Church Disappointment Is Multilayered

by | Oct 11, 2024 | Uncategorized

Why are people leaving the church or their faith behind? Some answers boil down to platitudes, like a supposed desire to pursue a sinful lifestyle. But apologist Lisa Fields has found the reasons to be much more complex.

Fields, founder of the Jude 3 Project, which equips Black Christians to know what they believe and why, has sat across from many people leaving the church. During these “exit interviews,” she’s discovered that somewhere in nearly every story lurks the specter of personal disappointment with God or Christianity. She addresses this thorny issue in a new book, When Faith Disappoints: The Gap Between What We Believe and What We Experience.

CT national political correspondent Harvest Prude spoke with Fields about walking with God in the midst of a broken world and our own disappointments.

Something from your book that really struck me is when you talk about unanswered prayers. How do we navigate times in our faith when we’ve sought out God for something and we feel overlooked because he doesn’t seem to answer?

For me, when God doesn’t answer my prayers, I have to have a real conversation with him about what he has not answered. My relationship with God is very open. There are times where I’m angry, and I have to get those feelings out of my mouth and out of my heart—because when I don’t voice my frustrations, I end up filled with bitterness and resentment.

There’s a quote from Tim Keller where he says—and I’m paraphrasing—that if we knew what God knows, we would want our prayers answered the way he answers them. I’ve had this experience in my own life. I remember a time when I wanted to connect with a particular person, a major donor who could help my ministry. But I didn’t have enough extra income to get to New York City, where he was based. I remember being frustrated, feeling like there were all these obstacles to networking and getting ahead. Only later did I learn that this person had just gotten arrested for embezzlement.

Sometimes, in your disappointment, you realize that God is letting you see things that you wouldn’t see otherwise or protecting you from dangers that you didn’t know about. In the book, I talk about a man I had been dating for almost four years. In the middle of our relationship, he got married to a woman he had been involved with behind the scenes for most of the time. This other woman had been married herself during most of the affair.

That whole time, I had been praying that God would make this man my husband. But I didn’t realize that he was actually protecting me from someone who had poor character, despite being a preacher. In the middle of my disappointment, I voiced my frustration. Then I gave myself time to ask what God might be trying to protect me from. What different direction was he trying to push me in?

In the book you talk about doing exit interviews with people who are leaving the church. As a reporter, I cover the intersection of faith and politics. How do you think political conversations have impacted people’s relationship with faith?

I think the political climate in America has really impacted how people there think about faith. Christians often go to rhetorical and ideological extremes in the name of faith. Recently, I noticed a group of faith leaders on social media saying that if you’re voting for Kamala Harris, you can’t be a Christian. Rhetoric like that, I think, creates this confusion gap for many in our culture, where they don’t understand what we’re talking about. Because the Bible doesn’t tell you which political candidates to vote for. In fact, it doesn’t even speak about voting in any conventional way, because the world of the biblical writers was a world ruled by kings and emperors.

When there’s a gap between what the Bible says and what some believers claim it says, for political reasons, it makes a lot of people want nothing to do with the church, especially when political leaders hijack the church for their own gain. And it makes believers look like hypocrites, which creates a problem for those who want to be part of something genuine.

In your conversations, how often do you find that people leaving the church are struggling with its failures and flaws? And how often, by contrast, do they seem motivated more by a desire to live without moral restrictions or guilt?

I think both answers can be correct, sometimes at the same time. Church disappointment can have so many layers. Perhaps we’re disappointed with God. Or we’re disappointed with God’s people, or people in general. And then there are certain things we just desire and want to do in our flesh.

There’s always a multiplicity of factors. When I’ve done exit interviews with people leaving the church, I’ve seen that it’s never just one thing. It’s layers of things that rock them.

If you could design a toolkit of practices for being a faithful witness to those who are struggling with the church or their faith, what would you include?

The first thing I’d encourage is to live out what you believe as best you can. And that doesn’t mean perfection, but it does mean progression. If I hold to the Bible being the Word of God, then I obey the Word to the best of my ability.

Because we all fall short, though, we have to be honest about when this happens. If I portray myself as living a sinless life, I’m actually undermining the authority of Scripture, because Scripture tells us we’re born and shaped in iniquity. Living out our faith means acknowledging our sins and committing to repent of them.

Another essential habit is loving people well. In The Message Bible paraphrase, there’s a passage in Philippians that I post every Valentine’s Day, where Paul is saying, don’t just “love much” but “[love] well” (1:9–11). That really struck me when I read it years ago, because there’s a difference between loving somebody much and loving somebody well. I want to be someone who tries to love people well. That means listening attentively and holding space for their doubts and frustrations.

Third, I think we need to practice being merciful. Like Jude says, “Be merciful to those who doubt” (v. 22). Remember what it’s like to have doubts of your own, and treat others who doubt accordingly.

And finally, remember to pray with people. With my own friends, I’ve been enjoying a beautiful season of us praying together. I can’t give any prescription on how to do it right. It’s not like we’re doing anything grand. We simply share our frustrations; I pray, they pray, and healing has taken place. And it’s not like my friends are well-known spiritual leaders. But that’s just a reminder that you don’t need somebody to be a spiritual leader for their prayers to make a difference in your life. 

You write about the importance of forgiveness to any process of healing from faith disappointment. How do we respond well when a fellow believer has hurt us or broken our trust?

In my own life, I was having trouble trusting someone who had sinned against me and claimed to have repented. My therapist said, “I’m not asking you to trust them. I’m asking you to trust God.” And that has helped me a lot.

I enter into relationships that have been broken, knowing that the person, being human, could break that trust again. But I’m aware that I’ve probably caused hurts myself and I could do it again. And because I want grace, I know I need to give it as well.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy. I spoke earlier about the man who cheated on me during our relationship. It took me years to get to this point, but by now I’ve seen him many times since he got married. By the time he apologized, I was able to accept his apology. I was able to trust that it was sincere because I had done a work in my heart to forgive him.

Sometimes, you have to give yourself time. Years ago, I read a book on forgiveness. It said there are occasions when we tell people we’ve forgiven them too abruptly because we don’t know the full impact of their actions. If we announce forgiveness too soon, we’re only forgiving the initial impact when we don’t yet know all the layers. How will these actions affect me a year from now? I might have to forgive again, but at least I’m choosing forgiveness. I’m choosing not to treat you like you owe me because you hurt me.

When Christians face disappointment, you argue, a sort of syncretism can creep in. They might seek out New Age practices, for instance, if they feel that God has failed them. How should we approach apologetics in a culture marked by intense interest in alternative modes of spirituality?

Before criticizing the what in these alternative approaches, try to find out the why. Perhaps you know someone who uses crystals or consults horoscopes. Well, what’s behind that? Figuring out the why will help you get to the root of the issue.

Maybe this person was going through a difficult time and heard from a friend about something that could help manage the stress. And so, okay, so that’s how you got into that. Maybe this person had tried prayer and Christian faith but, for whatever reason, didn’t find them adequate. You can help someone walk through these deeper issues. For me, this is a far better approach than simply saying, “Don’t use crystals—they’re demonic.”

Love is a better draw than fear. As a pastor’s kid, I used to go to youth conferences around the country, and there was always an element of fear in the way we were encouraged to give our lives to Christ. And so everybody gave their life to Christ at every event—the same people every year. I “became” a Christian probably a million times as a teenager because I was scared.

But when life disappointed me, that fear wasn’t what was holding me. It was God’s love. I believe in a real hell, and I believe that Jesus is the only way to eternal life, but we can communicate that with love, rather than fear, as the motivator. Because the fear will always wear off. Fear will never be your keeper.

The post Church Disappointment Is Multilayered appeared first on Christianity Today.

Why Can’t We Talk to Each Other Anymore?

by | Oct 11, 2024 | Uncategorized

Years ago, I taught a Bible study that I knew would be controversial. I was a couple years into seminary, and my church asked me to join a team of teachers for the weekly women’s Bible study. We were going through Genesis, and I received the sign-up sheet after everyone else had already selected their texts, leaving me with one option: Genesis 18–20. Next to the chapters listed on the sheet, it simply read, “Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Though I was mildly horrified by my assignment, I ended up teaching a lesson on the theme of hospitality across the three chapters. I explained that God judges multiple nations in these chapters by their willingness or unwillingness to welcome foreigners. I employed all the tools of my seminary education, and I was confident in my interpretation.

But a few days before I was to give my lesson, our governor enacted a ban on any refugee resettlement in the state, preventing (carefully vetted) refugees from settling in the state. It seemed to me that there was a clear application of the text in our present circumstances, and while I was afraid of criticism, I decided to make the connection.

A few hours after my lesson, the pastor I was working under at the church texted me, “What did you say in Bible study this morning? Some of the women are coming to meet with me tomorrow to talk about it.” I was terrified and spent the rest of the afternoon working up my defense.

I had recently started spending a lot of time talking about politics on Twitter, and I’d interacted with lots of Christians critical of the refugee resettlement program, some of them making xenophobic or racist arguments in support of their position. As I prepared to defend my lesson, those were the voices shaping my approach. I regretfully returned to work the next day ready to fight, convinced of the malevolence of my detractors before I’d even heard their concerns.

Much has been written about the corrosive effects of the internet on our civic life: how virtual relationships have replaced in-person connections, how algorithms fuel polarization, how the proliferation of sources drives misinformation.

I am concerned, however, not merely about how the internet teaches us to talk to each other on social media platforms but also about how those exhausting interactions drain us of the resources we need to have hard conversations offline.

Our malformed communication habits do not stay on the internet. The way we learn to talk to each other in the cramped context of algorithm-fueled social media platforms shows up at our dinner tables, church pews, and neighborhood sidewalks. We learn to fear or detest anyone from the other party, we learn what form and tone criticisms should take, we learn where battle lines have been drawn. 

Perhaps more concerning than all of that, though, is the way our energy is drained online—leaving us without the strength and emotional bandwidth necessary for discussing contentious issues with the people in our real lives.

Debating trolls, slogging through bad-faith arguments, and shielding ourselves from ad hominem attacks online leaves limited emotional and mental resources for in-person conversations. We might be forgiven for learning, over repeated interactions online, that people from the other party are unambiguously evil or stupid. It is natural to become defensive and frazzled after facing an onslaught of cruel attacks. It is reasonable to assume the worst of people when you’ve been exposed to the dark side of humanity over and over again.

We need more than good policy proposals and party platforms for a healthy election season. We need people who are “quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry” (James 1:19), who rid themselves of “anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language” (Col. 3:8), and who refuse to tell lies about their opponents but live peaceably and gently (Titus 3:1–2).

This is a task that sounds simple but may require us to actively detach ourselves from the platforms that drain us of the internal resources necessary to resist their corrupted norms.  

The day after the Bible study, I went into my boss’s office with a ten-point argument prepared, but I never had to make it. I discovered that the women who had met with my boss, the pastor over missions and outreach, had come to him with one question: Why aren’t we doing more to serve our refugee neighbors?

I had been grievously wrong about the women I served. While I did later discover deep divisions and distrust in that community, I was wrong about this instance. I was wrong for many reasons that shape our dysfunctional political life these days: I made judgments about these women based on their age and race; I assumed the worst of others; I was quick to jump to defensiveness when I feared criticism. But there’s another reason I was wrong: I was spending more and more of my time debating about politics on the internet. 

If that meeting at my church had gone differently—if the women had come with criticisms of my lesson or questions about the appropriateness of my application—I would not have had the addressed their concerns with kindness and grace. I was primed by my internet activism to treat their concerns with condescension and to assume the worst of their intentions.

More than that, I was exhausted by the constant criticism, anger, and cruelty all around me online. I was too tired to muster up compassion for their concerns, too beaten down to remain open to the possibility that they might have something to teach me. 

I spend a lot of my time talking to pastors and churches about political life, and many of them ask me to come speak right before an election. They are rightly discerning that this season is uniquely challenging and they will need help guiding their congregations into healthier ways of living together. Yet I wish more of our churches instead asked together: What do we need to do now so that we have the capacity to serve our neighbors when the election is over?

This election will have material effects on our most vulnerable neighbors. But regardless of who wins the presidency and what party is in power, our neighbors and neighborhoods will need people who can serve them, be in relationship with them, and collaborate with them on the greatest needs of our communities.

We need to remember that we are finite creatures whose resources will be depleted by tense and difficult conversations—and to discern where those resources will be best spent. We should consider whether the energy we are exerting trying to persuade strangers on the internet could be conserved for the sake of our physical neighbors. 

There are a variety of tangible ways to seek the good of our communities: showing up to a city council meeting, volunteering at a local public school or crisis pregnancy center, hosting the neighborhood for a potluck.

We don’t all need to swear off social media. But we can consider the cost of it more seriously and allocate our limited resources more thoughtfully.

Kaitlyn Schiess is the author of The Ballot and the Bible: How Scripture Has Been Used and Abused in American Politics and Where We Go from Here.

The post Why Can’t We Talk to Each Other Anymore? appeared first on Christianity Today.

You Don’t Need a Rule of Life

by | Oct 10, 2024 | Uncategorized

Contemporary culture is brimming with exhortations to discipline. From Jordan Peterson’s runaway bestseller 12 Rules for Life to Ryan Holiday’s The Daily Stoic to James Clear’s Atomic Habits, we have no shortage of guidance for embracing a life of order. And that guidance isn’t all bad; wisdom from many corners can deepen our understanding of how to live well. Psychologists, Stoics, and even motivational speakers have contributions to make.

Some are even noticeably resonant with Scripture. Peterson’s rule “Set your house in perfect order before you criticize the world” echoes Jesus’ admonition to “take the plank out of your own eye” before issuing judgment (Matt. 7:3–5). And Clear’s suggestion that we reduce exposure to bad habits before building good ones fits well with Psalm 1:1. For popular fare, we could do worse than commending self-control in a culture entranced by the illusion of endless possibility.

The Christian take on this genre is more explicitly scripturally attuned and increasingly described, with a nod to the monastics, as a “rule of life.” These books offer practical instruction for Christians seeking to bring their finances, prayers, and daily habits into one cohesive vision, and some try to recover classical disciplines rooted in the Decalogue or in historic catechisms. But they can evince too little distinction from their secular counterparts and, relatedly, too little use for the church.

Of course, it makes a difference that Christian books cite Scripture instead of Cicero, advise habits of prayer instead of silence, and teach self-discipline in service to the mission of God instead of success in business. But whether secular or sacred, contemporary rule-of-life material tends to function at the level of technique (tactics to make our lives more streamlined) rather than discipleship (which frequently doesn’t move in such a straightforward fashion). These are programs by which we may pull the fragments of our lives into a coherent whole, and we are generally expected to do so alone, or at least alone with Jesus.

Some Christian rule-of-life authors recognize this, to an extent. Consider, for example, John Mark Comer’s enormously popular Practicing the Way. “The current micro-resurgence of Rule of Life in the Western church is a joy to my heart,” Comer writes. “Unfortunately, it’s mostly being run through the grid of Western-style individualism, with individual people writing their Rule of Life.” 

Comer is correct as far as he goes. But if one goes looking for an antidote to that individualism, “community” and “church” appear very briefly, discussed explicitly in just over 4 pages out of over 200. Comer offers resources for churches beyond the book, which makes it all the more surprising that even here, church community is more an appendix than a core element of these rules. 

Comparing modern rules of life to their ancient counterparts is instructive. In some ways, the concerns about loss of discipline and meaning are very similar across the centuries. Monks of the fifth century complained about not being able to focus for long periods of time, just as we do today. Christians of the ancient world bemoaned being tired, distracted, envious, and divided in their lives. 

But after that common starting place, these books’ guidance for a coherent, Christ-centered life differs dramatically from modern recommendations. Reading The Rule of Saint Benedict, we should be struck by a very curious thing: The first five chapters almost never discuss things you should do. 

Instead, the prologue begins with a vision of the Christian life as one that is traveled in the company of others. The book’s intention is to establish “a school for the Lord’s service,” and it is not remote learning. The opening chapter, which catalogues different kinds of monks, allows that select monks who “have come through the test of living in a monastery for a long time” are able to go out into the world alone after benefitting from “the help and guidance of many.” But most of the instruction is for monks living together, gathered under a rule with their leader, the abbot.

The rule put forward by Augustinian monks has a similar orientation. It too begins with an admonition that assumes participation in a larger body of believers: “The chief motivation for your sharing life together is to live harmoniously in the house and to have one heart and one soul seeking God.” Before beginning to speak about the values or habits of monasticism, this rule spends the whole first chapter describing how monks prepare for the common life. 

The pattern holds beyond monastics, too. Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together gives ample discussion to habits of prayer, eating, and personal disciplines. But the first thing he discusses is the necessity of pursuing discipline in common. The Christian, he writes, is “the man who no longer seeks his salvation, his deliverance, his justification in himself,” but recognizes that “God has put this Word into the mouth of men in order that it may be communicated to other men.”

To put a fine point on it, modern rules of life too often omit what Bonhoeffer and the ancients took for granted: that the ordered life cannot be lived alone. This omission may not be surprising in secular books of our isolated age. But we should not see it in Christian rules. Contemporary Christians should take for granted that our spiritual lives are knit together and indeed are impossible under ordinary circumstances without a gathered community: the church. 

When the Gospels speak of Jesus’ mission, they speak of a rabbi who gathers a community of disciples. And the apostle Paul’s preserved writings, with few exceptions, are letters to whole communities. His instructions to seek the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2:16) and pursue lives of humility (Phil. 2:1–3) were not first given to individual Christians. They concerned virtues to be pursued together. Indeed, Paul’s caution against being “yoked together with unbelievers” (2 Cor. 6:14) assumes a common—and communal—way of life for all believers, joined together as the people of God (2 Cor. 6:16).

Why do contemporary Christian rules of life no longer begin with this vision of the church? I suspect it’s because we can no longer count on the church life presupposed by Christians in older eras—and this loss is precisely why individualistic rules are proliferating. We still long for discipline and order, and if we don’t find it in a local congregation, we turn to these books and their individual programs instead.

That’s understandable, but we can do better than accommodating ourselves to the situation at hand. Singlehandedly pulling together the fragments of our lives may be possible, but the ancients wisely never thought it sustainable. “When God created man, in order to commend more highly the good of society, he said: ‘It is not good for man to be alone: let us make him a helper like unto himself,’” reflected Aelred of Rievaulx, the 12th century author of Spiritual Friendship. “How beautiful it is that the second human being was taken from the side of the first.”

Here Aelred points us to the weakness of making do by ourselves: To be a human is to be drawn from the body of another, and to be a Christian is to belong utterly to another. Whatever rule we adopt, whatever order we seek, we must not do it alone.

That doesn’t mean there’s no place for personal disciplines in the Christian life. Benedict’s Rule recognizes that the spiritual life is not a one-size-fits-all vision. There’s ample room to apply the rule according to particular needs. Not all the monks need the same attention or struggle with the same vices, and the abbot tailors the rule for each. But the worshiping community still worships together, and its members do not first follow individual rules that pull them away from life together as the church. 

So none of this means that there’s no place for individual rules. A common life provides the space for nuance, for tailoring. Benedict noted that some monks would need more sleep or more food than others; Augustine’s rule made provisions for monks who needed different work to do; Bonhoeffer speculated on what life together might look like for families with young children or work schedules that make gathering difficult. But while you can improvise from a common premise, it’s difficult to build a common life if everyone already arrives with their own rule firmly in place. 

To reclaim this older vision, we must begin by unlearning deep habits of solo reading, praying, and planning for isolation. We must calibrate our sermons less to individual application and more to common aims. We must foster spiritual practices that require our assembly together instead of assume our absence.

This is not as daunting a task as it may sound, for, by God’s grace, we already have what we need to pursue it: the Scriptures, ample historical witnesses, and a clear hunger for disciplines and communion with others. What remains now is to count the cost, and then to begin.

Myles Werntz is author of From Isolation to Community: A Renewed Vision for Christian Life Together. He writes at Christian Ethics in the Wild and teaches at Abilene Christian University.

The post You Don’t Need a Rule of Life appeared first on Christianity Today.

Which Church in Revelation Is Yours Like?

by | Oct 10, 2024 | Uncategorized

Revelation is often interpreted out of context based on current concerns and fearful speculations about the end times. But after a study trip to Turkey—and years of teaching Revelation at my local church in Rome and for conferences—I have come to realize how contextual the book is.

Throughout Revelation, John of Patmos uses powerful imagery to exhort early Christians to resist conforming to the Roman world and to encourage them to remain faithful to Jesus in a world of rival rulers and false deities vying for their loyalty. The book addresses ancient believers in seven cities, like Ephesus and Laodicea, that faced struggles similar to those many Christians experience today.

Most scholars date Revelation back to the reign of Domitian, who issued coins depicting imagery associated with his reign. Remember when Jesus picked up a coin and said, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s” (Mark 12:17)? That’s because Roman emperors often stamped their faces on coins to project their political-religious propaganda.

But these Roman emperors weren’t just making idolatrous claims. They were also using imagery to assert their authority and subjugate the Jewish people, many of whom had embraced Jesus as their Messiah. After the Jewish revolt was crushed by AD 70, Domitian’s father, Vespasian, and later his brother Titus issued coins that portrayed humiliating imagery of Jews and Judea.

The Arch of Titus in Rome narrates the family’s triumphal entry into the city, followed by Jewish captives and spoils stolen from Jerusalem’s temple. Around 97,000 Jews were either killed at various arenas or enslaved and sent to work at mines in Egypt (in a sense, reversing the liberation of the Exodus). Some of them were even tasked with helping build what would become the largest and bloodiest arena of all: the Colosseum.

Can you imagine the anguish of early Christians, many of whom were Jewish, during this time?

WikiMedia CommonsVespasian’s denarius showing a bound Jew

WikiMedia CommonsTitus’s Denarius showing a kneeling Jew

WikiMedia CommonsArch of Titus exhibiting Judean captives and spoils

WikiMedia CommonsThe Colosseum built between AD 72-80 in part by Jewish captives

It is against this backdrop that John uses competing imagery to fortify his fellow suffering believers. He shows Jesus holding the seven stars and walking among his lampstands and describes winged creatures around the throne of “the Lord God Almighty.” He depicts scrolls, trumpets, and bowls as symbols of God’s authority and judgment—and elders who lay aside their crowns to sing, “You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power” (Rev. 4:11).

When we interpret Revelation in its historical, not present-day, context—following its concrete biblical references, not our abstract speculations—we see that the powerful objective behind much of the book’s counterimagery was to exalt the supremacy of Jesus above all other ancient rivals.

Yet the temptations and challenges the local churches faced in these ancient cities are not unlike the ones many Christians encounter to this day. While there are many such challenges to explore, we can learn a few lessons from Jesus’ relatable rebukes to these seven churches.

Pergamum and Thyatira call us to remain true to God in a world that exalts power.

Two chapters into the book, John’s prophecy records Jesus addressing the church in Pergamum: “I know where you live—where Satan has his throne” (2:13).

This could be a reference to several familiar religious landmarks in the city: the local altar to Zeus, a sanctuary dedicated to Egyptian divinities, various temples to Greco-Roman divinities, the first temple dedicated to Caesar Augustus and imperial worship—or all of them.

Photography by René BreuelThe Altar to Zeus in Pergamum

Photography by René BreuelThe Red Hall (Egyptian Divinities) in Pergamum

Photography by René BreuelHadrian’s Temple in Pergamum

By the time John was writing, a man had already been martyred at Pergamum (v. 13). Given the immense pressure, it’s understandable that some Christians at the time were advocating for a policy of assimilation and compromise.

Yet Jesus knew that a diluted gospel was far more detrimental to a church than persecution. The symbol for the city of Pergamum was a sword, so Jesus said, “Repent therefore! Otherwise, I will soon come to you and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth” (v. 16).

Similarly, the church in Thyatira (where Lydia, who hosted the church in Philippi, was from) also struggled with false teachings that justified sexual immorality and eating foods sacrificed to idols. So Jesus addressed himself to this congregation as “the Son of God, whose eyes are like blazing fire” (v. 18).

In what ways do politics and religion intersect in your context? Do politicians expect undue allegiance from Christians? Do some churches defend a syncretistic compromise with human powers? And does such compromise lower our ethical standards below those of Jesus?

If so, take to heart Jesus’ admonition: “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches” (v. 29).

Smyrna and Philadelphia show us how to suffer redemptively in an unstable world.

Smyrna was a harbor city with temples dedicated to the goddess Roma and the emperor Tiberius. It also had a large Jewish population that was legally exempt from emperor worship. Yet certain members of Smyrna’s synagogue argued early Jewish Christians should no longer be protected under this exemption and often reported Christians to civil authorities for treason—even though they believed in a Jewish messiah.

Below Smyrna’s marketplace were a dungeon and holding cells. Imagine being held there after being denounced, possibly even betrayed, by your own relatives, friends, or those who claimed to share your faith. So Jesus assured the church, “I know your afflictions and your poverty—yet you are rich! I know about the slander of those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan” (v. 9).

Photography by René BreuelAncient Agora in Smyrna

Photography by René BreuelUnder the Agora in Smyrna

Photography by René BreuelAncient remains in Thyatira

Photography by René BreuelRemaining 6th-century pillar in Philadelphia

Photography by René BreuelSynagogue next to a Roman gymnasium in Sardis

Photography by René BreuelPillars in the synagogue next to the Roman gymnasium in Sardis

Jesus offered similar encouragement to Christians in Philadelphia, some of whom were also being imprisoned. Located in an earthquake-prone zone, the city was destroyed again and again. But when I visited it, I got to see a remaining 6th-century pillar. I found this a moving image, for Jesus told harassed Christians in a shaky Philadelphia, “The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it.” (3:12).

What makes you despair and tremble? Has perseverance in the Christian walk been difficult lately? Has conflict with fellow believers destabilized you? If so, hear the acknowledgement of our Lord: “I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name,” (v. 8) and his assurance “I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown” (v. 11).

Ephesus and Sardis remind us to keep our love alive in hardworking cities.

Sardis’ synagogue (which assumed its current enormous size in the 3rd century) was centrally located next to a Roman bath and sports complex. On the outside, the church in Sardis seemed to be thriving. Yet Jesus admonished it: “I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up!” (vv. 1–2).

Jesus knew our reputations don’t always match the state of our souls, so he charged Sardis to “remember, therefore, what you have received and heard; hold it fast, and repent” (v. 3).

Ephesus also had an industrious spirit, evidenced by its monument dedicated to Nike, the goddess of victory, and its ancient coins imprinted with the city’s symbol: a bee. The Ephesians were hardworking and prosperous like bees. The city had a spacious agora, a 24,000-seat theater, and a port that brought significant wealth into the city.

It also had a temple dedicated to Domitian, a temple dedicated to Artemis—which was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world—and other majestic buildings like the Library of Celsus, where you still can find a Jewish menorah lampstand sketched onto one of the steps.

Photography by René BreuelTheater in Ephesus

Photography by René BreuelRoad leading to a port in Ephesus

Photography by René BreuelAgora in Ephesus

Photography by René BreuelNike, the goddess of victory

Photography by René BreuelLibrary of Celusus

Photography by René BreuelA Jewish lampstand on the step of Library of Celusus

Jesus’ words to the church in Ephesus are often quoted: “I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. … You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first” (2:2–4). Ephesian Christians abounded in work but neglected the greatest of virtues: love.

Have you absorbed too much of your context’s overachieving spirit? Do you need to slow down to recover your spiritual vitality? Does your external vibrancy match the inward state of your soul?

Laodicea challenges us to remain dependent on God in a self-reliant culture.

Built at the intersection of major trade routes, Laodicea was a banking center and an exporter of fine garments and carpets. The Laodiceans walked on roads paved with marble and erected impressive temples, a stadium for chariot racing, and twotheaters seating thousands of people each.

Yet Laodicea’s resourceful, self-reliant spirit had infiltrated its church. Jesus’ words are relevant to many of us who live in similar contexts: “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked” (3:17).

Photography by René BreuelColonnaded marble road in Laodicea

Photography by René BreuelTemples in Laodicea

Photography by René BreuelThe West Theater in Laodicea

Photography by René BreuelStadium in Laodicea

Though Laodicea was prosperous, it did not have the most basic resource: a local source of water. Nearby Colossae was located next to a river, and neighboring Hierapolis had a hot spring that is active to this day. Thus, the Laodiceans were dependent on these two cities for their water supply. Aqueducts brought water from Colossae and Hierapolis to Laodicea, allowing it to erect grand fountains like the one dedicated to emperor Trajan. Being such a precious resource, the city’s water law (in the sign pictured below) had strict regulations for public use. Isn’t it ironic that a city with no local water supply proudly featured a huge fountain?

Yet by the time it arrived in the city, Colossae’s cold, refreshing water had grown tepid, and Hierapolis’s hot, medicinal water had become lukewarm. By that point, the city’s mixed water had developed such a strong and strange taste that those who drank it were tempted to spit it out.

Photography by René BreuelHierapolis had hot springs

Photography by René BreuelWater leaving Hierapolis

Photography by René BreuelAqueduct arriving in Laodicea

Photography by René BreuelTrajan’s Fountain

In this context, Jesus admonished the church in Laodicea: “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth” (v. 15–16).

Jesus makes it clear that both cold and hot water are fine. Why? Because both are close to the source. Lukewarm water, by contrast, is distant from its source. Though once hot or cold, lukewarm water has become shaped more by its surroundings than by its source.

Are you allowing yourself to be shaped more by your surroundings than by your Source? Do you crave external validation more than Jesus’ approval? Does your resourcefulness tempt you toward self-reliance and away from dependence on God?

To Laodicea’s church, Jesus presents himself as the “Amen” and “the ruler of God’s creation.” The Greek word for ruler is arche, from which we have the words archetype and architecture. Likewise, Christ calls us to center ourselves on him as our ultimate foundation and affirmation.

Revelation’s historical context shows how intimately relevant the book is to many of the struggles believers face to this day. We will always be tempted to conform to our environment and succumb to worldly propaganda—which is why Revelation’s reminder is needed as much now as it was then.

Like any good pastor should do today, John challenges Christians of all ages to remain faithful in worshiping Jesus in the face of any other earthly rival.

René Breuel is the author of The Paradox of Happiness and the founding pastor of Hopera, a church in Rome. He has a master of divinity from Regent College and a master of studies in creative writing from Oxford University.

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