The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (3)

Psalm 133              Revelation 3:14-22                John 10:22-30

The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (3)

Picture this: three respectable Yorkshire couples, all set to celebrate their shared wedding anniversary of 25 years. The dining room is filled with the smug satisfaction of people who believe they’ve mastered the art of marriage. 

The husbands are all prominent elders of Lane End chapel, and after the celebrations in the dining room, they gather in the sitting room, replete with port and cigars, to confront the chapel organist, Gerald Forbes, whom they intend to sack, because he has been seen walking out with young women, and worse, is a southerner. Gerald however turns the tables by revealing that on holiday he met a church minister, the Rev Francis Beech, who confided that 25 years ago, as a young minister at Lane End, he conducted four marriages, three of them on the same day, under the impression that he was qualified to do so, but, he later discovered, he lacked the requisite licence for it.

In other words, their marriage services, conducted by Beech, were invalid. 

And, as luck and farce would have it, their conversation is overheard by the family maid, Mrs Northrop, and worse, a reporter and photographer from the regional paper, are on the premises, having come to report on the silver anniversary and take pictures of the three couples. The three husbands agree that Mrs Northrop must be bribed to secrecy, and the newspaper men bluffed and kept in ignorance. However, Mrs Northrop tells the story to the three wives.

Cue pandemonium. Husbands who’ve spent decades perfecting the art of benign neglect are suddenly transformed into nervous Romeos, desperately wooing their wives as if auditioning for a second chance at love, or at least a second, or in this case, a first wedding. The wives, meanwhile, are weighing their options, wondering if this is their golden ticket to trade up, while thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of their husbands’ newfound devotion. J. B. Priestly’s play, “When We Are Married”, is a comedy of errors, misunderstandings, and matrimonial mayhem.

Now, the sermon to the Laodiceans was concerned with very much the same sort of unwelcome revelation. Although the members believed themselves to be a church in good standing, Jesus revealed that they were everything but a church…the Lord himself was not in the church but standing outside knocking on their closed door. “Behold,” he said, “I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

In his message to this self-satisfied and self-deceived church, Jesus made it clear that he was not present with them, and his knocking at their door was a wake-up call to those who were able to discern the serious nature of his warning. 

Now, imagine yourself one of the spouses in Priestly’s play. Imagine, if you will, the emotional conflict as the realisation that all you ever believed to be true was in fact false engulfed you like a tsunami. Well, such was the revelation Jesus brought to this church. “You claim to be my bride,” he might have said, “but I am not your husband.” 

Christianity is based on a relationship. The essence of eternal life is knowing God. In John 10: 25-30 Jesus said to the unbelieving Pharisees, “The works that I do in my Father's name bear witness about me, but you do not believe because you are not among my sheep. My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one.” In this passage, Jesus revealed that God was not inside the religious institutions of the day.  Indeed, he was calling his sheep to come out from among them and to follow him.

But one cannot ignore the loving concern Jesus had for this church in Laodicea. The Lord knew the truth about them and yet he still chose to discipline them because he loved them. He stood at the door and knocked because he wanted to go in and dine with them. It is important to note that the object of his knocking was an invitation to a meal. “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

If you ever wanted to show someone that you dislike them, you would simply exclude them from your table. For example, the Pharisees objected to Jesus receiving and dining with those whom they considered outsiders; tax-collectors, prostitutes, and sinners. 

Peter had to defend himself before the church in Jerusalem for having shared a meal with the uncircumcised Cornelius and his family and friends. 

Sharing a meal with someone has always been an image of friendship, love, and close fellowship. And yet there was a deeper meaning to this invitation of Jesus to the church in Laodicea. In Luke 22:15, Jesus told his disciples, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.” And then he proceeded to institute what we call Holy Communion. The Lord’s Supper was never the simple sharing of a meal because in it the Lord mysteriously shares himself with us in a way that foreshadows the sharing of ourselves with others.

“This is my body,” he said to them, “which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” Now, of course, the bread and the wine are symbols of a greater reality, nevertheless the act itself reveals the intimate connection that is ours with God through Jesus. Indeed, I believe that when Jesus says, “My Blood” and “My Body” he is not talking about the bread and the wine…he is talking about us…we are his flesh and his blood on earth and the Eucharist reminds us that we are what we are because we are united in him through his sacrifice.

And yet, the mere ritual does not necessarily indicate the Lord’s presence at the Table any more than it indicates that we are living in harmony one with another. In the case of the Laodicean church, Jesus was very absent from their gatherings.

Ritual without reality can never be anything but dead. It is like a marriage without a spouse. 

But this revelation…this realisation that their relationship was null and void…was mean to lead them to an evaluation of their relationship with him, a repentance for their benign neglect in cultivating and nurturing that relationship, and a reconciliation leading to a renewed relationship with the one they had for so long taken for granted.

Those who did not heed his warning would by their non action reveal their inability to hear the voice of the Shepherd and therefore their inability to respond to him appropriately. 

The invitation to dine with him is a rich one as the Lord continued to say in verse 21: “The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne.” Although covenantal grace is extended to all who name themselves by the name of Jesus, it is those who, by God’s sovereign choice and infinite mercy, actually persevere to the end who receive the promises reserved for the elect. It is those who overcome their lukewarmness…it is those who repent…it is those who return…it is those who are reconciled who are granted leave to be seated in heavenly places with Christ Jesus. 

It is important for us to note then that the overcoming of the believer is likened to the overcoming of Jesus. The enthronement of Jesus was a result of his overcoming the very real temptation to indulge the flesh and to seek an alternative to obedience to God’s express command. 

In the same way, the Church gains access to the throne-room of God through obedience to his revealed will. Christians can only experience true victory insofar as they remain true to that which God has shown us in his Word. Once we discard his Word…whether through intellectual abdication to the spirit of the age, or whether it is through negligence or ignorance by not reading it, studying it, and applying it…once we discard his Word, we are estranged from our Bridegroom.

As in Priestly’s play, it seems that this sermon suddenly brought home the fact that they had deluded themselves into thinking that they were in a relationship with the one they claimed to love…indeed, they were quite spouseless.

However, as they say, all’s well that ends well, and Priestly’s play ends on a positive note. Another unrelated character had previously investigated her own marriage for different reasons and had established that the weddings conducted by the minister in question were legally valid because in those days nonconformist weddings had to be certified by a registrar, and this had been duly done. Finding they were married after all, the three couples took a pledge to be more devoted to each other in the future.

In the case of the church in Laodicea, the fact that a general church council met there in the fourth century, allows us to safely assume that the door had been opened and the feast of spiritual union was resumed. 

Dearest beloved brethren, as we gather before the Table of Jesus this afternoon, let us seriously consider these words of Jesus to his Church. Are we partaking of a reality that is ours, or is Jesus actually no longer present in our lives? Do we perhaps need to “renew our marriage vows” to Jesus so that we may come in to him and eat with him, and he with us? He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the church.

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2026.

The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (2)

Psalm 73:23-26               Leviticus 18:24-30           Hebrews 12:5–8              Revelation 3:14–22

The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (2)

In his excellent book, Barchester Towers, Anthony Trollope, described Mr Obadiah Slope, the elected chaplain to the new bishop of Barchester as follows.

“Mr Slope is tall and not ill made. His feet and hands are large, as has ever been the case with all his family, but he has a broad chest and wide shoulders to carry off these excrescences (unappealing characteristics), and on the whole his figure is good.” So far so good.

But then Trollope continues: “His countenance, however, is not specially prepossessing. His hair is lank, and of a dull pale reddish hue. It is always formed into three straight lumpy masses, each brushed with admirable precision, and cemented with much grease; two of them adhere closely to the sides of his face, and the other lies at right angles above them. He wears no whiskers and is always punctiliously shaven. His face is nearly the same colour as his hair, though perhaps a little redder: it is not unlike beef – beef, however, one would say, of a bad quality. His forehead is capacious (or extensive) and high, but square and heavy, and unpleasantly shining. His mouth is large, though his lips are thin and bloodless; and his big, prominent, pale brown eyes inspire anything but confidence. His nose, however, is a redeeming feature: it is pronounced straight and well-formed; though I myself should have liked it better did it not possess a somewhat spongy, porous appearance, as though it had been cleverly formed out of a red coloured cork. I never could endure to shake hands with Mr Slope. A cold, clammy perspiration always exudes from him, the small drops are ever to be seen standing on his brow, and his friendly grasp is unpleasant.”

It is rather obvious that Trollope has little regard for Mr Slope and for good reason. The man was a wolf in clerical clothing. His mind was firmly set on advancing his own power rather than the kingdom of God. His Bishop, Bishop Proudie, is portrayed as “a puppet to be played by others; a mere wax doll, done up in an apron and shovel hat, to be stuck on a throne or elsewhere, and pulled by wires as others choose”. Bishop Proudie’s wife and his daughters were no better than Mr Slope. They were all animated by social ambition and religious pretension. The love of status, money, and ecclesiastical influence corroded the moral and spiritual core of Barchester.

The satire is devastating precisely because the characters believe themselves to be respectable. They are convinced of their own orthodoxy and propriety. Yet Trollope exposed the unpleasant reality beneath the polished exterior.

And the same was true with what Jesus had to say to his church in Laodicea.  

The Lord Jesus Christ, “the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of God’s creation”, addressed the church in Laodicea in terms that were as unflattering as Trollope’s description of Mr Slope.

“I know your works,” Jesus said, “you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am about to spit (or spew or vomit) you out of my mouth.”

The statement about their spiritual temperature is repeated three times: “you are neither cold nor hot…would that you were cold or hot…you are lukewarm and neither hot nor cold.” In Jewish rhetorical culture, repetition established certainty and permanence. As with Peter’s three-fold denial that was countered by his three-fold affirmation in response to Jesus’ three-fold questions at the breakfast on the beach, the thrice-stated diagnosis here sealed the verdict. Note that the Lord’s knowledge was not superficial. He did not say, “I have heard,” but rather he said, “I know.”

Now, I think it is crucial to avoid romantic misreadings. “Cold” in this context, does not mean spiritually dead, nor does “hot” mean spiritually enthusiastic. Both are considered good in this passage. Jesus said, “would that you were either cold or hot!” 

So what does cold, hot, and lukewarm mean in this context? Well, the imagery is concrete and local.

Laodicea was situated between Hierapolis, known for its hot mineral springs, and Colossae, known for its cold, refreshing water. Their water, however, was neither hot nor cold, but tepid. 

Also, the Greco-Roman world was structured around bath culture. Public baths contained a caldarium (hot room), a frigidarium (cold room), and often a tepidarium (lukewarm transitional room). The hot water or hot steamy room had therapeutic value, pretty much like a sauna today, and the cold water refreshed and invigorated. So, both were desirable. But tepid water, especially if it was stagnant or mineral-laden, was nauseating and, as such, was good for nothing. It induced gagging.

However, the metaphor extends to food and drink in the first century as well. Hot food was desirable as was a cold beverage. Lukewarm water and lukewarm food were considered unpleasant, even repulsive.

So the Lord was not asking for emotional intensity. He was demanding effectiveness. The Laodicean church was neither healing like hot springs nor refreshing like cold streams. It was insipid.

Now, as I said last week, the Greek verb used here is strong: “I will spit or spew or vomit you out of my mouth.” The imagery recalls not polite rejection but physical expulsion. 

Behind this stands a deep Old Testament resonance. In Leviticus 18:24-30, God warned that Israel was not to make themselves unclean by adopting the faith and practice of the previous inhabitants of the Promised land. “…you shall keep my statutes and my rules,” God said, “and do none of these abominations, either the native or the stranger who sojourns among you (for the people of the land, who were before you, did all of these abominations, so that the land became unclean), lest the land vomit you out when you make it unclean, as it vomited out the nation that was before you. For everyone who does any of these abominations, the persons who do them shall be cut off from among their people. So keep my charge never to practice any of these abominable customs that were practiced before you, and never to make yourselves unclean by them: I am the Lord your God.” The covenant community, when morally compromised, becomes nauseating to their holy God and is expelled.

The imagery also evokes Greco-Roman theatre architecture. The great amphitheatres contained exits known as vomitoria, literally “places of spewing forth”, through which the actors left the stage.  So it is possible that what Jesus was saying here was that if they refused to adhere to the rules of the play, they would no longer be on the same stage with him.

The church in Laodicea believed itself firmly established, but Jesus told them that they were on the brink of expulsion.

And herein lies the irony of self-deception. Jesus said, “For you say, ‘I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing,’ not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.” The proverbial log and splinter warning of Jesus comes to mind, doesn’t it? It’s always easy to see the faults in others and to totally miss the faults in ourselves. 

Laodicea was one of the wealthiest cities in Asia Minor. As I said last week, after an earthquake in AD 60, it famously rebuilt itself without imperial aid. It was a banking centre. It produced a glossy black wool prized across the empire. It was known for a medical school that manufactured an eye-salve exported widely.

And yet Jesus dismantled their civic pride point by point. In a city of wealth, the church was poor. In a city famous for eye-salve, the church was blind. In a city of luxury textiles, the church was naked. Everything they thought they possessed was illusion.

But the diagnosis cuts deeper still: In stark contrast to Jesus’s words “I know your works”, he said of them “you do not know.” You see, their greatest problem was one of knowing rightly. They lacked self-knowledge.

This theme echoes Jeremiah 17:9: “The heart is deceitful above all things.” Fallen humanity has a tragic capacity for self-deception. We compare ourselves with others and conclude we are healthy. We measure success by external metrics. We confuse material blessing with spiritual vitality.

Jesus’s evaluation of the church in Laodicea was entirely different from theirs.

There is a terrifying possibility here: that a church may be prosperous, organized, seemingly orthodox, and socially respectable, yet nauseating to God.

But thankfully, with God there is always a remedy. And it is interesting that as the diagnosis was framed in three-fold repetition, the remedy is also three-fold.

“I counsel you,” Jesus said, “to buy from me gold refined by fire… white garments… and salve to anoint your eyes.” This remedy corresponds precisely to the diagnosis.

Against their financial self-sufficiency stands true wealth, gold refined by fire. Fire in Scripture is often used to portray a purifying refinement. It may or may not have implied some form of persecution or suffering, but I think it would be safe to say that it certainly implied costly faithfulness. Spiritual riches are not accumulated in banks but refined in suffering.

Against their prestigious black wool industry, Jesus offered white garments. Not prestige, but purity. Not status, but righteousness. The white garment throughout Revelation signifies participation in Christ’s victory and moral cleansing.

And then finally, against their medical exports stands spiritual illumination. This image here recalls Jesus’s words in John 9:41, where he told the Pharisees that their claim to sight proved their blindness. The Laodiceans did not need physically improved optics…they needed spiritually transformed perception.

The structure here is deliberate: three symptoms; three remedies. Lukewarm uselessness, self-deception, and false wealth are answered by refinement, purity, and illumination.

And note the irony: “Buy from me.” What they truly needed could not be purchased with coin.

However, in verse 19 we are reminded that the severity of the language of rebuke is always rooted in love. Divine rebuke is covenantal, not capricious. “Those whom I love,” Jesus said, “I rebuke and discipline; therefore be zealous and repent.”

Here we may recall the words in Hebrews 12:5–8: the Lord disciplines those he loves. Discipline is neither uncontrolled anger nor vindictive punishment. It is measured, purposeful, and restorative. Judgment is not the goal; restoration is.

Historically, the church in Laodicea did survive and later flourished sufficiently to host an important regional council in the fourth century. That suggests repentance occurred. So, we must assume the warning was heeded.

But discipline is only lifted by repentance. “Be zealous and repent”, Jesus said, a striking reversal of their tepid condition. The cure for lukewarmness is not emotional frenzy but decisive repentance.

Then finally let’s look at the terrible image of Jesus standing outside the door of the church. “Behold,” Jesus said, “I stand at the door and knock.”

This image has often been sentimentalized but note that it is not primarily evangelistic; it is ecclesial. Christ stands outside his own church. It is not unbelievers that are gathered behind the door…it is self-proclaimed believers. The church that thought it needed nothing had excluded the one it most needed.

However, the promise remains glorious: if they were zealous and repented, fellowship would be restored, they would once more be seated on the throne with Jesus in an image of shared reign, and they would be participants in his victory. The one who conquered would sit with him on his throne.

The vomit-threat was certainly horrifying real, but so was the invitation.

Mr Slope was ambitious, conniving, self-assured, and profoundly unpleasant. Bishop Proudie was weak and manipulated by his wife and others, Mr Slope included. His entire household and parish was governed by vanity and social aspiration. They believed themselves defenders of the church and yet Trollope exposed them as hollow and self-deceived.

The church in Laodicea was similarly respectable, prosperous, confident. But Jesus’s description is far more devastating than Trollope’s satire.

They believed they were well-formed and impressive. Jesus said they were nauseating. They believed they were wealthy. Jesus said they were poor. They believed they could see. Jesus said they were blind. They believed they were clothed in prestige. Jesus said they were naked.

In striving to be somebodies, they became nobodies.

The tragedy of Laodicea was not persecution, heresy, or scandal. It was complacency. It was vanity. It was self-deceived comfort.

But before we condemn them, we must hear the thrice-repeated words: “I know… I know… I know.”

The faithful and true witness still knows. He knows whether we are healing, refreshing, or nauseating. He knows whether our wealth is spiritual or merely statistical. He knows whether our garments are white or merely fashionable.

And yet, he rebukes because he loves.

May we have the courage to reject lukewarm respectability, to embrace refining fire, to receive white garments, and to seek true sight, lest we, like Mr Slope and Mrs Proudie, appear impressive to ourselves while being profoundly unpleasant to the one whose verdict alone endures.

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2026

The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (1)

Joel 2:12-14           Colossians 1:15–18; 4:12–17               Revelation 3:14–22

The Sermons to the Seven Churches: The Church of Vomit and Vanity (1)

Jane Austen’s novel, “Pride and Prejudice”, provides a valuable lesson in discernment. The central theme revolves around the initial impressions formed by the characters and how these perceptions evolve as their relationships develop. The protagonist, Elizabeth Bennet, takes pride in her ability to judge character swiftly, yet her prejudices cloud her judgement regarding two very different men. Mr Darcy is portrayed as “haughty, reserved, and fastidious”, with manners that, though refined, are not particularly welcoming. In contrast, Mr Wickham is charming and “universally liked”; Elizabeth, despite knowing little about him, is swayed by his flattering behaviour. As the story progresses, Elizabeth realises her mistakes and later admits to her sister Jane that “one has got all the goodness, and the other the appearance of it.”

The church in Laodicea suffered from precisely the same problem. She possessed the appearance of goodness without the goodness itself. Outwardly impressive, inwardly hollow, she received from the Lord not a single word of commendation…only unqualified rebuke. 

The city of Laodicea was founded around 250 BC by Antiochus II and named after his wife. It became one of the wealthiest cities in the ancient world, famous for banking, fine black wool textiles, and a medical school renowned for its eye-salve. The irony in Jesus’ words is unmistakable. The church in a city celebrated for wealth is told it is poor. The church in a city clothed in luxury is called naked. The church in a city proud of its healing eye-salve is declared blind.

Positioned at the junction of three major Roman roads, Laodicea flourished as a centre of commerce and culture. Despite a sizeable Jewish population, the message to this church mentions no persecution whatsoever. That silence is striking, especially when set alongside Paul’s sober assertion that “all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.”

Many scholars believe that Epaphras, mentioned in Colossians 4:12–13, was the founding or former pastor of the Laodicean church. Paul wrote: “Epaphras, who is one of you, a servant of Christ Jesus, greets you, always struggling on your behalf in his prayers, that you may stand mature and fully assured in all the will of God. For I bear him witness that he has worked hard for you and for those in Laodicea and in Hierapolis.” A few verses later Paul asked the Colossians to give his greetings to the believers in Laodicea and to Nympha, in whose house the church met, and instructed that his letters be exchanged between Colossae and Laodicea. Though Paul’s letter to the Laodiceans has not been preserved, the fact that Paul wished the letters to these two cities to be exchanged suggests that at that time these churches shared similar strengths, dangers, and temptations.

Church history indicates that Laodicea remained an influential centre in the early centuries, even hosting a major council in the fourth century AD. That fact alone implies that the church did not perish under Christ’s rebuke but responded to it. The council issued directives on worship, discipline, heresy, as well as the biblical canon. Significantly, Paul’s letter to the Laodiceans was not discussed, which means it must have been lost long before the gathering of this council…and that serves to remind us that while God did inspire the authors of Scripture, he also sovereignly preserved only what he knows his Church requires. What God did not preserve; we do not need.

Laodicea was fiercely self-reliant. After yet another a devastating earthquake in the area, this time in AD 60, the city rebuilt itself without imperial aid, an achievement noted with admiration by Tacitus. And yet, sadly, it seems that this same self-sufficiency had seeped into the church. Prosperous, stable, and respected, the congregation lacked spiritual urgency. This was nominal Christianity…comfortable, complacent, and self-referential…where worldly security had smothered living faith.

The parallel with much of Western Christianity is difficult to miss. Churches become inward-looking, risk-averse, and content to preserve comfort rather than pursue mission. And when blessing ceases to flow outward, vitality drains away. The Dead Sea is lifeless precisely because it has no outflow. What flows in, stays in and what was once life-giving, dies. In the same way, the more we keep for ourselves what God gives for all, the less life remains among us…and we will die.

Laodicea’s compromise was not harmless. Left unchallenged, it had cost the church its very identity. Jesus himself declared that he was standing outside, knocking…he was not inside but outside a group of people who claimed to be his church.

Jesus warned repeatedly of the danger of fruitlessness caused by worldly preoccupation. In Matthew 13:22 he said, “As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful.” Divided loyalties always end the same way: God is crowded out, and self takes centre stage. Materialism, covetousness, and selective obedience slowly drain spiritual life, leaving only the shell of faith. That was Laodicea’s condition.

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus reserved his severest warnings not for pagans, but for those who claimed to belong to God. When the Church adopts the values of the world while claiming the language of faith, hypocrisy becomes inevitable. Jesus does not overlook such duplicity. He confronts it. His Church is meant to display his character, not contradict it.

Thus Jesus introduced himself to Laodicea as “the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of God’s creation.” To call himself the Amen is to claim final authority. “Amen” means “let it be so,” or “this is true.” Paul explained in 2 Corinthians 1:20: “For all the promises of God find their Yes in (Jesus). That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory.” In Jesus, every promise of God is fulfilled. What he says is unalterably true and what he judges is unavoidably final.

Jesus is not merely truthful; he is the one to whom all truth points. Everything begins with him and ends with him. That is why he so often declared, “Amen, amen, (sometimes translated as “truly, truly”) I say to you…” All truth begins and ends in Jesus.

And if Jesus alone is the truth, then everything that rivals him is exposed as false. The world’s wisdom is vanity. Its philosophies are hollow. Its promises are empty. Its riches deceitful. Jesus alone is the Amen, solid, final, and immovable.

Unless the Laodicean church repented…unless it abandoned its lukewarm, comfortable, self-satisfied religion…unless it loosened its grip on what the world prized and unless it sought first the kingdom of God…Jesus would spit or spew or vomit them out. The language is intentionally revolting. Lukewarm faith is not merely disappointing to Jesus; it is nauseating. It turns the stomach of heaven. Human vanity produces divine vomit.

This warning carries weight because Jesus is also “the faithful and true witness.” He spoke truthfully, and he spoke faithfully, at immense cost to himself. In Gethsemane we see the true price of faithfulness. The Son of God recoiled before the cup of suffering, pleading that it might pass, yet he submitted completely to the will of his Father. Truth was not cheap for Jesus. It was written in his blood.

How shocking, then, to realise why Laodicea faced no persecution. The church was hiding the truth. It bore no witness to Jesus. Silence was safe. Compromise was comfortable because faithfulness was costly. And yet, while no witness meant no opposition, it also meant no power, no fruit, no blessing, and no life. Lukewarm Christianity is not merely ineffective; it is grotesque; it is nauseating. It is faith reduced to vanity, religion drained of reality.

Jesus is also “the beginning of God’s creation.” In Colossians 1:15–18 Paul declared: “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities, all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent.”

If Jesus is the origin of all things, then he possesses unrivalled authority. He is preeminent. There is no rival throne, and therefore there can be no divided allegiance. The King of kings addressed Laodicea, not as a consultant offering advice, but as the Owner confronting what belongs to him.

He came to those who bore his name yet refused to bear his reproach. The Creator stood outside a community that thought he was inside. The Amen would have nothing to do with vanity. He was nauseated…not by open rebellion, mind you…but by respectable indifference.

Like Wickham, Laodicea looked virtuous at a distance. Up close, the goodness evaporated. Appearance had replaced reality.

Dearest beloved brothers and sisters, we must not read this letter as something safely locked in the past. We confess Jesus’s name. We gather as his church. But does our faith taste like living water or does it make heaven retch? Is our Christianity real, or is it nothing more than polished vanity? Are we alive or are we just congratulating ourselves for merely keeping up appearances? The truth will emerge, either through our own confession now, or through his divine exposure later.

Where does Jesus stand at our door? Is he inside or outside? Dare we ask him? What we do next determines whether we feast with him…or are vomited out.

We are about to enter a season known as Lent, starting this week Wednesday. Whatever your opinion may be regarding the Christian calendar, Lent is a good time for us to ask God to search us and to do a deep cleaning work in us.

So, would you join us in crying out for God the Holy Spirit to show us our hearts as God sees them and to then grant us the honesty and the humility to truly repent so that we might be restored and revived.

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2026