What’s So Bad About the Church at Ephesus?

Having come to maturity in an age when everyone knew we were living in the “age of Laodicea,” I’ve always had problems with Jesus’ letter to the church leader in Ephesus.

Raging with joy at works of the Spirit during the Jesus Revolution, it was a little too easy to condemn all those “lukewarm” churches around us. We were growing, and they were not. We were fast and loose; they remained bound by denominational polity.

My problem was that our star seemed to burn brightly and then dimmed over time.

No, I would not call congregations I led lukewarm, but that wasn’t the problem.

It seemed that as a congregation, those who had been most touched and who had touched others the most gradually became distracted by things of the world—good things, mind you. Family, home ownership and career development seemed to knock off enthusiasm along with some rough edges that did need rounding.

In short, we looked much like the church in Ephesus as portrayed in Revelation. Too soon, we lost our first love.

The church in Laodicea (and the one in Heirapolis) was born during Paul’s time at the school of Tyrannus in Ephesus, as we learn from Acts 19. This argument gains strength from Paul’s letter to the church at Colossae. The saints in that city first heard the gospel from Epaphras. The fourth chapter describes him caring for those in Laodicea and Heirapolis. We know Paul never visited Colossae, so it’s easy to imagine he never made it to the other towns.

My point? Paul’s ministry in Ephesus began in struggle, even desperation. Mingled with the Holy Spirit’s power, it generated a functional paradigm. The problem appears to be distracting and fragile prosperity when you read the words of Jesus in the apocalypse.

That’s the part that got to me. We started each church in fear and fervent prayer. The first time, my wife and I parachuted into a place where the gospel had never really prospered. The second launch involved thirty of us parachuting to Hawaii with its prevailing Buddhism–with just four percent of the people professing Christianity. We began each with much fear and solemn prayer.

But then we found our stride. Miracles occurred. People met the risen Lord. The base grew. A paradigm emerged that smoothed the path of the gospel into human hearts. That was exhilarating, and much fruit came of it.

However, over time, the cares of life intervened, and some of our most on-fire members seemed to grow spiritually numb. Did they love Jesus? Decidedly yes! Was their love as vigorous as before? Sadly, no.

We could boast of numbers, and our churches multiplied, but the message to the Ephesians became more appropriate over time.

I couldn’t and never could speak for the churches and denominations around me. But as I’ve come to recognize that Jesus spoke to actual first-century congregations, his words have born greater meaning.

Those churches no longer exist but the lessons hold true.

I don’t know about you, but I’m working to rekindle my first love—the immature but sincere love of a 16-year-old boy crying out for more of God in his life.

What starts in desperation too often ends in fragile prosperity and that can ultimately fail. That’s another way of saying that what happened in Ephesus might eventually approximate conditions in Laodicea.