly if it keeps them comfortable, but even the gentlest truth pokes and scratches until you can’t ignore it.

I once had a neighbor who’d water his lawn twice a day, every day, until his yard was the kind of green you’d think was Photoshopped. The problem was that we lived under water restrictions.

I mentioned, gently, that maybe he ought to dial it back, seeing as how the rest of us were rationing and the lake was drying up. He told me to mind my business.

Two weeks later, the city slapped him with a fine the size of a new washing machine. His response? “Well, thanks, Tom, you jinxed me.” See?

Telling the truth makes you the villain, even when you’re right.

The prophets in Revelation were the ultimate truth-tellers. They were Heaven’s reporters on assignment, no fluff, no spin, no “both-sides-ism.”

And people hated it. So when they fell, the world danced on their graves. Literally.

“Rejoiced… made merry… exchanged presents.”

Imagine giving your buddy a fruitcake with a card that reads, “So glad the prophets are dead! Cheers!”

But here’s where it gets punchy–that party didn’t last. Truth has a stubborn habit of returning.

The following verses tell us the prophets rise again, dust off, and finish the job. Which is a reminder for anyone dancing too early–don’t pop the champagne until the credits roll.

For the rest of us, maybe the takeaway is simple–don’t be surprised if speaking truth makes you unpopular. If the wicked threw a block party over dead prophets, they’ll certainly throw shade at you and me.

But don’t lose heart. If your words are rooted in love, mercy, and the good sense God gave you, then let them sting.

Let them be a torment. Better to be remembered as a holy nuisance than a quiet enabler.

So next time you see folks dancing on graves and buying balloons, remember Revelation 11:10. And maybe smile to yourself, because truth always has the last word, and you can’t keep a good prophet down—not then, and not now.