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
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’re the cute little church
on the picturesque street with the nice garden and the wealthy old
people. They’re the country chapel focused on the harvest and the
high-school football team. They’re the television ministry with the big
hair and teeth. They love their country and they’re never impolite to
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 than
dead and perfect.
Better to train a puppy than raise a corpse.