Revelation 3. Jesus speaking to the church at Laodicea.
“I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot. So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth. Because 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.”
The most dangerous lie: “I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing.”
Because when you think you’re full, you stop seeking what actually fills.
Here’s how you know you’re starving.
You can’t stop eating.
Constant inputs. Food, social media, work, entertainment, content — even good Christian stuff. But underneath? Anxiety. Emptiness. That low-grade ache you can’t name.
You think you’re feasting, but you’re starving.
The church at Laodicea has become synchronized with the world. They’re celebrating. They’re wealthy. They’re comfortable. They think they’re feasting.
And Jesus says: You’re starving and you don’t even know it.
Not cold. Not hot. Just lukewarm. Going through the motions. Consuming all the things the world offers and calling it “blessed.”
The problem isn’t thirst.
The tragedy is pretending you’re not thirsty.
You can be surrounded by good things. Routines down. Showing up. Doing the right things. But internally? There’s this ache. This yearning. This hunger you can’t quite name.
And instead of owning it, we respond a few ways:
We debate it. We analyze it. We numb it.
But Jesus is crying out: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.”
Not “if you’ve got it all figured out.” Not “if you’re spiritually mature enough.”
If you’re thirsty.
See also: