THE LAODICEAN CHURCH by Editor

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 6, 1860

THE LAODICEAN CHURCH

By Editor

Do not conclude the Lord is not with you, because things go very contrary, and he does not appear for you : he was in the ship notwithstanding the storm, and the disciples thought of perishing.

THE LAODICEAN CHURCH.

[THE following is from Thompson's Morning Hours in Patmos, pp. 247-265. Although not adopting our view of the prophetic character of the messages to the seven churches, how better could the writer have described the seventh and last church as at present exemplified? May the reader be duly impressed with the graphic description.—Ed.]

THE FAITHFUL WITNESS.

"Unto the angel of the church of Laodiceans write, These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true Witness."

Was not Paul, too, and were not all authors of epistles in the New Testament, true witnesses? Indeed they were; but their messages are infallible only because penned under the guidance of the Holy Spirit—the Spirit sent by him who here speaks in his own name, who is himself infinite truth, its fountain, its embodiment and revealer; who, in the sublime consciousness of his own character, without arrogance could say, "Though I bear record of myself, my record is true; for I know whence I came and whither I go."

Was there a real meaning in the numerous symbols of the Old Testament? Jesus Christ is their antitype. To the whole costly and complicated ritual system, to the many and varied messianic prophecies, he is the responsive Amen. Every divine purpose and proceeding from eternity has centered in him. At Immanuel's first advent all holy beings cried, Amen; at his second coming, a mightier host will shout, as the sound of many waters, Amen.

CHRIST'S SUPREMACY.

"These things saith the Beginning of the creation of God."

He who so wonderfully reveals himself in the first apocalyptic vision, and who now sends a message to the church in Laodicea, is at the head of created things—is Lord paramount of Asia Minor, of the Roman empire, of the whole earth. He taketh up the isles as a very little thing. If he but touch the hills they smoke. To him belongs the primacy over every world, and all things therein, great or small, near or afar off, in the wide universe. When on the eve of being apprehended and put to death, Jesus lifted up his eyes to heaven and said, "Father, the hour is come; glorify thy Son that thy Son also may glorify thee, as thou hast given him power over all flesh." On the eve of ascension to glory, he declares: "All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth." Inspired apostles take up the testimony: "For he hath put all things under him." But will he ever have that preëminence visibly, and by the acknowledgment of all? "Wherefore God hath also highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name; that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father."

THE LUKEWARM REJECTED.

"I know thy works that thou art neither cold nor hot; I would thou wert cold or hot. So then, because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth."

As this church is the last, so it is the worst of the seven. Here is no commendation, no encouraging reference even to the past. Far gone as Sardis was, still "things that remain" could be mentioned. Not so here. Without exception, and without qualification, the Laodiceans are pronounced lukewarm. The whole church is lifeless.

For aught that appears, they have kept themselves free from the doctrines of Balaam, and of the Nicolaitanes; they have no Jezebel, and no synagogue of Satan; their creed is still sound, and their modes of worship unexceptionable. What then can be wanting? Heart is wanting; earnestness is wanting. There is no self-denial that costs anything; no cross-bearing that they feel; no determined witnessing for Christ; no valiant aggression, that keeps sinews strained, that brings wounds and martyrdom. Genuine spirituality, and all religious geniality of soul are gone. The realities of a world to come have sunk into semi-fictions. And the most ominous feature of their state is contentedness with this statue-like religion tolerably faultless, except that it has no life.

"I would thou wert cold or hot." We do not understand that there are three degrees of spiritual affections, ranging from ferver down to freezing-point; but two comparatively commendable phases of inner life, both of which stand in contrast with a third, which is altogether censurable. Our Lord does not place lukewarmness as a state intermediate between the other two,—one through which a believer must pass, in rising from the cold to the hot. A mere difference in degree, and yet something less desirable than a lower degree does not answer to the description. There is a difference in kind from both the other states. One cannot ascend from the cold to the ardent through a yet more dangerous temperature. There is an invincible harshness in supposing Christ to employ such a representation. By cold he seems to designate a spiritual condition not usually so designated, but ordinarily indicated rather by desertion, or the absence of light; as in the familiar case of Job: "Oh that I knew where I might find him!" In that state, though very unlike the one of ardent and joyous affections, there is not indifference, nor is there content; but a sense of its unfitness and discomfort, and a longing and groping after something better. Now it is far more hopeful to be thus discontently devoid of comfort, than to be lukewarm, which, as the verse following shows, is to be highly self-satisfied. Of all spiritual symptoms that is the least auspicious, and with that our Lord is highly displeased.

"So then, because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth." To be tepid is to be nauseous; and hereby is expressed the feeling of deep disgust, of intense loathing. To be thus listless and slothful, thus without the power, though with the form of godliness, is to be a living blot upon Christianity—to be a virtual antichrist. "If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." The whole genius, all the truths, conditions and considerations of spiritual Christianity, require earnestness and action.

The first great fact, patent to all, undeniable and universal, is that of human depravity, a moral corruption, deep and all-pervading, which no lapse of time ameliorates, and no skill and no effort of man can eradicate or arrest; an apostasy from God, carrying irreparable disorder through the individual soul, and ruin through the race; an apostasy which awakened the holy displeasure of God, and called down his curse. The moment men awake to their situation, there goes up a deep wail; they try to rescue themselves. One cries, Lo, here! and another, Lo, there!—but to no purpose. On they go, still in the broad road to destruction.

The other great fact, the only one more wonderful than the former,—and these two stand out before the universe as incomparably the most mysterious and far-reaching that mortal man can know, a truth of strange, sublime immensity,—is that of atonement—the coming hither of the adorable Son of God, made under the law, maltreated, rejected, yet standing in the sinner's place, and suffering for him. Thus in the greatness of his strength he makes expiation and propitiation, reconciles heaven and earth, re-opens the closed gate to the favor and the paradise of God, and invites all who will to come and freely receive pardon and the blessedness of heaven.

Now what may be expected of such ransomed sinners? What but that, roused from the torpor of sin, they remain through life and through eternity awake with intensest gratitude and love? Lukewarm! Shall the man snatched from the surging caldron of a volcano, turn listlessly away from his benefactor, as if nothing had happened? Lukewarm! "Every drop of my blood thanks you," said a condemned criminal to Dr. Doddridge, who brought a pardon for him,—"Every drop of my blood thanks you: I will be your servant as long as I live!" What shall a justified sinner say to his Saviour? Let young plighted hearts grow lukewarm, let a mother's love grow lukewarm, but not the soul of a sinner saved from wrath, and made a joint heir with Christ.

SPIRITUAL POVERTY.

"Because thou sayest, I am rich, and increased with goods and have need of nothing; and knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked."

Such self-righteous conceitedness is contempt of Christ's whole work on earth—his law-magnifying obedience and sufferings, his amazing self-denial, his soul-conflicts with the powers of darkness, his bloody sweat, his agony when bereft of his Father's countenance—all which was to procure for his people the wealth of peace with God and life everlasting.

A self-satisfied spirit always characterizes religious declension. It is only in the dark that fire-flies sport themselves. When a man feels that touching the righteousness which is of the law, he is blameless, and gives pharisaic thanks that he is not as other men are, then look for the displeasure of the Holy One. An invariable and a most unpromising feature of that state is self-ignorance. But there is no such ignorance as that which exists in the midst of profuse means of knowledge; no such want of vision as that which exists at noon-day. It is not from a defect of light, but a defect in the eye itself.

There would be some hope, indeed all hope, for the Laodiceans, if they only felt their true condition. It was an auspicious hour when Ezra, in behalf of himself and the people, cried, "O my God! I am ashamed, and blush to lift up my face to thee, my God; for our iniquities are increased over our head and our trespass is grown up unto the heavens." And so was it when David confessed: "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me." But the church at Laodicea have no such feelings; they look upon these, no doubt, as extreme statements; they regard themselves as well off in the world—well to do in the spiritual kingdom; they have won golden opinions from the public and from themselves; they have decked one another with titles. They however, mistake gifts for graces. They are smitten with spiritual lunacy; their treasures are all imaginary; and he who once spake a parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others, now speaketh plainly, and speaketh no parable, when he declares, "I will spue thee out of my mouth."

TRUE RICHES.

"I counsel thee to buy of me gold tried in the fire, that thou mayest be rich, and white raiment that thou mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy nakedness do not appear; and anoint thine eyes with eyesalve, that thou mayest see."

Strange traffic this! The poor challenged to buy—to buy refined gold, and costly raiment! Such, however is the usage in that kingdom over which he presides who is the beginning of the creation of God, and whose munificence is more than royal. Merchantmen go thither and buy without money and without price. They find gold such as the Pactolus never carried amidst its sands; they gather up ingots of inestimable worth, and pearls of great price; and they store them where thieves do not break through nor steal.

All are invited to visit that land, more orient, more wonderful than the Indies, with their palm-groves, and diamond mines, and mountains and plains of teeming wealth. The poor, the halt, the maimed, those deepest sunk in misery, are invited to resort, free of cost, to Immanuel. He welcomes them; the fatted calf is killed; the costly wardrobe thrown open, and beautiful garments are put on.

The sick of all descriptions, the leprous, the paralytic, and those possessed of devils, throng there and are healed. And when the great Physician has condescendingly anointed the eyes of the blind, they wash, and come seeing. Not one highway beggar cries, "Have mercy on me!" to whom the Lord does not say, "Be of good comfort; go thy way, thy faith hath made the whole." Though blind before, now he sees—sees Jesus the Lamb of God; sees what he had no idea of before in the world around him; sees the blackness of darkness beneath, and the consuming fire; beholds the high altar, the bleeding victim, and justice appeased; looks into the unseen world, and discovers glories unutterably attractive. He is humbled; his self-conceit is gone; he cries, "I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee; wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes. Did the once famous school of medicine at Laodicea, or any modern seat of science, ever effect such wonders of healing? Proud philosophy does not indeed admit dependence for virtue. "That we live," says Seneca, "is the gift of God; but that we live well is owing to philosophy." But the Lord counsels us to come at once to him for supplies such as no one else can give, and without which we sink in perpetual bankruptcy.

DISCIPLINE A TOKEN OF LOVE.

"As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten; be zealous, therefore, and repent."

Here comes out the heart of Jesus. Desperate as is the case of the Laodicean church, and deeply as they have wounded the Lord that bought them, by turning away self-satisfied in their poverty from the wealth which he acquired so expensively, and offers so freely, yet are they not apostate beyond all hope. Sharp and merited rebuke has been administered; but it had its root in love to the remnant of believers, despite of prevailing self-righteousness. Christ's heart yearns still toward any real disciple, however backslidden: "How shall I give thee up, Ephraim?" If Christ were an enemy to the Laodiceans, he would leave them to themselves, undisturbed by a friendly alarm.

A general law of his gracious economy is here set forth: "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten." As all need chastisement in some measure, they in some measure receive it, and thus have proof of the Saviour's attachment. This is a hard lesson to learn, and believers are dull scholars; yet here and throughout God's word and providence it stands, that trials are his benedictions, and that no child escapes the rod. The incorrigibly misshapen and coarse grained blocks are rejected, whilst those chosen for the glorious structure are subjected to the chisel and the hammer. There is no cluster on the true vine but must pass through the wine press. "For myself," said an old divine under affliction—"for myself, I bless God, I have observed and felt so much mercy in this angry dispensation of God that I am almost transported. I am sure highly pleased with thinking how infinitely sweet his mercies are when his judgments are so gracious."

In view, then, of the origin and design of the chastisements you receive, "Be zealous and repent." Lose no time; lose not a blow of the rod, but repent at once. Be fervent in spirit. Such is the first appliance of encouragement.

CHRIST KNOCKING AT THE DOOR.

"Behold I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."

Here is the heart of hearts. Notwithstanding their offensive attitude, their unlovely character, such is his love to their souls that he humbles himself to solicit the privilege of making them blessed.

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock." Why does he? Not because he is without home elsewhere. . . . At many a door, far and near, he finds welcome. Among the mansions in his Father's house there is not one entrance closed to him. He is the life of every heart, the light in every eye, the song on every tongue in glory. But he goes round from door to door in Laodicea. He stands at each and knocks, because he came to seek and to save that which is lost; because he cannot give up the purpose of communicating eternal life to as many as the Father hath given him; and because he cannot become known to the inmate unless the door be opened, and a welcome given him.

Have you bought a piece of ground; have you bought five yoke of oxen; is your hat in hand and do you pray to be excused? He knocks and knocks. But you cannot receive company at present; you are worn out with labor; you have wheeled round the sofa; you are making yourself comfortable, and you send word you are engaged. He knocks and knocks. But it would spoil the game to have him come in. Besides, there must needs be a little slander, and a little scandal . . . before breaking up; and to unbolt the door would spoil the whole. He knocks and knocks. It is the hour for church prayer-meeting, or for monthly concert; there is opportunity to pay a Christian visit to an individual or a family; but you move not. . . .

Oh, nauseous lukewarmness! Oh, fatal worldliness! The Lord of glory comes all the way from his celestial palace—comes in poverty, in sweat, in blood—comes to the door of a professed friend, who owes all to him, and cannot get in!—comes to rescue a man whose house is on fire and he will not admit him! Oh, the height the depth of Jesus Christ's forbearance! Even the heathen Publius received Paul and lodged him three days courteously. Shall nominal Christians tell the Lord of apostles they have no room for him?

THE VICTOR TO BE EXALTED.

"To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne even as I also overcame and am set down with my Father in his throne."

If Laodicean carnality is not broken up by such an appeal, what can avail? If the prospect of advancement like this does not enkindle a holy

ambition, what sensibility to heavenly things remains?

The precise form and manner of the saint's future exaltation we know not. Enough for us, that the redeemed are to be superlatively honored by being intimately associated with the Prince of the kings of the earth. "If we suffer we shall also reign with him."