In Western culture, comfort has almost become a national pastime. Thanks to advancements in industry and technology, we enjoy effortless transportation, abundant food, and endless recreational pursuits. In many ways, life in the developed world seems devoted to the pursuit of greater ease—but are these comforts truly beneficial? Or could they be quiet distractions, subtly pulling us away from the presence of Jesus?
In Revelation, Christ’s message to the church in Laodicea is striking:
“So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am about to spit you out of my mouth. Because you say, ‘I am rich and have acquired riches and have need of nothing,’ and yet do not know that you are the wretched one, and pitiful, and poor, and blind, and naked” (Rev. 3:16–17).
Jesus offers them a powerful contrast: true riches are not found in material abundance but in him—gold refined by fire (faith tested and purified), white robes (his righteousness), and eye salve (spiritual clarity) (Rev. 3:18).
The Laodiceans believed they lacked nothing, yet Christ declared them spiritually bankrupt. Wealth, health, and worldly comforts pale in comparison to the eternal treasure of life with Jesus. Consider the unwavering focus of biblical figures like Daniel, Moses, and Paul—men whose deepest longing was not for earthly ease but for the hope of everlasting life with the Lord.
Hebrews 11 is often called the “faith chapter,” but it’s just as much a chapter about hope. The patriarchs listed there were sustained not only by faith, but by a deep yearning for God’s eternal promise:
“… they professed that they were foreigners and resident aliens on the earth. For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a homeland … they desire a better land, that is, a heavenly one” (Heb. 11:13–16).
These saints understood that life on earth was a temporary journey. Their hearts were set on something far greater. How often do we echo their cry, “We don’t belong here”?
Paul, in Philippians 3, goes even further. He lists his impressive earthly credentials—religious pedigree, zeal, and moral discipline—only to count them as “dung” compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ (v. 8). His words echo the longing of Hebrews 11:
“My goal is to know him: to experience the power of his resurrection and to share in his sufferings, becoming like him in his obedience unto death, that through whatever happens, I will arrive at the resurrection from among the dead” (Phil. 3:10–11).
So how do we shift from pursuing comfort to longing for Christ? How do we fix our eyes on eternity?
Jesus gives the answer in Revelation 3:20: “Look! I am standing at the door and knocking. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will eat with him, and he with me.”
He’s not hiding—he’s knocking. The crucified, risen Savior invites us into real fellowship. When we spend time with him—in prayer, in the Word, and in worship—earthly comforts begin to lose their grip. His presence outshines every fleeting pleasure. All that’s required of us is to open the door of our heart and welcome him in.
Yearning for Him,
