No one at the church in Sardis ever made anybody mad. They were the perfect picture of inoffensive Christianity. By all accounts, they were well-organized, doctrinally sound, and perfectly suited to their cultural circumstances.
Which means they were useless.
They were sleepy, lazy, and dead—the zombie church, the pleasantly numb church, the church of fake plastic trees and homemade “proud to be a Sardisian” wall-hangings. I’ve been in plenty of churches like them. They’ve established a cozy equilibrium by catering to the lowest common denominator in order to keep folks happy. They’ve the cute little church on the picturesque street with the nice garden and the wealthy old people. They’ve the country chapel focused on the harvest and the high-school football team. They’ve the television ministry with the big hair and teeth. They love their country and they’re never impolite to your face.
What’s the message to this church?
Wake up and smell the coffee!
Put your back into it—you leave a lot to be desired!
Get off your ass and dance!
I pastor a church full of life—full of some pretty broken folks too (including those of us that work here), and full of some pretty filthy sin (God—give us grace for those folks before we kill ’em), and full of some pretty half-cocked ideas by a couple of smarty-pants power players who don’t know any better…but it’s better to be alive and wrong, then dead and perfect.
Better to train a puppy than raise a corpse.