An Open Door (Philadelphia)

Revelation 3:7-13
Pentecost 6
June 30, 2024
William G. Carter

And to the angel of the church in Philadelphia write: These are the words of the holy one, the true one, who has the key of David, who opens and no one will shut, who shuts and no one opens: “I know your works. Look, I have set before you an open door, which no one is able to shut. I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name. I will make those of the synagogue of Satan who say that they are Jews and are not, but are lying—I will make them come and bow down before your feet, and they will learn that I have loved you. Because you have kept my word of patient endurance, I will keep you from the hour of trial that is coming on the whole world to test the inhabitants of the earth. I am coming soon; hold fast to what you have, so that no one may seize your crown. If you conquer, I will make you a pillar in the temple of my God; you will never go out of it. I will write on you the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem that comes down from my God out of heaven, and my own new name. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.


I have been watching the mail for the past six weeks. If the Risen Christ wrote a letter to the angel of the church of Clarks Summit, what would he say?

In the previous letters that he dictated to the seven ancient churches in Asia, he has regularly called them to repent. Not merely to adjust the lists of ushers or increase their offerings, but to change their ways. To correct their mistakes. To turn and move in a different direction. We might expect that. When Christ comes close, we cannot remain as we are.

I recall that moment when I summoned the courage to tell my great-grandmother about my career choice. With anxious steps, I approached her chair. I leaned down toward her wrinkled face, took a deep breath, and said, “Great grandma, I have some news.” She looked at my mother and said, “What did he say?” “He has some news.” She turned back to me and said, “What is it, boy?”

I replied, “I am going to study for the ministry and become a preacher.” Again, she said, “What did he say?” He’s decided that God wants him to be a preacher. With that, she looked back at me. A smile formed on her lips. Then she turned to my father to say, “Glenn, you’re going to have to shape up.”

This is a common response. When we stand in the presence of the Holy, we know our inadequacy. When we are bathed in light, our secrets are revealed, and our shortcomings seem shorter. Like old Moses, summoned by God to release Israel from slavery, “Who am I, to do such a thing?” Or the prophet Isaiah, experiencing the jaw-dropping glory of the Lord on the day of his call, “Woe is me! I am not worthy.”

If Jesus wrote a letter to our church, we might put on crash helmets and brace ourselves to hear him say, “I know who you are. I’ve seen what you’ve done – and what you’ve left undone.” And we would wince and hold on tight to the back of our pew. Here it comes. Brace yourselves!

But not in Philadelphia. At least, not the ancient Philadelphia church in the first century. Jesus says, “I know you. I know your works. I know what you’re up against.” (Here it comes!) “And I set before you an open door.”

Wow. There’s no corrective word. No reproof. No criticism. No repentance required or even suggested. Just an open door. The door is open. The way is clear. The threshold is accessible. Step through it. Keep going. Jesus says, “I’m holding the door open for you.” Of the seven letters to the seven ancient Asian churches, this one is the most affirming.

Does that church face any challenges? Of course. There isn’t a Christian church anywhere that doesn’t face any challenges. In Philadelphia, the ancient city named after brotherly love, there has been a painful family squabble. This was the end of the first century, sixty or so years after the resurrection of the Christ. And in that time, the Jewish family had been torn asunder by a devastating divorce.

The issue was a dispute over whether or not the Messiah had come. There were plenty of other issues, as there always are, but that was the irreconcilable difference. Had the Messiah come or not? Both sides held fast to the commandments, studied the scriptures, and worshiped the One True God. Both sides stood at odds with a Roman Empire that worshiped its politicians.

Some of them believed the Messiah had come and it was Jesus. Others said, “No, no, no. He didn’t look like a Messiah. He didn’t rule like a Messiah. And what’s all this about a cross and resurrection?” From that, the Jewish family split. In the city of brotherly love, there is evidence that the brothers aren’t talking anymore. In fact, one side of the family has it in for the other side.

To all, Jesus speaks, “Look! I have the Key of David. What I open, no one shall shut. What I shut, no one will open.” Do you know why he says that? Because he knows the writings of the prophet Isaiah. It’s a direct quote from the Jewish Bible. For nine hundred years, that verse[1] was inscribed on a scroll. The prophet spoke of a visionary leader who would rule in honor. Centuries later, Jesus tells the church he has taken that key and unlocked the door.

Now, this is poetic speech, like so much of the Book of Revelation. It is suggestive, not specific. It evokes the faithful imagination. And the language resonates with other texts, like when Jesus said, “I am the sheep gate. The flock enters through me.” He is the passage to safety and salvation. He is the portal of grace. Everybody who enters will pass by him. They will enter by what he has opened. There is free access for all who will come.

At the end of the grand vision of the vision of Revelation, nobody floats up to heaven. No, heaven comes down here. It’s a massive city. There’s room for all. Like the cities of old, it is surrounded by protective walls. The most striking detail is that all the gates are open. They are open all the time. The gates stay open because Jesus Christ has opened them once and for all. In the vision, God sends heaven to earth, and it is accessible.[2]

Yet will anybody step forward? Will anybody pass through the open door? That’s the question that still lingers.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about churches, it’s this: when they face a little trouble, they tend to close in. When they become frightened of the world out there, they appoint doorkeepers. When they encounter human misery, they often say, “Let’s take care of our own,” which is code language for “It’s too difficult to care for strangers.” To which Jesus Christ declares, “The door is open. I’ve unlocked it. I won’t let anybody shut it.”

But an anxious church says, “Well, Lord, we’re not so sure. We aren’t going to take any risks.”

Like that congregation that held onto its European identity even when the neighborhood was changing. There were whispers in the hallways. “Those people aren’t like us. They don’t talk like us. They don’t eat what we eat. They moved in when we had nothing to say about it.” Jesus, the true one, the holy one, says, “I’ve opened the door.” Meanwhile, the dwindling church huddles inside. They are afraid.

Or the church that has been looking for a new organist. There aren’t a lot of organists out there, you know. They are a rare breed. And then, someone wanders in, looks around, and says, “I can give it a try.” He has a ponytail, a number of tattoos, and a husband. He also has advanced degrees from two music conservatories and a seminary degree. Someone sputters, “But he has a… has a… you know, he has a ponytail. What would Jesus think?” The Jesus of Philadelphia says, “I opened the door.”

It can be scary to face an open door. To confront an opportunity. To have the affirmation of Christ who has unlocked your church and now turns you loose. That was the church of Philadelphia. We have no idea what they did with the opening that Jesus set before them. We don’t know if they took bold steps or retreated. We don’t know if they claimed the courage or shrank in anxiety. Don’t know.

What we do know is what Jesus says about them: “I know you have but little power.” Yes, indeed. Little power, little strength. Just like the times we are in. When churches speak, nobody is listening. Not when they have season tickets to football games, or weekend getaways, or ten thousand cable channels, or kitten videos on the internet.

Some fifteen or more years ago, we took our confirmation class to New York City. Spent the morning in a soup kitchen, then toured around to take in the sights. We wandered into the sanctuary of a big Presbyterian Church. It was across the corner from the St. Regis Hotel, where rooms go for $900 a night. One of our chaperones let out a long, low whistle, then said, “Remember when the Protestants ran the world?” I gulped. No, in fact, I don’t remember that. Of the seventeen kids in my own teenage confirmation class, only three of them go to church anymore, and one of them is talking to you.

The churches of my lifetime have never had much power. Some of them cut deals with the predominant culture. That worked fine until the culture took over and then bulldozed on. The true church has never had much power. Instead, we have Jesus, and Jesus was crucified. Didn’t look very powerful up there on the cross – except the cross revealed his power. These were his superpowers: humility, forgiveness, self-giving love, all to reveal the truth about us and the truth about God.

The world doesn’t understand any of this. It doesn’t understand how Jesus gave himself to cancel the sin of a broken world. It doesn’t comprehend how God raised him to life. It doesn’t know Jesus has authority to judge the living and the dead, or that he is coming among us.

But a powerless church can know this. A church without power prays, because it knows Christ has the real power. A church without power serves, because it knows that Jesus has come to serve. A church without power points to the empty cross and tells the story of the One who was on it. Because if there’s any true power, it is his power. And the power of Jesus persists, even when the world remains ignorant or indifferent.

That’s a lesson learned even by the apostle Paul, one of the greatest thinkers in the church. He wanted so much to be successful, to win over the whole Mediterranean world for Jesus. By his account, he could only proceed so far. He confessed some unnamed weakness, limitation, or disability. Couldn’t get over it! So, he prayed, “Lord, please take it away. Relieve me of my weakness. Set me free from it.”

Finally, Jesus, the Risen Lord, talked back to him, and said, “Listen, Paul: my grace is sufficient for the likes of you. My power is made perfect in weakness.” So, Paul changed his tune. He said, “I’m content with my weaknesses, I will boast gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”[3] This is the mystery of the Gospel. It’s never about us. It’s about Jesus. It’s his salvation power at work in us.

And he is the One who opens the door. If he opens it, it cannot be shut.

So, he says to one and all, “You have little power, but the world will learn that I have loved you. Hold fast to what you have. Keep my word of patient endurance. Hang in there, no matter what, because my door is open.”

Let those who have ears to hear what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

[1] Isaiah 22:22.
[2] Revelation 21:25.
[3] 2 Corinthians 12:9.

Dead or Alive (Sardis)

Revelation 3:1-6
Pentecost 5
June 23, 2024

William G. Carter  

And to the angel of the church in Sardis write: These are the words of him who has the seven spirits of God and the seven stars: “I know your works; you have a name of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is on the point of death, for I have not found your works perfect in the sight of my God. Remember then what you received and heard; obey it, and repent. If you do not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come to you. Yet you have still a few persons in Sardis who have not soiled their clothes; they will walk with me, dressed in white, for they are worthy. If you conquer, you will be clothed like them in white robes, and I will not blot your name out of the book of life; I will confess your name before my Father and before his angels. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.”

We are working our way through the seven letters dictated from the Risen Christ to seven ancient churches. In our church office, we have difficulty finding seven worship bulletin covers. 

We might have used a famous wood carving by Albrecht Durer. In 1498, Durer carved fifteen woodcuts based on the visions of the book of Revelation. The most famous was a portrayal of Jesus as found in the first chapter of the book. His eyes are on fire. A sword proceeds from his mouth. In his hand, he holds seven stars. Some aspect of that picture begins each of the seven letters. It might have worked for a seven-week bulletin cover, although every time I show the image to someone, they say it is very weird.

We could have taken the archaeological route. Most of those seven communities have ruined structures, some of them well over two thousand years old. If we had chosen some of them, you might have thought you were in for a history lesson. That would not be helpful.

So, for this week, we did an internet search. Type in, “Church in Sardis,” and what do you get? Well, there is a Sardis Presbyterian Church, near Charlotte, North Carolina, with the website www.sardis.org. They are currently training their volunteers for Vacation Bible School and have an Earth Care team. But that’s not the church in Revelation.

We kept looking for a picture. There was no shortage of possibilities. In this letter, Jesus says, “I know who you are, church of Sardis. You are dead.” There were several images of tombstones that read, “The church of Sardis, 33 AD – 90 AD, with the description, “dead church.” Apparently, a lot of other preachers have pictured a “dead church.”

Those are harsh words. And honest. Just this week, someone told me about the church where she grew up. “When I was a kid, it was big, bustling, and full of activity. Now, there are a handful of people still hanging on.” She paused and added, “I’m afraid its days are numbered.” It is a dying church.

If you survey the landscape, that story has become quite common. Our congregation belongs to Lackawanna Presbytery. When I began my pastoral work here, we had fifty-nine churches. There are thirty-nine now. Congregations rise and fall. A former Methodist sanctuary in Fleetville is now an art gallery. A church building in Pittsburgh has been repurposed as a microbrewery. A recent study by the National Council of Churches predicts that in six years, in the year 2030, over one hundred church buildings currently in use will be vacant. There is a lot of dying out there.

And it has always been that way. All those churches that Saint Paul started in the New Testament, not a single one is still open. The seven churches that John sent the visions from the book of Revelation, every one is long gone. Time marches on. People change. Neighborhoods change. Churches don’t change to keep up. Or they change far too much. It depends who you ask.

But it sounds different when Jesus says it to the church of Sardis. “I know your works,” he says. That is, there is still plenty of activity. They are keeping busy. “But” he says, “your works are not perfect.” (If I might drop a footnote, ouch! There is not a single church that is perfect. That is precisely why he wrote letters to some of them. The churches are not perfect because the people in them are not perfect. Just saying so. Jesus had to know this.)

Oh, he’s going for something else here. He says to the church in Sardis, “You have a reputation for being alive, but you are dead.” Ah, now we are getting somewhere. They look alive…but they are dead. They give off the appearance of vitality…but there is something about them that has stopped breathing.

No doubt, the church folk in Sardis winced when they heard this. Years ago, Sardis had been a hopping city. It used to be a major city of the Persian empire. Remember Aesop’s Fables? Three hundred years before the birth of Jesus, someone wrote that Sardis was Aesop’s hometown. Remember the legendary King Midas, who could touch something and turn it to gold? The story was that Midas came from Sardis. The city had a glorious past. Now there was garbage blowing down the streets. The gold and the glory were long gone. Maybe you have known a town that used to be something special, but not anymore. That was Sardis.

And Jesus starts playing with the empty memory. You see, Sardis had a couple of huge temples, which in ancient times were the centers of both the spiritual life and the economic life. Every temple had its gift shops, you know. Yet the city also had an enormous cemetery called the Necropolis. It was renowned for its elaborate graves. So, the city boasted of both the living and the dead. Jesus says, “You look alive, but you are dead.”

If that was not enough, the city of Sardis was built on unstable tectonic plates. There were at least five major earthquakes in the first century: in AD 17, 19, 24, 29, and 60. The earthquake in AD 17 was so catastrophic that the Roman emperor allowed the city to forego paying imperial taxes for five years while they rebuilt. And the earthquake of AD 60 rocked the city so hard that one-third of the neighboring mountain fell onto the city and buried several homes. The mountain fell on top of them. The city knew life and death.

About thirty years later, Jesus wrote to the church there, “You look alive, but you’re really dead.” The question that I would like to have him answer: how does he know when a church is alive?

When we were little, there was a game to play with your fingers. Some may remember. Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors – where are all the people? Remember that one? My Dad taught it to me. At an early age, I knew you could have an impressive building. You can polish the brass, paint the walls, scrub the floors, and spend a whole lot of money on improvements. It looks nice, but appearances can be deceiving. A pretty church might be nothing more than a museum.

A church not far from here was looking at some necessary repairs. They had not maintained the building, and they did not have a lot of money. And they never challenged the people who did attend to give more generously to simply keep the property safe. So, they knew they had to do something.

The problem was they struggled to pay their preacher a livable wage. They could do it. Presbyterians have a minimum salary requirement because they want their preachers to live in the towns where they do their work. Alas, a decision had to be made: either fix the building or keep the preacher. They voted for the building, and they have never recovered from that decision.

It is a nice-looking place. But there are not a lot of reasons for anybody to go there on Sunday mornings. Oh, they can afford donuts after worship. They make cookies and sell them to pay the electric bill. A few folks have appointed themselves as the Keepers of the Kitchen; they boss people around, and that is why they attend. But nobody there is studying the Bible. There are no prayer groups. Nobody offers to lead a project to help their town. Nobody would think to open the doors to welcome any troubled people from their community. But there’s a big sign in the parking lot, aimed toward the teenagers: WARNING. CHURCH PROPERTY. NO SKATEBOARDING HERE.

I have to say the place looks great. A little dated, but tidy and clean. And where is the life? All that’s left is an empty shell. Here is the church, here is the steeple. Open the doors – where are all the people?

What does Jesus Christ think of this? He looks at the church of Sardis and says, “Wake up!” (It’s always important to say that on page four of a sermon.) Wake up! He says, “You are at the point of death.” It is a form of sleeping. Oh, a few people have not yet given in to the demise, but a community of faith cannot function are comatose. They look good, but there’s no apparent brain activity, no respiration, no movement, no life. All good looks, no substance.

So, Jesus Christ, the One who was dead but now lives, sends a letter to the Sardis church, and says, “Remember what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” What had they heard? The Gospel, the Good News that God raises the dead. What had they received? They received the living word of a living Savior who announces he is coming to them, whether they are dead or alive. What did they have to obey? The affirmation of a living relationship with their Lord, informed by scripture, infused with prayer, and empowered for his mission to the world.

You can have a church without a building. Several congregations are exploring the possibilities. There’s a church near Washington DC. Building costs were killing them, and there was little affordable housing in the neighborhood. So, what did they do? They collaborated with a developer to tear down their building and build affordable apartments. And on the ground floor, next to a new elevator, there is a sanctuary where all are welcome to worship – while the residents pay their affordable rent, which covers the costs of the new facility. You can have a church without a building.

And you can have a church without a paid preacher. It means that others will need to step up, learn the Bible, teach the Bible, and shape the Bible into challenging messages. I think of a little church on the edge of the Adirondack mountains. On his way toward retirement, their part-time Presbyterian preacher gathered a team of ten or twelve church members, and taught them how to tell Bible stories with drama and polish. Then he taught them how to choose hymns. He worked with them to compose prayers for worship. Then he retired and turned them loose. They are doing fine. You can have a church without a paid preacher.

You can have a church without a building. You can have a church without a paid preacher. But you cannot have a church without Jesus. Jesus is the heart of the church, the mind of Christ is the brain of the church, the hands of Christ are the mission of the church, the cross and resurrection of Christ constitute the joy of the church. Without Christ, you might as well be dead. And with Christ – ahh, that’s life. Real life.

Let those who have ears to hear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Tolerating Jezebel (Thyratira)

Revelation 2:18-29
Pentecost 4
June 16, 2024
William G. Carter

And to the angel of the church in Thyatira write: These are the words of the Son of God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and whose feet are like burnished bronze: “I know your works—your love, faith, service, and patient endurance. I know that your last works are greater than the first. But I have this against you: you tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophet and is teaching and beguiling my servants to practice fornication and to eat food sacrificed to idols. I gave her time to repent, but she refuses to repent of her fornication. Beware, I am throwing her on a bed, and those who commit adultery with her I am throwing into great distress, unless they repent of her doings; and I will strike her children dead. And all the churches will know that I am the one who searches minds and hearts, and I will give to each of you as your works deserve. But to the rest of you in Thyatira, who do not hold this teaching, who have not learned what some call ‘the deep things of Satan,’ to you I say, I do not lay on you any other burden; only hold fast to what you have until I come. To everyone who conquers and continues to do my works to the end, I will give authority over the nations; to rule them with an iron rod, as when clay pots are shattered— even as I also received authority from my Father. To the one who conquers I will also give the morning star. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

One Sunday, we had a visitor here. Sometimes they stand out. They come up the hill breathless and ask where the restroom is, before returning to pick up a bulletin and find a pew. She said later that she was warmly welcomed, and I believe it. We aspire to be a friendly place.

But that day, everything seemed to go wrong. The pastor had put the wrong hymn number in the bulletin. The church administrator hadn’t proofread it. The liturgist skipped the call to worship and jumped into the call to confession. The choir was missing most of the altos, even though they had been at the Wednesday rehearsal. The preacher called for the offering. One of the ushers was fiddling with his phone, so it took a full sixty seconds for the offering plate to come down the aisle.

All through the service a baby cried, a lot. The well-meaning father thought he could get the child to stop; it didn’t work. Then at the peak of the wailing, the alarm at the fire station went off and would not stop. When we get a Sunday like that, we roll our eyes and say, “At least there is coffee.” Except unknown to all of us, the coffee pot had died. Oh well. Say the benediction and call it a day. Everybody has something to chuckle about.

When she met me at the back door, she said with a broad smile, “I want to thank you for this church.” For the church? Really? It’s your first time here. “Yes,” she said, “and I will not be coming back. Wish I could, but I am just passing through. But thank you for the church.”

For the church? “Yes,” she said. “This is the most tolerant church I’ve ever seen. You’ll put up with everything.” Then she shook my hand and went out to the car.

I suppose we can take that as a compliment. We are a tolerant church. We’ll put up with a lot. You’ve certainly been putting up with me. I’ve been putting up with you. But I wonder how much we would be willing to endure.

I know a church that hired a new secretary. After working for a couple of weeks, she decided to join the membership. So did her son, who was probably in his forties. The two of them met with the pastor and a few elders. They talked about the church or tried to. Yet the secretary’s son kept pushing for a membership directory. “Can I get a list of all the people who belong?” Sure, but first we want to say we have communion once a month. There are Bible studies at these times. We want to give you a pledge card. And he says, “When will I get a membership list?” Must have said it three or four times. I mean, his mom is the new church secretary, and he wants a church directory.

Within a week or two of him receiving the directory, the pastor got some complaints. Apparently, Raymond, the new member, was calling the members and inviting them into a pyramid scheme. “Invest a thousand dollars with me, and in six months I can double your money.” He was working the list, had called all the “A’s” and “B’s” and was halfway through the “C’s.” The elders said, “Pastor, you have to do something.”

So, he phoned Raymond and said, “You can’t do this.” Raymond said, “It is a free country. I can do whatever I want.” The pastor, “You’re using your freedom to take advantage of fellow church members.” Ray said, “But it’s my business. Why do you think I joined the church?” They talked themselves into a stalemate. The pastor asked two elders to visit with Ray in his home. Ray lost his cool and quit his membership on the spot. Then he continued to phone up the “D’s,” “E’s, and “F’s,” until his mother told him to stop.

How long do you let it go on?

Theologian Robert Farrar Capon said it best: “The church is merely the world under the splash of baptism.” What happens out there can happen in here. We know that to be true. There are sleazy ministers; I’ve known a few. There are destructive church members; more than a few. And there are moments that nobody could ever make up.

Like the bridal party that cracked open a case of beer in the church lobby. Or the two sextons who used to play five card stud at the communion table after everybody left. Or the youth group leader who gave too many backrubs to the teenage girls. Or the volunteer who showed unsavory pictures of herself on Facebook. It has all happened. I assure you.

And then there’s my friend who landed at a new church in foxhunt country. About a year into his tenure, he raised questions about the church’s balance sheet. It was a large sum of money. They were proud of it. And the entire portfolio was managed by one church member in his one-person firm. The pastor asked, “Is this right?” Everybody said, “We trust him.” He kept inquiring. Three months later, they showed him the door. He couldn’t tolerate the potential risk to the church’s endowment. They couldn’t tolerate the questions he asked.

Today, we hear the Risen Christ speak to the church in Thyratira. It was a small town, perceived by historians as “inconsequential.” And of the seven churches who get a letter from Jesus, Thyratira gets the longest letter. The harshest, too.

Now, it’s not all bad. The Lord says, “Thyratira, I know your works. I know about your love, your faith, your service. I know about your patient endurance. And it’s clear you are improving: the works of faith in your church now are greater than what you used to do.”

Then he adds, “But I have this against you: you tolerate Jezebel. She’s leading my people astray.”

Leave it to Jesus. He knows the Jewish scriptures. Of all the so-called Bad Girls of the Bible, Jezebel was the worst. She explodes into the scroll of First Kings. A Phoenician princess, she married King Ahab of Samaria. She corrupted the religious life of Israel, hunting down the Jewish prophets and tearing down the worship altars around the country. In their place, she installed altars to Baal, the Canaanite god of self-indulgence. All this led to a big showdown with the prophet Elijah, who won the contest, but then she put a price on his head. Jezebel was rich and she was nasty.

Yet by the time Jesus dictates the letter to Thyratira, the Old Testament Jezebel had been dead for nine-hundred-fifty years. She died in far-off Jezreel, hundreds of miles away from Thyratira. So, it is obvious Jesus is not speaking literally of that Queen Jezebel. She is a symbol of something else.

In the same light, when she is condemned by Christ for “beguiling” his servants, leading them into sexual chaos, and enticing them to idolatry, there’s something more at stake. Ever since the prophet Hosea, Israel’s covenant-breaking had been depicted in sexual terms, like a wife who cannot stay faithful to her husband. It is a lurid warning, a big red sign “Don’t Do This,” a harsh reminder that the invitation to follow Christ is never an invitation to indulge ourselves or titillate our emotions. It is only following Christ. It’s not about getting ahead, but rather giving up, not about filling up but rather emptying yourself. It’s about surrendering the ego to gain the mind of Christ, and taking on the works of love, faith, service, and patient endurance.

Here is what Eugene Peterson says about Jezebel and her enticements:

 Jezebel was the symbolic nickname for the lying teacher who tricked Christians into foolishness. Centuries earlier, the historical Jezebel had introduced a religion into Israel that was glamorous and entertaining. It was all appearance and no substance. It appealed to self-interest, greed, lust. It nearly put Israel under. Jezebel keeps showing up century after century in congregation after congregation. She showed up in Thyratira and John warned the church. The appeal of the Jezebel lie doesn’t fade. In fact, right now we are under a media blitz of Jezebel teaching. It is April Fools’ religion and promises two things: to make you feel good and to get you what you want. And what chance does “Deny yourself and take up your cross daily” have against that?[1]

All this raises a simple question for Thyratira and Clarks Summit: why are we here? Really, now, why are we here? Is religion a scheme to get ahead or an invitation to lay it down? Are we here to be impressed by flashy promises or to learn how to give ourselves away? Are we here to strategize our success or to hear the truth about our own corruption? These are questions of discernment, the spiritual practice of sorting through what the truth is and what is a lie. And the closer we approach Christ, the deeper the questions become.

The invitation to the churches in each of these seven short letters is the invitation to repent. This is why Jesus sends each a letter. Most of the churches are doing good things. Yet each has a serious task or two to work through. The tasks are greater than resurfacing the parking lot or balancing the budget. More like, calibrating the heart to cast off the empty pieties and straightening the soul from the spiritual distortions. The work is never done until the day it will really be done.

As to that final day, Christ promises “the morning star.” That is the sign that something new has begun, in us, for us, and beyond us. If we press on, the morning will come. The dawn will break. And heaven will declare, “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Eugene H. Peterson, The Hallelujah Banquet: How the End of What We Were Reveals Who We Can Be (Colorado Springs: Waterbrook, 2021) pp. 95-96.

Living in Satan’s Neighborhood (Pergamum)

Revelation 2:12-17
June 9, 2024
Pentecost 3
William G. Carter

And to the angel of the church in Pergamum write: These are the words of him who has the sharp two-edged sword: “I know where you are living, where Satan’s throne is. Yet you are holding fast to my name, and you did not deny your faith in me even in the days of Antipas my witness, my faithful one, who was killed among you, where Satan lives. But I have a few things against you: you have some there who hold to the teaching of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the people of Israel, so that they would eat food sacrificed to idols and practice fornication. So you also have some who hold to the teaching of the Nicolaitans. Repent then. If not, I will come to you soon and make war against them with the sword of my mouth. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. To everyone who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.

When I go out in the countryside, people ask sometimes, “Where is your church?” I tell them it’s in Clarks Summit and they respond, “Is that on a hill?” Yep, we are up in the hills.

“But where is it?” they ask. It’s over the hill in Scranton, and they say, “Oh, that’s the coal mine town where what’s-his-name grew up.” OK, but the coal mines shut down 65 years ago, and there are plenty of what’s-his-names who grew up there.

“So, where is it?” they ask. I answer, “It’s in northeastern Pennsylvania,” and they say, “Can anything good come from northeastern Pennsylvania?” Obviously they have never met anybody else from here.

And after reading today’s letter that Jesus dictated to Pergamum, I have something more to say. The next time somebody asks, “Where is your church?” I can say, “It’s up in Satan’s neighborhood.”

No doubt that will prompt additional questions and concerns. Are there haunted houses in your town? After all, if Satan is there, there will be paranormal activity. And there are rumors of such things. There’s that home down on Chase Street in West Pittston. For fifteen years, the family claimed they shared the residence with a demon. It was suspicious enough that some Catholics showed up to do an exorcism. After a lot of prayer, things quieted down, and somebody made a movie about it.

If you live in Satan’s neighborhood, are there dens of iniquity? In the city over the hill, there’s a bar on every corner, and a church across each street. There are many accounts of misery reported from those establishments, but no more than anywhere else.

If you’re in Satan’s neighborhood, is it like Las Vegas? Well, we do have a casino nearby, and a second casino not far away. As far as anybody knows, neither casino has any ties to organized crime.

So goes the popularized evil, that there must be demonic activity, alcohol, and gambling. Throw in some rock and roll, and it may tip the scales.

What is remarkable about the city of Pergamum, where Jesus declares to be where Satan lives, is how remarkably civilized it was. Pergamum was about forty miles north of Ephesus and fifteen miles inland. It was a wealthy city, highly cultured, with a significant level of affluence and influence. For over three hundred years, it had been a capital city on the level of London, Paris, or Berlin. The city was also a center of learning, boasting a library of 200,000 scrolls, second only to the great library of Alexandria which didn’t appreciate the competition. The city hosted power, success, and education. How could any of that go wrong?

Yet, Christ declares there is something sinister at work in that well-informed capital city. He’s not impressed with the city’s reputation, or its affluence, or its longstanding power as a governing center. He sees – and hears – something else.

What did he see? Well, Pergamum was a center for pagan worship. The city housed an enormous Temple to Diana, Greek goddess of victory. There was also a major Temple to Asclepius, Greek god of healing. And the most significant structure was called The Great Altar, probably dedicated to Zeus and Athena. Crafted from marble, it was 116 feet wide, 109 feet deep, with a huge staircase. It was shaped like a large throne. So, Jesus views the Great Altar and sees the throne of Satan.

But it’s what he hears that is even more indicting. Words, words, words. Distorted words. Twisted words. Half-hearted words. Empty words. Self-indulgent words. False words. So, the Risen Lord speaks and describes himself as the One with the sharp two-edged sword proceeding from his mouth. It’s a visual picture of something another early Christian preacher declared. From the letter to the Hebrews,

The Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with who we have to do.[1]

This is the Christ who speaks. He speaks with truth and moral clarity. His speech is distinctive and decisive. His Word has the force to cut away everything false. By contrast, there is the mythical power of Satan, whom Jesus once called “the Father of Lies.” There is “no truth in him,” Jesus declares, and “he is a liar.”[2] For all its opulence, prestige, and worldly significance, Pergamum is the home of Satan, because it is a city infested with lies. Now, there’s something here that has some juice.

The lies started early. The serpent, wily and sly, asked Eve and Adam in the garden, “Did God really say don’t eat from any tree in the garden?” That’s all it is, a question. A distorted question, twisted and unnecessary. Eve, who was the smart one, said, “We can’t eat from the tree in the middle of the garden, lest we die.”

Then the serpent told the truth, at least part of the truth: “You shall not die.” Didn’t finish the sentence: “You shall not die… yet.” With that, the temptation was set forth – to become like God, to think you might become equal with God, which entices us to believe we can replace God, and ignore God, and live without God. And it all begins with a lie.

When God decides to teach the runaway slaves that he freed from Egypt, one of his Ten Commandments is “No false testimony against your neighbor.” That is, no twisted speech when the truth is at stake. Say, for instance, somebody goes on trial for something for which they’ve been accused. Everybody swears to tell the truth or face the consequences. Yet, it is possible to step out of the courtroom, face the reporters, and twist the story in your own direction. It is totally contrary to the sworn truth inside the courtroom. And what lies behind the lies?

It sounds like Adam and Eve. Did you eat the apple? “Well, the woman gave it to me.” Did you eat the apple? “But the serpent said.” Blame somebody else, avoid responsibility, and lie. Lying has always been in our DNA. And it had infected the little Christian church in Pergamum.

“You have been faithful to me,” says the Risen Christ, “but I have this against you: you have some who hold to the teaching of Balaam, He taught Balak to lead astray the people of God.” It’s an allusion to a pathetic sad story from the Jewish scriptures. Remember Balaam? We visited with him on Holy Humor Sunday and heard the goofy story of the obnoxious prophet who couldn’t get his own message straight.

It’s a tale that turns out badly. Unable to curse his own people after three attempts, as King Balak wanted him to do, Balaam suggested a party with festive food and dancing girls. It was a subtle shift and it worked. After forty years of austerity in the desert, the people of Israel were swayed by the smell of barbeque and sweet perfume.

Jesus asks the Pergamum church, “Why do you indulge that Balaam crowd? Don’t you remember that Balaam was an enemy agent, seducing Balak and sabotaging Israel’s holy pilgrimage by throwing unholy parties?”[3]  That blessed congregation had been so faithful. A few of them had paid for their faithfulness with their lives. But here, very subtly, their faithful intentions had been twisted by lies. And Jesus, the Living Jesus, calls them out. He sees things for what they are. He speaks the truth.

And he calls them, not to move on to some jolly theme park where everything is always sunny, but to stay right where they are. As William Barclay says in his commentary on the text,

What the Risen Christ is saying to the Christians in Pergamum is this: ‘You are living in a city where the influence and the power of Satan is rampant – and you have got to go on living there. You cannot escape. You cannot pack your baggage and move off to some place where it is easier to be a Christian. In Pergamum you are and in Pergamum you must stay. ,,, It is there you must live and it is there you must show you are a Christian.[4]

This is the challenge. This is the calling. Stay right where you are. Live there. Be a witness there. Most of all, tell the truth there.

I think of the prophet Isaiah. On the day of his call from God, he laments, “Woe is me! I am a person of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.”[5] He wasn’t admitting that he was talking smut. He wasn’t using foul language. Rather, biblically speaking, to be a person of unclean lips is to confess that you distort the truth just like the people around you. And our calling, our vision, is to see God who speaks the truth.

Now, this is a challenge, especially these days. There is a cable channel for every political inclination. We can reinforce only what we want to hear. We can get inflamed by toxic voices that are trying to hook us so they can get more advertising revenue and fund their outrageous salaries. They attempt to addict us to outrage rather than tell us what is going on.

I have always believed that journalism is an honorable vocation. So is public service. But when they become tainted by entertainment, when they become twisted out of shape by the promise of power, when money talks and truth walks, the whole human community is wounded. And Satan, the father of lies, has a holiday.

Yet the good news – and there is always Good News – is that Jesus speaks. The Living Christ speaks. His Word slices away all that is false. He calls us to be his faithful witnesses and speak what is true: that all people are fashioned in God’s image, that every life has God-given dignity and value, that those who are pressed down are to be lifted up, that the arrogant and the superficial will be knocked off their cardboard thrones, and that this world is both beloved and redeemable. This is the Word of God. And it’s the truth.

“I know where you live,” says the Risen Christ. “You live in Satan’s neighborhood. Stay there. Tell the truth about me. And I will give you a white stone with a new name written upon it.

Let everyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Hebrews 4:12-13.

[2] John 8:44.

[3] Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Revelation 2:14-15 from The Message.

[4] William Barclay, Letters to the Seven Churches (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1957) 55-56.

[5] Isaiah 6:5.

Rich in the Midst of Poverty (Smyrna)

Revelation 2:8-11
Pentecost 2
June 2, 2024

William G. Carter  

“And to the angel of the church in Smyrna write: These are the words of the first and the last, who was dead and came to life: “I know your affliction and your poverty, even though you are rich. I know the slander on the part of those who say that they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Beware, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison so that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have affliction. Be faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life. Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches. Whoever conquers will not be harmed by the second death.”

This is the second letter dictated by the risen lord to an ancient congregation. Jesus Christ speaks to a church in the port city of Smyrna. As soon as we hear these words, we recognize the distance between then and now, there and here. 

The Smyrna church was having a tough time. They were smeared in public by their enemies. The local authorities were about to throw some church members in jail. Christ declares evil was working against that congregation and it would prove to be a test of spirit and soul. Twice he refers to it as “an affliction.” He uses a Greek word that defines affliction as a “squeezing.” The little church is pressed from every side. It would prove what they were made of. 

That’s what trouble reveals for any of us. I recall a small church that I visited. The bats had gotten into the attic and left an indescribable mess. The old linoleum floor downstairs was peeling up. Huge water stains darkened the back wall of the sanctuary. There weren’t many people in worship, but by gum, they were Christians, and they were Welsh. And they weren’t about to give up. “God has called us to worship,” one of them said, “and that’s what we are going to do.” Either we give in, or we go through.

It's even more remarkable that a church like that keeps going even when they don’t have a lot of resources. The Smyrna church was dirt poor. Jesus could see it. We can take that literally, and the scholars suggest some good reasons why. The Christian churches in that time and place were up against a society that worshiped the Emperor of Rome. He declared himself to be divine. He demanded everybody bow down before him in worship. He required them to pay financial support as a mandatory offering to his lordship. He reinforced these demands by the spear. From what we know, the Smyrna church refused to play along.

This is a risky thing. If you stand up against the arrogance and brutality of a national leader, it could cost you a great deal. The emperor takes your number. The neighbors, out of fear or acquiescence, turn their backs on you.

In fact, in the city of Smyrna, within sixty years of this letter, the Christian bishop Polycarp was burned at the stake because he refused to bow before the Caesar du jour. And when that didn’t do him in, he was stabbed. He accepted this willingly, for Jesus was his Lord, not some arrogant pretender. In many places, that was the regular challenge of the early church. Who are you going to worship?

This commitment to Christ affected the livelihood of the church members. We can surmise from the letter that they were regarded as suspicious, which meant that the neighbors shunned them. Refused to employ them. This explains the poverty of the Smyrna church. Due to their trust in Jesus alone, they refused to kiss up to the Roman Emperor. They suffered as a result. To which Christ says, “Stay faithful. Don’t give in when you are pressed.”

Like I said, there may be some distance between then and now, there and here. Or maybe there’s less distance than at first thought. A lot of congregations out there are shrinking. Most of them, in fact. It’s not that the society is hostile to Christian belief; just indifferent. If a congregation has coasted along with the culture, never distinguishing itself as a loving and serving community, these days there will be some attrition. And if the preacher and the people don’t stay clear about the Gospel, if they assume Jesus and Caesar go hand in hand, it’s not long before a lot of folks ask, “What’s the point of church anyway?” Is there anything distinctive about trusting God and believing the Gospel?

Today we hear one answer. Christ is our treasure. He is the pearl of incalculable value. His love, his grace, his companionship are what gives us faith, hope, and life. So, he says to the Smyrna saints, “I know your affliction and your poverty, even though you are rich.” They have something better than money. They have Christ. He refers to himself as “the first and the last.” He came before their suffering, and he will outlive their troubles. He was dead and now is alive, so he says, “Don’t be afraid.” Eternally speaking, there are time limits to all our afflictions. They last, he says, for a mere “ten days.” After that, he gives us a “crown of life.”

Now, hear this for what Christ is saying. Faith never protects us from difficulty. When we baptize a beautiful little girl, as we will in a few minutes, God doesn’t wrap her in bubble wrap. She’s going to have some bumps throughout her life, as few as possible, we hope. We don’t know what challenges she will face, what demands life will put upon her, or even what kind of world we will leave behind for her.

Yet we do know is that she belongs to God through Jesus Christ her Lord. This is her baptismal identity. As we take this baptism seriously, we will work with the Holy Spirit to nurture her faith. We will call forth who she is as a beloved child of God. We will teach her how to trust in her Lord. We will raise her to rely on him as Savior. And in a world of slander, meanness, and twisted values, we teach her that Jesus stands for her and walks with her, no matter what.

This is what it means to be rich. Not to have a lot of money but to know you are loved eternally. To know that you matter. To understand that faith means there is One who is greater than we are. He will see us through, for he is the first and the last, and the One who lives. He says, “Be faithful until the end, which will not be the end. Not really. And if we are faithful, he says, “I will give you the crown of life. 

Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.