Laodicea: Lukewarm at Best—Hosea 6; Rev. 3: 14-22
I read an article in The Atlantic the other day that said something like this: 2020 was a hard year to pastor a church, but 2021 is even harder. Masks, common meals, social distancing, hymn singing, physical touch, temperature checks…all have the potential to cause disagreements and fights. But if I were honest with you now, the absolute hardest part of this has not been COVID protocols. It’s really people. Now, that sounds severe, but it’s not meant that way. Let me explain a bit. Imagine, as a pastor, I had to spend the bulk of 2020 telling people NOT to come to church because it wasn’t safe. That’s literally the opposite of my job. But, how do I now go back and say, everybody needs to be in church not watching at home. We need you back! How do I authentically say that? Worse than that is this wavering sense of commitment our society is finding towards anything and everything.
A friend of mine the other day talked about his office returning everyone to the physical location. He said, “I’ve spent over a year working from home, I do not want to go back into a cramped little office again!” And the truth is, I don’t blame folks, and I really don’t have an answer. The pastor of St. David’s Episcopal in Virginia, who wrote the article I mentioned, noted that their attendance went from about 130 pre-COVID to around 60 now. Some of this is still fear, and I completely understand that with no judgment. But some of it is also a change in how we live in society. With all the technology, we’ve learned that physical presence is maybe not as important as we once thought, and that can lead to both good but also dangerous outcomes.
In the letter to the church at Laodicea, the writer again notes that the church does many things, but there is a condemnation. They’ve gotten what I like to call “a great sense of blah.” They’re not hot. They’re not cold. They’re just kind of there and feel kind of “eh” about everything. But there is a little information that truly makes this clear. Many assumed, traditionally, that hot meant good and cold meant bad. This letter, though, isn’t a reference to the figurative church on fire or frozen over and dying. It’s a reference to water supplies.
In nearby Hierapolis, there was a hot spring which produced hot water for cleaning or bathing. In nearby Colossae, the water was pure and cold, which could be used for drinking, cooking, and other activities. The aqueduct that supplied Laodicea, though, drew from the hot springs at Hierapolis over 5 miles away. By the time the water reached Laodicea, it was lukewarm—too cold for cleaning and too warm for good drinking. Like the water which supplied the city, the church was not useful. It was neither hot, bringing a cleansing wave, nor cold giving a reviving drink to a thirsty people.
They were blah at best, lukewarm, gross. Some folks, I know, like room temperature water. But any good Southerner who has enjoyed the miracle of an icy drink in the middle of July can tell you, a big old drink of lukewarm water will get spit right out. This is where our modern-day church finds itself, caught in the middle of a political and social divide, lost as how to minister to people who have become accustomed to sitting at home away from church, worried that any bold moves will land them on the viral news as being “one of those super-spreader churches.” No matter what the choice is, there is no good answer.
Laodicea was also a wealthy city. They had a banking industry, but they are called poor and wretched. The city had a medical school which housed a famous ophthalmologist (or eye doctor as we say), yet they are blind. They had a huge garment industry of wool, but they are naked. Every worldly thing they take pride in is now being yanked away from them by the writer of the letter. You cannot take stock in worldly treasure and expect to be spiritually useful.
The writer instead tells them to buy gold and garments which are refined by the fire of God’s love. They are told to get an eye ointment that only God can provide. It’s a reference to the words of Jesus saying store up treasures in Heaven and not on earth where moths and rust corrupt and where thieves may steal all the possessions. They had much, but they had a blah spirit which hindered their relationship to God, and ultimately, a life of the blahs will lead to a church and a Christian’s undoing.
The same is begged of Israel and Judah in the prophetic words of Hosea. The people have been ruined, but God is still trying to find a way to bring them back, to find that sense of relationship, of usefulness once more. God says to them that they should show love over offering sacrifices. They should know and have a relationship with God over doing the rituals of burnt offerings. But the people have a case of the blahs. They’re happy doing rituals but still living in this ghastly state of being lukewarm, useless, unhelpful, and downright sinful.
How does the church overcome its case of blahs? Revelation 3: 19 says, “be diligent and turn from your indifference.” That’s about as helpful as the lukewarm water they’re already being fed, isn’t it? Just will yourself to turn away! Let’s magically be passionate next week. I don’t think that helps. But there is something more helpful in verse 20, “‘Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in.”
There’s an old, old hymn that nobody sings anymore and there are few videos on YouTube to even watch. It’s called “Who Is That Knocking,” and the second verse says this: “Who is that following after me, troubling my sleep at night? Who is that asking for my poor heart, saying, ‘Come into the light?’ Who is that knocking, calling, seeking, who is that troubling my soul? Surely ‘tis Jesus, asking, pleading, wanting to make me whole.” At some point of living in the blahs, we miss that sense of wholeness, that understanding that we and all of who we are wanted by God, for the kingdom of God, and to live out the purpose God has for us.
What are we missing out on because our churches have lost their motivation? Or, an even more convicting question, who is losing out because the churches are still trying to find their motivation. Make no mistake, a church and a Christian can live for a long time being lukewarm, but there is a cost, and it’s a heavy price to pay. Hot water keeps you clean, fresh, and unsoiled. Cold water keeps you nourished, hydrated, and healthy. A lukewarm church is too cold to really make a difference and too warm to truly refresh and hydrate.
But just as the writer says to the church at Laodicea, God is still calling us to a holy work which brings grace and salvation, but also seeks peace and wholeness in our communities. If you hear God’s voice and open the door, God will come in and share a meal together as friends. And as you join together with God, you’ll find that the meal looks a lot like a loaf of bread broken and a cup of wine poured out for you and the whole world. With a meal like that, how can you ever feel lukewarm?
Worship Video: https://www.facebook.com/fccmacon/videos/1451074075275069