The Power of Weakness

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Revelation 3:7-13

July 20, 2014 • Portage First UMC

It was, without a doubt, one of the darkest periods in human history—maybe THE darkest. A danger was rising in Europe out of the ashes of the so-called “War to End all Wars,” and it would soon result in another war. A madman, making promises he had no intention of keeping, was gaining power over both state and church. Many of the leaders of the German church, because their salary and their appointment came from the state, willingly went along with the plans of Adolf Hitler, thinking it was a chance to resurrect Germany from the devastation of World War I. It was a dark time for the church. However, a small group of pastors and theologians saw Hitler for what he really was and understood that his plan was about more than Germany. One of those leading thinkers and pastors was a young man named Dietrich Bonhoeffer and he, along with theologian and author Karl Barth, often found himself preaching and teaching in opposition to all that was going on in Germany. His boldness brought him to the attention of the government, and yet despite threats that were leveled at him, Bonhoeffer refused to be deterred. Even when he was appointed as a pastor to the German church in London, England, he would not be silenced. In those small churches, Bonhoeffer boldly preached against the evil he saw coming. He spoke light into a very dark time.

Some felt Bonhoeffer was hiding out in England, staying safe and lobbing political sermons back toward his homeland. Bonhoeffer, too, struggled with this thought even as he was grieving over what was happening at home. He watched the German church give into the state, wander from its Christian roots, and, he felt, leave God behind. So, in the midst of threats to his life, he left his “safe” post in England and returned to Germany, believing that he could have no part in the rebuilding of the German church if he did not share in its suffering. That was more than just a pious statement. Bonhoeffer himself wrote these words: “The community of disciples does not shake off suffering, as if they had nothing to do with it. Instead, they bear it” (Bonhoeffer, Discipleship). When he returned to Germany, he gave leadership to what became known as the Confessing Church, a small group of faithful pastors and churches, and for a while, he even headed up the Confessing Church seminary, training young pastors to stand up against the evil all around them. Eventually, the seminary was shut down, the Confessing Church remained small, and yet they continued to stand for what they believed. It did not matter that, to all appearances, they had no hope of winning. They were determined to be faithful no matter what might come. In so many ways, they were a twentieth-century equivalent of the first-century church at Philadelphia, a church that was small in size but large in impact.

This morning, we’re continuing our journey through Asia Minor, stopping at each of the seven churches for which Jesus had a letter, a word. These seven churches were in a circuit, each about thirty miles from the other, and most likely their individual letters were all read to each of the others (Mulholland [a], Revelation, pg. 123). Philadelphia is the next-to-last in the circuit, and its name means “City of Brotherly Love.” It was founded probably 300 years before the time in which John was writing this letter, and it was located at the center of several trade routes. But it was was a tough place to live because it was situated on a fault line and was often rocked or devastated or even destroyed by earthquakes. Most recently for the readers of this letter, the city had been devastated in AD 17, and even though the city had been rebuilt (on a grant from the emperor and forgiveness of five years of taxes), many of its inhabitants had not returned to the city itself. They preferred to live in the outskirts where, at least they thought, it was safer (Mulholland [a] 124; Wright, Revelation for Everyone, pg. 33). So unlike the Philadelphia of modern America, and even unlike the other cities on this circuit, the ancient town of Philadelphia never became very large.

They were still prosperous, though. As I mentioned, they were situated on a major trade route, and they earned money from taxes and such. It was also located in an area known for wonderful and beautiful vineyards—or at least it had been. At one point, the emperor Domitian, not a very nice man in general, realized that Philadelphia’s vineyards were better than the ones in Rome, and he ordered them torn out, destroyed so that they would not regrow. Needless to say, Philadelphia felt betrayed by Rome. However, because of the history of the vineyards and fine wine, the primary god worshipped in Philadelphia was Dionysus, the god of wine (which, when you translate into English, you get “Dennis”) (Mulholland [b], “Revelation,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 449). So, because of the trade, the pagan worship and the love of wine, Philadelphia was a lively city. It was called the “gateway to the East,” and it was brimming with pagan temples and religious festivals (Smith, Unveiled Hope, pg. 55).

Philadelphia also boasted a large, well-established Jewish community, much like their neighbor city Sardis (which we looked at last week). Early on, the Christians met in the synagogue, as they did all over the Roman Empire. But there came a time when the preaching about Jesus and the resurrection made it obvious that these Christians were more than just a small, Jewish sect. They were, in fact, a separate faith. And, somewhat to protect their own standing as an “approved religion” in the Roman Empire, and somewhat because the message about Jesus offended them, synagogues all across the Empire began excluding Christians from worshipping there. That was certainly true by the end of the first century all across the Empire, and specifically in Philadelphia, where we’re told the doors were locked to Christians and, at times, there were even what we would call “bouncers” positioned outside to make sure the Christians were not allowed in. They no longer belonged to the synagogue, which meant they lost family and friends, and they were “shamed” in town. Now, we shouldn’t imagine it being like it today, where on one corner of the street is a Jewish synagogue and on the other corner is a Christian church and the two get along peacefully. Rather, in Philadelphia, there was a Jewish community of several thousand, complete with their own buildings and community life, while the Christians numbered maybe two or three dozen at most. The Christians had no buildings, and were small in comparison to every other religion in the city (Wright 34). The question that confronted them, that challenged them was whether or not they had missed something. They weren’t large. How could they ever make a difference for Jesus in this city?

And then, this letter arrives. Now, you may have noticed a different tone in this letter than in most of the other ones we have read. There is no question that, out of all seven of these churches, Philadelphia is the best of the bunch. Jesus really has nothing but good things to say about them.  In verse 8, they have “kept my word and have not denied my name,” and in verse 10, they “have kept my command to endure patiently.” These are faithful disciples, and Jesus writes to them to encourage them to keep on being faithful. He says, “I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown” (3:11).

Certainly this letter has in mind the struggles the church has had with the local synagogue, what is called the “synagogue of Satan” (3:9). It’s the same phrase Jesus used to refer to the synagogue in Smyrna (2:9). In both places, there was a struggle over who was faithful, who would be considered the people of God. The Jews in the synagogue believed they alone had the right to that title because they had been the chosen people since Abraham. The followers of Jesus, however, understood him to be the fulfillment of everything God had promised, that Jesus was, in fact, the promised Savior, the Messiah, and they were his people. And that’s why there are such harsh words spoken here. It’s not permission for believers of any generation to be anti-semitic or anti-Jew. Rather, Jesus is drawing a dividing line. Those who follow him, the letter says, are “true Jews,” and those who do not are not. In fact, he calls them “liars,” which is rather strong language, but remember the setting. It’s a time of persecution and of sharp divides. There was no time to be nice. The church needed to hear a strong word from Jesus as they persevered in that difficult place. They needed to hear that, when all is said and done, as the letter says, the others will “acknowledge that I have loved you” (3:9). What a powerful promise to a group that has been shunned, shut out of the synagogue, cut off from those they once called friends. Jesus loves them. That is, after all, the great good news in a nutshell.

But I think the bigger issue facing Philadelphia is the fact that, according to Jesus, they think too little of themselves. In verse 8, Jesus says, “I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name” (3:8). Numerically they were small. And culturally, they were ignored, overlooked, left out. They have come to see themselves as having “little strength,” maybe even having church meetings where they spend a lot of time talking about what they would like to do and why they can’t do it. You know—we’d really like a difference in this area or that, but we don't have the money or the resources or the people power, or… or… or… And they talk themselves out of it. I have a friend who is currently pastoring a very small church in a very small town and when he arrived he asked what their vision was, what they felt God was calling them to do. He was told point blank, “Pastor, you’re probably the last pastor we’ll have. We’re just going to try to hang on until we have to close.” That’s a tough attitude to break through, as my friend has learned. And I’ll also say that that same attitude can as easily penetrate a church of 400 as it can a church of 40. So, really, it doesn’t matter what the numbers were at Philadelphia, because somewhere along the way, they’ve become convinced that they are too small and too poor and too weak to do anything. They have “little strength.” Poor Philadelphia.

And yet, to “poor Philadelphia,” Jesus says they have been faithful when it matters. And he tells them that the people who are persecuting them will, one day, bow down in front of them. They are making a difference, whether they think so or not. Jesus sees it, and he affirms who they really are and what they are doing. Isn’t it interesting that the only other really “good” church we’ve encountered in our travels, Smyrna, was one which was described as being “poor”? The big churches, the wealthy churches all struggle with faithfulness. In the midst of these seven churches, the ones that are successful from Jesus’ vantage point are the ones who have not power and plenty, but weakness and poverty (cf. Mulholland [a] 126). That really does fly in the face of what is perceived as important in the American church today. Television preachers tell us that prosperity is a sign of God’s blessing and business gurus insist that “bigger is better.” Yet, the strength of the church, throughout most of history, had not been measured by the size of the building or the number of programs, but by the strength of our witness and our faithful obedience to Jesus Christ (cf. Mulholland [a] 126-127). That’s why I often say that, when we are asked as a church to fill out reports every year, we ask the wrong questions as a denomination. We ask about Sunday School and worship attendance, number of small groups, how much we gave to missions and so on. And while those aren’t terrible questions, they should never be the only way we judge a church’s success or failure—because, according to this letter, Jesus doesn’t judge it that way. A strong church and a strong Christian, according to Jesus, is one who has a Christ-centered witness and lives in faithful obedience to Jesus. These believers at Philadelphia may have felt weak, but they were, in fact, strong because they were actively keeping Christ’s word and staying faithful to his name (3:8).

There have been many times in my own life when I have felt powerless, but when I look back on those moments, those seasons of life, I can see that actually, those times where when I was most trying to take control of a situation rather than let God have control. Most of us struggle with some level of control, where we want what we want when we want it. And we’re affirmed in that by our microwave culture. We want this and we want it now. And when it doesn’t happen, we can feel powerless. Things don’t seem to be going the way we want them to, the way we planned it.  We feel weak, but, you know, weakness is not a bad thing. It’s not the end of the world. Some pretty powerful things have been done by people who were weak. As I was thinking about the Philadelphian church this week, I remembered a passage from Paul’s letter to another church, this one at Philippi: “Have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:5-8). And I remembered that same Paul another time pleading with God to remove a “thorn” from his flesh. We don’t know what the “thorn” was, though most scholars believe it was a physical impairment of some sort, perhaps an eye condition. But Paul begged God to take it away, and God listened, then said, “No. My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). God’s power best shows itself when we are weak, when we are powerless, when we simply can’t do it on our own. When we can’t figure it out, when we can’t control it, God’s power is best seen. In fact, that word from God enabled Paul to write, “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me…For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

Never feel as if you can’t do anything. There is always a call from God on your life, no matter what age or stage in life you are. Sometimes when I have spoken with homebound folks or people in nursing homes, I have them tell me, “I can’t do anything for the church anymore.” And my response is always the same: “Can you pray?” The church always needs people who, though maybe physically weak, can spiritually support others and the church through their prayers. What looks weak to the world can be the strongest thing on earth.

Though history will probably not remember it, it was the prayers of God’s people that brought down communism in Romania and began to tear down the so-called Iron Curtain. Under Romanian communism, the church was oppressed. In fact, the dictator’s most repressive fervor was reserved for the church. And yet a young pastor named Laslo Tokes began preaching against the regime. He pastored a small church in Timisorara, a place that no one would have guessed would be such a threat to the country’s leadership. As Tokes preached on, the government tried to control him more and more, and the more they pressed down, the more the church grew. When the government ordered the pastor out of his home, the church rose up. Believers from all sorts of places came together—Baptists, Orthodox, Catholics and Pentecostals. The denominational divides didn’t matter at that point. They surrounded the home of their pastor and lit candles in the night. Patriotic songs were sung. Prayers were said. Eventually, the police force’s patience wore out and shots were fired. People were injured and Tokes was beaten. Brute force was given in response to prayers and candles, and it suddenly drew the world’s attention to the difference between what seems to be great and what really is. Out of that confrontation came a revolution that brought down the communist regime, and after that was over, one of the local visited young Daniel Garva, who had lost his leg in the confrontation. Garva appreciated the visit, but he told the pastor, “I don’t mind so much the loss of my leg. After all, it was I who lit the first candle.” And not too long after that, a sign was posted at Pastor Tokes’ church that said, “The Lamb Won!” An image directly from Revelation, reminding us that the weak things of the world are not so weak when placed in God’s hands (Mulholland [b] 450-451; Colson & Vaughn, Being the Body, pgs. 396-403).

Philadelphia was challenged to remain strong by being told that Jesus loves them (3:9) and that he approved of their faithfulness (3:10). Because of those two things, the possibilities were endless for their ministry. Jesus expresses it this way: “See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut” (3:8). The synagogue may be closed to you, but I have an open door for you. You are welcome in my presence. This is the Jesus who has “the key of David,” the authority of kings to open and close, to grant access to the presence of the King (Johnson, “Revelation,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 12, pg. 452; Mulholland 125). This is the Jesus who received “all authority” from his heavenly Father (Matthew 28:18). This is Jesus the Messiah, the “holy one, the true one” (3:7), and he gives the weak things of the world endless possibilities. Never say that you can’t do anything. When Jesus is on your side—or, rather, when you are on his side—there are always possibilities, and those possibilities show themselves in spiritual power. Jesus tell the Philadelphians that, though they appear weak, they have a crown, and that they will, in the end, be conquerors, or the victorious ones. Weakness wins in the end. Jesus did not say that the powerful would inherit the earth, or that those with the most toys win. Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5).

Several years ago, during one of those “weak” times in my own life, I went to hear Tony Campolo speak at the University of Indianapolis. He was talking about what ministry would be like in what was then “the coming new century,” and in the midst of his talk, I was reminded of something I already knew, but I easily forget. That is this truth: this world is passing. This world is Babylon, which is the image John uses throughout Revelation to represent the fallen, sinful nature of a world set against God. This world is Babylon, and it will not prevail nor will it last. But God’s kingdom, God’s people, the New Jerusalem—that is what lasts. Even when New Jerusalem seems to be weak, as was the case in Philadelphia, it is still stronger than even the strongest part of Babylon. To be judged “weak” by this sinful world is unimportant; for Philadelphia and all of us, what matters is our strength in God’s eyes. Interestingly enough, even when all the rest of Turkey fell under Muslim control, little old “weak” Philadelphia held out as a Christian populace longer than anyone else (Johnson 451-452). What seems weak in the world’s eyes is strong in God’s.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite stories from Scripture, and it’s not just because the book shares a name with my grandmother. It’s because of the way the book of Esther reminds us of the power of weakness. Maybe you remember the story: Esther becomes queen through a beauty contest, and then her people, the Jews, are threatened with extinction because of the manipulations of Hamaan. Esther is afraid to go speak to the King about the situation, but her relative Mordecai urges her to take the risk. The turning point in the story is spoken by Mordecai to Esther: “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14). Church, even though we may feel weak, perhaps we have been placed right where we are for just such a time as this.

To the victorious, then, Jesus makes two strong promises. The first promise is this: “The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it” (3:12). “Often the only parts of a city left standing after a severe quake were the huge stone temple columns” (Johnson 455). Even today, when you tour the ruins of once-great cities, you’ll notice the only thing left standing are the pillars. A pillar is strong and indispensable. It holds everything up, holds everything together in a way. To the victorious, to those with weak strength, Jesus reminds them of their absolute importance to God and his kingdom, and promises that they will take up permanent residence in God’s presence.

And then, there is a second promise: “I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on them my new name” (3:12). Last week we talked about the significance of “names” in the Bible in general and in these letters. To be marked with someone’s name is to be marked with their nature. To be victorious means that you will be stamped with God’s nature, and in “such a time as this” you will be one who faithfully bears that nature, that name, to the world around you. You will be marked publicly as one of Jesus’ people, and the world will know whose you are (Wright 35). That’s important for believers to grab onto because the church always lives, at some level, against the grain of the culture. And we’re always tempted to try to fit in, to play the world’s games, to let the world set the agenda, to operate by the world’s rules and, therefore, give up our influence in the world. If we’re just like everyone else, what hope do we have for making a real difference? But we are not the same as the world around us. We follow a crucified savior. We believe that life comes out of death, that victory comes out of defeat, and that strength is shown in weakness (Mulholland [b] 451). We believe that the way to greatness is by serving and the way to win is to lose it all. When we are weak, God is strong in and through us.

Sometimes that weakness is used in surprising ways. Bishop Ernest Fitzgerald once told of being at church one December evening when he came across a small boy. “The boy appeared to be about 2 years old. He was crying” so Bishop Fitzgerald picked him up and tried to find his parents in the building. No one knew him, and eventually Bishop Fitzgerald realized the boy had been abandoned. He began to call around, and soon the church was filled with people wanting to help in any way they could. The local TV stations put the boy’s picture on the screen and asked if anyone knew who he was. The next morning, a local newspaper had the boy’s picture on the front page. Under the picture was an article that began this way: “Someone trusted the church last night, and the church came through!”

Bishop Fitzgerald commented, “It will be a long, long time before I can forget that newspaper headline…There is a deep hunger across our land as countless people grope for answers to the deepest questions of the human spirit. The message of Christ speaks to these questions, bringing hope and light to people who now stumble in the dark and live in despair. Our world will be changed as the hearts of people are changed. Evangelism is no longer an option for the church. It is essential to the survival of our world. The line in that…newspaper is a haunting reminder of what the world expects of the church. ‘Someone trusted the church last night, and the church came through!’” (“Someone Trusted the Church,” Michigan Christian Advocate, May 5, 1997, pg. 8). Sometimes our weakness is used in surprising ways.

So…here’s the question. Maybe you’ve come here today, or even the last few weeks, feeling weak. Let’s be honest: our church has been through some difficult days over the last couple of months, or even the last couple of years. It’s been hard, and it’s easy to point fingers or to blame someone or to claim that we can’t move forward because we’re so weak. There isn’t enough money, or enough willpower or enough this or enough that. But, as I’ve told several folks in the last couple of weeks, do you know what I felt when I came back from vacation on July 6? Now, I’ll admit, some of it may have been some residual pixie dust from Disney World, but I can tell you that when I stood up to lead worship that morning, I didn’t feel like I was in the midst of a weak church or a beaten down church or a church whose best days are in the past. I felt a new spirit here, one I hadn’t felt in a while. I hope you have sensed that, too, as we move forward. So what I want to do this morning, for just a few moments, is to give you a chance to celebrate. Whether we feel weak or strong, God is present here and still intends to use the church on McCool Road for the sake of his kingdom. So I’m going to pause for a few moments and invite you to share something good about this church. This is not a time for complaints or “I wish you would do this…” It’s a time to celebrate and acknowledge the good things God has done and is doing here, because, folks, I still believe, as I’ve said for the last nine years, our best days are still ahead. So what is God up to here, right now at Portage First?

SHARING

God has placed this church here in this place and time “for such a time as this.” I truly believe that. And I believe God will continue to use our weaknesses in the days and months and years ahead when we give them over to him, when we stop trying to control it and let Him lead us. Don’t be discouraged. Continue to welcome people with the genuine love of Christ, and continue to, in words attributed to St. Francis, “share Christ in all things; use words if necessary.” It is a church filled with that spirit which God will use, no matter how small—or big—they are. “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (3:13). Amen.

Sleeping Your Life Away

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Revelation 3:1-6

July 13, 2014 • Portage First UMC

One of the things I discovered during our vacation is how good sleep feels. There was only one or two days when we had to set an alarm, and while it took me a few days to adjust to a less programmed schedule, I got really used to it—so much so that it was hard start responding to an alarm again when we returned home! I hear people saying that vacations are often a time to “catch up” on their sleep, which recognizes what we’ve been told for many years now, that we simply don’t get enough sleep. The National Institutes of Health suggests that school-age children need at least 10 hours of sleep daily, teens need 9-10 hours, and adults need 7-8 hours. Yet, most adults report getting 6 or fewer hours of sleep each night. It’s become nearly epidemic, according to the Center for Disease Prevention and Control, so much so that sleep deprivation is often linked to motor vehicle crashes, industrial disasters, and medical and other occupational errors. The CDC says, “Persons experiencing sleep insufficiency are…more likely to suffer from chronic diseases such as hypertension, diabetes, depression, and obesity, as well as from cancer, increased mortality, and reduced quality of life and productivity.” Sleep insufficiency has been called a “public health concern” because to be able to physically function properly, we need our sleep (http://www.cdc.gov/features/dssleep/). Sleep is good.

But there are other forms of sleep that can be dangerous, even deadly. Physical sleep is good, even healthy, but spiritual sleep is dangerous, and that’s what the church at Sardis found themselves experiencing, even though they weren’t aware of it. This morning, we’re continuing our journey through these churches in Asia Minor that Jesus sent letters to near the end of the first century. These seven churches were situated in cities that formed a semi-circle, a circuit of sorts, and they had been overseen, to an extent, by the Apostle John. John was currently exiled on the island of Patmos because of his faith in Jesus, and while he is on the island, Jesus came to him in a vision not just to tell him what was to come in the future, but mostly to encourage him and strengthen the churches, to call them back to faithfulness. In chapter two of the Revelation, we’ve looked at Jesus’ messages to Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum and Thyatira. Now, as we begin chapter three, we turn to the church at Sardis.

Sardis was an important city for Greek culture and religion, located about thirty miles southeast of Thyatira. It was once a royal city, but by John’s time it was a part of the Roman Empire, having been willed to the Empire by the last king. Still, even though the days of royalty were past, Sardis was still a wealthy city, a place where luxury was the key word and morality was considered to be unimportant. It was a place of peace, but, as later historians record it, it was “the peace of the man whose dreams are dead and whose mind is asleep” (qtd. in Johnson, “Revelation,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 12, pg. 448). Because it had been a royal city, it was a place of polytheism, which means that many gods were worshipped here. Even though the primary “goddess” was Artemis, as it was at Ephesus, other gods were tolerated and people were encouraged to “just get along” with one another. Sardis boasted the largest ancient Jewish synagogue outside of Palestine, and yet it contained pagan symbols alongside the Star of David. The Empire pretty much said you could worship as you wanted as long as you didn’t consider your god to be any greater than any of the Roman gods. Sardis was a place of pluralism, a place of getting along.

Sardis also had a history of military strength. It was built on a hill and the fortifications towered above the valley below. The acropolis, or highest part of the city, was 800 feet above the main part of the city, and because of its setting, attackers usually found it difficult to fight against an army that was that far above them. However, there were two incidents in which Sardis was conquered. The first, in 549 BC, happened during the days of the famously wealthy King Croesus. The attacking army had surrounded the city but couldn’t find a way in until, one night, while most of the Sardians slept, one of the soldiers sworn to protect Sardis forgot a very important rule of combat: if you drop your helmet, don’t go after it. During the night, he dropped his helmet and, thinking no one was watching, he went down the winding path on the southern side of the city, though a secret door, retrieved his helmet, and then returned through the same secret door. A sharp Persian soldier saw him, and that night, while Sardis slept, the Persians followed the path up to the summit and captured the city while they slept (Johnson 447; Mulholland [a], Revelation, pg. 118). The second take-over happened in 218 BC, and on that occasion the attacking army noticed a group of vultures hovering over a particular part of the city. Upon investigating, they realized that was the place where the dead bodies were thrown over the wall, and that was a part of the city no one was protecting. That night, some of the brave soldiers scaled the wall under the cover of darkness and took the city—again, while most of the population was sleeping (Mulholland [b], “Revelation,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 446). The Sardians learned that things can change when you sleep! All of that is an important part of their history that is in their minds as they begin to hear this letter from Jesus.

Now, if you remember, in each of the letters so far, Jesus begins with compliments for the church he is writing to, but not with Sardis. He begins the same way he does with the other churches: “I know your deeds.” At this point, they are probably expecting a list of the good things they have done. Instead, this is what they hear: “You have a reputation for being alive, but you are dead” (3:1). They have a reputation for being awake, Jesus says, a reputation for being strong and unbeatable, but they are actually asleep. Their reputation was great, but Jesus could see beyond their “name.” He was looking at their true nature when he says, “You are dead.” You are asleep. The church in Sardis had not learned the lesson of their own history, so Jesus calls them to “wake up!” (3:2).

How does a church fall asleep? Is it because they’ve simply listened to too many sermons? How does a church get to the place where it is “about to die”? That’s the way Jesus describes Sardis: “about to die.” No one would have thought that of the church. They had a good, solid reputation. They were a pillar in the community, despite Christianity being an outlawed religion by this time. And yet, Jesus says, “I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God” (3:2). We don’t have a record of what they were doing, and it’s not that Jesus is saying they needed to do more. Rather, when you think about the culture, and the emphasis on “getting along” that surrounded them, it seems that Sardis was failing to do whatever they did with the purpose of bringing others to Jesus. Perhaps the message was watered down so they could “get along.” Perhaps they had forgotten that they served one who claimed to the way, the truth and the life (cf. John 14:6). This may be a reference to slack habits, to only doing “the minimum,” showing up for worship and living the rest of your week like Jesus didn’t exist. Like the person who says, “The boss is coming, look busy,” Sardis was trying to appear busy to impress the culture but they failed to meet Christ’s expectations. They heard, but they did not obey, and so they have become the center of nominal Christianity. What’s the least I have to believe and do in order to get into heaven? Sardis offers faith that is only a shell of its true self. It’s the kind of faith described in Harriet Beecher Stowe’s novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin, where one character says, “Don’t the Bible say we must love everybody?” The other person responds, “O, the Bible! To be sure, it says a great many things; but, then, nobody ever thinks of doing them” (qtd. in Yancey, What’s So Amazing About Grace?, pg. 160). The Sardians are asleep to Jesus. They are near death unless something happens to change them from the inside out.

It’s a bit like the work of Samuel Tewk with the mentally ill. In the nineteeth-century, it was customary for asylum workers to chain so-called “lunatics” to the walls and beat them. In fact, it was the prevailing medical belief that such a punishment would drive out the evil forces within the mentally ill patients. Tewk, mercifully, took a different approach. He would dress the patients the way everyone else dressed, and teach them how to behave at tea parties and in church. No one would be able to tell they were mentally ill. The only problem was Tewk’s treatment did nothing to address the actual illness. On the outside, they seemed fine; on the inside, they remained mentally ill (Yancey 208). Sardis looks good on the outside, but on the inside they were close to dying.

Bob Mulholland says they are many Sardis-type churches in the world today, and every church is always in danger of becoming like Sardis. Mulholland puts it this way: “They might be alive with ‘exciting’ worship that appeals to the tastes of the culture but dead to the genuine awe and humility of true worship. They might be alive with ‘entertaining’ programs for children, youth, and adults but dead to the transforming grace of God. They might be alive with ‘socially aware’ attitudes and activities but dead to the liberating power of God. They might be ‘alive’ with the world’s perspectives, values, and behaviors but ‘dead’ to those of the kingdom” ([b] 446-447). Aliveness or deadness is not about theological perspectives or dogmatic beliefs. It’s about being open and available and, yes, alive to the Spirit of God. It’s about being more than a chair-sitter. Is it enough to just come to church and then live faithlessly all week long? Or does Jesus call us to more, to living out that faith, to loving one another in spite of our differences, to loving the world that often rejects us? It is enough to “just look busy” while achieving little or nothing (Wright, Revelation for Everyone, pg. 30)? You have a reputation of being alive, Jesus tells Sardis, but you are dead. And unless something changes, you will remain dead.

I mentioned a few moments ago that Sardis boasted a temple to Artemis. Before Roman times, Artemis was known as Cybele, a goddess who had the power of life over death. So here’s this huge temple to Artemis or Cybele, who claims to have the power of life. And then there’s the church of Jesus, worshipping a Savior who conquered death. The question for the church was who would they turn to to find hope? Where would they find life? Churches today face that same dilemma, that same question. Are we going to invest our energy in finding life in Jesus or in something else—a program, a conference, a speaker, a bestselling book? I had a pastor friend many years ago who was always telling me about the latest program he had discovered, and every time it was, “This is the one, this is the program that is going to wake the church up and turn us around.” And pretty soon, it was off to the next program, the next idea. The challenge for us in our world today is the same as it was for the Sardians: “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die” (3:2). The image there is of a house built on the shore near a body of water. Bit by bit, the shoreline is being eaten away by the water. If the person who owns the house doesn’t build a sea wall, they could soon find their house falling into the water. Strengthen what remains before it’s too late!

So how do they (and we) go about that? Jesus is basically telling the church they need to start from scratch, that they need to take what little is left of the faith they once had and build on that. The text literally says, “Remember how you received and heard,” so basically he means to go back to the beginning. Go back to the basics. Much like people who have serious health issues or replacement surgeries have to learn to walk or talk to do basic things all over again, Jesus tells the Sardians that’s the way they need to approach their faith. Start over by remembering what you learned at the very first. Then, he says, “hold it fast, and repent” (3:3). The text literally says, “keep it,” or “obey.” There is a connection between hearing and obeying, but they must come in that order. Listen to what Jesus is saying, remember the basics, then do those things. Live out what you know. Live what you say you believe. The reason they are “asleep” is because they are doing things without listening to Jesus first; they are paying more attention to the culture than to Christ. Remember what you heard, then do it.

Now, I want to be clear here. Jesus is not teaching that we or the Sardians will be saved or made righteous by our works. Like many today, they liked the idea that if they just did enough “good things,” they would be all right. Christians throughout history have struggled with this tension. John Wesley’s early writings are filled with the frustration that the works he was doing didn’t seem to help him “feel” the salvation of Christ. When he came as a missionary to Georgia, he wrote that he came to convert others, but he wondered who would save him (cf. Journal, Feb. 29, 1738). Martin Luther committed himself to a blameless life as a monk, and yet all of his good works could never give him peace. He would spend as much as six hours a day racking his brain, trying to remember sins he might have committed the day before (Yancey 207). Then Luther stumbled across passages in Paul’s writing that suggested another way: “For…the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23). What became the Protestant Reformation began by believing that salvation is a free gift.

Then there’s the book of James. In fact, Luther wished that book were not in the Bible; he called it an “an epistle of straw.” You see, James tells us that “as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead” (James 2:26), and he says that, for people such as Abraham, “faith was made complete by what he did” (James 2:22). James challenges his church: “Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds” (James 2:18). Later on in the book of Revelation, we’re told that at the final judgment, the dead will be “judged according to what they had done as recorded in the books” (20:12). If we believe, as we do, that we are not saved by our works, what do we do with those words?

Sometimes, we want to believe that we can “earn” God’s favor by doing things because that somehow seems easier than believing that salvation is a free gift given to anyone who asks. But it’s called “grace” for a reason. Salvation is by faith in Jesus Christ alone. So, then, where does Jesus get off judging Sardis by their works? Here’s the way it works: we are given a free gift of grace. We are offered a relationship with Jesus. Once we accept that free gift, it is our actions that demonstrate our acceptance of that gift. The proof is in the pudding, so to speak. The evidence is found in our deeds, which is why Jesus has told all of these churches, “I know your deeds.” They show me whether you love me or not. After all, when you love someone, you find yourself wanting to do things to express that love. When there is a storm or a crisis, the actions of persons and organizations show their level of concern for those less fortunate. Their deeds prove the truth of their words. Jesus gave Sardis the free gift of salvation, but by their actions they have shown that it was only accepted on the surface. “You have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead…I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God” (3:1-2).

So Jesus challenges the Sardians to wake up and to look around at the few in the fellowship who have not “soiled their clothes” (3:4), for these are the ones who are doing the things Jesus commends the other churches for. In that world, people were identified by their clothing—or rather, at least their place in life was identified by their clothing. The most important people could wear purple, the next most important could wear red and so on. A person’s clothing told the world what that person was like (cf. Mulholland [b] 445). To stain your clothing was a disgrace. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m really good at managing to wear something white when I’m having Italian food, and I’m also good at managing to get just a little bit of sauce on that white shirt—almost every time! Cathy’s Grandpa had a whole closet full of ties with egg stains on them, because every Sunday, after church, he would go out to breakfast and manage to drop egg on his tie. Stains may not be a disgrace anymore, but they do tend to embarrass us. Yet that’s the image Jesus uses here: the unfaithful Sardians have “soiled” their clothes. They’ve brushed up against something that has made them less than pure. Most likely he’s referring to false religious systems all around them, the ones they were trying to “get along with” by not being offensive. And we know that white shows stains better than anything else. So while they may have been “asleep” and somewhat unaware, Jesus can clearly see the stain on their clothing, the ways they have failed to be faithful. So of those who haven’t stained their clothes, he says, “They will walk with me, dressed in white, for they are worthy. The one who is victorious will, like them, be dressed in white” (3:4-5). In that ancient world, whenever a king or a military leader triumphed over an enemy, he would return to a huge parade, and he would wear white because he was the victorious one, the conqueror, the overcomer. And all of his followers would also wear white robes to celebrate the victory. Jesus promises that those who return to him, who repent, who live out their faith will be with him in the victory parade.

But then there’s this other matter in verse 5: “I will never blot out the name of that person from the book of life, but will acknowledge that name before my Father and his angels” (3:5). This is a promise to the victorious, but I first want to consider what it means to those who have soiled their clothing, who are asleep. In the ancient world, cities maintained citizenship lists, but not everyone could be on that citizenship list. Only those who were born into particular families or who had paid a large sum of money were granted the right of citizenship (cf. Acts 22:28). To be a citizen, you had to look and act a certain way. You had to live and behave as a citizen. There was a custom, a grim custom, that said that anyone who was found guilty of a crime deserving death was first brought to the registrar to have their name blotted out of the book that contained the citizenship list. Only then would that person be put to death, but since they were no longer a citizen, it would not impact the city’s reputation. No citizens, in other words, were ever put to death because the condemned were removed, blotted out, first (Wright 31). In Revelation 20, we hear of the Book of Life, and we’re told that all whose names are not found there are thrown into the lake of fire (20:11-15). All who are not citizens of the kingdom. It’s another stark image from this final book of the Bible, and it’s an image that would remind the church at Sardis of those citizenship rosters. Their names could be removed. They could become a non-citizen, a non-person, in both Sardis and in the kingdom of God. But this verse is also a promise to the victorious, to the overcomer. It’s a promise of eternal citizenship. The names of the victorious will never be blotted out of the citizenship list of God’s kingdom because nothing will ever separate us from the love of Christ, not even death itself (cf. Rom. 8:38-39; Johnson 449). So by falling spiritually asleep, the Sardians are giving up their eternal citizenship; they are literally sleeping their life away!

But to those who have remained awake, who have kept their citizenship, Jesus says he will confess their names before the Father. Not only will their names be found on the citizenship list, but when their names are read, Jesus will say, “Yes, I know him! I know her! They are mine!” A similar promise is given in Matthew’s Gospel, as Jesus himself describes the last judgment: “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven” (Matthew 10:32).

It’s the importance of the name that links these two promises. For the ancient Hebrews and the early Christians, names were vitally important. As I’ve shared before, names weren’t randomly selected from a book or because they sounded nice. Names were chosen to describe a person (Mulholland [a] 122). To know a person’s name was to know something about him or her, to know their nature. So Jacob in the Old Testament is named “Heel-Grabber.” Jesus’ name means, “God Saves.” We thought a lot about that when we named our children. Christopher means “Christ-bearer” and Rachel means “little lamb” or “lamb of God.” We want them to have pride in their names and to grow into them. And knowing someone’s name puts you in relationship with them. So more than anything else, we want Jesus to know their names and ours and yours. On that all-important final day, when the victorious present themselves before the throne of God, we want to hear Jesus say, “I know your name. I know what you’re like. You are my friend.”  Those who profess to knowing Jesus here are the victorious, and they will find him confessing their names before the Father.

The church in Sardis has become just like their city, relying on its past fame to carry it into the future. And more than that, they had adopted the same “go along to get along” mindset, failing to stand for Jesus in the midst of a pagan culture. Jesus’ letter reminds them (and us) that you can’t have a vital faith that rests only in the past or is just like everyone else; to be victorious means you are walking with Christ today and that you will walk with Christ tomorrow, and him alone.

A story is told of the donkey who carried Jesus into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday. As he woke up on Monday, he remembered the excitement of the day before. He decided to head back into town and soon found a group of people by the well. He showed himself to them, but they didn’t seem to notice or care. “Throw your garments down,” he said crossly. “Don’t you know who I am?” They just looked at him in amazement. “Miserable heathens!” he muttered to himself. “I’ll go to the market where the good people are.” But in the market the same thing happened. No one paid any attention to the donkey. “The palm branches! Where are the palm branches?” he shouted. “Yesterday, you threw palm branches!” Hurt and confused, he returned home to his mother. She looked at him, listened to his story, and then replied gently, “Foolish child. Don’t you realize that without him, you’re just an ordinary donkey?” (More Hot Illustrations, pg. 138).

And Jesus says to the church at Sardis, “Foolish church! Don’t you realize that without me, you’re just an ordinary group of people singing songs and reading words.” And so comes the challenge to wake up, to stop sleeping your life away! There are people today who are just like the Sardians: on the outside, they appear to be nice people, even perhaps Christian, but on the inside, nothing has really changed. As Pastor Scotty Smith writes, “We dare not equate being in the pews with being in Christ” (Unveiled Hope, pg. 54). We’re called to more. We’re called to live out our faith, to make a difference in this world by everything we do and say.

You know, it’s become fashionable today to blame God or even to blame the church when we’re confronted with poverty or illness or unexplainable suffering. Why doesn’t God do something, we rant and rave. And God gently whispers: “I did do something. I made you.” He sends us, his church, into the world to make a difference, to reach out to the least, the last and the lost. Those actions do not save us; they demonstrate our salvation. The great British legislator, William Wilberforce, came to know Christ and wondered if he should stay in politics. Due to the influence of both John Wesley and John Newton, he did, but when he was confronted with the evils of the slave trade, he knew his faith compelled him to do something about it. He literally gave his entire life to ending the slave trade in England. Now, you may not be called to do something on that level, though you might, but in what ways can you live out your faith here and now, in this place? You can take on poverty and hunger by donating to Feed by Lambs, or working at the Car Show, or going to the Food Bank and helping to stuff the boxes that are delivered. You can fight illiteracy by reading to a child. You can respond to people in your work or in your home or in your neighborhood with the love of Christ rather than the disdain of the world. You can share that love with another person, or with a child by volunteering to work at our Bible School next week. In every way, every day, you find ways both little and big to shine the light of Jesus and refuse to confine your faith to just sitting in these chairs here for an hour each week. Many of you may know I like to frequent Starbucks. It’s a place I can get away from the phones and enjoy a nice atmosphere for thinking and writing. And there’s a guy who is often there that, to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to have anything to do with. He’s got issues, and he doesn’t always smell all that good. Then, he found out I am a pastor, and I admit I found myself thinking, “Great, now I have to be nice to him!” But, do you know, we’ve had some interesting conversations across the months and years. We’ve talked about God and church and Jesus, and had I refused to live out my faith, I wouldn’t have had that opportunity and neither would he. I don’t know if I’m making a difference in his life or not, but I know it’s changed me and made me, hopefully, a better disciple of Jesus. After all, that’s what Jesus’ call here is all about: waking up and being better followers of him who loves us more than we can imagine. Don’t just sit. Don’t just come to church. Be a disciple. Be a follower. Be victorious. That’s Jesus’ call to us. “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (3:6). Amen.

Inferiority Complex

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Revelation 2:18-29

July 6, 2014 • Portage First UMC

Near the end of the school year this past year, Rachel had a class project in which she had to do a family tree. Now, I had done some work many years ago on tracing our roots, but had lost interest and quit. Her project reignited that interest, and I began once again searching the internet for clues as to where we came from. I was able to trace my family back to New Jersey in the 1800’s, though there don’t seem to be any records of where the “Ticen” family came from before that. But from New Jersey, the family moved to Ohio, and then to Indiana where they settled near a little town called Burlington. And, somehow, my grandfather moved from there to the big town of Sedalia, which is where I was born. Most of the time, when people ask where I’m from, I’ll tell them Clinton County or “near Lafayette,” because very few people know where Sedalia is. Even if you’ve been through there, and driven right by the home where I grew up, you may not know you’ve been there. Sedalia is a wide spot in the road, home to about 150 people, give or take. Sometimes it feels like Sedalia was similar to the town Philip Gulley describes as being on the map but tucked under the staple in the atlas.

Some of you grew up in large towns, or maybe you grew up in small towns that became large towns, like Portage. My 90-year-old uncle, who we got to visit this last week, took a job and moved to Orlando, Florida before anyone had ever heard of it. He’s lived in the same house for many years and has literally watched as his little town became a huge city once Walt Disney found it. My niece is experiencing the opposite; due to my brother’s job change, they are moving this summer from Noblesville to Rossville, and she will be attending the school both my brother and I graduated from. And she’s not too happy about it, because she’s been used to a large city and now she’s moving to a small town. Small towns have been given the reputation of being insignificant, less important somehow. We even see small town churches struggle across our denomination. It seems like they become places that time has passed by, and it’s easy for a small town church to feel insignificant, inferior, as if they have nothing to contribute to the kingdom of God. And yet, if they are faithful, they have everything to give.

This morning, we are continuing our journey through Asia Minor and the seven churches Jesus had a special message for near the end of the first century. Those messages came through the Apostle John, while he was in exile on the island of Patmos. And, as we’ve seen, in each of these letters, Jesus has both compliments and concerns for the churches, which reminds us that no church is perfect—because it’s made up of imperfect human beings! You and me. But Jesus, the Son of God, the perfect one, calls each of them to faithfulness and, as we’ve been looking at, he gives each church instructions for what they need to do to be “victorious” or “conquerors.” That’s a message we still need to hear, even in the twenty-first century. No matter how important or educated we think we have become, we are still human, and we all still have room to grow in our faith in Jesus. That’s what these letters are here for, to help us become more like him as we live our lives.

So far, we’ve been to Ephesus and Smyrna, and last week you visited Pergamum. About forty miles east of Pergamum was a town built by Alexander the Great to be a military garrison. The town’s name was Thyatria, and if you haven’t heard of it, you’re not alone. It’s not well known, and it wasn’t well known even in its own day. It was of “minor political importance,” an average town that was large enough but not huge. It may have been a lot like Portage, because it was, in many ways, a union town, an industrial town. There is evidence of a wide variety of industries that were well-established here: bronze workers, coppersmiths, tanners and other leather workers, dyers, wool and linen workers, potters and bakers (Mulholland [a], Revelation, pgs. 111-112; Mulholland [b], “Revelation,” Cornerstone Biblical Commentary, Vol. 18, pg. 443). The water at Thyatira was so rich in minerals that there was no other place that could make a red dye so bold and brilliant. Purple, the color of kings, was also made here, and the book of Acts tells us of one early Christian believer, Lydia, who was from Thyatira and was a “dealer in purple cloth” (Acts 16:14-15).

As I said, Thyatira was a union town. In those days, such groups were called “guilds,” and in many ways they functioned a bit like modern-day unions, but they were more than that. The city’s entire social structure was built around the guilds. Guilds weren’t just about your work; they also touched on your social and religious life. Every so often, there were guild festivals, held in the Temple of Apollo. Apollo was the patron god of Thyatira, and therefore of the guilds as well, and he was understood and even proclaimed to be the “son of god.” So these festivals, held as they were in Apollo’s temple, became at least quasi-religious ceremonies, worship services of a sort. The festivals were a time to eat, to fellowship, even sometimes to engage in questionable activities with the temple prostitutes. They were a time when you asked Apollo to bless your industry with prosperity (Wright, Revelation for Everyone, pg. 25). That was a problem for these new believers in Jesus, who now knew that he and he alone is the Son of God. Now, today, if your union or your office invited you to a party and you didn’t want to go or you knew you wouldn’t like what was going to happen there, you would just politely decline. Not in Thyatira in the first century. Attendance was mandatory if you were going to be part of the guild. If you didn’t participate, they understood that as you rejecting Apollo, and leaders were afraid Apollo might then get angry and curse the guild. Refusing to attend or participate meant you would probably be expelled from the guild, and that meant you would lose your job, your career, your way of making a living for your family. The very social structure put a real choice before these early Christians: Jesus or career? Faith or job? In this little town, it was a stark choice. It still is.

So the first thing Jesus says to the church at Thyatira is this: “These are the words of the Son of God, whose eyes are like blazing fire and whose feet are like burnished bronze” (2:18). Let’s get it straight, right from the top, Thyatira, who Jesus is. He is the one who is the real Son of God, not Apollo, and he is the one who is over and greater than any of the guilds. Their craft is only a reflection of who he is, and so they hold no real threat. And then he pushes on with further encouragement: “I know your deeds, your love and faith, your service and perseverance, and that you are now doing more than you did at first” (2:19). Outwardly, the church was doing very well, and each new thing they tried was more successful than the last. This was a church, it seemed to everyone, that, in spite of the persecution and the threats to their livelihood, was on an upward trajectory. They were “the little church that could.”

But then, as he has with the other churches, Jesus turns the corner with those no one wants to hear from him: “I have this against you” (2:20). By this point in the Revelation, they were probably expecting something like that, and yet I imagine that their ears perked up and their stomachs maybe tightened when they heard those words, and the words that followed: “You tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophet” (2:20). “Jezebel” was probably not the woman’s real name. People did not name their little girls “Jezebel,” certainly not anyone who knew where the name came from. In the Old Testament book of 1 Kings, we meet King Ahab’s wife, Jezebel, who was not an Israelite. She was a Canaanite, a worshipper of the god Baal, the prominent Canaanite god, and she had led her husband and the whole nation of Israel to also worship Baal (Johnson, “Revelation,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 12, pg. 444). In fact, she is largely understood to be the source of her husband’s demise, his wickedness and his death, and she herself came to a rather grisly end. You can read about it in 2 Kings 9. Today still, her name is often used to describe someone who is evil and scheming. No, “Jezebel” was not a compliment, and worse yet, this woman has passed herself off as a prophet, which means she had a following of some sort.

Now it’s not entirely clear what she was teaching, but we know she was in some sort of leadership and was leading at least part of the church to believe it was all right to eat food sacrificed to idols and to practice “sexual immorality.” When you consider the story of the Old Testament Jezebel, and the prophets then who spoke against her, it’s not likely these Thyatiran Christians were practicing actual immorality. That image is used especially in the Old Testament to describe any sort of behavior that goes along with worshipping other gods. Repeatedly, God calls the Hebrews to faithfulness and not to “prostitute” themselves to other gods. We might call what she’s teaching “spiritual playing around.” Thinking you can have it all, worship the god of the guilds and the God of Jesus Christ (Wright 26). That was a constant struggle in this first-century world where many gods cried out for attention. And it was often seen in this matter of eating food that had been offered to idols, perhaps the food at the guild festivals that had been dedicated to Apollo. Paul had also encountered such teaching. In his letters both to Rome and to Corinth, Paul addresses this issue of eating food sacrificed to idols, and his basic conclusion is that Christians shouldn’t do it if it causes one of their brothers or sisters to stumble in their faith. To Rome, he writes, “Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a person to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble. It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother or sister to fall” (Romans 14:20-21). In Thyatira, within and around the guilds, “Jezebel” appears to be encouraging the people not to quit their jobs but to go ahead and attend the Apollo festivals—in other words, to compartmentalize their faith. Those so-called “Satan’s deep secrets” (2:24) really seem to have to do with that compartmentalization. You keep your faith and your work separate, and don’t let the two overlap. That way you can “have it all.” It’s an intellectual approach, spurred on by one who thinks she is a prophet but is not.

It’s always dangerous to proclaim yourself a prophet. Several years ago, when I was a pastor in another town, we had a person arrive who declared herself a pastor, even though she had no church. She came to our pastor’s meetings and was welcomed with open arms. She began some benevolent works, and the rest of us participated, and then things got weird. She told us that the angel Gabriel joined her every night by the campfire in her back yard. And she told us that she had been sent to town to teach us all how to really worship. Then she began going by the title of “prophet,” and whenever any of us disagreed with something she said or did, we were the focus of her and of other people’s wrath. I had a confrontation that took place in the middle of a worship service, of all places, about this woman. It was a difficult time, and unfortunately I’m not sure it ever really got resolved. There were people in the community who believed her, and thought the rest of us pastors were demons. There were others who were wary of her. She did some good things, in spite of her unorthodox beliefs, but she also seemed to lead people astray, because it became more about “her” than about Jesus. Now, I don’t doubt that “Jezebel” may have begun as a solid teacher, someone who did great things in Jesus’ name. But by the time John writes down this letter from Jesus, she is leading people astray. It’s become about her, and it’s become divisive in an otherwise good church. How long this had been going on, we don’t know. The letter says, “I have given her time to repent…but she is unwilling” (2:21). And her actions have made this little church in this little town feel powerless. Something has to be done.

So Jesus says, “I will cast her on a bed of suffering, and I will make those who commit adultery with her suffer intensely, unless they repent of her ways. I will strike her children dead" (2:22-23). If that makes you uncomfortable, it should! That’s a pretty harsh-sounding punishment, but it gives us a huge clue as to just how seriously Jesus takes the confusion and divisiveness “Jezebel” has created. It tells us how seriously Jesus takes this issue of worshipping Apollo or him—not that Apollo is any sort of real god. But Jesus calls his people to undivided loyalty to him and to one another. The punishment is not only directed at “Jezebel,” but also at her “children,” those who are her disciples (Bible Background Commentary: New Testament, pg. 772), and whether or not he’s talking about literal death or, as most folks understand it, spiritual death, the end result is the same: they will be separated from Jesus, cast out from the family of God (Mulholland [b] 442). And the reason all of this is to happen is very significant. Jesus says it’s so that “all the churches will know that I am he who searches hearts and minds” (2:23). The evil will be removed so that more people can know who Jesus is. And then there’s this serious reminder: “I will repay each of you according to your deeds” (2:23).

Now, that’s serious stuff…for Thyatira. “Jezebel” has been teaching that what the guilds are asking is okay. Does that have anything to do with us here in Portage in the twenty-first century? Our jobs don’t ask us to swear allegiance to other gods today…or do they? They may not ask us to bow down to little statues or to come to a party where we swear allegiance to Apollo, but there are ways today, more and more subtle, where we are asked to choose between our faith and our career, or our families and our job. We are asked in ways both subtle and overt to “swear allegiance” to the career, to the company, to the profession. Work later and longer, give time to the job you should be giving to the kids, miss the ballgames and the school programs…all for the sake of the job. And the reason we end up willing to do that, even aside from the money we earn, is the same reason Thyatira was listening to “Jezebel.” It made them feel good, “it” being the job. And so many people today—we find our identity, our worth, our value in our job, in the thing that was only meant to provide a living, not to become our life. The problem is we look for whatever gives us affirmation, whatever builds us up and makes us feel somehow less inferior. And while the Gospel message of the church may occasionally make us “feel good,” the call of Jesus is never about getting things for ourselves or making ourselves superior. In fact, the Gospel call is exactly the opposite. Jesus calls us to give ourselves away, to serve the least, the last and the lost, to not think of ourselves as higher than others. And along comes “Jezebel,” who says you can have it both ways. Or who says, basically, ignore the call of Jesus and pursue your worth in your work, even if it means selling out just a little bit to the false god, to the idol. Think about a town like Thyatira—or Portage—that always seems to live in someone else’s shadow, and then listen as “Jezebel” says, “If you work just a little harder and just a little longer, if you give yourself more to your work, then maybe we won’t be in someone else’s shadow. Maybe we’ll be great. All it takes is a little bending of the knee, a little compromise, less servanthood and more superiority.” We hear her whisper all around us, and the question before us is this: is there anything—even our career, our economy, our job or our money—that we value more than Jesus?

To the “rest” of the Thyatirans, those who have not embraced the teachings of “Jezebel,” Jesus gives a comforting word: “I will not impose any other burden on you, except to hold on to what you have until I come” (2:24-25). These are the victorious, the overcomers, the conquerors. To be victorious in Thyatira involves remembering what is most important and holding tight to that. It’s not a matter of becoming legalistic or dogmatic, but of becoming convinced of the truth, of standing up for that truth in whatever context you find yourself in: work, home, daily life. “Holding on” involves walking in the footsteps of the Savior who was “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14), the one who revealed God’s desperate love for our broken world. “For God so loved the world,” we’re told, “that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). God gave everything when he sent Jesus. So being victorious means we ask this question: is there anything in our lives we value more than Jesus? And are we willing to give even that up if it means taking a stand for him?

Of course we want to know “what’s in it for me,” and each of these letters makes promises to the victorious. In Thyatira, those who “hold on” are promised this: “I will give authority over the nations…just as I have received authority from my Father” (2:26-27). Now, that’s an amazing promise to these Thyatirans who have felt overlooked, inferior to the rest of the empire. There are echoes of Psalm 2 here, one of the psalms that the early church saw as a promise of the Messiah. In that psalm, the Lord says to his son, “Ask me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will break them with a rod of iron; you will dash them to pieces like pottery” (Psalm 2:8-9). The first promise to the victorious, then, is that they will participate in Jesus’ victory over the fallen world (Mulholland [a] 117). Though they seem to be powerless and insignificant politically now, one day they will be rulers over the world if they stay “full of grace and truth.” How can Jesus give such authority to them? Even Rome hasn’t given them any authority, but Jesus stands above Rome. He can give authority because he has received it from God the Father (2:28; cf. Matt. 28:18).

And then there is a second promise to the victorious in Thyatira: “I will also give that one the morning star” (2:28). Once again, this is directly taking on the local gods, because the “morning star” is Venus, the planet that appears at its brightest in the sky just before dawn. Venus, for the Romans, was the goddess of love, beauty, fertility and prosperity, and she was seen as the promise of a new day, each day. But Jesus is not promising to give them Venus. He’s promising to give them himself. He’s promising the same thing he’s been promising throughout the book of Revelation: that he will dwell among his people and be near them. Near the end of the book, in 22:16, we’re told Jesus is “the bright Morning Star.” Venus is not a god; neither is Apollo. Jesus is the real Son of God, and he is promising to come and be with his people. Not only do the victorious receive Christ’s authority, but they also receive his presence, his going with them, his empowering them to be the incarnation of Christ to the world. So it didn’t matter what happened to them in the guilds. It didn’t matter whether or not they became the best city in the Empire. Jesus was with them and he wasn’t going anywhere. His word, and their witness, was the promise of a new dawn, a new hope for the world (cf. Wright 27-28). That’s the truth they must hold onto, and so should we, because once that truth gets ahold of us, everything changes. Everything is different.

To the ones who feel inferior, Jesus gives the promise that they will rule over the nations. To the ones who hold on, Jesus gives the promise that he will be with them. One of seminary professors once said, “The secret of being an agent of God’s grace to others seems to lie not so much in the depth of my growth or maturity in Christ but in the depth of my abandonment and availability to God” (The Upper Room Disciplines 1997, pg. 365). Are we available to God? Are we open to his presence? When we come to the table, this communion table, we open ourselves to what Jesus wants to do in us and through us. These are simple tokens—bread and grape juice—simple things that don’t seem to matter much. They’re common—you can find them on many tables today. And yet in these common, insignificant elements, we find not just a reminder of Jesus’ love for us but a promise of his presence, a reminder that he will be with us. We are his church. We are his body, and the gates of hell will not prevail against his church (cf. Matthew 16:18). May we dare to be a church that “holds on,” that stands for truth and that trusts in the Christ who is over all. As we come to the table this morning, seeking Christ’s presence, “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (2:29). Amen.