The Question We Avoid

Photo: Pexels

“I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot.” — Revelation 3:15

There’s a question most of us avoid asking ourselves: What is my relationship with God really like right now?

Not what it was five years ago. Not what I hope it will be someday. Not what it looks like to others on Sabbath morning. But today, in the quiet places where only God and I exist—what’s the honest answer?

Jesus speaks to a church in Revelation 3 that had everything: wealth, reputation, doctrinal correctness. Yet His assessment is devastating: “You are neither cold nor hot… you are lukewarm, and I am about to spit you out of My mouth” (Rev. 3:15-16).

The problem wasn’t unbelief. It was worse—it was indifference dressed up as devotion.

Lukewarm Christianity is the most dangerous kind because it feels safe. We know the right answers. We maintain the right habits. We check the spiritual boxes. But somewhere along the way, duty replaced desire. Routine replaced relationship. We became experts at looking committed while remaining comfortably distant.

Jesus’s words sting: “You say, ‘I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing’—and do not know that you are wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked” (Rev. 3:17).

The tragedy isn’t just our condition—it’s our obliviousness to it. We think we’re fine. Doing well, even. But Jesus, the Faithful and True Witness, sees past our carefully maintained exteriors to the emptiness within.

Yet here’s what breaks through the harshness: Jesus doesn’t walk away. He stands at the door, knocking. Not forcing. Not demanding. Just… waiting. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me” (Rev. 3:20).

Think about that image. The Creator of the universe, standing at your door. Not to lecture you. Not to condemn you. But to share a meal—the most intimate form of fellowship in ancient culture. He wants to sit with you. Talk with you. Be close to you.

But the latch is on the inside. Only you can open it.

So what keeps the door closed?

Maybe it’s busyness—we’re too occupied with good things to make space for the best thing. Maybe it’s pride—we’ve convinced ourselves we’re doing fine without realizing how desperately we need Him. Maybe it’s fear—of what He’ll ask if we let Him fully in.

Whatever it is, Jesus offers an exchange: our lukewarm self-sufficiency for His gold, His righteousness, His clear vision (Rev. 3:18). Everything we actually need but don’t know how to ask for.

Today, pause. Put aside the automatic answers and ask yourself honestly: Am I hot, cold, or lukewarm? Is my relationship with God vibrant and growing, or have I been coasting on yesterday’s devotion?

If the answer makes you uncomfortable—good. That discomfort is the Holy Spirit’s gentle nudge, inviting you back to intimacy. Jesus doesn’t rebuke us because He’s given up; He rebukes us because He loves us too much to let us stay comfortable in our emptiness (Rev. 3:19).

The door is still closed from your side. But Jesus is still knocking.

Will you open it?

— Ezra 📜