“But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.” – Jesus
The church in Ephesus was doing great. Look at their endorsements: patient, weariless endurance; a hatred of evil; a penchant for proving out false teachers. And look at their endorser: the star-holding, fire-eyed, sun-glowing Son of Man himself. (Rev. 2:1-3) I dare you to find me a God-fearing pastor who wouldn’t immediately accept a position with a congregation like this.
There’s only one problem: they’ve lost their first love (Rev. 2:4). If you’re like me, your mental image of this passage is one of misplacement. The Ephesian church had simply put their love on a shelf for a moment and forgotten where they left it. No big deal if you retrace your steps and find it again. But the Son of Man has strong words for this loss. He says Ephesus has fallen from heights above; that they need to repent; that a failure to repent will result in their lamp stand being removed. Whatever this abandonment means, it’s more serious than missing car keys.
This verse frequently uses “abandoned”, “lost”, or “forsaken” to convey meaning in English. In Greek, it’s afiēmi, and it comes with three distinct connotations. First is the idea of permitting or allowing. When Jesus entered a certain house, He allowed (afiēmi) no one to join him but two disciples and two parents (Luke 8:51). When little ones came, He said “Let (afiēmi) the children come to me.” (Mark 10:14) This use feels primarily passive; it is stepping out of the way and allowing something to happen.
The second iteration is exemplified here in Revelation 2:4, but I think 1 Corinthians 7:11-13 sheds more light on the subject: “the husband should not divorce (afiēmi) his wife…she should not divorce (afiēmi) him.” Do you feel the tonal shift here? This is hardline separation, full-on severance between two parties. It’s used to describe a woman, once feverish, who was completely healed—the disease had been divorced from her (Matt. 8:15). It’s used to describe how the disciples abandoned their fishing nets to follow the Messiah (Luke 5:11). In the cases where afiēmi takes on this meaning, a metaphorical canyon is dynamited between the two subjects. It’s sharp and unambiguous—once together, these two have moved apart like the north poles of two magnets. This explains why Jesus adjures Ephesus so forcefully. “Repent,” He says, or your lampstand will be removed. The church had not accidentally left their love behind on a windowsill. According to Jesus, they had divorced Him.
Perhaps the magnet metaphor is apt here as well. To repent is to turn around, to face the opposite direction. And Jesus is pleading with Ephesus to turn their magnetic hearts around: to be drawn to Him, not repulsed. To be enamored, enraptured, captivated once again by their proto-agape, their first love. It’s impossible to read this passage and not hear the voice of the Bridegroom wooing His bride back to Himself. He wants her—all of her. He’s resparking an old flame, if only she’ll come back to the light.
I mentioned that afiēmi has three flavors. I described two: permitting or allowing; and abandoning or divorcing. The third is as different as it is breathtaking. See if you can spot it in these examples.
“Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”
“Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.”
“And He said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’”
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
A third of the New Testament’s references to afiēmi mean “to forgive.” Do you grasp the implications? Jesus looked at paralytics, prostitutes, and Pharisees and offered each the same privilege. He separated, divorced, afiēmi-ed their sin from them like disease from health, like east from west (Psalm 103:12). His forgiveness—and the forgiveness He teaches us to practice—would be impossible save for supernatural power.
His desire of us is simple. Reject the loves that seduce but never satisfy. Remember the beginning. Don’t stop doing the good. Just be a laid-down lover, heart abandoned to the Bridegroom.