TODAY’S READING: Revelation 3:1-6:17
WORD OF THE DAY: Examine
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A Wake-Up Call We Cannot IgnoreSome parts of the Bible comfort me.
Revelation 3–6 does not.
Those chapters feel less like a quiet devotional and more like a spiritual siren blaring across the pages. One minute I was reading Jesus’ letters to the churches, and the next I was watching seals break, horses stampede, martyrs cry out, and the sky peel back like a scroll.
It hit me hard: If Revelation 3 is true… then most of us are far closer to lukewarm than we want to admit.
And lukewarm isn’t neutral.
Lukewarm is dangerous.
Lukewarm is rejected.
Lukewarm is the spiritual condition Jesus says makes Him sick. This is not a passage to shrug off. This is the moment to lean in.
The Mask I Didn’t Know I Was WearingI wish I could say that these chapters made me think of “other people.” But the truth? It felt like Jesus pressed His hand gently under my chin and lifted my eyes to meet His.
“Tricia, let’s talk about your heart.”
Because I know how to look like a “good Christian.” I can check the boxes—go to church, homeschool the kids, serve, encourage, teach, write. I can run a ministry and still completely miss the ministry God is trying to do in me.
What’s harder to admit is this: Sometimes my faith feels beige. Not blazing hot. Not stone cold. Just… unbothered, unthreatened, unexamined.
And that’s exactly where the danger lies. Revelation 3:16 (NLT) doesn’t give me space to stay there:
“Since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth!”
Those words land like a holy slap of truth—firm but loving, jolting but necessary.
Truth isn’t cruel when it comes from the God who loves us.
Honesty That Hurts in the Best WayTruth isn’t cruel when it comes from the God who loves us. So when Jesus calls me lukewarm, He isn’t shaming me. He’s saving me.
Jesus never exposes what He doesn’t intend to heal.
But the healing begins with honesty—raw, uncomfortable honesty. The kind where I sit with my Bible open and whisper,
“Lord, show me what I’ve been refusing to see.”
And in that vulnerable place, I often realize:
I’m quick to say I trust God… but quicker to rely on myself.
I want holy passion… but settle for spiritual autopilot.
I desire to follow Jesus fully… but I cling to safe, predictable, familiar.
This is the messy middle where most of us live—not sinful enough to feel conviction, not surrendered enough to feel transformation. Just numb. Just “fine.”
But “fine” will not survive the shaking of Revelation.
Why We’re Afraid to Examine OurselvesOn the podcast, we talked about our Word of the Day: Examine.
To examine means to look closely, to test, to investigate. But deep examination requires courage—because we know God will reveal things we’d prefer to keep buried.
Hidden resentment. Quiet idols. Old wounds we protect instead of surrender. Apathy we spiritualize as “busy.”
But Scripture is clear:
“Search me, O God, and know my heart.” —Psalm 139:23
We pray it… but do we mean it?
The truth is that what we do not examine, we cannot repent of. And what we do not repent of, we cannot be healed from. So Jesus invites us to be brave—not so He can crush us, but so He can cleanse us.
A good doctor doesn’t diagnose to destroy. He diagnoses to restore.
The Cure for Lukewarm Faith Has Nothing to Do With Trying HarderThis surprised me. When I first saw lukewarmness in myself, I immediately thought:
I need to do more.
Try harder.
Get more disciplined.
But Revelation 4 and 5 say something different:
You don’t need more effort. You need a bigger vision of God. Because lukewarmness isn’t a behavior problem—it’s a beholding problem.
John is carried into heaven, and suddenly, everything shifts:
A throne, blazing with glory
An emerald rainbow
Lightning and thunder
Worship without ceasing
Twenty-four elders casting their crowns
Four living creatures declaring:
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God, the Almighty!”
And then—the Lion who is a Lamb.
Not a weak lamb, but the slain Lamb who stands in resurrected power, holding the scroll that will unfold the end of history.
When you truly see Him, nothing stays lukewarm.
A faith that sees the Lamb clearly cannot stay beige.
A heart that remembers His worthiness cannot drift into spiritual sleep.
A soul that beholds His glory will burn again.
Where This Leaves Me TodayI don’t want to be a Christian who looks alive while slowly dying inside. I don’t want ministry to replace intimacy. I don’t want productivity to numb my passion.
And I definitely don’t want to hand Jesus a lukewarm heart when He gave everything to set mine on fire.
So today, I’m choosing to:
examine my heart with honesty,
confess what has grown cold,
ask the Holy Spirit to blow His fresh wind,
fix my eyes on the Throne and the Lamb.
Revelation doesn’t scare me anymore. It sobers me. And strangely… it steadies me. Because the same Jesus who warns the lukewarm is the Jesus who stands at the door and knocks.
Not to shame, but to restore. Not to condemn, but to ignite.
Lord, let my heart burn again.
Here are the revised Journal and Prayer resources, tailored to match the vulnerability and “beholding vs. behaving” theme of the new blog post.
1. Journal & Prayer
Reflection Journal Prompt: In the blog, Tricia admits that sometimes faith feels “beige”—not stone cold, just unbothered, safe, and unexamined. She writes, “Lukewarmness isn’t a behavior problem—it’s a beholding problem.”
The Diagnosis: Be brave enough to name one area of your life where you have settled for “fine” or “beige.” (Is it your secret thoughts? Your marriage? Your prayer life? A hidden habit?) Write it down.
The Cure: Instead of listing ways to “try harder” to fix that area, read Revelation 4:1–11 slowly. What specific detail about the Throne Room (the emerald rainbow, the lightning, the “Holy, Holy, Holy”) grabs your attention? Write how beholding that specific glimpse of God’s glory challenges the “beige” in your heart.
Closing Prayer: Lord, I confess that I am often satisfied with “beige.” I know how to look alive on the outside while drifting into spiritual sleep on the inside. Thank You that when You call me “lukewarm,” You aren’t doing it to shame me, but to save me. You are the Great Physician, and You only diagnose what You intend to heal.
God, I am tired of trying to fix my apathy with more activity. I don’t need to do more; I need to see You more. Lift my chin. Turn my eyes away from my own performance and toward Your Throne. Show me the lightning. Show me the emerald rainbow. Show me the Lamb who was slain. Let the reality of Your holiness burn away the fog of my complacency. I don’t want to be “fine”—I want to be Yours. Amen.
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