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.