“Don’t be a lukewarm Christian.” Ever heard that phrase? For some, it’s a familiar rallying cry; for others, it’s a grating cliché that sparks annoyance. Critics argue it’s nitpicky, overused, or even weaponized in judgmental ways. Sure, like any saying, it can be tossed around carelessly or misapplied. But how often do we pause to dig into what it truly means to be a “lukewarm” Christian? Not just the definition, but what it looks like in our lives — our choices, our passions, our daily walk. Why does it matter if someone labels us as lukewarm, and more importantly, why should we care?

The truth is, the Bible doesn’t shy away from this topic. It speaks to it — both directly with striking imagery and indirectly through timeless principles that challenge our complacency. The clearest, most direct address Scripture gives to this concept of being lukewarm is found in Revelation 3:15-16: “I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” Okay, let’s unpack this.

Picture the church in Laodicea, which these verses address. It was a city with a serious water problem. They didn’t have a local spring, so their water was piped in from miles away. By the time it arrived? Tepid. Murky. Lukewarm. Not hot enough to soothe aching muscles or heal wounds, like the therapeutic springs of neighboring cities. Not cold enough to refresh a parched throat, like a crisp mountain stream. It was just… there. Stagnant. Barely potable. The kind of water that makes you grimace, maybe even gag. Useless for healing, useless for refreshment, and borderline unhealthy. That’s the lukewarmness God is confronting.

This passage isn’t just about water; it’s a searing metaphor for a faith that’s settled into mediocrity. A lukewarm Christian isn’t someone who’s failed spectacularly or rejected God outright. They’re not “cold” — openly opposed to faith. Nor are they “hot” — fervent, alive, consumed with purpose. They’re just… comfortable. Going through the motions. Showing up, but not fully in. Their deeds — their lives — lack the transformative power God intends. They’re not refreshing others with love or healing a broken world with Christ’s light. They’re stagnant, like that Laodicean water, offering little to God or those around them. This is also where the warning at the end of the verse comes into play: “I will spit you out of my mouth.” This verse, then, seems to echo the words of Matthew 7, when Jesus said, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven … then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’”

If that strikes a nerve, it should. A life that gives so little to God or others isn’t just ineffective — it defies the two greatest commandments. How can a lukewarm Christian claim to love God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength when their faith is a dim ember rather than a roaring fire? And if a lukewarm Christian is loving their neighbor as themselves, what does that say about the love they’re offering? A half-hearted dribble, at best, when God calls for a flood.

Lukewarmness is apathy dressed in familiarity — a passionless drift. The very name “Laodicean,” tied to the church in Revelation, means lukewarm, halfhearted. Could there be a more jarring mismatch for the Christian life? This isn’t a trivial flaw; it’s a betrayal of the all-in devotion God seeks. We’re not called to merely care or hold on to just enough Jesus to get by. No, we’re summoned to burn with zeal — for righteousness, for the gospel’s spread, for God Himself.

Scripture doesn’t whisper this; it thunders: “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord” (Romans 12:11). A faith burning with passion doesn’t just exist — it ignites, transforms, and pours out love that is meant to shake the world and leave others wondering why we are so different — so alive.

So, why does this matter? Because God doesn’t want half-hearted followers. The Laodiceans thought they were fine — rich, prosperous, and in need of nothing (Revelation 3:17). But God saw them as they truly were: “wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.” Harsh? Yes. But when read correctly, this can be understood as a wake-up call, not a total rejection. As the saying goes, “Lukewarm never gets hot enough to be refined.” God’s desire isn’t to shame but to stir — to call us to a faith that’s vibrant, purposeful, fruitful. He longs for us to be hot — ablaze with devotion, impacting lives. Or even cold — honest about our distance from Him, for example. But not lukewarm, where we’re deceiving ourselves with a facade of faith. In the end, we’re not deceiving God.

What might lukewarm faith look like in your life? It’s the prayer muttered on autopilot, not the cry of a heart seeking God. It’s the Sunday service attended out of habit, not hunger. It’s the choice to blend in rather than stand out — to avoid rocking the boat with bold love, costly obedience, or righteous living. It’s prioritizing comfort over conviction, safety over sacrifice. And it’s not just personal; it’s communal. A lukewarm church might have programs, budgets, and pews filled, but lack the fire of the Spirit, the courage to confront injustice, or the passion to proclaim Christ. Just look around. How many churches, succumbing to secular weight, are shamelessly waving Pride flags or promoting a woman’s “choice” to have an abortion? Too many, and it’s heartbreaking.

The application is clear: Christians — the church — are called to bear fruit. Jesus said, “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). A fruitful faith isn’t perfect, but it’s alive — marked by love, joy, peace, and a relentless pursuit of God’s kingdom. It’s a faith that refreshes like cold water to a weary soul or heals like a warm spring to a wounded heart. It’s a faith that doesn’t settle for “just enough” but strives for all in.

More importantly, it’s a faith that rightly recognizes our standing before God. I’m sure you’re familiar with this hymn: “Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain; He washed it white as snow.” Without Christ, we have nothing. We are nothing. He paid the ultimate price to offer us salvation, making us heirs of heaven. If that truth sinks in, how could lukewarmness even be an option? How could we half-heartedly serve the God who wholeheartedly loves and redeems us? He saved us from eternal darkness and calls us to live in humble gratitude and awe. To stroll through life as if this doesn’t matter is to miss the magnitude of His sacrifice, the depth of His love, and the abundant nature of His grace and mercy.

So, pause and reflect: Where’s your faith today? Is it a blazing fire, a cool stream, or something in between? If it’s lukewarm, don’t despair — God’s grace is bigger than your complacency. But don’t stay there. Stir the embers. Seek the source. Read the word and pray and let that mold your life into a wellspring of His love, rather than a stagnant pool. Because a lukewarm faith isn’t just ineffective — it’s a failure to live a life worthy of the calling to which we’ve been called (Ephesians 4:1).

Above all, it’s an inappropriate response to the very Lord who so deeply cares for you, that He gave it all up so you could, in turn, live in abundance; in glory; in grace. I beseech you: Don’t take that for granted. Don’t waste this moment to be a living sacrifice to the living King. Don’t settle for lukewarm. Choose to burn — brightly blazing Christ’s glory. Or did you forget? “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). So, go forth and shine with a faith unwilling to fade.

*Published by The Family Research Council at frc.org (1-800-225-4008; 801 G Street, NW, Washington, D.C. 20001) Authored by Sarah Holliday on July 13, 2025.