"Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their garments; and they shall walk with Me in white: for they are worthy."--Rev. 3:4.
The fond fancy that the primitive Church was a better Church than to-day's is utterly blown to pieces by the facts that are obvious in Scripture. Here, in the Apostolic time, under the very eye of the fervent Apostle of Love, and so recently after the establishment of Christianity on the seaboard of Asia, was a church, a young church, with all the faults of a decrepit old one, and in which Jesus Christ Himself could find nothing to commend, and about which He could only say that it had a name to live and was dead. The church at Sardis suffered no persecution. It was much too like the world to be worth the trouble of persecuting. It had no heresy; it did not care enough about religion to breed heresies. It was simply utterly apathetic and dead. And yet there was a salt in it, or it would have been rotten as well as dead. There were a few names, even in Sardis,' which, in the midst of all the filth, had kept their skirts white. They had not defiled their garments,' and so with beautiful congruity the promise is given to there--they shall walk with Me in white, for they are worthy.' The promise, I said. It would have been wiser to have said the promises, for there are a great many wrapped up in germ in these quiet, simple words. Nearly all that we know, and all that we need to know, about that mysterious future is contained in them. So my purpose now is, with perfectly in artificial simplicity, just to take these words and weigh them as a jeweller might weigh in his scales stones which are very small but very precious.