#biblicalUnity

Overcoming the Nicolaitans

860 words, 5 minutes read time.

Revelation 2:6–7 (NIV) “But you have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.”

I used to think the mention of the Nicolaitans in Revelation 2 was just a historical footnote. A strange name, a brief condemnation, and that was it. But the more I’ve lived and the more I’ve seen in the church, the more I realize this short verse is one of the most piercing warnings—and one of the most hopeful promises—in all of Scripture.

The Nicolaitans (likely meaning “conquerors of the people”) represent the spirit that seeks to lord it over God’s people instead of serving them. It shows up when leaders or systems silence gifts, control contributions, and push people into “safe” roles that fit the hierarchy rather than the needs of the body. It’s the voice that says, “You’re not good enough,” or “We already have someone for that,” even when your skills could serve the kingdom in powerful ways.

Modern-Day Targets of the Nicolaitans

This spirit isn’t stuck in the first century—it’s alive and well today. Here are some common ways it targets believers:

  • Talented outsiders like you and me: Creative people (programmers, artists, writers) who offer real solutions but get sidelined because they don’t fit the “approved” inner circle. Your gifts are seen as a threat to the status quo.
  • Questioners and reformers: Anyone who asks “Why do we do it this way?” or suggests improvements. They’re often labeled “divisive” or “unsubmissive” to shut them down.
  • The overlooked majority: Everyday members who want to serve but are funneled into low-visibility roles (setup, cleaning) while a few “stars” get all the platform time.
  • The wounded and weary: People hurt by past church experiences who are tempted to give up entirely. The Nicolaitan spirit whispers, “You’re not needed here—or anywhere.”
  • The LGBT+ community: Individuals who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, or other sexual and gender minorities. Many have been told they are “not welcome,” “not good enough,” or “too sinful” to participate fully in church life, even when they sincerely seek Christ. The Nicolaitan spirit often uses moral superiority or rigid gatekeeping to exclude them, rather than meeting them with grace, truth, and the invitation to follow Jesus.

If you’ve felt targeted, know this: It’s not about your worth. It’s about a system that values control over Christ’s body.

I’ve felt that sting personally. As a web programmer, I’ve offered my gifts to churches—only to be gently (or not so gently) redirected to volunteer tasks that kept me on the sidelines. It hurt. It made me question my worth. And I know I’m not alone. Many of us have been made to feel like our talents don’t fit the approved structure.

But here’s the red meat of this passage: Jesus doesn’t stop at “I hate what they do.” He immediately turns to the promise to the overcomer.

The Nicolaitans are not the enemy we’re supposed to spend our lives fighting. They are the obstacle we’re called to overcome.

Jesus is saying: “I see the pain. I hate the control. I hate the rejection. Now rise above it. Don’t let their system define your calling. Don’t let their ‘no’ silence your gifts. Use what I’ve given you—whether inside the walls or outside them. Keep serving Me. Keep building. Keep loving. You are an overcomer. And the tree of life is waiting for you.”

Reflection Questions

  1. Where have you felt like a “target” of the Nicolaitan spirit in your church experience?
  2. How might recognizing these modern tactics help you overcome them?
  3. What gifts has God given you that you can use today—regardless of who approves?

Prayer

Lord Jesus, You walk among Your churches and You see everything. You know the pain of being sidelined, the sting of being told I’m “not good enough.” Thank You for hating what hurts Your people. Help me identify and overcome the Nicolaitan spirit in my life—whether it’s in a church system or in my own doubts. Give me courage to use the gifts You’ve placed in me, even if it’s outside the approved structures. May I stay faithful, keep my first love, and overcome—not by fighting people, but by trusting You. I look forward to the day I eat from the tree of life in Your paradise. In Your name, Amen.

Call to Action

If this devotional encouraged you, don’t just scroll on. Subscribe for more devotionals, share a comment about what God is teaching you, or reach out and tell me what you’re reflecting on today. Let’s grow in faith together.

Author’s Note:

The identity and exact teachings of the Nicolaitans remain debated among scholars. Some link them to moral compromise (sexual immorality and idolatry, as suggested by the “doctrine of Balaam” in Revelation 2:14–15), while others see the name as symbolic of hierarchical control and domination over God’s people. Regardless of the precise interpretation, the core issue is clear: Jesus hates anything that harms, controls, or leads His church astray. This devotional focuses on the spirit of exclusion and abuse of authority that still appears in churches today, while affirming that Christ calls all to repentance, grace, and overcoming through Him.

D. Bryan King

Sources

Disclaimer:

The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

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Illustration of a diverse modern church congregation standing together in hope, with Jesus at the center offering light and love, surrounded by a web programmer, LGBT+ individuals, wounded believers, and others overcoming exclusion; title "Overcoming the Nicolaitans" prominently displayed.
Intentional Faithmhoggin@pastorhogg.net
2026-01-06

The Tower We Keep Rebuilding

On Second Thought

There is something deeply attractive about the phrase “I did it my way.” It appeals to our longing for autonomy, dignity, and control over our own lives. Yet when Scripture places that instinct under the light of God’s revelation, it exposes both its strength and its danger. Genesis 10–11 presents humanity at a moment of remarkable unity. The people share a language, a vision, and a collective determination. On the surface, the Tower of Babel looks like progress—organization, cooperation, and ambition woven together into a single project. But beneath that impressive coordination lies a restless dissatisfaction with God’s design. Humanity is no longer content to live before God; it wants to reach Him on its own terms.

The builders of Babel were not atheists. They were deeply religious in a distorted way. Their tower was not meant to replace God but to force proximity—to ensure visibility, significance, and security apart from obedience. The text makes this clear when they say, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves” (Genesis 11:4, italics added). The Hebrew emphasis rests on ourselves and our name. This is not humility reaching upward in worship; it is pride reaching upward in demand. Ironically, the very unity they celebrated became a threat—not to God, but to themselves. Unchecked human ambition, even when cooperative, can turn destructive when severed from submission.

God’s response often feels jarring to modern readers. “Come, let us go down and there confuse their language” (Genesis 11:7). Yet, this act of judgment is also an act of restraint and mercy. A single-minded humanity bent on self-exaltation would only spiral further into alienation and self-destruction. The scattering of languages interrupts the illusion that unity alone is redemptive. Scripture reminds us that unity without truth, and cooperation without obedience, ultimately fractures rather than heals. As Ecclesiastes later observes, “I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me” (Ecclesiastes 2:18). Human achievement, detached from God, cannot bear the weight of lasting meaning.

Against this backdrop, the ministry of Jesus in Matthew 9 feels deliberately countercultural. Rather than building monuments, Jesus builds relationships. Rather than gathering power, He gives Himself. He heals, forgives, eats with sinners, and calls the weary to rest. When His disciples ask how to pray, He does not teach them how to summon God downward but how to surrender upward: “Our Father in heaven… your will be done” (Matthew 6:9–10, italics added). The kingdom Jesus announces does not rise through towers but through trust. It does not secure God’s presence by force; it receives God’s presence by grace.

The coming of the Holy Spirit completes what Babel could never accomplish. In John 16:4–15, Jesus promises a Helper who will dwell within God’s people, guiding them into truth. At Pentecost, the confusion of Babel is not erased but redeemed. Languages remain, cultures remain, yet understanding is restored through the Spirit’s work. God does not flatten humanity into sameness; He unites diversity through shared submission to Christ. The presence humanity once tried to reach by brick and mortar is now given freely, dwelling within believers. The tower is replaced by the temple of the heart.

Frank Sinatra’s lyric—“If I didn’t have myself, then I’d have naught”—sounds convincing until Scripture reframes the question. Ecclesiastes confronts us with unsettling honesty: self-possession without God leads to exhaustion, not fulfillment. The Teacher’s reflections are not cynical; they are sober. Pleasure, productivity, legacy—none of them can anchor the soul when God is pushed to the margins. God’s invitation is not to erase the self, but to reorient it. “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it” (Matthew 16:25). Doing things God’s way is not self-annihilation; it is self-restoration.

God’s alternative to Babel is not passivity but service. True unity is found not in shared ambition but in shared obedience. Jesus shows us that serving God always flows outward toward serving others. Love, respect, and self-sacrifice are not add-ons to faith; they are its visible shape. The tower impulse still lives in us—in our need to be noticed, to be right, to be in control. Yet Christ gently dismantles those towers, brick by brick, replacing them with a life grounded in trust.

On Second Thought

On second thought, the most surprising paradox in the story of Babel is this: humanity was never closer to losing itself than when it was most united in purpose. We often assume fragmentation is our greatest enemy, that if only we could think alike, speak alike, and act alike, the world would finally heal. Yet Scripture suggests something more unsettling. Unity detached from humility can become just as dangerous as chaos. The tower builders were not divided; they were aligned. What they lacked was not cooperation, but reverence.

On second thought, perhaps the problem is not that we want to reach heaven, but that we want to do so without being changed. Babel was an attempt to ascend while remaining the same—to bring God closer without surrendering control. That impulse persists whenever faith becomes a strategy for self-fulfillment rather than a path of transformation. We pray, plan, and build, yet quietly insist that God bless what we have already decided. The paradox is that God’s “no” at Babel was actually a deeper “yes”—yes to protecting humanity from itself, yes to a slower, humbler redemption.

On second thought, the gospel does not ask us to abandon ambition, but to relocate it. Instead of making a name for ourselves, we are invited to bear Christ’s name. Instead of building upward in defiance, we are called to build outward in love. The Holy Spirit does not erase difference; He sanctifies it. God’s way feels smaller at first—service instead of spectacle, faithfulness instead of fame—but it is the only way that endures. When we stop insisting on “my way,” we finally discover that God’s way is not restrictive, but freeing.

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Intentional Faithmhoggin@pastorhogg.net
2025-11-28

When the Church Forgets Who It Belongs To

Thru the Bible in a Year

Today, we step into one of the most practical, challenging, and deeply relevant sections of the New Testament: 1 Corinthians 1–4. Whenever I read these chapters, I feel as though Paul is sitting across the table, leaning in with pastoral clarity, reminding the church of who we are—and who we are not. Corinth was full of gifted believers, but they struggled with division, pride, spiritual immaturity, and confusion about what real ministry looks like. In other words, they looked a lot like us at times.

As we walk through these four chapters together, we aren’t simply studying a troubled ancient congregation; we are letting the Spirit shape how we see the church today, how we serve, and how we grow. God uses these passages to recalibrate our hearts, reminding us that spiritual maturity comes from humility, unity, and a Christ-centered view of ministry.

 

1 Corinthians 1 — A Church Pulled Apart

Paul begins his letter with a greeting that is far more than formality. He reminds the Corinthians that he is an apostle “by the will of God,” and that they are a people transformed by “the grace of God” through Christ. Before Paul ever addresses their behavior, he roots their identity in God’s calling. I find that insightful—Paul starts by lifting their eyes before addressing their failures. He speaks of the gifts they have received, not the problems they have created, because he knows that transformation flows best when people are reminded of God’s work in them.

But after those opening verses, Paul turns to the first major issue: division. Reports had reached him that believers were aligning themselves with various leaders—Paul, Apollos, Peter—rather than with Christ. It sounds almost petty when we read it, but Paul understood the danger: when a church elevates personalities over the gospel, the message becomes distorted. Unity is not a sentimental dream; it is a theological necessity.

Paul then shifts into a reflection on salvation. To the world, the message of the cross seems foolish. It always has. God’s pattern has never been to save people through intellect, status, or human greatness. Instead, He chooses what the world considers weak or unimpressive so that no one can boast except in Him. The Corinthians wanted to appear wise and noble by worldly standards, but Paul reminds them that salvation flips all human values upside down. Our confidence is not in our greatness, but in God who saves.

 

1 Corinthians 2 — A Ministry Built on God’s Power

Paul continues by explaining how he ministered among them. His purpose was singular:
“I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.”

In a city obsessed with rhetoric, clever speech, and philosophical brilliance, Paul deliberately chose simplicity. He refused to rely on polished arguments or persuasive techniques so that the Corinthians’ faith would rest entirely on the power of God, not on the personality of a preacher.

This is incredibly relevant for us today. In a world saturated with spiritual content, polished production, and endless voices, the true power of the gospel still does not come from performance—it comes from the Holy Spirit. Paul explains that spiritual truth cannot be grasped by worldly wisdom. Insight comes only through the Spirit, who reveals the deep things of God to those who belong to Christ. When we lean too heavily on human logic or cultural approval, we lose the ability to perceive what God is showing us.

This chapter invites us to ask:
Do we rely more on polished presentation or on God’s power?
Do we seek applause or spiritual understanding?
Are we spiritually discerning, or are we still trying to navigate faith with worldly instincts?

Paul reminds us that real wisdom is not hidden from us; it is revealed to us.

 

1 Corinthians 3 — Growing Up in Christ

If chapter 2 shows us how Paul ministered, chapter 3 shows us why the Corinthians struggled to grow: they were still carnal, not spiritual. They were saved, but they were not maturing.

Paul tells them he had to give them milk rather than solid food because their jealousy, quarrels, and factions revealed their immaturity. Spiritual carnality always stunts growth. It creates an environment where believers are easily offended, overly competitive, and more concerned with personalities than with purpose.

Paul addresses their divisions once again. They were boasting about their favorite leaders, but Paul corrects them firmly:
Apollos waters. Paul plants. But God gives the increase.

This is a lesson every church needs.
Ministers are not competitors.
Volunteers are not rivals.
Different roles do not mean different worth.

We are co-workers in God’s field. And because God is the One who brings growth, the rewards believers receive in eternity are based not on popularity or giftedness but on faithfulness and the quality of service.

Paul then warns of the danger of deception. The Corinthians were tempted by worldly wisdom—ideas and values that sounded impressive but hollowed out spiritual life. Worldly wisdom promises depth but gives distraction. It flatters the mind but starves the soul. Carnal Christians are always vulnerable to deception because they rely on impressions rather than discernment.

Today’s church faces the same temptation. We can easily confuse charisma with calling, cleverness with holiness, information with transformation. Paul calls us back to spiritual adulthood, where humility, unity, and discernment replace envy and division.

 

1 Corinthians 4 — The Marks of True Servants

Paul closes this section with another lesson on service and stewardship. Ministers are servants—managers of God’s mysteries—and their primary requirement is faithfulness. Not brilliance. Not success. Not applause. Faithfulness.

And the One who evaluates their service is not the congregation, not the culture, and not the critics. It is the Lord. Paul even says he does not trust his own evaluation of himself. He leaves judgment entirely in God’s hands.

Paul also acknowledges that those who serve Christ will face mistreatment. He speaks honestly about being scorned, suffering, and experiencing shame. The Corinthians wanted Christianity to look glamorous. They wanted the benefits of spiritual gifts without the cost of spiritual endurance. But Paul shows them—and us—that genuine ministry often looks like quiet suffering accompanied by unwavering commitment to Christ.

Toward the end of the chapter, Paul gently rebukes them for fussing about his travel plans and whether or not he would come. His question—“Shall I come to you with love and gentleness or with discipline?”—reminds us that spiritual leaders must sometimes confront, not out of frustration, but out of love. Discipline in Scripture is always aimed at restoration.

 

Walking Away With Clarity

These four chapters invite us into a mature, Christ-centered view of the church. We learn that:

  • Unity is essential to witness.
    • Wisdom is spiritual, not worldly.
    • Growth requires humility and discernment.
    • Ministry is measured by faithfulness, not fame.
    • God—not man—is the One who evaluates His servants.

If you’re reading through the Bible this year, remember this: God’s Word will not return void to you. Every chapter plants something eternal in your heart. Keep going. Keep reading. Keep opening your life to the Spirit’s work. What you sow today will bear fruit in the weeks and months ahead.

Thank you for your commitment to this journey. Your faithfulness in Scripture is shaping you in ways you may not see yet, but God sees—and God honors.

 

For additional insight on living out unity and spiritual maturity in the church, consider this article from Crosswalk:
“What Does Paul Teach About Christian Unity?”
https://www.crosswalk.com/

You may also explore study tools on Blue Letter Bible or BibleHub for deeper context on 1 Corinthians.

 

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