NOTES for Rev 3:1-22

Jesus gives His apostle no details about the situation in the church of Sardis, perhaps because they were already well known to him. We, of course, are in a different position today, and we can only guess at the details of the problems in the church of Sardis. Judging by the Savior's words in verse 3, one can say that this church was in a state of spiritual laxity, so that Jesus had to remind the Christians of Sardis of what He had often told His disciples during His earthly ministry: spiritual sobriety and readiness to meet the day of Judgment, which can come unexpectedly.

Of course, this does not at all mean that all the Christians of Sardis knew how serious the situation was. Unfortunately, as long as everything in the church outwardly goes on as before and its members preserve the appearance of ordinary Christian life, only someone who himself lives a normal spiritual life can recognize the spiritual problems that have arisen in the community.

Meanwhile, when events develop unfavorably, fewer and fewer such people remain in it. A closed circle arises, and the only way out of it is direct intervention from above, when God allows something to happen that can at least disturb the community's outward well-being and force its members to think about what is going on. Of course, such a shock by itself does not guarantee the right conclusions, but it does give the church community a chance to rethink its own life, repent, and turn to the One who, if asked, will help deal with any problem.

Still, in the church of Sardis, as we can see, there did remain a certain number of those who lived a normal spiritual life and had to understand what was happening in their community (v. 4). As we can see, they could not change anything, because no one else besides them was interested in it: the majority of the church members were satisfied with the state of affairs that Jesus condemned so severely. But even though they were unable to do anything for their own church, these people preserved the main thing: that life of the Kingdom which they had received by following the One who brought the Kingdom into the world (vv. 5-6).

Even now, the life of Christians can be fully described by this brief text. Yes, we were taught, heard, and came in response to the Lord’s call. But where are we now? Though we are within the Church, are we really as pure before God as we may at times appear to those around us? Or are we as terrible as they sometimes say, believing that a Christian must be merely nice rather than truly good? We are torn from within by passions and doubts just as the members of the community at Sardis were. Just as it was not easy for them to be consistent and faithful on the path to holiness, neither is it easy, pleasant, or desirable for us. The Lord does not tell us that everything is simple and easy, or that He wants from us something obvious and attainable. He calls us while we are sick with sin and expects faithfulness from us on the difficult path of healing from slavery to sin.

The church of Philadelphia, as we can see, received praise from Jesus, which does not happen often. Here too the conflict between the local church and the local synagogue, traditional for this era, the late 80s or early 90s of the first century, is clearly present. The conflict was connected with the changed overall situation: after the catastrophe of the year 70, after the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple, the Church and the Synagogue were no longer connected by anything except their shared past.

Earlier the Jews had looked at the Church as part of the Synagogue, though in the eyes of many a rather strange, unorthodox part, permeated by some incomprehensible and, as some thought, absurd messianism. Still, it was viewed as part of the Synagogue and therefore as part of the Jewish people, the people of God. Now Christians were beginning to be viewed as outsiders who had no relation to this people at all. Of course, there was much here of the kind of religiosity that demands unity of views, concepts, and external forms. After the catastrophe of the year 70, many recoiled from messianism in general and from various movements that appeared doubtful, including messianic movements.

One can say that the Synagogue at this time was becoming more orthodox, and in its orthodoxy harsher toward those whom it had earlier been inclined to treat with tolerance. Of course, not everyone shared such views then, but many did. These people were ready to cut off everyone who did not match their ideas of what synagogue life should be. They were the ones who came out especially sharply against Christians, and all the more sharply because Christians were opening the doors wide to former Gentiles, which was already completely unacceptable for religious orthodox believers.

But, according to the Savior's words, the door to heaven is open for Christians, and no religious orthodox believers can close it. Moreover, here again we hear a mention of the new name and of those columns, or pillars, that supported the roof of the Jerusalem Temple. The point is the goal toward which every Christian strives: to enter the Kingdom, having been transformed and having become one of its spiritual supports. Indeed, a new name presupposes essential changes in the person himself, the renewal of his life and of his very nature.

For full life in the Kingdom, such renewal is absolutely necessary; otherwise this life becomes simply impossible. On the other hand, everyone who becomes an inhabitant of the Kingdom also becomes its support. After all, the Kingdom exists as a complex system of interactions among its inhabitants, as a structure of relationships binding those who dwell in the Kingdom. It is founded on the relationships that unite the Father with the Son, but all the others who live in it also add their own stone to this foundation. That is why each person is so important to the Kingdom: if he is truly an inhabitant of the Kingdom, he is not just a guest, but also a builder who is building up the Kingdom and its life.

The Apostle addresses the church in Philadelphia with the words, “You have little strength.” Acknowledging weakness and infirmity nevertheless does not mean that this community has little significance or does little. On the contrary, by remaining faithful to Christ, the Christians received the opportunity to preach openly. Apparently, this is what the phrase “I have set before you an open door” means. Yes, the Lord opens before everyone a door into His Kingdom. At the same time, He opens for us a road into the world to which the Gospel must be preached. On this path, we can not excuse ourselves by our weakness or infirmity, because bearing witness to Christ is what everyone is called to do.

Jesus says directly that the Christians of the Philadelphian church will have to acknowledge their own defeat. Yet He promises to protect them from the trials that will come in their time, when that time arrives. At first glance, such a promise looks somewhat strange: during His earthly ministry Jesus had already warned His disciples and followers that persecutions and harassment are inevitable, that they are connected with the very essence of the Kingdom, which inevitably comes into conflict with the untransfigured world that does not accept it and is hostile to it. And yet, as can be seen, the situation is not so unambiguous: persecutions differ from persecutions, and the measure of damage they cause can vary.

It is possible that in this case the point is that during persecutions, when many other churches disappear, the Philadelphian church will be preserved. And the issue here is not some privileges received for special merits. The issue is the spiritual state of the community, which determines its fate. It is entirely obvious that God can preserve any of His churches if only this is His will. But it is just as obvious that preserving a community makes sense only if its very existence is a testimony, that testimony to the life of the Kingdom which the existence of the Church as a whole and of each particular church community should be. But unfortunately, for that historical church to which the Savior addresses Himself through His apostle, such existence turns out to be a difficult-to-reach ideal, and far from every church corresponds to it. The goal and meaning of a church community's existence cannot be survival, spiritual or physical, but testimony, and only testimony. Then God will give His faithful the possibility of being witnesses of the Kingdom that the Messiah sent by Him brought into the world.

The promises to those who complete the Christian way go far beyond traditional ideas about posthumous reward: the point is not paradise, but the Throne of glory, which Jesus is ready to share with those who remain faithful to Him. But walking the way and keeping faithfulness is not so easy, and Jesus' address to the church of Laodicea bears witness to this. Moreover, it turns out that the most terrible trial is not persecution and not deprivation, but the indifference described by the Savior's words, "you are neither cold nor hot."

It would seem that a person who does nothing bad should by that fact already be good to some degree, at least compared with someone who does evil. But it turns out that everything is not so simple. Indeed, what does it mean to be, conventionally speaking, "good like everyone else"? In essence, it actually means being "nothing in particular like everyone else." Of course, from the point of view of the law and even of commonly accepted social morality, being "like everyone else" is good.

It is entirely acceptable, and society and the state normally do not demand more from a person. Well, perhaps except in special, extreme situations when something extraordinary is required for the salvation of that same society and state. But for the Kingdom, "like everyone else" is not enough. And not even because "everyone else" is capable of good things, sometimes rarely even very good things, and, much more often, bad and even very bad things.

Rather, it is because in spiritual terms "like everyone else" in practice means precisely "not at all." In spiritual terms, "somehow" means a conscious choice, even if the one choosing chooses evil. Choice is always a moment of awareness and therefore a moment of truth, although the measure of awareness and of the fullness of truth can vary. But "like everyone else," "not at all," wherever things happen to carry one: this is the absence of choice. An unwillingness to choose. And therefore an unwillingness to become aware.

Even if a person consciously chooses evil, not in the sense of some ideal aspiration toward "pure evil," but in the sense that he understands what he is choosing, he still makes his choice and therefore lives at least somewhat consciously. But if the same person does nothing bad simply because he is "like everyone else," and "everyone else" at the moment is not doing anything especially bad, he chooses nothing, and therefore understands nothing, existing, so to speak, on autopilot. Such automatism and the spiritual path, especially the spiritual path of a Christian, are incompatible. That is why it is better to be cold, if being hot does not work, as long as one does not remain nothing in particular. For being nothing in particular is a direct path to nowhere.

Today we read the message to the church in Laodicea, which has become perhaps one of the best-known passages in the Apocalypse. Neither cold nor hot—this is how our inner state can be described throughout almost our entire life. We give ourselves wholeheartedly to nothing; we are neither evil nor good; we neither love God nor struggle against Him. This is precisely why it is practically impossible to build a close relationship with us. Someone who hates, such as Paul, can be met on the road to Damascus and asked, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads, is it not?” But someone who is indifferent will not be found on that road. And the Lord warns us that indifference, lukewarmness, and unwillingness to seek the Truth lead to a state in which an indifferent person cannot remain where God is. A meeting is impossible if we do not strive toward it.

For His part, the Lord does not abandon us and continually calls us to Himself. Unlike the beginning of the chapter, where He opens the doors to the world for us, here He Himself stands at a closed door, which we may choose not to open. But we may also open it.

At first glance, these words are excessively harsh: the Lord, in essence, completely rejects an entire community. And the reason for this rejection is a sin that, it would seem, leads to no especially terrible consequences: the issue is indifference, those who are called "lukewarm," who perhaps would not mind doing something for the church, or for a neighbor, or at least for deepening their own spiritual life, but whose desire for action is too weak to be realized. And the person, as people usually say, "basically not bad," remains inactive, having done nothing good. It would seem that such a person does nothing bad either. Everything is indifferent to him: both good and evil. Often such indifference is connected with self-satisfaction, which gives rise to a feeling of one's own wealth, not necessarily material wealth. And yet such "harmless" self-satisfied indifference received from the Savior's mouth the harshest assessment. The issue, as can be seen, is not only that, as people sometimes say, on the day of Judgment each of us will be asked not only about the evil we did, but also about the good we did not do though we could have done it. The issue is also that self-satisfied indifference completely paralyzes the will, taking from a person the spiritual strength that allows him to make a vital choice, including the choice between good and evil. And such paralysis, in turn, effectively deprives the indifferent person of the possibility of living a spiritual life.

It would seem that there are sins far more terrible than lack of will. But any sin, even the most terrible, presupposes choice, resolve, and action, behind which will necessarily stands, often a very strong will, which can always also be used for works of righteousness if only it is directed correctly. But self-satisfied indifference is a sign of the absence of will, in which even conversion is impossible: conversion too presupposes a choice, a choice between God and something that hinders following Him. If there is nothing with which to choose, then conversion is impossible, it is impossible to follow Christ, impossible to live the life of the Kingdom. Only one thing is possible: to drift with the current where the world corrupted by sin is moving. In the direction opposite to the Kingdom.

Where does the history of the Kingdom begin? With the coming of the Messiah, who brought it into the world? Yes, of course. But that is for the world. And for us? According to the Savior's word, the Kingdom is "within us" and "among us" (both the original Greek expression and the corresponding Aramaic expression allow both translations). Then there is only one place where the history of the Kingdom can begin for us: our heart.

What is the Kingdom? New life? Yes, of course. A world renewed and transfigured by the breath of God? Without doubt; the day will come when the Kingdom is revealed in all its fullness, and then everyone will see it. And yet, first of all, the Kingdom is perhaps those relationships that bind us to God, to Christ, and to our neighbors, because without them, without these relationships, there will be neither new life nor a new world. And relationships cannot be imposed; they can only be offered.

Even God cannot force a person to love Him. One can impose one's presence on another if one is stronger and has enough power to do so. If God, or the Messiah sent by Him, wanted that, a person would have nowhere to go. But God does not need anything of the kind, and Christ does not need it either: He came not to demonstrate power, but to save us from the sin in which the world lies and in which we ourselves lie. What is needed here is love, which cannot be imposed and can only be offered. And so the Savior knocks at our heart in the hope that we will open to Him. That we will open, so that the history of the Kingdom may begin for us as well.