There is something wonderful about a shovel turning over dirt and finding, just beneath the surface, a piece of a world we thought we had only read about. Archaeologists working in one of the ancient cities named in the book of Revelation have unearthed a discovery around fifteen hundred years old. I read that headline slowly. Fifteen centuries of silence, and then the past speaks again.
I love these finds, and not because I need my faith propped up by a pottery shard. I love them because they remind me that the people in Scripture were real people, standing on real ground, in real cities with real names. The seven churches of Revelation were not a metaphor. They were congregations of ordinary believers, meeting in ordinary places, trying to be faithful in a difficult time. When John wrote to them, he wrote to folks with jobs and neighbors and worries, folks who wondered whether their small witness mattered.
The stones remember what people forget
Isn't it striking that the walls and floors of those cities outlasted the people who built them? We tend to think our own moment is the whole story. We forget how long God has been at work. But every time a discovery like this comes to light, it whispers the same thing: the story is bigger than you knew, and it has been going on far longer than you.
To the church in Philadelphia — one of those seven cities — Jesus said, "I know thy works: behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it: for thou hast a little strength, and hast kept my word, and hast not denied my name" (Revelation 3:8). Notice He does not scold them for being small. He commends them for being faithful. A little strength, kept faith, an open door no one can close. That was enough for the Lord to be pleased.
Those believers are long gone from this earth. Their houses fell. Their marketplaces filled with sand. But the door Jesus set before them never closed, because it was never theirs to guard in the first place. He held it open then, and He holds it open now.
A living God, not a museum piece
Here is what I don't want us to miss. It would be easy to treat faith like an artifact — something old and precious, kept behind glass, admired from a distance. But the Holy Spirit did not retire when the last apostle died. The same Spirit who moved among those seven churches is moving in Ravenna this week. I have watched Him do it. I have seen Him heal what medicine had given up on. I have watched Him settle a grieving heart with a peace that had no earthly explanation. I have heard people pray for the first time in years and feel Him answer.
The dirt of an ancient city gives us evidence of a past. The presence of God in a living room, a hospital corridor, a Sunday gathering — that gives us evidence of a present. And He is every bit as real today as He was in that Galilean afternoon.
Your small strength still counts
Maybe you feel like one of those little congregations — not much strength, quietly keeping the faith, wondering if anyone notices. Hear the Lord's own words: I know thy works. He sees. Nothing done in His name is wasted, even if the world will never dig it up and put it on display. What lasts is not our monuments. What lasts is our faithfulness, held by a God who does not forget.
And if you prayed for a door to open and it hasn't yet — please don't read this as a rebuke. The Philadelphians had "a little strength," too. Christ met them there, not on the far side of some achievement. He meets you there as well.
The old stones are worth studying. But lift your eyes past them. The One who kept His word to those ancient believers keeps it still, and He is standing at your door today — not sealed under fifteen centuries of earth, but near, present, and open.
Join us this Sunday at 10:30am — Outpouring Worship Center, Ravenna.