The Mirror of Pretense

Focus Statement

When the mirror of Christ is held before us, reputation fades and truth remains…

and in that truth, God invites us to choose life again.

Point of Relation

When I came to this church,

I came the same way I have come to every place God has sent me…

with an open heart,

trusting that God would give wisdom, discernment,

and whatever grace was needed to lead well.

And I have seen good fruit here.

I’m grateful for every moment God has allowed me to be part of that work.

But it would not be honest to pretend that everything has been easy.

It grieves me that not everyone has experienced that same fruit, or even welcomed it.

It saddens me that, at times,

working together in the unity Jesus prayed for in John 17

has felt harder than it should.

And I have felt the sting of something Ipersonally know some of you have felt too…

the gap between the warm welcome we say we offer

and the conditional welcome that sometimes shows itself in practice.

Smiles on Sunday are one thing…

But true Christian hospitality runs deeper than preference,

deeper than comfort,

deeper than whether someone fits the mold we’ve quietly decided is acceptable.

In other words, smiles without spirit

look fake to everyone with their eyes open.

Those places of disconnect…

those places where appearance and reality don’t line up…

those are wounds.

They are part of my own story here.

And I know they are part of yours as well, whether you want them to be or even acknowledge them, they are.

Which is why the words to Sardis meet us with such weight this morning.

Christ words for us today hold up a mirror not to shame us, but to tell the truth…

the truth we need if God is going to lead us toward life.

Things to Consider

There are times when a church can look steady on the surface

while something deeper is asking for attention.

Moments when the story we tell about ourselves doesn’t quite match what we feel inside.

And in those spaces, Scripture often meets us with a truth we need…

not to wound us, but to wake us, and to lead us gently back toward life.

What Scripture Says

When Jesus speaks to the church in Sardis,

the words land with a kind of holy shock:

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive,

but you are dead. Wake up.” Sardis wasn’t a troublemaking church.

They weren’t fighting, they weren’t causing scandals, they weren’t hostile to outsiders.

On the surface, they looked like the model congregation.

Friendly. Welcoming. Kind.

They opened their doors, showed hospitality,

and did the kinds of mission projects any pastor would be proud of.

If you stood outside and watched them, you’d think,

“Now there’s a healthy church.”

By every human measure, they appeared alive.

But Jesus sees deeper than reputation.

Sardis had learned how to do all the right things

without allowing the Spirit to make them a living people.

They had motion without conviction…

activity without transformation.

A polished exterior masking a quiet spiritual collapse.

And when Jesus names it, he is not being harsh.

He is being honest.

He is the only one who can look past what everyone else praises

and tell the truth that no one else can see.

Only love has the courage to peak what loved ones don’t want, but need to hear.

And yet—even in that truth—Jesus does not condemn.

He invites. Strengthen what remains.

There is still something alive beneath the surface…

something worth nurturing…

something God has not given up on.

Sardis is called not to pretend, but to remember.

Not to defend their reputation,

but to return to the life they once knew.

It echoes what Jesus said to the Pharisees in Matthew:

“You are like whitewashed tombs…

beautiful on the outside, but inside full of decay.”

That wasn’t a dismissal. It was a plea.

Christ unveils what is dying only so he can breathe into it again.

He doesn’t settle for appearance, because appearance cannot save.

These passages meet us with clarity, not cruelty.

They help us see where we’ve drifted,

where we’ve relied on polish instead of presence,

where we’ve learned to look alive without letting God make us alive. And in that painful honesty… there is grace.

Christ stands ready to resurrect what has grown still,

and restore what we have nearly forgotten,

if we will open our hearts to him once again.

What This Means for You

If Sardis feels familiar…

if your faith has thinned,

or if you’ve been relying more on how things look than how you’re actually doing…

hear this as grace.

Christ’s call to “wake up” is not a rebuke.

It’s an invitation.

An invitation to let God breathe again

into the parts of your life that feel tired, hidden, or forgotten.

You don’t need to defend an image.

You don’t need to pretend you’re stronger than you are.

Christ isn’t asking for performance… only for honesty.

Whatever still remains in you—however small or fragile—

it is enough for God to work with.

Christ can build from there.

What This Means for Us

As a church, this passage invites us

to choose honesty over appearance…

truth over reputation.

It calls us to look gently but clearly at who we are,

not just who we say we are.

And friends, if we are honest in the way Christ calls us to be…

there are places where our welcome has grown conditional,

where our unity has strained,

and where our spirit has dimmed beneath familiar routines.

Christ is not abandoning us. Christ is calling us back to life.

And that is the gift of Sardis.

It reminds us that God doesn’t work with illusions.

God works with the truth.

Whatever faithfulness remains among us…

whatever courage, whatever love,

whatever longing for something deeper…

it is enough for God to renew.

If we can listen with open hearts,

if we can loosen our grip on the image we’re trying to protect,

Christ can strengthen what remains and lead us into something more whole, more honest, and more alive.

Amen? Amen.

Written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).