Revelation 3:18-20:
“I counsel you to buy from Me gold refined in the fire, that you may be rich; and white garments, that you may be clothed, that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed; and anoint your eyes with eye salve, that you may see. As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten. Therefore be zealous and repent. 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.”
God’s answer to your starvation isn’t “try harder” or “sin less.”
It’s: “Come eat what I’m offering.”
Gold refined by fire — real treasure, not the counterfeit wealth of the world. White garments — covering your shame, not the fake confidence you’ve been wearing. Salve for your eyes — so you can actually see, not just consume what looks good.
And then: “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.”
This is written to a church.
Jesus is outside His own people, knocking.
Think about that.
The One who created the feast is standing outside, asking to be let in.
The One who said “I am the bread of life” is now saying, “I’m at the door. Will you let Me in?”
In John 4, Jesus offered living water to a woman at a well. In John 6, He said, “I am the bread of life.” In John 7, He cried out at the feast. An invitation. Compassion. “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.”
Now, in Revelation 3, it’s counsel. It’s admonishment. Because time has passed. The Spirit has been given. And the church still hasn’t come to drink.
Christmas isn’t just a story about a baby.
It’s about God stepping into the void we created.
A seed planted in a forgotten town. The Bread of Life starting His story in a feeding trough.
That’s not an accident. That’s a sign.
God looked at our starvation — our fake feasts, our constant hunger that nothing could satisfy — and He said: I’m coming to you.
Not in power. Not in a palace. But as bread. As wine. As something to be broken and poured out.
The One we’ve been thirsting for became something we could taste.
The Feast came to the table.
Jesus didn’t come to judge the world’s celebration. He came to offer something better. Something real. Something that actually fills.
And He’s still knocking.
Still saying: “If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and dine with him.”
You can’t feast on Him if you’re gorging on everything else.
Restraint isn’t punishment. It’s clearing room at the table.
Real spiritual life begins the moment you stop numbing the ache and start owning it.
That’s where Jesus meets you. Not at the end of your striving. But at the edge of your need.