Tag Archives: Letters to the Seven Churches in Asia Minor

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 8: The Church That Held On

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SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 8: The Church That Held On

Read Revelation 3:7-13

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“The Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” (Zephaniah 3:17 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Held On” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 8: The Church That Held On. Jesus’ words to Philadelphia stand apart from the others. This church receives no rebuke. No harsh critique. Just encouragement, affirmation, and a simple plea: keep going. In a world addicted to power and spectacle, Jesus recognizes their quiet faithfulness. “You have little strength,” he says, “yet you obeyed my word and did not deny me.”

Philadelphia wasn’t the biggest or flashiest church. They didn’t have the numbers, the budget, or the prestige. But they had integrity. And when everything in the surrounding culture told them to compromise, to conform, to just give up—they held on.

Today, that kind of faith can feel invisible. The churches that grab headlines are often the ones that bow to political idols or chase celebrity pastors and prosperity promises. Meanwhile, smaller congregations that cling to Christ amid declining attendance or cultural irrelevance may feel forgotten. But Jesus hasn’t forgotten. He says: I’ve placed before you an open door no one can shut.

That phrase is powerful. Jesus doesn’t promise ease or success. He promises access—to himself, to the Kingdom, to a future that the world can’t block. No gatekeeping megachurch, no ideology, no empire can close a door he has opened.

There’s something deeply subversive here. Philadelphia may have been looked down on, but Jesus lifts them up. They had little strength, but they had unshakable faith. They were poor in power but rich in perseverance. They didn’t assimilate to the empire. They didn’t chase cultural approval. They just stayed true.

This isn’t about nostalgia or clinging to tradition for tradition’s sake. It’s about holding fast to the truth that Jesus is the Holy One, the True One, the One who holds the key of David. It’s about remembering who we follow—and why.

To those who overcome, Jesus promises a name—a new identity—and a place. Not celebrity. Not a platform. But a pillar in the temple of God. That’s not just metaphor. That’s legacy. That’s home.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Faithfulness rarely looks flashy. But Jesus sees. And the open doors he gives are worth more than any human spotlight.

PRAYER
Jesus, help us hold on. When we feel tired or invisible, remind us that you see. Give us courage to remain faithful—to you, to your call, to your open door. Make us pillars not in reputation, but in love. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 7: The Church That Couldn’t Care Less

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Read Revelation 3:14-22

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“They offer superficial treatments for my people’s mortal wound. They give assurances of peace when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Part 7: The Church that Couldn’t Care Less.  The city of Laodicea was famous for its wealth, industry, and medical advancements. It had clothing factories, a banking hub, and an eye salve known throughout the region. It had everything—except good water. Nearby hot springs delivered lukewarm, mineral-heavy water that often made people sick. Jesus seizes that image and turns it into a searing metaphor: “You are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold—I will spit you out of my mouth!” (Revelation 3:16, NLT). But the Greek word translated as “spit” is actually much stronger—it means to vomit. Jesus isn’t just disappointed; he’s repulsed by their complacency.

Laodicea looked alive. Their worship may have sounded good. Their buildings were impressive. Their programs ran with precision. But Jesus saw through it. He saw a church so self-satisfied, so sure of its vitality, that it couldn’t recognize its own spiritual poverty. “You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’” (v.17). But beneath the surface: brokenness, blindness, nakedness.

This is the danger of performative faith—when image replaces intimacy, and appearance outweighs authenticity. It’s what Jesus condemned in the religious elite: “You are like whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside but filled on the inside with dead people’s bones and all sorts of impurity” (Matthew 23:27, NLT). It’s what happens when we measure vitality by numbers, not relationships. Even today, churches chase metrics: attendance, giving, small groups, professions of faith, budget increases. But Jesus never measured success the way we do. He didn’t ask for tallies; he called people to follow. His impact was relational, not transactional. He didn’t die to make the Church bigger—he died to make it holy.

Laodicea’s altar flame had gone cold, but not out. And Jesus hadn’t walked away. He was knocking. Calling. “I correct and discipline everyone I love” (v.19). He was still offering gold, garments, and healing for the eyes. He was still offering himself. “Look! I stand at the door and knock…” (v.20). To those few, Jesus doesn’t say, “Start a rebellion.” He says, “Hold on.” Stay awake. Stay faithful. Stay close.

Christ calls us to awaken from spiritual apathy. To throw off the masks of performance and return to the One who doesn’t need polish—only presence. The Church doesn’t need better branding; it needs a burning heart.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
You can’t follow Jesus while sleepwalking.

PRAYER
Jesus, wake us up. Pull us out of performative faith and back into authentic relationship with you. We don’t want to look alive—we want to live. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 5: The Church That Let It Slide

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Read Revelation 2:18-29

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“Sin will be rampant everywhere, and the love of many will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end will be saved” (Matthew 24:12–13 NLT).

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Let It Slide” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

Part 5: The Church That Let It Slide. Thyatira looked like a model church—full of love, steady in service, growing in endurance. They weren’t coasting—they were gaining momentum. And yet, beneath all of that fruitfulness, something poisonous was being allowed to grow.

They tolerated someone Jesus metaphorically names “Jezebel.” That name is no accident. In the Old Testament, Jezebel was a queen who used her influence to undermine Israel’s faithfulness from the inside. She normalized Baal worship. Silenced prophets. Manipulated power structures to get what she wanted. She didn’t oppose Yahweh outright—she just twisted the people’s worship toward idols while keeping the language of religion intact. The danger wasn’t open rebellion. It was seduction in the name of God.

That’s what Jesus saw in this church. A teacher or voice—perhaps respected, perhaps persuasive—was claiming divine authority while leading people into spiritual compromise. Whether it was idolatry, exploitation, or theological distortion, it was being allowed to persist. And the church, rather than confronting it, let it slide.

They tolerated toxicity in the name of unity. They kept the peace by enabling harm.

And here’s the hard part: it didn’t look dangerous at first. It looked prophetic. It looked insightful. It may have even sounded liberating. But instead of pointing people to Christ, it slowly replaced Him with something else—something easier to control, easier to sell, easier to swallow.

“You can climb to the top of my horns,” Marilyn Manson growls, “but make sure that you don’t look down. Don’t spit in the face of God when you’re trying to wear his crown.”

It’s a harsh lyric—but a fitting warning. The problem in Thyatira wasn’t someone questioning tradition or offering a new perspective. The problem was someone claiming divine authority while leading people away from the God they claimed to speak for. That’s not freedom. That’s spiritual abuse dressed in prophetic clothing.

This message isn’t about policing belief. It’s not about crushing questions or excluding voices. But it is about integrity. It’s about holding the center of the Gospel—Jesus Christ crucified, risen, reigning—and refusing to allow that center to be co-opted by agendas that distort His image, His grace, or His call to faithfulness.

Jesus sees it. He names it. And he doesn’t rage—he grieves. He calls for repentance. He gives space for change. But he doesn’t excuse the damage. “I gave her time to repent… but she was unwilling.” And the longer the church tolerates a lie in God’s name, the more that lie begins to shape the culture around it.

Still, not everyone bowed. Not everyone was misled. “Now I say to the rest of you… who have not followed this teaching: Hold tightly to what you have until I come.” Jesus doesn’t demand perfection. He calls for endurance. He doesn’t shame the whole church—he honors the ones who wouldn’t sell the truth for peace.

Because truth without love is cruelty. But love without truth is collapse.

And the church that lets it slide—eventually loses its footing.

So let’s not ignore what Jesus said to this church. Let’s have the courage to love deeply, serve faithfully—and confront what must not be allowed to slide.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Compromise doesn’t always look like rebellion. Sometimes it looks like comfort, silence, or slow erosion. But Jesus still calls us to live with clarity, conviction, and courage.

PRAYER
Jesus, sharpen our witness. Forgive us where we’ve compromised your identity to keep things safe or easy. Help us live what we say we believe—with humility, integrity, and trust in your grace. You are the Bread of Life. Let us hunger for nothing less. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

Devotional, Series

SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 2: The Church that Forgot to Love

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Read Revelation 2:1-7

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“If I had the gift of prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge… but didn’t love others, I would be nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2 NLT).

The Book of Revelation opens not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Part 2: The Church That Forgot to Love. You can do everything right and still get it wrong. That’s the jarring truth behind Jesus’ message to the church in Ephesus. From the outside, they were the gold standard—hard-working, discerning, theologically sound, intolerant of falsehood. They didn’t just show up; they held the line. But Jesus isn’t handing out gold stars. He sees past the polish. And what he sees is heartbreaking: a church that has forgotten how to love.

“You have forsaken the love you had at first.” It’s a short sentence, but it shakes the foundation. This isn’t just about losing personal passion for Jesus—it’s about losing the communal warmth that once defined them. Love for Christ and love for each other are tied together in ways we can’t unravel. Maybe division had crept in. Maybe trust had frayed. Maybe bitterness had settled in over disagreements and differences. Whatever the reason, their love had cooled. They were still doing the work, still holding the line—but doing it with hearts growing cold and disconnected. And when love freezes inside the church, it bleeds out into everything else: worship, outreach, justice, mission. A loveless church might still look active, but its light dims.

We’ve seen this before. Paul warned the Corinthians, “If I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all knowledge… but didn’t love others, I would be nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2 NLT). Jesus warned the Pharisees, who tithed even their herbs but neglected “the more important matters of the law—justice, mercy, and faithfulness” (Matthew 23:23). And when asked to name the greatest commandment, Jesus answered without hesitation: Love the Lord your God… and love your neighbor as yourself (Matthew 22:37–39). These aren’t two loves. They are one way of life.

There’s a word for faithfulness without love. It’s not holiness—it’s hardness.

And it happens subtly. We get tired. We get jaded. We get protective. We start defining faith by how we’ve separated ourselves from the world instead of how we’ve embraced it in grace. We start using our convictions as a wall rather than a bridge. Over time, ministry becomes management, and righteousness becomes routine. And without realizing it, we become the kind of people who can quote Scripture and defend doctrine but no longer weep, no longer risk, no longer love.

Ephesus is a mirror for the modern Church. We’re busy. We’re active. We’re reactive. But are we still moved? Do we still burn with the love that first called us to Christ? Do we see people as image-bearers or as obstacles to truth? Do we correspond with compassion—or with contempt?

Jesus doesn’t say “you never loved.” He says, “you left it.” Which means it can be returned to. “Remember… repent… do the things you did at first.” The call isn’t to nostalgia. It’s to reorientation. To come back to the center. To let love lead again.

Because without it, we’re nothing.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
It’s possible to believe all the right things and still miss the heart of Christ. Love is not optional—it’s the starting point, the center, and the end goal of faith.

PRAYER
Lord Jesus, rekindle in us the love we once knew—the love for You, and for each other. Strip away our pride, our weariness, our guarded hearts. Help us to remember, repent, and return to the way of love, the way of You. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).