Today it has become surprisingly easy to take refuge in the comfort of being called ministers of God and to become trapped in the position of representing Christ. We enjoy how it sounds, how people see us, and how it places us in certain spiritual spaces. Yet there is a quiet and subtle danger: representing Christ from a distance while our hearts slowly disconnect from the living example of the Master. He did not merely speak about the Kingdom; He embodied it. He did not simply teach about service; He wrapped a towel around His waist and washed feet. He did not just mention the brokenhearted; He embraced them, touched them, and walked with them. To represent Him is easy, but to carry Him is costly.
During my annual Bible reading, I found myself drawn again to the book of Revelation, particularly to the message of the risen Christ to the seven churches. One message in particular has shaken my heart: the message to the church of Laodicea. Jesus says to them, “I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot.” He then reveals the root of their lukewarmness: “Because you say, ‘I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing,’ and do not realize that you are wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked” (Rev. 3:15–17).
This diagnosis is not a condemnation; it is a spiritual X-ray. The wealth of this church—according to many theologians—was not their greatest problem. Their deepest weakness was the self-sufficiency their wealth had produced. They had learned to function without depending on the Spirit. They knew how to organize, plan, manage, and produce… but they no longer knew how to kneel. Their activity was great, but their sense of need for God had become small.
And I ask myself, with trembling in my soul: does the modern church face the same danger? Is it possible that we have become so professional, so structured, and so technologically equipped that we no longer feel the desperate need for the presence of Christ to carry out His work? Could it be that some of our most well-intentioned efforts are actually building our own kingdoms while we lose sight of the eternal Kingdom?
In many contexts today, there is a growing pressure to have the best programs, the best music, the most modern production, the most aesthetically pleasing auditoriums, and the most innovative strategies. While all of this can be useful and important—and often is—it can also quietly misdirect our hearts into a consumer-driven Christianity, where the believer becomes a spectator and ministry becomes entertainment. But Christ did not call us to impact the world with aesthetic excellence. He called us to impact it with embodied love, deep compassion, and sacrificial service.
This raises a question that echoes like a divine whisper: What kind of Christianity are we presenting to the world? True disciples of Jesus will always be passionate about loving, serving, drawing near to people, touching wounds, and walking with the broken. Representing Christ from a stage is simple; carrying Him into the streets, the home, the workplace, and the inner places of our character is the genuine work of the Spirit.
In my journey serving with Every Home, I have discovered that carrying Christ is not a religious act; it is an internal transformation that redefines how we think, how we see, and how we speak. Carrying Christ means learning to see people through the eyes of Jesus—eyes that do not first judge, but first love; eyes that do not measure a person’s usefulness, but recognize their eternal value.
Carrying Christ also means speaking words of hope even when we do not have a prepared sermon, because hope does not emerge from polished speech but from the abiding presence of Christ in us. Yet this ability to carry Christ does not come from human effort; it is born from intimacy. It arises in the secret place where Christ shapes, corrects, cleanses, lifts, and guides us. Any ministry that is not born out of intimacy eventually becomes empty activism.
What happened to the church of Laodicea was fundamentally a relational problem. Just like the church of Ephesus—and much like the modern church today—they had achievements, structure, results, and a strong reputation. But they had lost their passion for Jesus. And when the passion for the Son is lost, the capacity to reflect His heart is also lost. This is why we find one of the most moving images in all of Scripture: the risen Christ standing outside the church, knocking on the door, longing to enter (Rev. 3:20).
A church full of activity… but empty of Christ.
And here arises a prophetic call—not a call that condemns, but one that awakens: The greatest revival God desires to bring will not be a revival of events, but a revival of the heart. It will not be a movement driven by our strategies, but by our surrender. It will not be powered by our creativity, but by His presence. It will not be sustained by structures, but by a people who are broken and dependent on the Spirit.
I am convinced that the Lord is raising a movement that is truly transformative. But this movement does not begin on a platform, in a conference, or in a planning meeting. It begins in the heart that empties itself of self. It begins in the heart that recognizes its spiritual poverty and confesses, “Lord, without You I can do nothing.” It begins in the humble heart that allows the Spirit to form within it the character of the Son.
This is the call:
Return to Jesus.
Return to dependence.
Return to first love.
Return to the compassion that does not require microphones.
Return to the presence that ignites everything else.
Only when Christ occupies the center of our hearts can we offer the world something more than an image of Him. We can offer His life, His love, and His transforming power.
Representing Him can impress, but carrying Him transforms.
Representing Him may move crowds, but carrying Him changes eternal destinies.
Representing Him makes us visible, but carrying Him makes Christ visible.
Abraham Lozano
