I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot; I would thou wert cold or hot.
The last of the seven letters opens with Christ's assessment of a church that felt no need of any assessment at all. He finds neither the cold of open unbelief nor the heat of real love. Either one, He says, would be better.
The phrase "I know" runs through all seven letters. It lands differently depending on who hears it:
The pointed sentence "I know" occurs seven times, addressed to the angel of each assembly. So seven times over, a divine attribute is affirmed of our Lord: omniscience, the knowledge of everything. To weak Philadelphia this is a truth full of strength: the Lord knows in full what man does not know. To Laodicea in its lukewarmness, with its show and boast and wealth, the thought of that all-seeing eye searching the depths of the heart must be unbearable.
The temperature language is about one thing: how they stand towards Christ Himself.
The first and most terrible characteristic of the Laodiceans is indifference to Christ. As regards Christ they are neither "cold nor hot." They do not hate Christ, as the worldly unbeliever does. They do not love Him with the jealous love of the true Christian. They see no beauty in His Person; they put no value on His work. In the "church" of the Laodiceans, you may think what you like about the Person and work of Christ. You may hold what you like and say what you like. It is all a matter of indifference.
No sin is named in the letter, which is part of what makes it so searching. Effort and output are not missing:
There is not the gross corruption of Thyatira, nor the hopeless deadness of Sardis. There is something even more offensive to Christ. They turn His name into a means of self-exaltation, instead of loving it. There is activity in the name of Christ, plenty of works, plenty of self-satisfaction — but heartless indifference to His Person.
The wish for cold sounds strange until you see what cold and hot share:
Had it been cold — an active position taken up — or hot — showing some spiritual activity — then the Lord could have done something with it. But an undecided, neutral position towards Christ and the truth is so hateful that it must go at once.
Commentators differ on where the lukewarmness comes from. Some read it against the two letters just before it, where Sardis is cold and Philadelphia is warm:
We have had the cold state in Sardis: death is cold enough. We have had in Philadelphia the Lord reviving things — something we may call heat. Now the mixture of these two things produces the lukewarmness He speaks of. The heat has only enough effect to change the cold into lukewarm — nothing more. There has been the effect of the truth — the truth must always have effect, God's word never returns to Him empty.
Walter Scott rejects that reading:
We do not agree with those who say that Laodicea's lukewarm condition springs out of the Philadelphian state of the Church. We take it that the legalism of Thyatira, the moral numbness of Sardis, and the rejection of the truth and position of Philadelphia, along with other causes, combine to produce the Laodicean condition of that church — absolute indifference to Christ.
Verse 15 leads straight into a sentence with no conditions attached to it:
Lukewarmness characterises the last state of profession in the assembly. It is nauseous to Christ; He will spew it out of His mouth. It was not mere lack of power, it was lack of heart — the worst of all ills. This threat is peremptory, not conditional.
This warning reaches past the obvious failures. It touches anyone who holds the truth without living it:
Being neutral in principle and practice, they were half-hearted towards Christ. Nothing breeds neutrality faster than a position that is outwardly right, if self-judgment is not kept up with godly sincerity. The more a person stands at the front of the battle, carrying the responsible testimony of God, and the more he puts His grace and truth into words for others, the greater the danger. If his walk does not match the light, sooner or later he lapses back into neutrality, or even into active hostility.
- Known. The letter opens with Christ's perfect knowledge. It strengthens the weak who love Him. It is unbearable to the self-satisfied.
- Cold or hot. The words are "cold" and "hot," not "dead" and "alive": the point is not whether they are saved, but how they stand towards Christ. Both are positions He can work with. Lukewarm takes no position at all.
- Mixture. Truth that touches a person without warming them leaves them lukewarm. Commentators differ on how the cold and the heat mixed.
- Heart, not power. The letter names no immorality. It exposes a missing heart for Christ — the worst of all ills.
- Danger. Neutrality grows where the outward position is right but self-judgment has stopped.
Thus because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spue thee out of my mouth.
Laodicea faces no charge of scandal or false teaching — only the charge of being lukewarm. Three questions run through the verse: what lukewarmness is, why Christ would rather have cold, and what He rejects when He spits a church out.
The word does not describe people who never heard the truth. It describes people who heard it and stayed unmoved.
"I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot" (verse 15). This is broad indifference. Ignorance is not what does this deadly damage. The damage comes from a heart that stays indifferent to the truth after hearing all of it. Such a person does not want the truth. He feels the sacrifice, and the separation from the world, that must follow if he really obeys it. We ought to be patient wherever ignorance is unwilling. But indifference to truth is quite another thing. It is hateful in the Lord's sight.
The same writer names where neutrality grows best:
Being neutral in principle and practice, they were half-hearted toward Christ. Nothing produces neutrality more easily than a position that is outwardly true, when self-judgment is not kept up with godly sincerity. Think of someone standing at the front of the battle, holding the responsible testimony of God. The more His grace and truth come out in his words to others, the more it matters whether he also walks according to the light. If he does not, sooner or later he slides back into neutrality, if not into active hostility.
Why would Christ prefer cold? Because the middle keeps up a good outside.
Christ looks at the lukewarmness with utter disgust. Because "you are neither cold nor hot, I will spit you out of My mouth." Moderation is the cry of men. They want everything in respectable measure — the form of religion without any power. Christ hates this. He would rather have them dead, cold — He would then know what to do with them — if not burning hot. The so-called happy medium gives Him no pleasure. Nothing keeps me from tasting grace like having a fine outside. If I only gain a place and a good reputation for myself, and God is not glorified, I have no taste of mercy in my own soul.
So what was missing in Laodicea?
The Lord cannot put up with lukewarmness. What Laodicea did not have was heart for Christ. The great thing for you and me to have is affection for Christ. That is what He values above everything — affection for Himself. That was lacking, so came the blunt threat of being spat out of His mouth.
The picture comes from what lukewarm water does to the body.
There is neither burning zeal for His word, nor outright rejection of Christ and the Bible. Instead there is a sickening, lukewarm condition that is repulsive to the Spirit of God. Lukewarm water is itself something that makes you vomit, and this is the picture the Lord uses here.
Judged by appearance, this church would pass inspection:
This is the last phase of the professing Christian body. It is just about to be spat out as something Christ finds unbearably sickening. To man's eye it may look very respectable; but to the heart of Christ its condition is deeply repulsive.
Christ names no date. What He names is an outcome.
He does not say when He will do it; but the decree has gone out from His lips, and will never be recalled. It means that He will reject the assembly totally and for ever as His public witness, His responsible light-bearer in the world. That is its primary application. But every believer can learn from it, for instruction and warning: nothing, no state or condition, displeases Christ like lukewarmness or indifference.
Commentators differ on the timing. One ties it to the second coming, when "all empty profession is left behind for judgment" (A. J. Pollock). Another ties it to the moment when "the people of God will have been caught up" (The Bible Treasury).
Even under this sentence, Christ does not stop appealing — but the appeal changes shape.
He warns the church of what is coming on it — of positive judgment. But until that judgment falls, He goes on working in His own grace. Now He reaches people one by one, for the church is given up. "If anyone opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me"; he will have his portion at my table.
- Temperature, not scandal. No immorality, no false doctrine — only being neither cold nor hot. That is indifference to truth already known.
- Cold is cleaner. Christ would rather have them cold than respectable. The form of religion without the power gives Him no pleasure.
- Warmth is affection. What was missing was heart for Christ — the one thing He values above everything.
- Nausea is the verdict. Lukewarm water makes you vomit. A church that looks fine to men can sicken Him. The sentence is final rejection as His public witness.
- The door is still open. The body is given up, but His grace still calls people one by one. Anyone who opens gets Christ's own company at His table.
Because thou sayest, I am rich, and am grown rich, and have need of nothing, and knowest not that *thou* art the wretched and the miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked;
Laodicea is the last of the seven churches the risen Christ speaks to. Here He repeats the church's own boast, then gives His own verdict on the same church — and the two do not match.
The verse turns on two words: "you say." This church has plenty to say about itself.
Philadelphia has not a word to say for itself. Laodicea has. In fact, in almost every respect these two churches stand out in sharp contrast. "You say." The Church was not only self-satisfied; here we also have its proud boast... The city could boast of its material wealth, and the Church boasted of its riches just as much. It had added to that wealth as well: "I have prospered." There is no doubt that the Church in Laodicea had influence, numbers, gifts, showy achievements, learning, and other attractive qualities. It was proud to have them. Sadly, these things came at the cost of spiritual life and of true, warm love for Christ, and gained that way they can only count as a curse.
The claim was not empty. They did hold something real. But they had not received it from God, and truth held that way stops working on the conscience.
There is plenty of knowledge if not of truth; for there is a great difference between the two. They are rich, and increased with goods. Where did they get them? They were never given in the grace of God, but borrowed or stolen. They were truths that others had got fresh from God's word. Here they use these truths to lift up man. So the truths never touch the conscience, and they leave Christ out... There is nothing new you can tell them: they know it already.
There is a second problem in the boast: its subject. Every claim in it is about the church itself.
The Church was left here to witness for Christ. It has fallen so low that it not only stops witnessing for Christ; it starts witnessing to itself. The Church stops speaking of Christ and talks about the Church. The Assembly gets all the attention, and Christ counts for little. The Assembly seeks to attract to herself and not Christ. It takes the place of Christ by claiming to be the vessel of riches and grace. Christ is outside, and yet it can say, "I have need of nothing." ... In their own estimation the Laodiceans needed nothing; in the sight of the Lord they needed everything.
Against the boast the Lord sets five words. Each one names something the church has lost. The writer below works from a translation that keeps the word "the" before the first two.
"You are the wretched one and the miserable one," besides being "poor, and blind, and naked." The definite article — the word "the" — adds a lot to the point and force of the Lord's judgment of Laodicea. "The wretched" and "the miserable," or "pitiable" — misery gathered into one place, and the one object of pity above all others. They were poor, having none of the true riches. They were blind to their own state and to the Lord's glory. They were naked, having no divine righteousness.
The phrase "not realizing" is the sting. A church can be full of itself and blind to itself at once.
"You say, I am rich... and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched" — there we see the Pharisee, pleased with himself and blind to his real condition. There is no true feeling, no genuine self-judgment. Leaven not only puffs up; it also makes you numb.
An earlier church in the same set of letters heard the opposite verdict. The contrast points to a pattern.
To the outward eye, trouble and poverty marked them... The Lord, who sees everything, saw it very differently. His surprising verdict was, "but you are rich." That is the exact opposite of what He says later to Laodicea, which claimed to be rich and in His eyes was miserably poor... All through the church's history, times of poverty and trouble have gone together with spiritual riches, and times of wealth and ease with spiritual poverty. It is the same today.
The Lord's list is not just an accusation. Accepting it is the first honest step anyone in this state can take.
Every man and woman on earth is dependent, not self-sufficient. Some have not discovered it, and others are too proud to own it... It is not easy to confess the truth. It cuts clean across our natural pride, and discovering it is bitter. But it is the way to blessing, and it is better to confess the unpleasant truth than to hug the pleasant lie.
- Need nothing — The church speaks first. It boasts of influence, numbers and gifts, while Christ is left outside.
- Need everything — The Lord answers with five words: wretched, pitiable, poor of true riches, blind to His glory, naked of divine righteousness.
- Need to know — The worst part is "not realizing." Pride and numbness come together, and self-judgment stops.
- Need Christ, not knowledge — Borrowed truth used for show leaves a church pointing at itself, not at Him.
- Need is the way in — The church that looked poor was called rich. Owning the unpleasant truth about yourself is the road back to real wealth.
I counsel thee to buy of me gold purified by fire, that thou mayest be rich; and white garments, that thou mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy nakedness may not be made manifest; and eye-salve to anoint thine eyes, that thou mayest see.
Laodicea thinks she needs nothing, yet Christ has just called her poor, blind, and naked. Now He offers to sell her the three things she lacks — but how can a bankrupt church buy anything?
Christ could have commanded a church in this state. Notice the tone He chooses instead.
Laodicea's three main features were their poverty, their nakedness, and their blindness. These are the very things the Lord, ever gracious, offers to meet here. He might have commanded, but no, He counsels, "buy from Me gold refined by fire." Your right to come and buy is your need and poverty.
The people He speaks to are not humbled sinners asking for help. They are pleased with themselves.
He says, "I counsel you to buy from Me." These words show their need of Christ, and that there is no blessing apart from Christ. They must come to Christ for true riches. What grace! He invites not only sinners who have confessed their sin, but these self-occupied, self-satisfied people who only profess faith, to come to Himself.
The word "buy" does not put a price tag on grace.
The first great need of the Laodicean is to have a personal transaction with Christ. That is the thought behind buying. When Christ invites us to come and buy, it is "without money and without price." This reveals the secret of the Laodicean condition. They are indifferent to Christ and full of themselves, because they have never come to know Christ personally.
Yet Laodicea must give something up.
The first part of the payment is to own your need, your fall, your utter poverty. You must admit that the world and pride have dimmed and blurred your eye, till you mistake error for truth.
Laodicea already boasts of wealth. The fire is what separates her riches from His.
They had been boasting in their riches, of which gold is the symbol, but their imagined wealth had not yet faced the fire. When their "goods" went up in smoke, their proud claims would perish. Fire only refines true gold, while it burns up all the showy human things that glitter. They needed a righteousness that came from God.
So where does that righteousness come from?
The gold refined by fire speaks of the righteousness of God. That righteousness is available to every sinner through the death of Christ. The sinner who believes in Christ stands before God a justified man, as clear from sins and judgment as the risen Christ.
The second item deals with what other people see.
If the gold speaks of the righteous condition in which the believer appears before God, then the white garments speak of practical righteousness in the believer's life before men (Rev. 19:8). Being clothed in white means that before men we put on the beautiful character of Christ. We show something of His lowliness and meekness, His grace and gentleness, His patience and forbearance, His holiness and sanctification.
Laodicea made her own covering, and she is not the first.
Adam and Eve sewed fig leaves together so that the shame of their nakedness would not show. Yet how useless they found them when they had to stand before God. He gave them a garment that truly covered them. So this church at Laodicea was clothing itself with works and boasting of its success, while the Lord sees it as naked.
The third item is for the eyes. Learning cannot supply what it gives.
For all their boasted scholarship and learning, the great mass of those who profess Christianity completely lack spiritual discernment. That discernment belongs to the simplest believer in Christ through the Spirit. The Apostle John can say to young believers, "the anointing that you received from Him abides in you... His anointing teaches you about everything" (1 John 2:27).
Christ makes this appeal from outside the church He is speaking to.
Once again, in our day, the Lord appeals from His place outside to the spiritually blind among those who profess Christianity. He says, "Anoint your eyes with salve, so that you may see" (Revelation 3:18).
- Counsel, not command. Christ could have issued orders. Instead He advises — grace still speaking to the self-satisfied.
- Buy of Me. The blessing costs no money. Your need and poverty are your only claim, and Laodicea lacked the one thing that matters — a personal dealing with Christ.
- Gold. Righteousness from God, tested by fire. It is the one wealth that survives when human glitter burns away.
- Garments. God supplies the covering. We wear it before others as the character of Christ, instead of fig leaves stitched from our own works.
- Eye-salve. The Spirit gives sight. Only then does the church see its poverty, its nakedness, and the Christ who stands outside.
I rebuke and discipline as many as I love; be zealous therefore and repent.
The church at Laodicea is lukewarm, and sentence has already been passed on it: it will be spat out. In the same breath, the Lord speaks of love, of rebuke, and of a way back.
The rebuke is not a withdrawal of affection but an expression of it. One writer sets the Lord's steady love against the church's lost love:
The Lord does not stop at speaking to the consciences of these lukewarm Laodiceans. He will also seek to reach the heart of any true believer still left in Laodicea. He says, "Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent." The Church had long since left its first love. But the Lord never left His first love for the Church. No longer can He speak of their love, yet He can still speak of His love. It is not a love that is simply pleased with them. It is a love that has to act in rebuke.
Ignoring His rebuke costs more than comfort:
The Laodiceans seem to have felt themselves safe from both rebuke and discipline. But if we are not touched by the Lord's rebuke, we will not truly know His love... Am I going to assume that the Lord's warning is not aimed at me?
Older translations read "as many as I love" where the ESV has "Those whom I love." One writer tests who is included:
Does this principle apply to people who claim faith but are not converted? We turn to Proverbs, and there we read, "My son, do not despise the LORD's discipline or be weary of His reproof, for the LORD reproves him whom He loves, as a father the son in whom he delights." (Prov. 3:11-12.) Here the Lord is clearly speaking to someone in a known relationship, as the words "my son" show... The words "As many as I love" remove any doubt. "As many" marks out a distinct class. "As I love" marks out a special relationship to that class — the Lord's own people.
The first half of the verse states something true long before Laodicea existed, and it explains why the correction is never random:
The Lord had just been speaking with unusual severity. The circumstances called for it... But Christians, then and now, were to know that the Lord's rebukes, and His still more severe discipline, were the fruit of love. They were not the unpredictable treatment a human parent might give. "So be zealous and repent." The Lord would rouse them out of the numbness and dullness they had sunk into.
Verse 16 pronounces judgment on the whole; verse 19 opens a door that judgment does not close:
The church as a whole is not called upon to repent. On it the sentence is not conditional, but absolute: "I will spit you out of my mouth." But grace is always open to each person. And the Lord never stops being faithful to His own people, however far they may have sunk into the coldness or carelessness of the religious profession around them. These saints were real, yet they had caught the lukewarmness that Christ found so sickening. They needed discipline to wake their consciences to the sad state they had fallen into.
Each of the two commands is the exact opposite of a Laodicean fault:
The discipline falls on "as many as I love," so that it may stir them to zeal and repentance. A zealous person is someone stirred to warm desire — the very opposite of lukewarmness. Repentance is the opposite of the self-satisfaction which marks the haughty. The spirit of Laodicea is very strong in our day, so it is right for us to pay much attention to these solemn words of our Lord.
Christ asks for nothing new here. He asks them to look at where they already are:
The Lord is dealing with His people. He keeps putting something before them to humble their thoughts about themselves. He does not tell them to do or try something new. He calls on them "to repent." He does not ask them to stretch their wings for some greater flight in the future. He asks them to see where they are and to confess their failure. But a shallow, self-satisfied heart finds this tiresome.
- Love acts. The rebuke is not a break in His love. It is that love at work, since His love has not cooled even where the church's has.
- Love narrows. "As many as I love" points to a definite group: those already in relationship with Him.
- Love reaches. Sentence has fallen on the church as a whole. Grace stays open to each person inside it, however far they have drifted.
- Love wakes. Zeal is the opposite of lukewarm. Repentance is the opposite of self-satisfaction. Each command treats one disease.
- Love humbles. He asks for no new project. He asks His people to see where they are and admit it. That is what a self-satisfied heart finds hardest.
Behold, I stand at the door and am knocking; if any one hear my voice and open the door, I will come in unto him and sup with him, and he with me.
These words close the last of the seven letters in Revelation 2–3, addressed to the church at Laodicea. The startling thing is where the Lord stands — outside His own church, asking them to open the door, speaking not to the group but to whoever will listen.
The Lord had just threatened to reject this church. Before He acts on that threat, He takes a place outside the door.
The Lord threatens to reject this church (v. 16). Before He carries that out, He takes a place outside: "Behold, I stand at the door." In this way He disowns the whole body of people who claim the name of Christ. The Lord both knocks and speaks. What a rich display of grace in the worst of circumstances! The Lord does not order them to buy (v. 18), and He does not force His way in. In the one case He advises; in the other He knocks.
You can read the same fact from either side of the door. Both readings are true.
These words show that the Lord has taken a place outside the church of Laodicea. That is a solemn thing. Its wretched moral state forced Him to take this position. On the other hand, it is just as true that Laodicea has shut its door on Christ. They have shut Him out and left Him outside.
Shutting Him out does not change how He feels about them. The wording points to knocking that keeps going.
They may close their door upon Him, but they cannot close His heart against them. If they thrust Him out in utter indifference, He will wait at their door with perfect patience. He does not knock once or twice and then leave. He can say, "I stand at the door and am knocking." He keeps knocking, and He will go on knocking until the day of grace runs out.
The letter has spoken to the church as a whole. Here the words "if anyone" narrow it down to one listener.
Here in Laodicea the Lord takes a place outside. The church in name only has in practice moved into the position Israel once held. So the Lord takes His stand outside, and He calls to individual souls who are inside: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice." He wants to gain their attention. He wants them to let Him in. He warns the church of what is coming on it — real judgment. But until He carries that judgment out, He still acts in His own blessed grace. That grace now reaches individuals, because He has given up the church.
Hearing and opening are two different steps. One commentator warns that a person can do the first and never do the second.
Notice the order of the response. First comes hearing His voice — His call to repentance. Then comes opening the door. The bride heard His voice, but she had no energy to open the door until it was too late. So hearing His voice is not enough. Many believers hear it and still stay where they are, tied to evil company.
The promise moves in two directions.
First, "I will come in to him" — not into Laodicea, whose doom is settled. He comes in to the person who, by grace, has opened the door… "I will eat with him." That is, "I will come down to where he is, and share fellowship with him in his things." How wonderful that He should come down so low! But He eats with the one who opened the door for a reason. He wants to lead that person up into the higher blessing of eating with Him, of sharing fellowship with Him in His things, of communion with Himself.
Set beside the other six letters, this promise stands out for when it is kept.
The letters to the first five churches hold no promise that comes true on earth. The letter to Philadelphia holds a promise that comes true as they are caught up from earth. But this last letter holds a promise to enjoy down here — the presence of Christ in close, blessed fellowship.
The verse is often preached to those outside the faith, and commentators differ over whether that use fits the setting. Some allow that use, but insist on what the verse first means:
Here the Lord makes this most solemn and weighty appeal not to the sinner outside, but to the professing Church. Christ is not knocking at the door of the sinner's heart, true as that is too. He is knocking at the door of those inside the professing Church.
Others go further. They argue that the letter as a whole rules this out:
Is this how Christ offers Himself as a Saviour to the unconverted? If it is, there is nothing else like it in the Scriptures… To hold this view is also to assume that the unconverted have power of their own. Opening the door goes far beyond simply believing the gospel message.
- Outside — Laodicea's state pushed Christ out of His own church, and He disowns the body that claims His name.
- Knocking — He does not force the door and does not walk away; He keeps knocking while the day of grace lasts.
- Anyone — He has given up the church, so the call goes to single souls still inside it: "if anyone hears."
- Opening — hearing is only half the response; the bride heard and stayed put until it was too late.
- Supper — He comes down to where the person is, then draws that person up into His own fellowship. It is a promise to enjoy now, on earth.
He that overcomes, to him will I give to sit with me in my throne; as *I* also have overcome, and have sat down with my Father in his throne.
Christ speaks this last of the seven promises to Laodicea, a lukewarm church that has left Him standing outside its door. The promise raises two questions. Which throne does He mean, since He already sits on His Father's throne? And what does overcoming look like in a church that has grown indifferent?
Two thrones stand side by side in this verse. They are not the same seat.
The Lord's words to Laodicea distinguish them very plainly. These messages present Him as Son of Man. His own throne, therefore, is clearly what belongs to Him as Man, in contrast with the Father's throne, the divine one. It is plain at once that He promises His saints a seat with Him on the first throne, but no one could sit on the other unless He were Himself divine.
That distinction fixes the timing of the promise. Christ has not yet taken the throne He calls His own.
The Lord Jesus is not yet seated on His own throne. When He was on earth He had no throne. When He went to heaven, He sat down on His Father's throne... When this promise is fulfilled, He must have left His Father's throne and sat down on His own throne. It is a future thing.
Christ asks for nothing He has not done Himself.
Look at the history of the life of Christ. It was a life of testing and suffering until He reached the cross... Opposition and contempt brought out everything that was in Him. His path grew darker and darker down to the cross. He had to overcome Satan, and He promises others that the one who overcomes will sit with Him on His throne, just as He overcame and sat down with His Father on His throne.
In Laodicea, overcoming turns on one thing: the door.
Overcoming here means hearing the voice of Christ and opening the door to Him. This involves judging the condition of Laodicea and separating from it in heart and practice. Everyone who overcomes in this way will sit with Christ on His throne.
The reward answers the situation point for point.
Most people have closed the door on Christ. The one who overcomes the indifference of Laodicea and opens the door to Him will enjoy more than secret fellowship with Christ in the day of His rejection. He will also share Christ's place in the open display of the day of His glory. Christ overcame a world that rejected the Father, and He has sat down on His Father's throne. The one who overcomes a world that has rejected Christ will sit down with Christ on His throne.
Commentators differ on whether this is the highest of the seven promises. Some read it as splendid but less intimate than what Philadelphia is offered.
To sit with Christ on His throne is a distinction of power. As a reward it has a grand, glorious, majestic, dignified character. But it lacks the share of Christ's personal affection that Christ promises to the overcomer in Philadelphia.
Others deny it is a special rank at all. Yet they still find the reward fitted to the person who receives it.
Some have supposed that this shows an unusually rich kind of blessing. But this is a mistake. There is no special reward here, for it is the common portion of all believers. Still, here as in the other cases, the promise fits exactly... He had let Christ into his heart and known Him in secret fellowship down here. His reward is a place in Christ's own portion in the kingdom and glory up there. The Father received Christ the overcomer up to His own throne, the mark of the Father's approval and love. In the same way, Christ will receive the overcomer who let Him into his heart up to His own throne, the mark of Christ's approval and love.
- Door. Overcoming in Laodicea starts at a door. You hear Christ's voice, open to Him, and turn from the lukewarm indifference around you.
- Pattern. Christ's own path is the measure. His trial grew darker down to the cross, where He overcame Satan before He asked it of anyone else.
- Two seats. He now sits on His Father's throne, which no created being can share; the throne He promises to share is His own, as Son of Man.
- Not yet. The promise is future. Christ must first leave the Father's throne and take His own, and no one shares that seat yet.
- Display. Private fellowship behind a closed door ends in public glory with Christ in His kingdom. It is the mark of His approval and love, whether or not it outranks the promise to Philadelphia.
He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the assemblies.
This call ends every one of the seven messages to the churches, and here it sounds for the last time — closing the letter to Laodicea, a church in danger of indifference and self-sufficiency. Why does the Spirit speak to all the churches, yet tell one person to listen?
This sentence closes more than one letter. It closes the whole series — and it falls right after the letter that described a real revival.
We come now to the solemn close of these addresses, the Lord's last word to the churches. It is very striking that we come to that close here, just after that letter to Philadelphia, where we have seen a real return of heart to Christ and a true revival by His Word and Spirit.
The call is not aimed at one congregation only. So the message did not die with Laodicea.
The call is to hear the message of the Spirit to the Churches, not just the word to the particular assembly at Laodicea at that time. So it is clear that these messages have been recorded and preserved for the benefit of the whole Church at all times, even for ourselves today.
The speaking goes out to churches. The hearing falls on one person.
In these addresses we listen to the voice of the Holy Spirit... But while the Spirit speaks to the churches, it is individuals who are called to hear. The Church as a whole is seen as a body deaf to the pleadings or warnings of the Spirit. So the churches are not called upon to hear, but individuals are: "He who has an ear to hear, let him hear." Recovery of the whole body is hopeless. That is why individual responsibility, always of first importance, is pressed harder and more constantly.
The command is to hear the Spirit. The churches are the ones spoken to, not the voice to obey.
Such a message from the Lord "to the one who has an ear" carries unspeakably solemn power. It contradicts the twisted cry "hear the church." It calls on every faithful soul to "hear what the Spirit says to the churches." The church never was a standard of truth — only God's word is... Christ is the truth, and the Spirit is the power that works inwardly and brings it home. But when decay and false teaching set in, the outward professing church ceased to be even a reliable witness.
In the first three letters this call comes before the promise. From the fourth letter on, including this one, the promise comes first. That switch says something about the church's condition.
The call to hear begins to follow the promise, instead of coming before it. The reason is that a remnant is now formed... The Lord from then on puts the promise first, and this apparently because there is no use any longer in expecting the church as a whole to receive it. In the three previous churches the call to hear is first, because the Lord is still dealing with the general conscience of the church. That is given up now.
The Lord asks for nothing here but an ear.
It is "He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches." An ear to hear. It is the very lowest qualification. It is not, Can you work? — can you do anything? Israel in the wilderness had no ear, and was overthrown; so will you be also if you have none. God says: Has my word any entrance into your hearts? Have you got blessing from anything I have ever said to you? Here is my challenge to you: "He who has an ear, let him hear."
The warning lands on Laodicea, but the danger it names is wider than one church.
The address closes with the deeply important call to the one who has an ear, to listen to what the Spirit has to say to the churches. All may not be Laodicean in the full sense, but all are in danger of the Laodicean spirit, and so comes the warning to hear the Spirit's voice. The one who hears will judge every tendency to indifference to Christ, to self-importance and to self-sufficiency. He will take his place apart from what is so soon to be spit out of Christ's mouth. He will make room for Christ to eat with Him in the day of His rejection, while waiting to reign with Him in the day of His glory.
- Last word. This closes the Lord's messages to the seven churches. It is His last word to them.
- Kept for us. The call goes to the churches, not to Laodicea alone. So these messages were recorded and preserved for the whole Church at all times, ours included.
- One hearer. The Spirit speaks to the churches, but the call to hear falls on individuals. Recovery of the whole body is hopeless, so each person answers for himself.
- One voice. The command is to hear the Spirit, not the church — the church was never the standard of truth, only God's word is.
- One ear. No ability is asked for, only an ear. Whoever has it judges his own indifference and self-sufficiency, makes room for Christ now, and will reign with Him later.