Revelation 2:8-11; 3:7-13 | Held

Introduction

So, here's a familiar picture for you. It's Sunday morning, and you're walking through our lobby loaded down like a pack mule.

You've got coffee in one hand and your wife's purse over your shoulder. Plus the four water bottles she insists on bringing everywhere, filled with water, coffee, and some weird health sludge slurry. Because you never know what you might be thristy for and you gotta stay hydrated!

You're also carrying your kids' Bibles, a box of crayons, three coloring books, and a bag of fruit snacks (those are for you!). Everything else is what it takes to keep them quiet for one worship gathering.

Then you catch somebody's eye across the lobby. You know this person. You've talked the last few Sundays, and last week it was a solid ten minutes.

They light up with that big "so glad to see you!" look and start heading straight for you.

And you panic, because you have no idea what their name is. Not a clue. And the asking-their-name-ship sailed three Sundays ago!

So here you are, a pack mule who can't remember anybody's name, and they stick out their hand.

You try to shift the coffee, and the purse slides off your shoulder. A water bottle hits the floor, and there are crayons everywhere. Is it Mike? Matt? Mark? It's definitely an M.

Finally, you just stick out your elbow. "Hey there... buddy! So good to see you!" Elbow bump. It's awkward.

We've all been here. Right!? Tell me this is not just a me thing! Some of you were probably there this morning.

Now freeze that moment for a second. Their hand is out, your arms are full, and you can't take it.

It's not because you don't want to. You do! You just can't take hold of something new while your hands are full. Something has to go down first.

Hold on to that picture. I think it's what we've been watching in Revelation the past few weeks.

Jesus walks among His churches, holding out His hand to each one.

Some of those churches couldn't take His hand, because theirs were too full. Full of being right, full of keeping the peace, full of money and reputation.

But this morning, we meet two churches whose hands are empty. Not by choice, but because everything had been taken from them.

The Churches are Smyrna and Philadelphia. They're poor, small, and slandered, and one of them is about to go to prison. By every measure and metric we use, these are the weakest churches on the list.

And yet surprisingly, they're the only two Churches in our list that Jesus doesn't correct. Not one rebuke!

That should stop us in our tracks. If Jesus doesn't measure a church by its size, its money, or its strength, then what is He looking for?

Here's the question I want us to sit with this morning:

If everything we count got taken away, what would Jesus find left?

Our money, our freedom, our building, our attendance, our strength. The things we hold tightly too?

For Smyrna and Philadelphia, this wasn't a thought experiment. It was Thursday!

And what they discovered is our big idea this morning:

A tighter grip on Jesus loosens your grip on everything else.

Here's where we're going. In Smyrna, we'll see a grip on Jesus loosen the grip of fear. In Philadelphia, we'll see it loosen our grip on approval and security. Then we'll turn the mirror on us and see what it loosens in a comfortable church like ours.

Let's start in Smyrna.

Movement 1: Smyrna

Picture a port city on the coast, with ships crowding the harbor, marble streets, and money everywhere. Smyrna is rich, and it's one of Rome's most loyal cities. A Roman writer called it one of Rome's most faithful allies.

Faithful. Remember that word, because Jesus is going to use it.

Right in the middle of all that wealth, there's a little church, and that church is broke.

Remember the guild dinners from Pergamum, where the meal starts with a sacrifice to the god of your trade? Smyrna's Christians say no to that meal, and when you say no to the guild, you don't get the work. The word Jesus uses for their poverty doesn't mean money is tight this month. It means destitute: empty cupboards and kids going to bed hungry.

Listen to what Jesus says to them.

Revelation 2:8–11 NIV

8 “To the angel of the church in Smyrna write: These are the words of him who is the First and the Last, who died and came to life again. 9 I know your afflictions and your poverty—yet you are rich! I know about the slander of those who say they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. 10 Do not be afraid of what you are about to suffer. I tell you, the devil will put some of you in prison to test you, and you will suffer persecution for ten days. Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you life as your victor’s crown. 11 Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. The one who is victorious will not be hurt at all by the second death.

Now, notice how Jesus introduces Himself: "The First and the Last, who died and came to life again." Three weeks ago, we heard Him say it to John: "I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever!"

Jesus starts with the thing they fear most, which is death, death from starvation. Death from persecution and prison. He starts with the fear they are facing down and He says, "I've been there, and I came back!"

Then He tells them what He sees. They're poor, yet rich. Hang on to that, because we're coming back to it.

Then Jesus names the people making their lives miserable. He calls them a "synagogue of Satan."

Church, feel how offensive that is. Think of the most respected religious people you know, people who read their Bibles, pray, and never miss a week. Now imagine Jesus telling them they're doing the devil's work.

Let me be clear: this isn't about ethnicity. John is Jewish, Jesus is Jewish, and many of the believers in Smyrna are Jewish. These people have Moses, the prophets, and the promises. But they hold their religion so tightly that they let go of Jesus. That's what a tight grip on the wrong thing does. A synagogue of God becomes one of Satan! And the people are oblivious to it!

Folks, this is not the Jesus of a Hallmark card, soft, cuddly, and safe. This is the real Jesus, full of love and TRUTH. The Jesus of Matthew 23 where He calls the religious leaders hypocrites and snakes, and then in the same chapter He weeps over them. Fierce truth, then tears.

Friends, we need to hold the Jesus of the Bible not one we fashion in our own image! I know it’s hard for us in a culture that grips tolerance above almost everything else, but a Jesus who never names evil is a Jesus who can't defeat it!

Here's the warning for us: you can hold a Bible, sit in these seats, and still miss Jesus! That can happen in Smyrna, and it can happen in Napoleon.

And for Smyrna, choosing to hold Jesus above all else isn’t just painful. It's dangerous. Rome lets Jewish people skip worshiping the emperor, and as long as Christians look like part of the synagogue, they're covered too. When the synagogue says, "They're not with us," that cover is gone. Now if these Christians won't worship Caesar, Rome can arrest them, take their property, or worse.

So Jesus says, "Do not be afraid." Notice He doesn't say, "Don't worry, it won't happen." He tells them prison is coming, for ten days.

Ten days isn't a calendar. It's a limit. Jesus is saying this has an end date, and He's the one who set it. The devil may hold the prison keys for now, but the devil is on a leash.

Jesus sees their suffering before, through, and after. Before: "I know your afflictions." He sees it coming. Through: "Ten days." It has limits, and He set them. After: "I will give you life as your victor's crown."

It ends in reward, not ruin.

Then Jesus asks them for one thing: "Be faithful, even to the point of death." Smyrna brags about being faithful to Rome. Jesus says, "You, be faithful to me."

The folks in Smyrna got this message. You know how I know? History reports it for us.

As Church tradition records, fast forward about sixty years after this letter, and Smyrna's stadium is packed. The crowd is on its feet. An old man stands in the middle of the gladiatorial arena. "Are you not entertained!" No it's not Russel Crowe or Maximus. The man in the arena is Polycarp; a pastor from the church in Smyrna.

The Roman official leans forward. He actually wants to let this old man go. "Respect your age," he says. "Swear by Caesar. Curse Christ, and I'll set you free."

The crowd is roaring for blood. Polycarp looks up and says, "Eighty-six years I have served Him, and He has never done me wrong. How can I curse my King who saved me?"

They burnt him alive that afternoon.

Here's what I want you to see: Rome (our world) runs on fear. "Comply or die" is the only leverage an empire really has, and it doesn't work on Polycarp. He's holding on to Jesus tighter than he's holding on to his own life.

So how does an old man do that? Look at Smyrna's story one more time: slandered by religious leaders, handed over to Rome, and killed. That's Jesus' story. The religious leaders accused Him and handed Him over to Pilate, and Rome nailed Him to a cross.

Jesus lived Smyrna's story first, all the way to death, and then He came out the other side. Hebrews 2 says He did it to "free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death."

Polycarp wasn't gripping Jesus with superhuman strength. He was being held by someone who had already walked through the fire.

That's what happens in Smyrna. A tighter grip on Jesus loosens the grip of fear.

A tighter grip on Jesus loosens your grip on everything else.

Movement 2: Philadelphia

Now let's travel about eighty miles inland, out to a small town on the edge of the frontier called Philadelphia. It was built to be a gateway, a door on the main road heading east. A door. Remember that.

About eighty years before this letter, a massive earthquake hits. Buildings collapse and the city is wrecked. Then the aftershocks keep coming for years, and people get so afraid that they won't live inside the city anymore. They move out into the fields, into tents and shacks, always ready to run.

Imagine raising your kids like that, never unpacking, and every time the ground rumbles, you grab them and go.

Then Rome steps in. The emperor Tiberius cancels their taxes for five years and helps them rebuild. And to say thank you, the city changes its name from Philadelphia to Neocaesarea, which means "Caesar's new city." They put the emperor's name right on the city, as if to say, "We belong to you." Years later, they'll rename themselves again to honor a different emperor.

As it turns out, when you grip so tightly to safety and approval from the powers at be, there isn't much else you hold on to! Like your city's name or whatever else Rome required from you!

That's the city, and in this city is a church. It's small and weak. Jesus puts it plainly: "You have little strength." Listen to what He says to them.

Revelation 3:7–13 NIV

7 “To the angel of the church in Philadelphia write: These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open. 8 I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name. 9 I will make those who are of the synagogue of Satan, who claim to be Jews though they are not, but are liars—I will make them come and fall down at your feet and acknowledge that I have loved you. 10 Since you have kept my command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come on the whole world to test the inhabitants of the earth. 11 I am coming soon. Hold on to what you have, so that no one will take your crown. 12 The one who is victorious I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. Never again will they leave it. I will write on them the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on them my new name. 13 Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches.

Look at how Jesus introduces Himself: "Him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David."

Jesus is saying, "I decide who gets into the kingdom. Not the synagogue. Not Rome. Me." Three weeks ago, He held the keys of Death and Hades. Today He holds the key to the kingdom, and it's the same hand.

Now look at what Jesus does with that key. He opens a door for this little church that no one can shut.

The religious people have slammed the door on these believers. And Jesus walks up with the key and says, "No, no, no... not today! I opened that door and ain't nobody closing it!"

Then He says they have "little strength," yet they've kept His word and haven't denied His name. That's not a rebuke. It's just the truth. They're not impressive, and they're barely hanging on, but they kept His word anyway.

Now I want to slow down on verse 9. One day, the people who said "you don't belong here" will fall at their feet and finally see the truth. Not "you were right," and not "you won," but this:

"I have loved you."

Some of you need to hear that this morning. Maybe someone close to you has made it clear you don't belong because of your faith. A parent, a brother, a spouse, the very people who were supposed to be on your side.

You don't have to win that argument, and you don't have to earn their approval back. When Jesus' approval is what you're holding, you can loosen your grip on everyone else's.

Then verse 10: "Since you have kept my command... I will also keep you."

Kept and keep. It's the same word, going both directions. You kept my word, so I will keep you. Jesus doesn't promise to keep us from every storm. He promises to keep us.

Then verse 11: "Hold on to what you have."

Two weeks ago, Jesus said almost the same thing to the faithful few in Thyatira. Notice He doesn't say, "Go get more strength." Little strength is enough to hold on when someone stronger is holding you.

And then the promise in verse 12. Jesus will make them pillars in God's temple, and "never again will they leave it."

Think about who's hearing that. These are people who lived in tents, who never unpacked, who ran every time the ground shook. And Jesus says, "You're going to be a pillar." Not a tent, but a pillar, the part of the building that never moves.

And He promises to write His own name on them. This city changed its name to win Caesar's approval. Jesus says, "I'll put my name on you. because I already bought your approval!"

And how did Jesus do that? Hebrews 13 says Jesus "suffered outside the city gate."

The people of Philadelphia lived outside the walls, afraid and exposed. So too, Jesus went outside the city walls. He was thrown out of the city and nailed to a cross, rejected by the religious people and shut out.

He was shut out so the door could be opened for us. He went outside the walls so we could become pillars inside the walls of His Kingdom!

That's what happens in Philadelphia.

When you're holding the One who opened the door, you don't have to hold so tightly to safety, or to anyone's approval anymore!

A tighter grip on Jesus loosens your grip on everything else.

Movement 3: The Mirror

So now we turn the mirror around, and I have to be honest with you. When I started studying these two letters, my heart said, "Meh." I understood them, but I'm not being persecuted. My hands aren’t empty. They’re full.

I'm comfortable and well fed, and I live in one of the freest countries in human history. So do most of us. Some of our storage units are bigger than the homes most people in the world live in. We pay every month to keep stuff we haven't touched in years, behind a padlock, just in case.

Our hands are full.

For us, persecution is getting called a name, or maybe getting passed over at work. The one place some of you really feel it is your family. That's real, and Jesus sees it. But most of us, most of the time, aren't Smyrna or Philadelphia. We're not jailed or being burned at the stake!

So some of you might be thinking, "Wait. Does that make us less holy? Do we have to be poor, small, and pushed out for Jesus to be pleased with us? Does somebody have to get burned alive before we count?"

Hear me clearly: no. Small isn't more holy, and growth and comfort aren’t bad. Pain isn't the price of God’s approval. Jesus doesn't love those churches more because they hurt more. Smyrna and Philadelphia weren't healthy because they suffered. Suffering didn't make them healthy. It showed what they were holding.

So the question isn't, "Are we suffering enough?" It's the one we started with:

If everything we count got taken away, what would Jesus find left?

Jesus tells Smyrna they're poor, yet rich. And from last week, He told Laodicea: "You say, 'I am rich... and do not need a thing.' But ya poor!"

Smyrna is poor, yet rich. Laodicea is rich, yet poor.

Church, we're not Smyrna. The question is, "Are we becoming Laodicea?"

Last week Wes asked a question I can't stop thinking about: When do you pray the hardest? Most of us were honest. We pray hardest in the trial, when it hurts and the floor drops out. Pain makes us focus.

Smyrna and Philadelphia didn't have a choice. Their hands were forced open. We still get to choose. We get to hold on to Jesus before we are forced to, or not!

And that matters, because the hard days are coming. Peter says it plainly: "Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you." He doesn't tell us to pray for it or go looking for it. We don't pray for the fire, but we don't panic in it either.

And we don't get ready with bunkers, canned goods, and a stacks of ammo. We get ready by holding on to Jesus now over safety or comfort or whatever else!

Let me tell you something I've caught myself thinking about. It's late at night, everyone's asleep, and this question slips in: What if I lost them? My wife and my kids, all at once. A phone call, a car accident, and they're gone. How would I feel about God? Would I still hold on?

Some of you don't have to imagine it. You've lived it, and I'm so sorry.

But listen to the prophet Habakkuk: "Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord."

That's a farming community losing everything. No crop, no livestock, every single thing they could count, gone. And what's left?

"Yet I will rejoice in the Lord."

Church how do you get a grip like that? How do you loosen your grip on comfort? Not by trying harder. You can't pry your own fingers off the storage unit.

Paul shows us how in Philippians 3. He sits down and counts everything: his résumé, his reputation, his religious credentials. And then he sees Jesus. "I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord."

Paul didn't let go because he was disciplined. He let go because he saw something better. The only way to push out an old love is with a bigger love.

So let me get practical. If you're comfortable, loosen your grip while it's still your choice. Give something away that actually costs you. Pray when things are good, not just when they fall apart. Not to earn anything, because you're already rich in Christ. The savings account, the storage unit was never your security.

And if you're suffering right now, you don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt. Jesus says, "I know your affliction," and He sees it before, through, and after. You don't need a strong grip today. You need a strong Savior, and you have one.

A tighter grip on Jesus loosens your grip on everything else.

The Close

Folks, everything we hold that’s not Jesus, we’ll lose. Our strength will fade, our money will stay behind, and someday our storage unit will get cleaned out by somebody else.

But everything Jesus holds, He keeps!

Remember the lobby? Coffee, a purse, four water bottles, crayons all over the floor, and an elbow bump because your hands are too full.

Jesus is walking among this church right now, holding out His hand. Some of us can't take it, because our hands are too full of the things we count. Smyrna and Philadelphia had their hands forced open. You and I still have a choice, we get to open ours.

Here's the invitation this week:

Hold on to Jesus before you have to.

Before the phone call, before the diagnosis, before the hard days come. Set something down, open your hands, and take His.

And if your grip feels weak today, hear me: He's already holding you. Three weeks ago we saw the seven stars in His right hand, held and not dropped. That's us. His Church. His people. Held.

And unlike me in the lobby, Jesus never forgets your name. He's the one who writes it on you.

That's why Polycarp could stand in that stadium. It wasn't because his grip was strong. It was because Jesus' was.

So... if everything we count got taken away, what would Jesus find left? I pray He'd find us holding on to Him.

A tighter grip on Jesus loosens your grip on everything else.

Let's pray.

Closing Prayer

Jesus, we confess our hands are full.

We hold tightly to things we're guaranteed to lose.

We measure ourselves by what we can count.

Thank You that You walked our road first. All the way through death, and out the other side.

Thank You that You hold the keys. That You open doors nobody can shut.

Thank You that You've been holding us the whole time.

Open our hands. Show us Your worth.

Help us hold on to You before we have to.

And when our grip is weak, remind us that Yours never is.

Amen.