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.