Vomit Faith
In the autumn of 1784, a twenty-five-year-old Member of Parliament jolted across the stone-paved roads of Europe, bouncing in a carriage pulled by the uneven gait of horses. William Wilberforce had inherited a fortune, won his seat at twenty-one, and was close friends with the Prime Minister. He was charming, successful, and independent. To be heard over the rattling of the wheels, he and his friend Isaac Milner loudly read Philip Doddridge's The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul to each other. As they swayed from side to side, something started to shake loose in his soul.
Read Revelation 3:14-22
Revelation records Jesus' words to seven churches. The last one is criticized for being lukewarm, and it's the only one of the seven that has no commendation. I've often thought "lukewarm" meant "lack of passion," but it's harsher than that. Laodicea's water supply depended on a long aqueduct that delivered warm, mineral-heavy water. On a hot summer day, drinking it could make you gag. Their faith is vomit-inducing. It's a shocking indictment for a self-confident church. Compared to other churches, they are successful, prosperous, and competent. In a city famous for its banks, coveted black wool, and a luxurious Phrygian eye-powder, they've made a fortune. Their riches have deceived them, and they no longer see their wretched spiritual condition. I remember when a ministry sent a limo to take me from my home to the airport. For the entire ride, I felt uneasy as the driver addressed me as "sir." As we drove past Emory University, I thought about my campus ministry days, showing up in my Target-brand shorts and shirts to lead Bible studies. The luxury ride could mean I'd made it, but I sensed it was another step away from depending on God. Because these self-made, wealthy believers think they can buy whatever they need, Jesus counsels them to buy from him. He offers gold refined by persecution (to replace the gold stored in banks), white clothes of salvation received by faith (to cover the spiritual nakedness that their high-fashion wool clothing reveals), and ointment that gives spiritual understanding (that no medicinal eye cream can provide). The cost of the purchase is the hardest part of his rebuke. To get what he's selling, they have to admit they are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind, and naked. Instead of walking by the beggars they look down on, the Laodiceans have to become like them. But there's no other way to follow Jesus. He isn't looking for trading partners but friends who will dine at his table. We don't bring our own food to his house; we come hungry and ready to eat. When Wilberforce surrendered to Jesus, he spent the rest of his life using his wealth to fight the powerful slave-trading industry, dying just three days before Parliament voted to end slavery in the British Empire. Come hungry.
Christ is knocking on the door from outside his own church, inviting a church with vomit-inducing faith to come and feast with him. What does this tell us about his love?
What tempts you to think, "I need nothing" (not even God)?
Jesus says he can fulfill all the needs that we try to meet with wealth. What would change if you felt he had met those needs for you?
Invite a trusted friend to get a meal with you. Ask them, "Where do I act like I'm fine without God?" Let them know they can be honest with you.