“So What, Who Cares?”

Revelation 3:14-22

Several years ago I took the title of the movie “Death Before Dishonor” and reworked it into a sermon title: “Death Before Discomfort.” That could easily have been the title of today’s sermon. The Christians in Laodicea were extremely comfortable, maybe even smugly so. They were wealthy. Like their brothers and sisters in Sardis, neither external persecution nor internal heresy threatened them. Like the old hymn George Beverly Shea used to sing at Billy Graham’s crusade services they probably thought to themselves, “It is well with my soul.”

But in the words of Lee Corso, “Not so fast, my friends.” All was not well. Wealth, safety, and comfort had insulated those Laodicean Christians from the reality of their spiritual destitution. They had money and other resources. Following Jesus involved no risk. They were a fat and happy bunch. And maybe a little self-righteous. After all, none of their members were caught up in apostasy or immorality. They were good, law abiding, tax paying citizens. Was that not what being a Christian was all about?

In a word, no. Christians are to be good citizens, but one can be a good citizen without faithfully following Jesus. Faithfully following Jesus can lead us into conflict with our fellow citizens. Christians can also be wealthy and comfortable; such things are not sinful in themselves. Wealth and comfort, however, must always take a back seat to faithfulness. Jesus must be our priority. Jesus must be our primary purpose. Jesus must be our passion.

Therein lies the main failing of those Christians in Laodicea. They lacked passion. They lacked emotion. No spiritual fire burned in their bellies. Their primary response to Christ’s call to mission, evangelism, and service was, “So what, who cares?” Or as we used to say in the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, “Ain’t no big thing.” In short, “What’s the big deal?”

The big deal – the big thing – is that Jesus wanted them to care, and to care passionately about him and his Gospel. He wanted them to either be on fire for the Gospel or at least be honest enough to be stone cold dead to it. What our risen Lord could not stomach was their lukewarm response to him. They were about as appealing as a stale, flat Coke or tepid cup of coffee left on the table overnight. My vision is of a glass of milk poured out of a jug that’s been sitting on the counter for several hours. It would literally make me gag.

That’s the imagery that Jesus uses in his letter to the Laodiceans. They made him want to puke. Not vomit, not spit up, not spit out – puke. Their lukewarm, non-passionate, who-gives-a-flip attitude was nauseating. Their bored and boring approach to their faith was sickening.

Theirs was a church that preferred a long, slow, boring slide into oblivion and irrelevancy to the discomforting changes that a passion for Jesus would bring. Their attitude really was one of death before discomfort.

Beyond telling them that they made him want to puke, what words did the risen Jesus have for them? Quoting this time from William Barclay’s translation of the text: “You claim to be rich and wealthy. You claim to have everything you need. You are not aware that in your destitution and blindness and nakedness you are in fact a wretched creature who is to be pitied.”

Imagine being told that you were not only nauseating, but also wretched and pitiful. I don’t know about you, but odds are that such words would grab my attention. They would hurt me, anger me, and discomfort me, but I would at least finally feel something other than a bored, smug sense of self-satisfaction. I would know that all was not well with my soul or my faith or my church. I would be aware that I had been on the receiving end of God’s wrath and judgment. That’s the bad news.

Now hear the good news. The Lord’s final word to them is not one of judgment. Grace is offered. It isn’t cheap. It requires some changes. Still, it’s grace: “I therefore strongly advise you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, to make you really rich; and white clothes in which to dress yourself, to keep you from becoming a public spectacle, naked and ashamed; and ointment to put on your eyes, to make you able to really see.”

What Jesus is saying is, “Hey, folks, don’t depend on your worldly wealth. It won’t save you. Seek for yourselves the meaningful treasures of eternity. Store up your wealth in heaven. Don’t get too comfortable in those dark, woolen clothes you’re wearing – those for which your city is so noted – instead clothe yourselves in righteousness. Forget about that famous eye salve manufactured in Laodicea and exported all over the world. It’s good stuff, but it won’t open your eyes and heart to the will of God. It’s time to let go of all those worldly superficialities and grab on to what really matters.”

Then he says: “My way of showing that I love people is to reprove and disciple them.” Consider yourselves so loved and so disciplined. Yes, I’m angry with you and disgusted with your behavior. But if I didn’t care so much about you I wouldn’t get angry; I wouldn’t be so disgusted. “Make up your mind to repent.” Wake up and smell the coffee. Shake yourselves out of your comfort zone and start doing things that matter. “Make a lasting enthusiasm your religion.” Become the fiery, passionate people I’ve called you to be. Stop boring yourselves and everybody else to death.

There’s more: “I am standing at the door knocking. If anyone hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in and we will share a meal together, I with him, and him with me.” I want an intimate relationship with you, to be a part of your daily lives. I want to feel welcome in your house and in your heart. I want to feel welcome in your church. When you take Communion I really want to be there, fellowshipping with you by the power of the Spirit. I want you to know how much I love you. I want you to love me.

Finally: “To the victor in the battle of life I will give the privilege of sitting with me on my throne, just as I won the victory, and took my seat with my Father on his throne.” Be my faithful, passionate people. Endure the trials, tribulations, and discomforts of this world. Share with my Father and me the great victory that’s surely to come.

That’s what Jesus said to the Laodiceans. Now hear this discomforting question: What would Jesus say to Grace Presbyterian Church? Would he laud our willingness to place our trust in him rather than the things of this world? Would he applaud the absence of smug self-satisfaction in the life of this congregation? Would he be delighted by our enthusiasm for him and his Gospel? Would he express his appreciation for the passionate fire he would find burning in our bellies? Would he consider us to be an excited and exciting congregation? Would he thank us for regularly inviting him to be a living and integral part of our worship?

Or would he find us to be bored, boring, smug and self-satisfied? Would he perceive our attitude toward him and the Gospel to be one of so-what-who cares? Would he see in us a fear of change so great that we’d rather let this church die than experience personal discomfort? Would we be that church where those who seek a drink of cold, refreshing, thirst quenching Living Water and the nourishing gift that is the Bread of Life find only lukewarm, tasteless, warmed over words that aren’t worth their partaking of? Would he find us so sickeningly tepid in our faith that he’d want to puke? Would he demand repentance?

My hunch is that his would be a mixed message. That’s because, like every other congregation, he would find in us a mixed bag of faithfulness and faithlessness, excitement and boredom, spiritual passion and spiritual poverty. The bad news is that every church runs the risk of becoming another Laodicea. The good news is that, for all our imperfections, we have come nowhere near falling that far. There is passion here. There is excitement her. There is faithfulness here.

But before we strain our shoulders patting ourselves on the back, let’s remember that there can always be more of each. Amen.