When Worship Happens and the Guest of Honor Isn’t There

Ancient aqueduct ruins near Laodicea with chalky calcium deposits; symbol of lukewarm, unusable water

Revelation 3:17,20 (NLT) “You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked... Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.”

Jesus speaks to a church that has built an empire of appearances, yet He lingers outside, a stranger to the very worship offered in His name. Unable to recognize the clamor inside as anything belonging to Him.

The Water Everybody Talks About

My heart keeps coming back to this critical illustration from the Revelation.

Laodicea nestled in the Lycus River valley, six miles south of Hierapolis and eleven miles west of Colossae. Hierapolis crowned the northern cliffs, renowned across the empire for its scorching hot mineral springs, where travelers soaked for healing amid cascading white terraces. Colossae, perched higher to the southeast, drew from cold, clear snowmelt streams, refreshing and vital year-round.

Laodicea lacked a natural source of its own. Rome engineered long aqueducts to deliver

water, including an inverted siphon from springs about five miles south near modern Denizli, pressurized through terracotta pipes to cross the valley. By the time it reached the city fountains, the water had turned tepid, laden with chalky calcium deposits that choked the lines and left a foul, emetic taste. Ancient accounts confirm the disgust: people spat it out the instant it touched their tongues.

That is why Revelation 3:16 declares, “But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.”

I Have Tasted That Water

I have sat in those services. I have led those meetings. I have celebrated those numbers. And I have felt the quiet nausea of realizing the Guest of Honor still stands outside, knocking.

The Red Flag Metric

When a church talks about “how God is moving,” count the seconds until someone mentions the numbers. Attendance. Giving. Baptisms. New sites. Salvations on the card.

If the dashboard is always the first proof, we have built Laodicean aqueducts. And when trouble hits, listen even closer. Does the conversation move toward healing, repentance, restoration, and accountability that points to Jesus? Or does it pivot fast to “look how strong we still are” and “see what God is doing through this”? That pivot is a blazing red flag.

The Same Disease in the Marketplace

In my own leadership journey, I have seen and built companies that hit every metric while the people inside were slowly dying on the vine. Revenue soaring. Culture tepid. We flashed the numbers and called it victory, while everyone quietly wondered why the mission no longer felt worth the burnout.

A business that grows revenue while its people grow hollow is Laodicea wearing a different logo.

Leadership That Actually Matters

Real leadership refuses lukewarm water. It asks “How alive?” “How transformed?” “How close to Jesus?” long before it asks “How many?” It is willing to grow slower, report smaller numbers, even shrink for a season if that is what it takes to tear down the man-made pipes and let the real Source rush in fresh again.

In Conclusion -

This is my prayer for me first, and then for every leader, every church, every business, every heart reading this:

Lord, ruin my comfort.

Burn me with Your fire or freeze me with Your truth, anything but let me stay lukewarm. Keep my heart desperate for Your presence more than platform, numbers, or applause.

Make me ruthless about tearing down every aqueduct I have built that keeps You on the outside.

When Sunday comes, give me eyes to see if I am truly worshiping You or just producing a show You cannot recognize.

When the metrics roll in, give me courage to celebrate depth over size, repentance over reputation, and people over performance.

And do the same for the global church I love, for every pastor, elder, and member. Do the same for every entrepreneur, CEO, and manager chasing the next milestone.

A full room with an empty throne is still the most dangerous kind of success there is. May we all hear the knock today and fling the door wide open.