Thus Says the Lord: I Know

Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, Laodicea - each of these churches were addressed specifically and individually at the end of the first century, in the work of John that would become known as Revelation.  These very brief epistles contained within Revelation differentiate themselves from the other inspired letters in one dramatic way:  while the others were crafted by godly men who wrote from their own hearts and minds, under the sure inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the Revelation epistles came directly from the mouth of none other than the risen Lord Jesus Christ, and John had only to write them down as they were spoken.  Christ addressed these church directly and personally.

These letters (Rev. 2-3) served as encouragement or warning, or sometimes as both, depending upon the course which each church had laid out for itself.  The Lord of glory commends, condemns, and commands as needed, but before He embarks upon any of these tasks, He discloses His close and specific understanding of whatever church He is addressing.  In each letter, He starts this section by declaring, "I know..."  I know your deeds; I know your circumstances; I know your true condition; I know your attitude.  I know. 

The Greek of the day afforded two very common ways to say "I know" - oida, which connotes a complete knowledge, and ginosko, which suggests a growing sort of understanding.  There is, of course, no need to question Jesus' perfect grasp of the linguistic nuances at His command - John himself recorded His words to the unbelieving Jews regarding His Father in John 8:55a:  "and you have not come to know [ginosko] Him, but I know [oida] Him."¹ 

Christ declares His mature knowledge of His churches, then.  Revelation 1:14 recounts that His eyes are "like a flame of fire" - a graphic testimony of His omniscient, omnipresent gaze as He moves among these seven churches (vv. 13, 20).  The truth about each of these churches, then, is laid stark before the eyes of the Lord; nothing can be concealed, exaggerated, or explained away.  The darkest, quietest, most secluded bowers in every human heart of these churches are nevertheless familiar to the Lord; they are continually bathed in the impartial brilliance of His absolute understanding, and they lay immediately before His eyes. 

Consider what effect this complete divine knowledge would visit upon the unfaithful churches mentioned in Revelation (which comprise a shocking five of the seven, to varying degrees), and by logical extension, upon the unfaithful churches of today.  The "I know" statements of the Lord of the church in Revelation should be among the most fearful and sobering pronouncements a church may encounter, but of course the effect of these assertions upon those in unfaithful churches will certainly vary quite dramatically. 

The true believers in these places, anemic or lukewarm, may be galvanized to earnestly pursue a return to faithfulness in their church, or else, in bleaker circumstances, they may be moved to seek out a truer fellowship.  They may choose to do neither because they are unmoved, but they will find biblical assurance dashed from their grasping hands, and may choose to settle for a transient substitute, to their folly.

False professors, on the other hand, may be moved to repentance, or they may perceive the distant pulse of needling but idle fear, and come away unmoved.  They may also scoff and reckon such ideas as naught but fancy, a misguided foray upon the presumably ironclad strongholds of human philosophy and wisdom.  There is tragedy laid up for these last two groups, for they will discern the magnitude of their folly only when their would-be Savior-turned Judge will declare, "I know [oida] your deeds, but I never knew [ginosko] you." (as in Matt. 7:23) Tragically, here ginosko represents intimate connection unto salvation. 

This is a woeful position for a church, for God's displeasure is assured and just.  Think, though, what the "I know" omniscience of God means to the churches that cling to God and His Word!  I know of your faithfulness, in spite of your imperfections.  I know your genuine needs as you work for my kingdom.  I know the difficulties in which you are embroiled at this moment, and I know how to care for you in the fiery heart of affliction.  We need not wait for God to perceive our condition; He understood it completely before He set into careful motion any star in the heavens.  He responds with pleasure to His faithful churches, and will not suffer them to want for what He knows they will need in their zealous bid to worship and obey Him. 

"I know," says our Lord - a simple statement, but one that spells our endurance and lasting comfort in Him. 



¹ Vine, W.E., Merrill Unger & William White, Jr.  Vine's Complete Expository Dictionary of Old and New Testament Words.  “An Expository Dictionary of New Tesatment Words with their Precise Meanings for English Renderings.”  Nashville:  Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1996.  p. 346.

What's in a Name?

I think I have said it myself.  I have heard it from others.  Perhaps you have said it yourself.  With some combination of amusment, bewilderment, and derision, someone has just asked, "So what religion are you?"  You reply, "It's more of a lifestyle than a religion; I'm a follower of Christ."  This need not be a undesirable statement, but let us consider it more closely.

The name “Christian” has been tainted by several unfortunate associations.  First, we see it appropriated by innumerable farcical “churches,” who have simply pinned Christ's name to their deity.  Second, it is claimed by anyone who attends either a genuine or cultish church, even if his or her profession of faith in "Chist" is as thin, and as transparent, as shrink wrap.  Tragically, the world is all too happy to affirm these definitions:  anyone who at least professes allegiance to Christ is a Christian, regardless of the truth of their devotion or the truth of their Christ.  

This does much to water down the term, to be sure.  However, I remain unconvinced that this forces us to the conclusion that the term is unsuitable.  To this end, I appeal to the historical nature of the term – not because traditions must be upheld, but because the past reminds us what it means to claim the title “Christian."

"Christian" (Χριστιανός) was the term given to believers in the cradle years of the church (Acts 11:26).  Not many years after this, having this title attributed to oneself was enough to earn persecution or martyrdom, even from the state.  "If you are reviled for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you...if anyone suffers as a Christian, he is not to be ashamed, but is to glorify God in this name." (1 Peter 4:14, 15b, emphasis added)

In other words, there is cause to glorify God in your label as a Christian, even if and when that moniker invites hardship.  There is every indication that the fledgling church took this to heart; our early brothers and sisters were often obliged to stand before their accusers and stare into the black face of martyrdom, and many said nothing but, "I am a Christian."  These few words assured dire recourse from their enemies, but they would say nothing else.  J. Spencer Northcote records that when they were pressed further, they would reply in this manner:  "I have already said that I am a Christian; and he who says that has thereby named his country, his family, his profession, and all things else besides." ¹

Today, though, "Christian" has become the moral password which politicians whisper to quickly establish trust.  It is the card which cults lay down in their plays for legitimacy and trust.  It is the color which teenagers brush upon themselves to avoid close scrutiny in their lives.  How did this word lose its original force?  Why has the absolute truth behind it been displaced by ecumenical well-wishing and lies?  This can only be the result of a church which has become all but indiscernible against the backdrop of the world.

To be sure, there will always be those who desire to twist and steal the name and truth of Christ, because this remains a permanent feature of the demonic mission, but there is no sense in our adding fuel to this ancient fire.  We must stand distinct from the world, moving opposition to the world, and "preach[ing] Christ crucified, to Jews a stumbling block and to Gentiles foolishness." (1 Cor. 1:23b) To unbelievers who know this sort of church, the word "Christian" is usually not one that they desire to place upon themselves, lest they be blighted with the shame that they themselves attribute to believers, or the anger that righteousness stirs within them, or the scorn that they share among their comrades. 

Our lesson is clear; it has been proven out by history as well as by scripture.  As we draw closer and more uncompromisingly toward Christ, we neutralize the perceived benefits of falsely claiming Christ until they cannot outweight the hardships which the world affords (and which are to us but jewels in the crown of joy).  This is our course and our directive if we are to remake our own name into something more worthy of the one true Christ.

I am a Christian.  I belong to a worldwide, a national, and yes, a local church that has not done all it could.  I have not done all that I could, but still I am a Christian.

 

1:  Northcote, J. Spencer.  Epitaphs of the Catacombs or Christian Inscriptions in Rome During the First Four Centuries.  London: Longman, Green, & Co., 1878; repr., Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2007. p. 139.  Quoted from MacArthur, John.  Slave:  The Hidden Truth About Your Identity in Christ.  Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010. p. 9.