I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot; I wish that you were cold or hot. So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth. Because you say, “I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,” and you do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, I advise you to buy from Me gold refined by fire so that you may become rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself, and that the shame of your nakedness will not be revealed; and eye salve to anoint your eyes so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline; therefore 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 will dine with him, and he with Me. He who overcomes, I will grant to him to sit down with Me on My throne, as I also overcame 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 3:14-22 NAS

One religious term we have assigned to our side of the relational exchange with God is devotion. Accordingly, I might frame my invitation thus, “Let’s explore this passage together in this morning’s daily devotion.”  While I know devotion is a good word, it sounds strangely one-sided and flat to me. “Peter, are you devoted to me more than these?” “Yes Lord you know that I am devoted to you.”

I wonder if the Lord too doesn’t find us a bit strange as we apply our wills in order to “do” our daily devotion. How intimate (sarcasm intended). I am not sure what being lukewarm means or exactly what God meant by spitting these people from his mouth, but I could well imagine this bland flavor of devotion being a bit hard to swallow.

I once heard President Bush speak. Half of his sentences began with, “Here’s the deal.” (Thanks GW because we really, really do want to know what the deal is.) In this passage I believe God is pretty much saying, “Here’s the deal. We have a situation here. I know your deeds, but you do not. ”

I believe God does want us to, but the sad consequence of the Adamic-plunge is that we simply do not see ourselves vey honestly. In fact, while we are thinking all is well with our souls, our hearts may well be impoverished. The Spirit is saying that he has eye salve that, when applied, will enable us to see. In the same breath he says that he reproves those whom he loves. I believe the salve that opens our eyes and leads us to repentance is generated by the heat of God’s refining and disciplining love. Not all, by any means, but some of life’s experiences are permitted as God’s searching to see if there are things operating in our hearts hurtful to us and those he’s entrusted to us.

I believe that even while we remain in a fleshly body, we can walk in the Spirit. This means that while we have a propensity toward deceit, we, at the same time, have hearts kindred to Truth and that we are called to walk in Truth. Far greater is the Truth within us than any appealing lie from within or without. The Truth is always standing at the door of our hearts, knocking and saying, “I want to give you gold refined by fire. I know its almost unbearably hot at times, but eventually, if you will persevere, this faith I have given you, which is being purified, will one day, sooner than you might imagine, be perfect.”

For the record, I am not advocating a devotional practice of intentional introspection where we take it upon ourselves to search out the dark places of our hearts. I tried this style of devotion, and I discovered God at my door, knocking, if not loudly, at least persistently with specific instruction; “Enough already of your preoccupation with fallenness!”

I think this type of fleshly-repentance is nauseating to God. There are many voices at our door seeking entrance. Unfortunately, for many of us religious souls, the voice we hear is, “You had best straighten up and fly right, or I will reject you.” If we are to watch over our hearts with all diligence, we must learn to not let that speaker in. He is our accuser. He means us great harm.

What I hear these days is not, “You better open this door to me and do some devotionals, or I’ll be repulsed.” No, what I hear is more like, “That white garment becomes you. I hope you grow more and more comfortable in it. Sit here on the throne with me. Let’s live out my overcoming life in you with your brothers and sisters. And, by the way, I love you and our time together. Let’s keep doing that.” This is pretty much what the conversation between the Lord and me sounds like when I diligently watch over my heart—keeping the accusatory voice at bay. Because I cherish the flow of our conversation (not a devotional), I am more alert than ever to watch over my heart in this way.

What a precious thing it is that we might call you our Father and friend. Oh Lord, that we might not debase and undermine our relationship with formulas and techniques. Help us to reconsider our orientation to you in light of your finished work by which you clothed us in your very own righteousness and gave us bold access to your throne. Teach us to presume, in childlike wonder, upon your goodness. Give us ears to hear what you are saying to your Church. Let it be.

 

 

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