Pentecost 5
June 23, 2024
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.
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