How prosperity pushes Christ away

“And to the angel of the church in Laodicea write: ‘The words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of God’s creation. I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’” (Rev 3:14-22)

The blessing and danger of wealth

I want to ask a few questions to challenge our thinking as 21st-century American Christians. These questions are interconnected, and they require some reflection:

• Is it a blessing or a curse to be rich? By that, I mean to have material and financial prosperity.
• Is it a blessing or a curse to own a large wardrobe filled with nice clothing?
• Is it a blessing or a curse to have access to the world’s most advanced healthcare?

If you’re anything like me, your instinct is to call these things blessings. You might thank God daily, not just for meeting your needs, but for giving you more than enough.

We often describe our nation, the United States, as supremely blessed. We declare, “This is the greatest nation on earth,” and as Christians, we rightly give God the credit. James reminds us, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights” (Jas 1:17).

But the Bible also gives us reason to pause and think more deeply. Consider Jesus’ words:

How difficult it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! For it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” (Luke 18:24-25)

So, let me ask you again: Is it a blessing or a curse to be wealthy?

You might be tempted to respond, “I’m not rich, so the question doesn’t really apply to me.” Fair enough. But let me challenge that perspective.

If we compare our net worth or annual income to billionaires like Bill Gates or Jeff Bezos, we might not feel rich. I certainly don’t. But what if we reframe our understanding of wealth? Instead of comparing ourselves to the wealthiest in this country, what if we broaden the perspective? What if we compare ourselves to the vast majority of people throughout history? What if we stopped thinking about wealth in terms of net worth or income and instead considered it in terms of quality of life?

Take King Solomon, for example. He was the wealthiest man Israel had ever known, possibly the wealthiest man on earth during his time. In 1 Kings, God tells Solomon, “I give you both riches and honor, so that no other king shall compare with you” (1Ki 3:13).

Solomon had unparalleled wealth, yet there were many material comforts he lacked. He didn’t have running water or electricity. He didn’t live in a climate-controlled home. He had no refrigeration or access to modern transportation. He couldn’t hop into a car and travel a mile a minute, nor could he carry a phone in his pocket to communicate instantly with anyone in the world. His clothing was likely luxurious by the standards of his day, but it’s doubtful he was as warm or comfortable in the winter as we are with modern fabrics and heating. And while he surely had access to physicians, the healthcare of his time cannot compare to the medical advancements we enjoy today.

Even if we look back only a century, the wealthiest individuals of that era didn’t experience the quality of life that many of us take for granted. By today’s standards, I am richer than John D. Rockefeller in terms of comfort and convenience. That’s astonishing, isn’t it? No one looks at me—the car I drive, the clothes I wear—and thinks, “This man is wealthy.” Yet in many ways, I am. And so are you.

Now that we’ve established that most of us are far wealthier than we might have realized, let me ask again: Is it a blessing or a curse to be rich?

This is a difficult question. We tend to view prosperity as a blessing from God, and rightly so. Yet the Bible repeatedly warns us about the dangers of material wealth. History and personal experience echo those warnings.

How often do we hear stories of lottery winners whose lives spiral out of control under the weight of sudden wealth? Their newfound riches often become a burden rather than a blessing.

Then there’s the early church. It grew and flourished under conditions of poverty and persecution. Despite the hardships—or perhaps because of them—the church didn’t merely survive; it thrived. This pattern is not unique to the first century. Throughout history, the true church has often emerged from the most hostile, anti-God, and anti-Christ cultures as a vibrant, growing community. It is rarely the wealthiest or most comfortable churches that exhibit such resilience and vitality, but those refined by adversity.

Meanwhile, the church in prosperous, free nations like the United States and the United Kingdom seems to be shrinking—or worse, being absorbed into various false forms of Christianity.

This is precisely what makes Christ’s letter to the church in Laodicea so relevant to us today. Our situation in 21st-century America bears a striking resemblance to that of first-century Laodicea.

The faithful witness and beginning of creation

Christ captures our attention immediately by declaring his identity: “These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of God’s creation” (Rev 3:14).

What does Jesus mean when he calls himself “the Amen”? That word carries far more weight than we might realize. It’s not merely a traditional way to end a prayer; it is profoundly meaningful. In Isaiah, Yahweh is described as “the God of truth,” but the literal Hebrew reads, “the God of Amen” (Isa 65:16).

God is the source and embodiment of truth. He is truth itself. When Pilate famously asked, “What is truth?” his question had a definitive answer, even if he didn’t realize it (Jn 18:38). The answer is God. Truth begins and ends with him. Philosophers, writers, and filmmakers have spent centuries searching for meaning and debating the nature of truth. Yet the ultimate answer has always been the same: truth is found in God alone.

The Jews of Jesus’ time understood this about God. They knew him to be the foundation of all truth. This is why Jesus’ claims about himself were so startling. When he declared, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” he claimed for himself what the Jews rightly understood to be true of God (Jn 14:6). To call himself “the Amen” was no small thing.

Consider how often Jesus introduced his teachings with the phrase, “Truly, truly, I say to you” (Jn 3:3; 5:24). The old King James Version translates it as, “Verily, verily, I say unto you.” In essence, Jesus was saying, “What I am about to tell you is absolute truth.” He wasn’t offering an opinion or speculating like a fallible human being. He was speaking with divine authority, declaring the unchanging truth of God.

That is also what we mean when we say “Amen.” We are affirming that something is true—specifically, God’s truth. When we respond with “Amen” to a preacher, we are essentially saying, “Yes, that is God’s truth. You have spoken rightly.”

In this sense, Jesus is the ultimate “Amen.” He is the affirmation of all truth. He validates and confirms it. He is the final word, and that word is truth. Jesus embodies and fulfills everything God has ever spoken or done. Therefore, he is also “the faithful and true witness” (Rev 3:14). During his earthly ministry, he bore witness to the truth of God, and now, seated at the right hand of the Father, he continues to bear witness to God’s truth in heaven.

Finally, Christ identifies himself as “the beginning of God’s creation” (Rev 3:14). This statement can be misunderstood, so let’s be clear: Jesus is not saying that he was created by God. How do we know? The same apostle who wrote Revelation also wrote these words in his gospel:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made. (John 1:1-3)

Jesus—the eternal Word who became flesh and dwelt among us—is co-eternal with the Father. The doctrine of the Trinity, though less emphasized in some circles today, is absolutely vital. It is foundational to our faith. As John reminds us, “All things were made through him” (Jn 1:3).

In other words, Christ is the agent through whom all creation came into being. He is not the first created being, as some might claim, but rather the one through whom all things were created.

We can take this concept further by considering Christ’s role in salvation. Paul writes, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2Co 5:17). When you are in Christ, you are made new—a spiritual re-creation. This points to Jesus’ role in making all things new, both spiritually and ultimately, physically.

And we can go even further, considering Christ’s role in eschatology. We anticipate a new heaven and a new earth—a new creation. As Revelation later describes, “Behold, I am making all things new” (Rev 21:5). Who makes this new creation possible? Jesus. He is the beginning of the new creation, just as he was the beginning of the original creation.

Before departing this earth, Jesus promised his disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you” (Jn 14:3). In every sense, Jesus is the beginning of God’s creation: the one through whom all things were made and the one through whom all things will be renewed. This is someone worth listening to.

Lukewarm and ineffective

With this authoritative introduction, Jesus declares, “I know your works” (Rev 3:15). He is saying, “I see everything you have done and not done. I even see the motives behind your actions—or inactions.” When we think of works, we often focus on outward behavior, but Jesus looks deeper. As Scripture says, “The Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (1Sa 16:7).

A lifetime of good works is meaningless if the heart is far from God. Paul said of Israel, “They have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge” (Ro 10:2). Similarly, Jesus rebuked those who worshiped him only outwardly, saying, “In vain do they worship me” (Mt 15:9). Their worship, though directed at him, was empty because their hearts were not aligned with God.

When Jesus assesses the works of the Laodiceans, he considers the entirety of their faith and service: their actions, their motivations, and the condition of their hearts. He sees it all. His verdict is sobering: “You are neither cold nor hot” (Rev 3:15).

It is crucial to remember that every book of the Bible has historical context, and this letter is no exception. All Scripture is God-breathed, yet God delivered his Word through the personalities, experiences, and circumstances of human authors. He also addressed specific situations faced by the original recipients of these writings. Understanding the context of the Laodiceans helps us apply this message faithfully to our own lives.

When we hear the phrase “hot or cold,” we often interpret it as a contrast between passionate and indifferent or between good and evil. But that cannot be what Jesus means here. Notice what he says in verse 15: “Would that you were either cold or hot” (Rev 3:15). In other words, “I wish you were either cold or hot, but not lukewarm.”

If “hot” refers to being passionate, then we’d have to conclude that Jesus prefers total indifference over half-hearted passion. If “cold” refers to evil, we’d have to believe that Jesus prefers outright wickedness to partial goodness. Neither interpretation aligns with the broader teaching of Scripture. So what does Jesus mean?

The historical and geographical context provides clarity. The city of Laodicea lacked a natural water supply. To address this, they constructed aqueducts to bring water from neighboring cities. They piped in hot water from the springs of Hierapolis, valued for its healing and medicinal properties, and cold water from the springs of Colossae, prized for drinking and refreshment.

However, the aqueducts stretched for miles—anywhere from six to ten miles depending on the source. By the time the water reached Laodicea, the hot water had cooled, and the cold water had warmed, leaving both lukewarm. Worse, the water often accumulated calcium deposits during its journey, making it undrinkable and nauseating. Lukewarm water could induce vomiting—it was useless for either healing or refreshment.

This historical backdrop is key to understanding the metaphor. In this context, both hot and cold are good. Both serve a purpose. Hot water brings healing, while cold water provides refreshment. Lukewarm water, however, is neither. It is distasteful, ineffective, and repulsive.

Jesus uses this imagery to critique the Laodicean church. The problem is not their "temperature" in terms of spiritual passion but their distance from the source of life—Christ himself. Just as the lukewarm water in Laodicea was distant from its source and lost its effectiveness, the Laodicean church was distant from Christ and spiritually ineffective.

Jesus warns them: “Because you are lukewarm and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth” (Rev 3:16). Just as the people of Laodicea would instinctively spit out their nauseating water, Jesus finds their spiritual condition intolerable.

To reiterate: hot is good, cold is good, but lukewarm is bad. Jesus does not present hot and cold as two opposite extremes where one must choose. Both are desirable in their proper context. On a hot day, we crave a cold drink of water to refresh us. For bathing, cooking, or medicinal purposes, we need hot water. Both temperatures are useful, but lukewarm water is useless.

When Jesus compares the Laodiceans to lukewarm water, he is not suggesting they are spiritually “in-between” good and bad. Instead, he is highlighting their lack of spiritual effectiveness. The issue is not their temperature but their disconnection from Christ, the source of all spiritual vitality. Without that connection, they are neither healing nor refreshing—neither hot nor cold—and thus serve no purpose.

The illusion of self-reliance

The Laodicean church was situated in a very wealthy city. Laodicea was prosperous and self-sufficient to an almost remarkable degree. For example, when an earthquake devastated the region in AD 60, the Roman Empire offered financial assistance to help rebuild the affected cities. Laodicea, however, declined the aid. They essentially told Rome, “No, thank you. We don’t need your help.” Why? Because they truly didn’t need it. They had the wealth and resources to rebuild entirely on their own.

Now notice what Jesus says to the Laodiceans: “For you say, ‘I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing’” (Rev 3:17). This is the heart of their problem.

We don’t know all the ways their lukewarmness manifested in their lives or ministry. Jesus says, “I know your works,” but he doesn’t provide details about what they were doing or failing to do (Rev 3:15). For all we know, their outward actions may have appeared fine, but something deeper was wrong. Their motivations or their dependence on God were compromised.

The root issue, as Jesus makes clear, was self-reliance. And in this context, self-reliance was a serious spiritual problem. Jesus continues: “For you say, ‘I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing,’ not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked” (Rev 3:17).

Self-reliance often leads to self-deception. The Laodiceans thought they had everything they needed, yet they were completely unaware of their true condition. They were prosperous and rich in material terms, but they had come to believe they needed nothing—not even God.

Think about the irony here. The Laodiceans boldly proclaimed their self-sufficiency, saying, “We don’t need anything,” yet they lacked the most basic resource for life: water. Despite their wealth, they were entirely dependent on external sources for this necessity. And still, they claimed, “We don’t need help.”

This spiritual self-reliance is vividly illustrated in a simple scenario. Imagine you’re on a lake in an old rowboat. It’s nothing fancy, but it floats. As you row, you come across a man treading water in the middle of the lake, far from shore, with no life preserver. You call out, “Sir! Climb aboard!”

But instead of accepting the offer, the man laughs and says, “I don’t need your help. Do you know I own a yacht worth half a million dollars? Why would I need your shabby little rowboat?”

Puzzled, you ask, “Where is your yacht?”

He replies, “It’s at the bottom of the lake. It sank just before you arrived.”

The illustration may seem absurd, but it captures the essence of the Laodiceans’ condition. Their wealth had blinded them to their true need. They believed they were self-sufficient, yet they lacked the most basic necessity—just as the man in the water boasted of his yacht while struggling to stay afloat.

Self-reliance and self-deception often go hand in hand. The Laodiceans were so convinced of their riches and security that they didn’t realize their spiritual poverty. Despite their material wealth, they were utterly destitute where it mattered most.

Jesus’ response is entirely fitting, isn’t it? “You are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. You don’t even realize it” (Rev 3:17).

To be clear, and perhaps this goes without saying, the issue here isn’t really about water. The problem is that the Laodicean church had become more reliant on themselves than on Christ. They should have been a source of healing and refreshment to others, but they weren’t. Why? Because they were too far removed from the true source of healing and refreshment—Jesus Christ.

Just as they were distant from the source of their water, they were distant from the source of everything good and needful—Jesus Christ himself.

At this point, you might begin to see that the problem here isn’t simply a lack of passion or zeal, as we often think of lukewarmness. This issue runs much deeper. The Laodiceans shared the same mindset as the Pharisees—those who rejected God’s Messiah because they didn’t recognize their need for a Savior.

The Pharisees believed they were righteous enough to earn God’s favor and grace. But the Laodiceans’ situation is even more troubling because, unlike the Pharisees, they had accepted Christ. They were part of a Christian church. Yet, they had become so self-reliant that they lost their dependence on Christ.

This point becomes even clearer in the next verse, where Jesus says:

I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes so that you may see. (Revelation 3:18)

I’ve already mentioned the Laodiceans’ wealth, but there are other things about the city worth noting. Laodicea was well-known for its textile industry, producing high-quality wool, particularly black wool, which was exported widely. The city was also famous for its medical school, particularly for its expertise in eye care.

The Laodiceans were wealthy, yet Jesus tells them, “I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich” (Rev 3:18). He’s denying their claim to true wealth. Though they produced fine black wool, Jesus says, “You need white garments from me so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen.” And though the Laodiceans were known for their expertise in eye care, Jesus tells them, “You need my salve to anoint your eyes so that you may see.”

Christ is dismantling every false source of security they had placed their trust in. He’s addressing the very things that led them to drift away from the only true source of security—himself.

As I mentioned, we don’t know exactly how this problem manifested itself in the Laodicean church. We don’t know what it looked like on the surface. However, the manifestations were likely subtle. Unlike his rebukes of other churches, Jesus doesn’t accuse the Laodiceans of tolerating heretics, embracing false doctrines, or committing blatant sins.

At the same time, Jesus offers no words of commendation. Not a single positive remark. This silence is striking and suggests the problem is not only subtle but also profoundly serious. There’s no time for pleasantries or minor corrections. Jesus gets straight to the root of the issue, bypassing any outward symptoms to address the deeper, underlying problem.

Jesus tells them, “You have great material wealth, but you are poor. You wear the finest garments, but you are naked. You have salve that heals eyes, but you are blind.” Everything they trusted in—their wealth, clothing, and medical advancements—was meaningless in God’s eyes.

Have you ever stopped to consider how quickly these things can be taken away? Material wealth, possessions, and security could vanish tomorrow. Where will your faith be then? Think back to the parable of the sower. Jesus warns: “As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful” (Mt 13:22). Material wealth is a poor foundation for the word of God to take root. Scripture warns us repeatedly about the dangers of riches.

To be clear, the Bible doesn’t condemn wealth outright. Wealth in itself is not sinful. But contrary to the promises of prosperity preachers, who claim that faithfulness will guarantee health and wealth, the Bible offers a far more sober perspective. Time and again, Scripture warns us of the inherent risks that come with riches.

The more comfortable we become, the more complacent we are prone to be. The more we have, the more likely we are to trust in our possessions instead of God. Over time, we may begin to forget that everything we have—our wealth, our comforts, our security—is temporary. It is fleeting, corruptible, and easily lost.

And the greatest danger is that as we grow more self-reliant, we lose sight of our dependency on God and his grace.

Just as becoming a Christian requires abandoning all notions of self-reliance and self-worth and throwing yourself wholly on the mercy of God, walking with God requires ongoing dependency on him. If you begin to trust in yourself or your material comforts, you will inevitably drift away from him.

Do you see how relevant this letter is to first-world Christians?

Holding earthly treasures loosely

So let me ask you again: Is it a blessing or a curse to be rich? Is it a blessing or a curse to have nice clothing? Is it a blessing or a curse to have access to the greatest medical care the world has ever known?

The answer is not black and white. It’s not a simple question.

I believe these things are blessings. Tremendous blessings. But they can quickly become curses if we’re not careful.

Paul offers a helpful perspective in 1 Corinthians 7:

From now on, let those who have wives live as though they had none, and those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no goods, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it. For the present form of this world is passing away. (1 Corinthians 7:29-31)

While Paul addresses more than material wealth in this passage, his point is clear. He is not suggesting we deny reality. If you are married, you are married. If you are mourning, you are mourning. These are facts of life. But Paul reminds us to hold everything we have in this world loosely because none of it will last.

The problem isn’t that we are rich or that we enjoy nice things. The problem arises when we care too much about these things, invest too much of ourselves in them, or let them interfere with our dependency on Christ.

This danger is subtle. The thorns in Jesus’ parable don’t choke out the word overnight. The threat is gradual but very real, and we must take it seriously. This is a warning for us—for you and me. Wealth and comfort can be tremendous blessings, but they are also fraught with spiritual danger.

Christ’s call to zealous repentance

Jesus offers us both a warning and an invitation: “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent” (Rev 3:19).

What if Christ were to stand in this room today and say to us what he said to the Laodiceans? Would we think his words were too harsh? We shouldn’t because he speaks out of love. “Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline” (Rev 3:19). This is the language of sonship. Like a loving father correcting his children, Jesus addresses the Laodicean church as his own.

Hebrews 12 reminds us, “God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons” (Heb 12:7-8). Christ’s rebuke may be painful, but it is proof of his love. He disciplines those who belong to him.

A woman once asked me to preach at her grandmother’s funeral. She said, “I have a lot of unbelievers in my family, so I’d like you to preach hellfire and brimstone if you think it’s necessary.” That caught me off guard, as most people want to avoid such topics at funerals.

Curious, I asked her, “Why hellfire and brimstone?” Her response was striking: “Because I love my family that much. If you have to step on their toes before they’ll turn to Christ, then step as hard as you can.”

It hurts to hear the truth about ourselves—that we are wretched, poor, pitiable, blind, and naked. Those words sting, and saying them to others can be even harder. Yet, sometimes that is the most loving thing to do. Love demands truth, even when the truth is difficult to hear.

When Christ knocks

In verse 20, Jesus says, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20).

The word “Behold” in Scripture often signals a moment of revelation—something surprising or even shocking. Here, Jesus says, “I stand at the door and knock” (Rev 3:20).

Perhaps we’ve heard this verse so often that it has lost its impact. But consider the context. Jesus is speaking to a Christian church that gathers regularly in his name, presumably to share the Lord’s Supper. And yet, he is outside, knocking on the door.

Imagine the scene. You’re sitting with your church, preparing to take the Lord’s Supper. The hymn books are ready, the Bibles are open, the bread and wine are on the table, and the pastor is present. Everything seems in place. But then there’s a knock at the door. Everyone looks around, puzzled, and asks, “Who could that be? Isn’t everyone here? Don’t we have everything we need?”

That’s when it hits you—someone is missing.

Christ! Christ isn’t there!

That’s what makes this revelation so shocking. “Behold,” Jesus says, “I’m not in the church!” Without realizing it, they had slowly but surely pushed him out the door. Now he is standing outside, saying, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock” (Rev 3:20).

This reminds me of the Jewish practice of “unsynagoguing,” banishing someone from the synagogue. During his earthly ministry, Jesus himself was “unsynagogued” in places like Nazareth. The Laodiceans, without realizing it, had effectively “unchurched” Jesus. They were gathering in his name, going through the motions of worship, and yet Christ himself wasn’t there. He was outside, knocking, waiting for someone to invite him in.

I can’t help but wonder how many churches in our prosperous, comfortable nation are doing the same thing. Week after week, they gather in the name of Christ to worship him, all the while unaware that he is standing outside the door. They are too comfortable and too self-satisfied to recognize that he is missing.

Do you see how subtle this is? Do you see how dangerous it is?

Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians come to mind: “Examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test” (2Co 13:5).

Jesus leaves us with both a warning and a promise. He says:

The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. (Revelation 3:21-22)