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.