John 1:10-11

One of my favorite reality TV shows is Undercover Boss. I love seeing the CEO of a large company face the consequences of his choices and corporate strategies. I love how he interacts with his employees and discovers that their jobs are more difficult than he imagined. But most of all, I love it when employees throw shade at upper management with him right there in the room. That's good TV, my friends.

In this passage, Jesus is the ultimate Undercover Boss:

He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and the world did not know Him. He came to His own [or own things, possessions, domain], and those who were His own did not receive Him. (John 1:10-11, NASB)

The Beginning: All is nothingness, an unformed chaos. A mysterious breath hovers over the surface of dark waters.

A disembodied Voice speaks. Light illumines the darkness. The light is constrained to a pattern of behavior: Day; Night; goto Day;

The Voice speaks again. The shapeless void is distinguished into wet water, grainy sand, loamy earth. The sky is divided from the earth and the sea from the land. The world begins to take form, to be distinct from the universe around it.

And so goes creation: The Voice speaks, bringing order and beauty from the void, and it is very good.

John's claim is that Jesus, housed in a frail meatflesh body that defecates and stubs its toes and sometimes has a bad cough, is the very embodiment of the Voice that wove the world into its beautiful being.

More than that, Jesus is the same eternal God who made a deal with Abraham: Follow me, and I will make you a great nation. Your wife may be barren, but that won't stop me from giving her descendants numbering like the stars in the sky or the grains of sand on the seashore. (See Genesis 12-17.)

So here comes this Jesus into the land of Israel, to the very descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. As he walks, his feet grow dusty with the dirt he formed in the beginning. He is walking among people who are the very grains of sand, the skystars he promised to Abraham.

And yet, like the hapless CEO of Burger Behemoth, failing to keep up with the fry timers in the back of the restaurant, Jesus is not seen for who he is. Many reject him, especially those who have a lot to lose from any disruption to the status quo.

But, as we'll see in our next installment, there's a great reward for those employees who respond well to this Undercover Boss.

John 1:9

 There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every man.

-John 1:9 (NASB)

If you've ever been in a cave, you know how a tiny bit of light makes an enormous difference in the darkness. Here, the evangelist compares Jesus to light. He makes the remarkable claim that, through His coming into the world, Jesus brings light to each person. 

The unspoken assumption here is that the world was enveloped in darkness before Christ came into it. Perhaps it was not an utter darkness, but it was dark enough that there was room for each of us to be "enlightened." 

In the light that Christ exudes, we begin to see the truth about the Life, the Universe, and Everything. We see God's love, our own self-focused disobedience, and the way that our behavior has corrupted God's good world. We see human pain, loneliness, and need, and we see the solution that God has provided for these problems. 

When the light shines in a dark place, we suddenly see everything: The beauty that was hidden only moments before, and the ugliness that lurked out of sight. It is necessary, this enlightenment. Without it, the beauty would go unappreciated, and the ugliness would linger on, festering and growing ever uglier.

We need the light if we care about knowing the truth.

Commentary on John 1:6-8

 There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

-John 1:6-8 (NASB)

Here, we meet one of the central characters of John's gospel: John the Baptist. The evangelist's introduction of him is stripped-down, simple, and straightforward -- surprisingly so, in fact. 

If it had been up to me to introduce the baptizer, I would have been tempted to give a list of his qualifications: 

1. He was the founder and lead minister of a large and exciting ministry on the banks of the Jordan, baptizing folks and calling them to repentance. Jews of every background and theological bent flocked to hear him preach, and even Roman soldiers attended to get his advice on godly living. 

2. He led a simple, holy life in the desert, devoting himself to God's service and the preaching of the truth.

3. Like Jesus, he had made some very powerful political and religious enemies.

4. As a pre-born baby, he leapt at the very (also pre-born) presence of Jesus, who, by the way, was also his cousin. 

5. He was born miraculously to aged parents who, like Abram and Sarai, had long ago resigned themselves to being barren. His birth, like that of Jesus, was foretold by an angel. Also like Jesus, John's very name came straight from God's messenger.

But John the Evangelist mentions none of these things. For him, the baptizer's primary importance was as a witness sent from God to testify about Jesus. His purpose, like the evangelist's, was to bring people to belief in Christ. 

The spareness of John the Baptist's introduction holds a vital reminder: In God's economy, human ideas about importance, accomplishment, and renown are of little use. What matters to God is that whether we are faithful in what He has called us to do. Though John was a remarkable man for all the reasons listed above, his most important function was to testify concerning the divine Light, the everlasting Word. 

And testify he did! As we'll see later on, John testified without fear or regard for men's reactions. He was so committed to his calling that he preached himself right into a prison cell... and then into the ground. 

One other noteworthy thing about these verses: The evangelist makes it very clear that John himself is not the light. In other words, he is not the protagonist in this story. Rather, he's merely a supporting character. Perhaps the evangelist feels a need to mention this because the baptizer is a larger-than-life figure. After all, he's very recognizable, iconic, and clearly filled with God's power. Another possible reason for mentioning this could be simple narrative clarity. Perhaps the evangelist is simply avoiding any possibility of confusion for his readers.

Regardless of why the evangelist mentions this, though, we now have a new character on the stage: John, the first of many witnesses to the truth and the power of the Word made flesh. 

Jesus Wept... But Why?

The Scene: A RURAL FIELD just outside the town of BETHANY.

The Cast:
JESUS, a popular teacher who has fallen out of favor with the religious and political authorities.
His loyal DISCIPLES, who fear for JESUS's life more than he does.
MARTHA, a calculating, practical-minded woman whose brother LAZARUS has just died.
MARY, the less practical sister of MARTHA and LAZARUS, given to grand gestures and occasional hysterics.
A variety of MOURNERS (LAZARUS was popular, and also fairly rich, which probably helped with the popularity).

The Background:
A week or so ago, LAZARUS came down with a mysterious disease. After he took a turn for the worse, MARY and MARTHA dispatched messengers to JESUS, saying, "He whom you love is sick." JESUS got the news, predicted that it wouldn't end in LAZARUS's death, waited two days, and then set out for BETHANY.

Fast-forward to now: MARTHA meets JESUS outside of town and tells him LAZARUS has been dead for four days. The first words out of her mouth are: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

After some confusing talk about the coming resurrection, MARTHA sends MARY out to see JESUS. MARY collapses dramatically at JESUS's feet, wailing up a storm. She manages to choke out, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." The MOURNERS come along with her, and they add to the storm that she is a-weeping up.

Then, the funniest thing happens: JESUS weeps right along with them. This causes some of the MOURNERS to remark, "See how He loved him!" But some of them also say, "Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man also from dying?"

The reason I call this a funny thing is that JESUS had very, very little reason to weep. Quite the opposite, in fact -- I would have expected him to comfort the weepers, to offer them hope, to try to shush them. Because -- SPOILER ALERT -- JESUS is going to raise LAZARUS up from the dead.

My question, then, is why? Why the tears and the mourning and the anguish? What purpose does any of that serve? It's not making LAZARUS any less dead, that's for sure.

But let's back up a step and look at this a little more methodically and a little less theatrically...

Reasons Jesus Didn't Need to Weep

1.) He had already predicted the outcome:

• This sickness won't end in death (11:4a)
• Spoken to his disciples. Just think, by the way, of how they must have felt when they got there and found out Lazarus had already died before Jesus had even said this. Disappointment? Disillusionment? Deception? Betrayal?
• He ends up being right -- it won't end in death. But it will go through there.
• Lazarus has fallen asleep; I'm going to wake him up (11:11-14)
• Of course, the disciples don't get it. "Hey, that's good news! If he's sleeping, that will help him rest up and get better!" 
• Wrong, boys.
• Your brother will rise again (11:23)
• Like the disciples, Martha misunderstands this. She thinks Jesus is slinging platitudes. "Yes, I know that he will come back to life... when the resurrection comes and everybody does." 
• Wrong, Martha. I am the Resurrection. 

2.) He knew God had something good in mind:

• This will be for God's glory (11:4b)
• Jesus delayed His coming on purpose (11:5-7)
• He did this at the Father's leading, of course -- see also John 5:19-21
• My opinion: God did this to ensure Lazarus was good and dead. After four days, there's no possibility that people will think of this as a mere swoon or deathbed recovery.
• Jesus had faith in God's plan and timing despite other people's opinions of it:
• You're going too soon (11:8, 14-6)
• You didn't come soon enough (11:21, 32, 37)

3.) He knew he had the power and the prerogative to bring Lazarus back. He knew that:

• This is why God allowed the sickness to occur (11:4)
• This was why he was being called back to Bethany (11:11-15)
• He himself was the resurrection and the life, not only for Lazarus, but for all who would be raised up on the last day (11:23-27)
• God would hear his request and honor it, because the Father was where this whole plan came from in the first place (11:41-42)

If ever there were excellent reasons not to weep, these are. We often weep from lack of control or power over a situation, overwhelming despair, or utter hopelessness. But Jesus had none of these motivations. He knew the outcome would be powerful, glorious -- the very best best-case scenario imaginable. He knew he would grapple with the grave itself and come out on top. 

And yet, there's verse 35, in black and white: Jesus wept. 

So why would the almighty maker, the life-source, the conqueror of death, the victorious one, the winner, succumb to tears right before the moment of his greatest triumph yet?

Here are a few possible answers:

1.) He missed Lazarus and was sad that he had died. This isn't too far-fetched -- it's actually what the people observing the scene thought, too! "See how he loved him!" (v. 36). And well they might think this. When our loved ones die, we lose something of ourselves. Of course, one could also argue that Jesus knew it wasn't for keeps, so this seems to be a less likely motivation than some others.

2.) He saw Mary and the other mourners weeping and was deeply moved and troubled in spirit. I cheated a little bit on this one -- it's from verse 33. So this is actually as close to a "right" answer as I'm going to get, I think. It's right there in the Bible, so I believe it's true. The problem is that this answer doesn't really get to the heart of the matter: Why was Jesus moved? Why was he troubled in spirit? It approaches an answer to this question, but never really arrives there.

From here on out, the answers are a little more speculative, so proceed at your own risk...

3.) I'd argue that Jesus was moved because he was very empathetic. He saw the sorrow of his good friends, and because they mourned, he did, too. I'm reminded of Romans 12:15:  "Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." The weeping of our friends can bring great healing. In my greatest moment of grief, I went off by myself because I couldn't bear to be around everyone else. Then, a godly man came and found me in my hiding place. He could have offered me platitudes, scriptures, or words of wisdom. Instead, he only offered me a big hug and his tears. I can't tell you how much it meant to me to know he was sharing my mourning. I also suspect I wouldn't have been nearly as comforted by any words he could have said in that moment. I think Jesus knew this, too: Sometimes loving people means simply crying alongside them.

4.) My next idea actually comes from my good friend Mike, who I was discussing this passage with this week. (So if you disagree, I'll be glad to give you his number so you can give him a piece of your mind.) Mike's idea is this: Jesus was human. Too often, we put Christ's deity so high in our minds that we forget he shared our infirmities, too. He shared our emotional nature. Sometimes, he was overcome by feelings he had no control over. Of course, he never allowed his emotions to be a conduit or an excuse for sin, but he was subject to their influence nonetheless. To overlook Jesus's uncontrollable emotions would be to deny his nature as Emmanuel, God with us.

5.) Perhaps Jesus was mourning over something bigger than the immediate situation. More than anyone else, Jesus knew the whole picture. He had seen heaven's holiness. He had seen mankind's bliss in the garden of Eden. And he had seen the horrible consequences of sin. He had seen pain, sickness, and misery beyond all reckoning. He had seen the ravages of lust, and murder, and death. What if Jesus was weeping over death's very existence? What if he wept because, even though he knew he would bring Lazarus back, his good friend still had to taste the bitter cup that Jesus himself would soon drink? And so many countless others would taste it, too. Seems like a pretty good reason to cry, if you ask me.

Regardless of why Jesus wept, we can take several important lessons from this passage.

1.) Crying isn't a sin. Too often, we try to pave over pain with words like, "Well, everything happens for a reason!" or "The joy of the Lord is my strength!" We try to pretend things are all right when they are most definitely not all right. Through his own weeping, Jesus gave you and me permission to weep. Now, it's also true that our tribulations are a cause for rejoicing (see Romans 5:3 and James 1:2). But that doesn't mean you have to be all smiley about them right away. It does mean that God will inevitably transform them into a something glorious, which is great news. But it's OK not to feel that at the time. (What we must avoid is the temptation to unnaturally prolong our weeping and misery. Our flesh sometimes likes to hold onto pain long after healing should have begun.)

2.) Crying with others can be a service of love. Again, remember Paul's exhortation to the Romans: Weep with those who weep. This doesn't mean to have a never-ending pity party. It does mean that we ought to work to cultivate empathy -- the ability to see and feel things from someone else's point of view. Again, we do this in an effort to love and serve one another as our Savior loves and serves us.

3.) Don't assume you know what's going on in God's plan. Like Martha, the disciples, and the mourners, we don't know what's going on with God's plans. We might think he intends to do one thing, when his actual plan involves something completely incompatible with that thing. Sometimes, Lazarus dies.

4.) Don't assume you know what's going on in people's hearts. If I'd been there, I'd have been tempted to say, "Hey, now, Jesus. It's OK. Martha was right -- Lazarus will rise again in the resurrection. I know you loved him; I did, too. Let's just celebrate the things we loved about him, OK?" Or even, "Well, Jesus, everything happens for a reason!" I suspect this sort of comfort wouldn't have been a blessing to the weeping savior.

5.) Don't mistake an intellectual answer for an antidote to sorrow. Jesus had literally all the answers in this situation. If ever there were a place and time for explaining away sadness, this was it, and he was the man for the job. But it wasn't, and he didn't. He did offer explanations to Martha, because she wanted and needed them (though it's not clear that she really understood them). To Mary, though, he offered only his tears... and, then, after the tears, her heart's desire.

Well, I'm afraid I probably haven't given a very satisfactory answer to why Jesus wept. But I have arrived at one very definite conclusion: I want to get better at weeping like him.

Commentary on John 1:4-5

 In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.

-John 1:4-5 (NASB)

Here, John continues on with more abstract descriptions of the Word: He is the source of a life that brings light to all of humanity. The same living Word who was in the beginning, who was everything's first cause, continues providing life, light, and goodness to all who see Him.

In verse 5, we see our first indication of an adversary. Up until now, the Word has been unopposed, as well you might imagine. After all, think about what a potential opponent would be facing: A being that was in the beginning with God, that is one with God Himself, and that has brought all things into existence. It's not exactly taking candy from a baby to go up against this guy.

Nonetheless, this divinely powerful Light does have an opponent: The darkness. The word that the NASB renders "comprehend" is actually κατέλαβεν, and "comprehend" is only one possible meaning. Other senses of the word include "take hold of," "arrest," "capture," and "perceive." It comes from two words meaning "to aggressively take" and "down." Literally, the darkness cannot take the light down.

So the darkness could signify ignorance here: The Light was shining in the darkness, but the darkness failed to understand it.

Or the darkness could signify opposition: Despite its best efforts, the darkness couldn't stop the Light from overcoming it.

Regardless of which sense is correct here (and the answer might be that both are!), the Light stands in direct opposition to the darkness. It contends against darkness, evil, ignorance, and general sneakiness. This is a common theme in St. John's writings -- his first epistle reads, "This is the message we have heard from Him and announce to you, that God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all" (I John 1:5).

The stage is set, the actors are in position, and the lights have come up on center stage, overwhelming and driving out the darkness. (The darkness isn't completely gone, though -- he's hiding in the wings, preparing for his next appearance.) Now, at last, we're ready for the narrator to come on the scene...

Commentary on John 1:3

All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being.

-John 1:3 (NASB)

Here, we learn that the Word (who, as you'll remember, was both with God and one with Him) is the source everything that exists. In other words, nothing has appeared on the universe's stage without His direct, express involvement.

This is probably as good a time as any to address a couple of Christianity's fundamental problems:

1. If God's nature is thoroughly good, unadulterated by any evil, and if everything in existence has come through God, then how can we explain evil's existence? How could a good God have created a world fraught with evil?


2. Similarly, if God is all-powerful, and if He hates evil (since it is foreign to His character), how can we explain evil's continued existence? Why hasn't He wiped it out from the universe once and for all?

It would be foolish to claim that I have some final, ironclad answer to these questions. In fact, many brilliant philosophers have been arguing about this very matter for centuries. I can, however, tell you where my intellectual and spiritual journey has led me. 

1. I believe that when God creates rational beings, He gives them the ability to make decisions. This statement may seem obvious, but think about its implications. If God forced every human -- or angel, or whatever other will-bearing beings may exist -- to behave in accordance with His perfect nature, they wouldn't truly have the ability to make decisions. Oh, they might be able to choose within a range of acceptable options, but the decisions that mattered most to their identities would have been made for them long ago.
   
   I would argue, then, that our ability to choose evil is a fundamental part of being made in God's image. That is, our capacity for making decisions -- good or bad -- is the fingerprint of the divine.


2. I believe that mercy is a fundamental part of God's nature. This is particularly true in how He views mankind, His favorite creatures. Just as I do not wish to destroy my children when they choose to disobey me, God does not wish to wipe out His disobedient children, either. Instead, He wants to reach out, to restore our broken relationship, to give us as many chances to repent as possible.
   
   This is why He sent His Son to take our sins on Himself and bear the punishment of our evil. Being divine, Christ is able to accept God's wrath without being permanently removed from His sight. Being human, Christ is able to truly take the punishment that Adam and his children deserved.
   
   Nonetheless, God is also constrained by His goodness, righteousness, and holiness. Thus, He cannot and will not brook unrepentant rebellion forever. A day of reckoning must come for those who do not accept Christ's substitutionary sacrifice on their behalf.

We'll dig deeper into these ideas later. For now, the important thing  to see is that everything came into existence through the medium of the Word, the divine logos. And by everything, the evangelist means EVERYTHING. He emphasizes this by repeating himself in the second phrase: "Apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being." 

God's very divine Word, the being with whom He is one, and with whom He was in the beginning, is the source of everything that is and everything that ever has been. And, as we'll see, the Word is also the only way for God's rebellious children to return to Him.

Commentary on John 1:1-2

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.

-John 1:1-2 (NASB)

From the very first words of John's gospel, it's obvious that this won't be a straightforward story. Jesus Christ, of course, is the focus of this book, but the evangelist won't actually mention him by name until verse 17. Instead, he begins with a more abstract title: logos (λόγος - "the Word").

John's audience, if they were familiar with the Septuagint (the translation of the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek), probably would have identified logos with God's universe-creating word of power, as in Psalm 33:6:

By the word [λόγω] of the Lord the heavens were made,
And by the breath of His mouth all their host.

If the readers were familiar with contemporary Jewish philosophers, they might have also heard of Philo of Alexandria's concept of the logos, which he identified with the Angel of the Lord. For Philo, the logos was an immaterial, adequate shadow of God, containing the fullness of His supernatural wisdom and power. Or perhaps they would have known of the Stoic concept of logos, dating back to 300 BC. Zeno and other stoics considered the logos to be the material, driving principle behind all life and action in the universe.

John's use of the term logos signals that he wants to provide his readers with a narrative deeper than a mere recounting of historical events. That doesn't mean he's going to play fast and loose with the facts. It does mean, though, that he's more concerned with spiritual truths than he is with giving an exact, detailed chronology of Christ's life and ministry.

We can tell from this first sentence that John's project is ambitious. The scope of his narrative begins not with Jesus's human birth in Bethlehem, but with the very origins of the universe itself. Moreover, the sentence echoes the first sentence in Genesis: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." The implication is that, like some evangelistic Paul Harvey, John is here to tell The Rest of the Story.

John clearly asserts three things about the Word in verse 1:

1. The Word was present in the beginning (time)
2. The Word was in God's presence (location)
3. The Word was distinguishable from God, and yet one with Him (identity)

In verse 2, John repeats his first two assertions, but uses the pronoun οὗτος ("this one," or "he / she / it"): This One existed in the very beginning, and This One was together with God at that time. The repetition underlines the fact that the Word was both distinct from God and present with Him before the world existed.

So, then, the stage is set, and the actors are present:

SCENE: The beginning of all things.

Enter GOD, accompanied closely by THE WORD, the embodiment of His dynamic creative power. They are distinct, yet somehow one.

And without even reading the next verse, we know what must follow. After all, here we are, surrounded by a fully-formed, wondrous world...

Adventures in Hagiography

Hagiographers build the saint's life
Even as they kill the man behind it
Deader than a sinless doornail.

They lose his doubt and fear and foibles,
His bad temper and worse choices,
His lonely nights of dark despair.

They know their audience, to be sure:
Masses eager for a blameless hero,
But one less offensive than Jesus Himself.

In the baby lisping Ave Maria and Pater Noster,
We see Christ as we would like Him to be,
Rather than the bruised, bloody bondslave He was.