James Nisbet Commentary - Revelation 3:1 - 3:1

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James Nisbet Commentary - Revelation 3:1 - 3:1


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THE CHURCH IN SARDIS

‘And unto the angel of the Church in Sardis write.’

Rev_3:1

The epistle is one of almost unqualified condemnation. The reputation of the Church in Sardis stood high, but it was a false and hollow reputation. There was great need of urgent repentance. Except there were contrition, the Lord would come upon Sardis ‘as a thief.’ There were a few—a small minority—in Sardis whose robes had not been defiled by the evils of the life around them, and the promise to these is that they shall walk in white, ‘for they are worthy.’

I. There is such a thing as spiritual death combined with the external semblance of life.—Are we slowly, or perchance rapidly, sinking towards it? Do not let us deceive ourselves with mere appearances. The world may not know—perhaps those with whom we live, our neighbours, our very families, may not know—what we are; but surely we ourselves know, at least in part. If there are concealed grave vices, black dishonour, foul imaginings, we ourselves at any rate are aware that they are there. Do let us take heed lest the worst befall us! Do let us beware lest having gone already from spiritual strength to spiritual weakness—from comparative innocence to what we are now—we go on from weakness to death! If we feel that we are spiritually dead let us open our hearts to the ministry of the Holy Ghost. There is always—on this side of the grave at least—the possibility of recovery. We know that there have been many who ‘were dead in trespasses and sins’—dead as it seemed beyond all hope of any resurrection to better things—but who have been raised up by the Spirit of God to newness of life.

II. The unexpectedness of the Divine judgments.—‘If therefore thou shalt not watch, I will come as a thief.’ It is a thought which is often dwelt upon; but is it not one which we shall do well to keep in mind? The suddenness of God’s punishments! It is so easy to persuade ourselves that we shall not be found out. It is so easy to persuade ourselves that there will be no rapid dawning of one of the days of the Son of Man. ‘I will come as a thief; and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee.’ Yes, there are some of us to whom He has come—and we know it. We have had to pay the penalties for our culpable errors and misdeeds. Let us thank Him that He has thus dealt with us. ‘The Lord hath chastened me sore, but He hath not given me over unto death.’ But there is one mode of His coming, one most solemn advent, from which none of us can be separated by any great stretch of time. Whether or not there be the possibility of a subsequent reversal or modification of the judgment at death, that judgment must surely be very momentous, very awful. ‘In the hour of death and in the day’—that day—‘of judgment, good Lord, deliver us.’ And who knows when the clock of destiny will strike that hour?

III. ‘They shall walk with Me in white.’—Such is the everlasting pledge. His abiding presence! Unbroken communion with Him! Participation in His activity, in His triumph! Perfect purity and sinlessness! Such is the promised reward. God the Holy Ghost help us to be worthy of it! May He enable us to overcome the world, even as the Son, when self-revealed as man, overcame it! May He keep us unspotted from its defilements! The wonders of that eternal city may be manifested to our eyes, even ours. We, even we, may see and enter into its now unthinkable glories. We, even we, may inherit its now immeasurable joys. We, even we, may be received into the fulness of fellowship with ‘angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.’

Rev. the Hon. W. E. Bowen.



A FALSE REPUTATION

‘I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead.’

Rev_3:1

In God’s sight the Church of Sardis was like the corpse of the ancient Scythian—men reverenced her, spoke of her, treated her as a Church full of life and health, and all the while she was dead!

I. ‘Thou hast a name’!—Yes. Sardis had not denied the faith. She had not gone over to the world, she was teaching no false doctrine, she was eminently orthodox. But Sardis and the world understood each other; openly she was to resist the world, secretly she was to be at friendship with it. Her name for righteousness was what she cared for more than anything else—she cared nothing for that union with the living God which alone can give life to the soul. Hers was a ‘heartless holding of the truth’; her name for life remained, but that life was gone, or nearly gone—and Sardis was dead! It is so easy for us by our words, our writings, our exhortations, to persuade people that we are travelling along one road, when we have in reality wandered far upon another. ‘Solomon was the wisest of men, yet he sank to be what his own writings say makes a fool.’

II. A day of surprises.—Amid all its terrors—all its soul-subduing sights and sounds—the Last Great Day will be, perhaps, more than anything else, a day of many and great surprises! ‘If ever I reach heaven,’ said one, ‘there will be three things which will, I know, surprise me. First, I shall be surprised to find myself in heaven at all. Secondly, I shall be surprised to see some whom I should never have dreamed of meeting there; and thirdly, I shall be surprised not to see many who I should have thought would be perfectly certain to be there!’

III. How is it with us?—Are there any here who are content to stand well with the world, with a name for goodness; who care nothing for real holiness, nothing for the spirit that giveth life? These are dead! Are there any whose love is waning, with whom growth in grace has ceased—whose communions have become mere perfunctory duties, mechanical acts? Is growth ceasing? Then these are dying. It is the Spirit Who giveth life. Then turn to Him, for He is ready to receive the fainting and to revive the dying soul.

Illustration

‘Among the Scythians of old a ghastly custom prevailed. When a man died, his nearest relatives, having dressed up the corpse, placed it in a chariot and carried it round to the houses of his friends. In each house feasting and merriment went on; the corpse was propped up at the board, the banquet spread before the glazed eyes, and slaves offered the dead man meat and drink. Honoured, feasted, driven from house to house, the dead among these ancient people were, by a horrible mimicry, made to play the part of the living.’