Original Meaning
The Incarnate Word (1:1a)
THE STRAINED GRAMMAR of verses 1–3 underscores John’s emphasis on the centrality of the incarnate Word. A literal rendering makes the sense clear:
1What was from the beginning;
what we have heard;
what we have seen with our eyes;
what we beheld and our hands touched
—concerning the word of life—
(2and the life appeared
and we have seen and testify, and announce to you the eternal life which was with the Father and was revealed to us);
3What we have seen and heard
We proclaim also to you.
Placing the main verb of the sentence in verse 3 permits John to stack four relative clauses at the beginning (a fifth is in 3a) and thereby emphasize the object of proclamation (the Word) rather than the act of proclaiming itself. It is also peculiar that the relative pronoun is neuter (“what,” Gk. ho, rather than “who”). Since “Word” (Gk. logos) is masculine, it would seem appropriate and grammatically correct to place the relative pronoun in agreement with its intended subject, Jesus, the incarnate Word.2 However, using a neuter pronoun can be a way to express “the whole career of Jesus.”3 Neuter pronouns can function “comprehensively to cover the person, words and works.”4 Therefore, John is saying that the whole sweep of Jesus’ life bears importance to his subject, not simply particular events or even the abstract appearance of God in history. In Christ, God walked with humankind, and anyone who had contact with that reality, anyone who had heard, seen, and touched that reality, could never make it less than pivotal.
All this is to say that John’s singular interest is not some abstract doctrine about Jesus or the importance of preaching about Jesus (though some commentators take it this way); rather, it is the reality of Jesus’ personhood—his incarnation or his entry into history. He is described as “the Word,” not as if Jesus is an idea preached or message that enlightens. This term rather harks back to the Gospel’s prologue, where Jesus is called “the Word” as a personal title of importance to both Greek and Jewish ears. The Word is the creative self-expression of God by which the cosmos was made (Judaism, Gen. 1:1ff.). It is the divine reason that gives the universe coherence and purpose (Hellenism; cf. Philo). Thus in verse 1 John writes that this word was “from the beginning” (cf. John 1:1, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God”). This does not refer necessarily to the beginning of Jesus’ life on earth (though some have argued for this). It instead sets out the marvelous tension of Christian thought: He who existed from limitless eternity has entered time and space and taken up residence here on earth.
Thus, of critical importance is the relationship of this Word to human history. John’s present verses serve as a reflection, an expansion perhaps, on the Gospel prologue’s primary verse, John 1:14: “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory.” To dispel any suggestion that this appearing in history was imagined or partial, John speaks graphically of the sensory confirmation (hearing/seeing/touching) that accompanied this revelation.
Bridging Contexts
FROM MY OVERALL study of the Johannine literature (see the introduction) and from what I discern here in these verses, John’s emphasis tells me that he is writing to a community where there is considerable disunity. Factions have broken out and severe theological disagreements have undercut the church’s vitality. From 1:1–4 and 4:1–3 it is clear that the Incarnation is under siege. We speculated in the introduction that these opponents may well have been early Gnostics who, if they affirmed the divinity of Jesus at all, could hardly agree that he was genuinely physical in any manner. To them, physical properties could not share anything with a divine realm. Therefore, in this diverse community Christians were trying to discern what was essential for Christian identity. It is not a far-fetched speculation to imagine debaters insisting that any “doctrine that divides” be set aside so that none will be offended.
In addition, John has on his mind the quality and character of Christian fellowship that should accompany Christian life. John’s repeated emphasis on love throughout his letter suggests the harsh tone of the debates. Christians were at each other’s throats, trying to figure out how to live in an environment where there was such diversity. Therefore, even here in 1:1–4 his urgency springs from a desire to restore fellowship and joy in an otherwise divided community.
Curiously, however, his approach is not simply ethical. John does not merely catalogue what behaviors are unbecoming to Christians and then list appropriate virtues, such as Paul does in Galatians 5:16–26 and Colossians 3:5–17. John unites the themes of Christology and community as he exhorts the church that a right understanding of Jesus should inform how we live together. Jesus’ incarnation is the central doctrine of Christian faith. Embracing this historical Jesus and continuing to bear witness to him (seeing/touching/hearing) should be at the center of our lives together. Jesus Christ as God-in-flesh cannot be marginalized.
As an interpreter I understand that this precise context, complete with proto-Gnostic heretics, is barely a part of my world. Some trends, especially among those who seek to forge a new unity among all religious movements, may come close in how they dispense with the centrality of Christ as a first order of business. Some New Age religions likewise try to inherit the “center” of Jesus’ teaching, leaving his personhood behind.
On the other hand, I must look for themes that bridge John’s context and mine. I must seek to distill what is contextually transferable to bring this passage to life. Two themes come to mind. (1) John is wrestling with the essence of Christian identity. What is the essential core of belief that distinguishes the Christian? What is the watershed doctrine at the heart of our faith? We will return to this again and again as we see that incarnational theology is for John the crux issue of thought. (2) John is describing the basis of Christian fellowship. Within the church the quality of our life together is an essential datum in fulfilling our mandate as God’s people. However, should we pursue this harmony and unity of purpose at all costs?
Contemporary Significance
WE LIVE IN a culture that is eager for religious experience. George Barna reports that in the United States over 90 percent of the population believes in a God or gods that have power over the universe.7 As a result, religious tolerance and experimentation are commonplace. Furthermore, when asked if all of the world’s religions essentially prayed to the same God, 64 percent of the adult public agreed. In the Christian church, among those who called themselves evangelicals, 46 percent agreed, and among those who labeled themselves “born again,” 48 percent agreed. Among adults who simply called themselves “regular church attendees,” fully 62 percent said that they believed all religions essentially prayed to the same God.8 This is astonishing. Within the pews of America’s churches, two-thirds of the people do not believe in the exclusive character of the Christian message, and almost half of all evangelicals say the same.
In light of these tendencies both inside and outside of the church, how will we define our life together as Christians? What will be the essential character of Christian thought and community? John’s first words to his churches force us to ask penetrating questions about our own Christian identity.
(1) What does it mean to hold to “the scandal of the Incarnation”? John sets before us the particularity of Christian thought. At the center of our faith is the entrance of Jesus Christ into history as a definitive revelation of God. This is an event that cannot be jettisoned. It cannot be redefined as a myth or compared with the religious revelations offered by others (Mohammed, Joseph Smith, New Age prophets, etc.). Jesus Christ is definitive.
Throughout the world Christians are often tempted to forge new alliances in order to achieve noble ends. This is particularly true in countries where multiple faiths coexist side by side. For instance, I have been privileged to become acquainted with the Palestinian Christian community and to learn of its fight for survival in Israel. In the hills of the West Bank, moderate Palestinian Muslims and Palestinian Christians ask what sort of unity they might build in order to construct a unified front for justice.9
The same questions are with us here in the Western world. The difficulty becomes acute when we find ourselves in interfaith dialogues that try to build unity particularly for commendable social programs. I recall attending one such attempt in Skokie, Illinois. This was a meeting of Jewish rabbis and Christian pastors who, for the sake of Chicago’s northern suburbs, agreed that a united front was needed against crime and drugs. As the discussion progressed, all sides pressed for a “common theological denominator” that would be the basis of prayer, worship, and ethics. It goes without saying that Christological emphases had to be set aside.
I have also spent a number of years in the United States Navy as a chaplain. The military chaplaincy succeeds miraculously to protect the distinctives of each faith tradition so that each worshiping community need not compromise what is essential to its beliefs. And yet the exercise of public, interfaith religion puts unique demands on the chaplain. I recall leading a prayer at an officers’ school near the Navy War College in Newport, Rhode Island. I was reminded gently by the commanding officer not to include anything offensive, such as any reference to Jesus Christ. Imagine wearing a cross as your collar device in the military and not referring to Jesus! Is this appropriate theological conduct? I was once with the Marines at Camp Pendleton, California, and one night in the field stood watch from midnight till 4:00 A.M. with a Mormon chaplain. After three hours together, it was clear that if Jesus remained central, we would have severe limits on our fellowship together.
Is it possible to conduct ourselves as Christians and exclude the place of Jesus Christ? Should we abstain from any such involvements? Or should we cease to call them “Christian” encounters? If Christ is offensive to some, do we continue on in ministry and deny the central event of our faith? Or do we hold fast to the scandal of what we affirm? John would quickly say that there is no Christianity if Jesus Christ is not at the center.
But perhaps there is a more nuanced problem here for us—the more pressing question of whether it is appropriate for Christians to have a “strategic” silence about Jesus when meeting people of other faiths and persuasions. When the time is right, when trust is secure, then the central theme of our faith, Jesus, will be heard. Wheaton College chose this option recently when our Center for Islamic Studies hosted a dialogue with a circle of Islamic leaders. (Things were particularly unusual when they dismissed themselves so that they could go out into the hall and pray toward Mecca!) The difficulty, of course, arises when that strategic silence is no strategy at all but a quiet concession to pluralism and tolerance.
(2) Should theological distinctives be set aside for the unity of the church? The issue of pluralism becomes even more problematic when the dialogue takes place within the church itself. Evangelicals often find themselves living and working in mainline denominations or local congregations where adherence to particular orthodox doctrines brings tension. Charismatic Christians feel the same when they try to share the preciousness of their experiences and yet discover that their presence risks bringing disunity. In my own Presbyterian Church, U.S.A., the limits of pluralism are often stretched to a breaking point. In order to maintain unity, a theological “lowest common denominator” is sought—a minimalist doctrinal umbrella that excludes no one. At what point does right belief become more important than church unity?
First John 1:1–4 suggests that at least one doctrine, one conviction, cannot be dismissed lightly. Any minister, any Christian, who does not embrace the reality of God-in-history, any believer who can be cavalier about the definitive event in salvation history, namely, Jesus Christ as God-among-us, has departed significantly from the faith of the early church.
I recognize this opens up a whole variety of other questions. Are there other essential beliefs that define Christian identity? The virgin birth, for instance, is a corollary of incarnational theology, but is it essential for Christian identity? What about less directly connected doctrines, such as Scripture, charismatic gifts, the sacraments, universalism, women’s ordination, and the saints? Should the church sanction within its ranks diversity on these issues for the sake of a larger unity? Whatever we make of these, at least John would have our starting point be the Incarnation. Jesus-in-history is the touchstone from which all other doctrines emerge.
A friend of mine once told a remarkable true story about Harvard Divinity School. Upon learning that one of her professors there was agnostic, she inquired about the range of theological diversity on the seminary campus. “Anything goes,” came the reply. My friend pursued the point: “You mean no belief or absence of belief would keep one from being hired to teach theology?” “Only one,” came the clarification, “the refusal to endorse women’s ordination.” Regardless of how one feels on this subject, John would anchor the starting point (or litmus test) of Christian theology elsewhere. The absence of a sound Christology is John’s test. The same confusion rests in evangelicalism. The Evangelical Theological Society, an academic fellowship of hundreds of evangelical professors and pastors, has only one doctrinal affirmation that every member must sign: the inerrancy of Scripture. A faithful Mormon could join easily. Both concerns in my illustration—the ordination of women and inerrancy—are legitimate and important. But they are not central. John reminds us that Christology is at the center of our theological identity.
Many theologians who are in dialogue with modern theological trends see this clearly. The intramural theological debates of the church often lose sight of the larger question of Christology on the border between the church and the world. In his generation Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s lectures on Christology, Christ the Center, sound this challenge clearly.10 The same call needs to be sounded today. The particularity of Jesus Christ is the scandal of Christianity that sets us apart from the world. Christology is the one theme that we cannot jettison, no matter what the benefit or what the temptation.
(3) What does it mean to see/touch/hear Jesus today? It seems clear to me that John is trying to describe a compelling experience for himself and the first generation of believers. But it is less clear what that means for believers who live even one generation removed from Jesus’ ascension. Of course we might say that this compelling experience belonged only to one generation and that all subsequent generations must live with reference to that experience, a “touching” from afar, as it were.
But I believe that John wants more than this. The Fourth Gospel, for instance, suggests that there will be a continuity of “Jesus experience” for all generations and not just the first. In John 14 Jesus promises that he will never leave his followers “orphans” (14:18) and that those who love him and are obedient will become Christ’s new dwelling place (14:23). In other words, Johannine theology does not see the Ascension as a terminus of Christ’s presence. Christ’s Spirit given to his followers (John 20:22) is indeed his own Spirit. First John 3:24 says clearly, “And this is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us.” And 4:13 adds, “We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.” Therefore, a necessary dimension of Christian discipleship is the ongoing communion of the believer with the Lord.
Is this a mystical experience? An ecstatic or charismatic experience? How do we commune with the Lord in a way that corresponds to John’s experience? At least we can say what it is not. It is not just doing Christian things (although obedience to his word is a part of it, see 1 John 2:5). It is not just giving intellectual assent to a set of doctrines (although believing right things is a part of it too, see 4:2–3). Christian discipleship must be experiential. It must be personal in the sense that the person of Jesus indwells our life and makes himself known. Using John’s terms in 1:3, the believer has fellowship with the Father and the Son in a manner not dissimilar to having fellowship with other Christians.
This is why John knows that true Christian community is hinged to true experiences of Jesus. In this letter he desires a sort of intimacy that unites spiritual realities with life together. On the other hand, when church members meet together and no one can speak of the way Christ is penetrating and healing and leading the chief areas of life, it is doubtful we should call this fellowship at all. Furthermore, such experiences of Jesus form the basis of Christian authenticity. John writes with authority because he knows what he says is true—not because of reason, but because of experience. Today the authenticity of our faith is likewise linked to the vitality of Jesus’ life within us. If Jesus is a doctrine, our testimony will be hollow. If Jesus is a person, our testimony will be potent.
In an age that places religious experience above doctrine and ethics, however, one caution must be sounded. Indeed, the present reality of Jesus may be mystically seen in prayer and powerful encounters of Christ-in-Spirit. Yet there are other ways that Christ should be seen. I remember the first time a friend placed a copy of Jim Wallis’ Agenda for a Biblical People in my hand.11 Wallis wrote a stirring, compelling argument for transformed communities that bear Christlike qualities in our cities. Christ is more than conversion, salvation, and private renewal. He is about the transformation of the world. He calls us to bring his kingdom to bear upon the powers of this world. In a similar way, Stanley Grenz has reviewed the failed attempts of evangelical theology to fire the imagination of the modern world.12 He argues for “the kingdom of God” as the new organizing center of what we say and do. In a world of fractured communities, Christ has come to bring a new vision of life, to give a “transcendent vantage point for life in the present,” and to give “a qualitative meaning to life, time and space, persons and groups.”13 This forging of radical community is likewise the work of Christ—the presence of Christ—which John would no doubt champion as well.
Original Meaning
The Word and Fellowship (1:3–4)
EMBRACING THIS WORD, experiencing this life, gaining this reference point—these are all prerequisites for Christian community. The purpose of John’s letter is fellowship, “so that you also may have fellowship with us” (v. 3a). The Greek word translated “fellowship” in the NIV is koinonia, which means to have something in common. Koinonia may describe a shared labor (such as the fishing of James, John, and Simon, Luke 5:10) or the common enjoyment of some gift or experience (such as the grace of God, Phil. 1:7; the blessings of the gospel, 1 Cor. 9:23; or the Holy Spirit, 2 Cor. 13:14).
This is the crux of John’s thought and the purpose of his writing. Christian community is not some passing association of people who share common sympathies for a cause. Nor is it an academy where an intellectual consensus about God is discovered. It cannot be so superficial. Christian community is partnership in experience; it is the common living of people who have a shared experience of Jesus Christ. They talk about this experience, they urge each other to grow more deeply in it, and they discover that through it, they begin to build a life together unlike any shared life in the world.
But Christian community is not merely horizontal; it is not just a social phenomenon. John asserts that this fellowship is also “with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ” (v. 3b). This puts one more dimension to the meaning of community. Fellowship is not just the coincidence of a shared experience of God, where we compare our private spiritual walks; it is living and experiencing the Father and the Son together as believers. Christian fellowship is triangular: my life in fellowship with Christ, your life in fellowship with Christ, and my life in fellowship with yours. The mystical union I enjoy with Christ becomes the substance that binds the church together. In verse 4 John adds that the net result of such a community will be joy—“to make our6 joy complete.” This is a benefit, a by-product, of a genuinely Christ-centered fellowship.
The themes seen here find a close parallel in Jesus’ teaching in John 15. Abiding in Christ, the vine, is the way to becoming Jesus’ disciple (15:8) and experiencing his joy (15:11). Moreover, our union with the vine is the prerequisite for loving one another (15:12–17). Christian community once again grows from a matured relationship with God in his Son, Jesus Christ. And no doubt where this relationship with Christ is absent, such community is an impossibility.
Bridging Contexts
FROM MY OVERALL study of the Johannine literature (see the introduction) and from what I discern here in these verses, John’s emphasis tells me that he is writing to a community where there is considerable disunity. Factions have broken out and severe theological disagreements have undercut the church’s vitality. From 1:1–4 and 4:1–3 it is clear that the Incarnation is under siege. We speculated in the introduction that these opponents may well have been early Gnostics who, if they affirmed the divinity of Jesus at all, could hardly agree that he was genuinely physical in any manner. To them, physical properties could not share anything with a divine realm. Therefore, in this diverse community Christians were trying to discern what was essential for Christian identity. It is not a far-fetched speculation to imagine debaters insisting that any “doctrine that divides” be set aside so that none will be offended.
In addition, John has on his mind the quality and character of Christian fellowship that should accompany Christian life. John’s repeated emphasis on love throughout his letter suggests the harsh tone of the debates. Christians were at each other’s throats, trying to figure out how to live in an environment where there was such diversity. Therefore, even here in 1:1–4 his urgency springs from a desire to restore fellowship and joy in an otherwise divided community.
Curiously, however, his approach is not simply ethical. John does not merely catalogue what behaviors are unbecoming to Christians and then list appropriate virtues, such as Paul does in Galatians 5:16–26 and Colossians 3:5–17. John unites the themes of Christology and community as he exhorts the church that a right understanding of Jesus should inform how we live together. Jesus’ incarnation is the central doctrine of Christian faith. Embracing this historical Jesus and continuing to bear witness to him (seeing/touching/hearing) should be at the center of our lives together. Jesus Christ as God-in-flesh cannot be marginalized.
As an interpreter I understand that this precise context, complete with proto-Gnostic heretics, is barely a part of my world. Some trends, especially among those who seek to forge a new unity among all religious movements, may come close in how they dispense with the centrality of Christ as a first order of business. Some New Age religions likewise try to inherit the “center” of Jesus’ teaching, leaving his personhood behind.
On the other hand, I must look for themes that bridge John’s context and mine. I must seek to distill what is contextually transferable to bring this passage to life. Two themes come to mind. (1) John is wrestling with the essence of Christian identity. What is the essential core of belief that distinguishes the Christian? What is the watershed doctrine at the heart of our faith? We will return to this again and again as we see that incarnational theology is for John the crux issue of thought. (2) John is describing the basis of Christian fellowship. Within the church the quality of our life together is an essential datum in fulfilling our mandate as God’s people. However, should we pursue this harmony and unity of purpose at all costs?
Contemporary Significance
WE LIVE IN a culture that is eager for religious experience. George Barna reports that in the United States over 90 percent of the population believes in a God or gods that have power over the universe.7 As a result, religious tolerance and experimentation are commonplace. Furthermore, when asked if all of the world’s religions essentially prayed to the same God, 64 percent of the adult public agreed. In the Christian church, among those who called themselves evangelicals, 46 percent agreed, and among those who labeled themselves “born again,” 48 percent agreed. Among adults who simply called themselves “regular church attendees,” fully 62 percent said that they believed all religions essentially prayed to the same God.8 This is astonishing. Within the pews of America’s churches, two-thirds of the people do not believe in the exclusive character of the Christian message, and almost half of all evangelicals say the same.
In light of these tendencies both inside and outside of the church, how will we define our life together as Christians? What will be the essential character of Christian thought and community? John’s first words to his churches force us to ask penetrating questions about our own Christian identity.
(1) What does it mean to hold to “the scandal of the Incarnation”? John sets before us the particularity of Christian thought. At the center of our faith is the entrance of Jesus Christ into history as a definitive revelation of God. This is an event that cannot be jettisoned. It cannot be redefined as a myth or compared with the religious revelations offered by others (Mohammed, Joseph Smith, New Age prophets, etc.). Jesus Christ is definitive.
Throughout the world Christians are often tempted to forge new alliances in order to achieve noble ends. This is particularly true in countries where multiple faiths coexist side by side. For instance, I have been privileged to become acquainted with the Palestinian Christian community and to learn of its fight for survival in Israel. In the hills of the West Bank, moderate Palestinian Muslims and Palestinian Christians ask what sort of unity they might build in order to construct a unified front for justice.9
The same questions are with us here in the Western world. The difficulty becomes acute when we find ourselves in interfaith dialogues that try to build unity particularly for commendable social programs. I recall attending one such attempt in Skokie, Illinois. This was a meeting of Jewish rabbis and Christian pastors who, for the sake of Chicago’s northern suburbs, agreed that a united front was needed against crime and drugs. As the discussion progressed, all sides pressed for a “common theological denominator” that would be the basis of prayer, worship, and ethics. It goes without saying that Christological emphases had to be set aside.
I have also spent a number of years in the United States Navy as a chaplain. The military chaplaincy succeeds miraculously to protect the distinctives of each faith tradition so that each worshiping community need not compromise what is essential to its beliefs. And yet the exercise of public, interfaith religion puts unique demands on the chaplain. I recall leading a prayer at an officers’ school near the Navy War College in Newport, Rhode Island. I was reminded gently by the commanding officer not to include anything offensive, such as any reference to Jesus Christ. Imagine wearing a cross as your collar device in the military and not referring to Jesus! Is this appropriate theological conduct? I was once with the Marines at Camp Pendleton, California, and one night in the field stood watch from midnight till 4:00 A.M. with a Mormon chaplain. After three hours together, it was clear that if Jesus remained central, we would have severe limits on our fellowship together.
Is it possible to conduct ourselves as Christians and exclude the place of Jesus Christ? Should we abstain from any such involvements? Or should we cease to call them “Christian” encounters? If Christ is offensive to some, do we continue on in ministry and deny the central event of our faith? Or do we hold fast to the scandal of what we affirm? John would quickly say that there is no Christianity if Jesus Christ is not at the center.
But perhaps there is a more nuanced problem here for us—the more pressing question of whether it is appropriate for Christians to have a “strategic” silence about Jesus when meeting people of other faiths and persuasions. When the time is right, when trust is secure, then the central theme of our faith, Jesus, will be heard. Wheaton College chose this option recently when our Center for Islamic Studies hosted a dialogue with a circle of Islamic leaders. (Things were particularly unusual when they dismissed themselves so that they could go out into the hall and pray toward Mecca!) The difficulty, of course, arises when that strategic silence is no strategy at all but a quiet concession to pluralism and tolerance.
(2) Should theological distinctives be set aside for the unity of the church? The issue of pluralism becomes even more problematic when the dialogue takes place within the church itself. Evangelicals often find themselves living and working in mainline denominations or local congregations where adherence to particular orthodox doctrines brings tension. Charismatic Christians feel the same when they try to share the preciousness of their experiences and yet discover that their presence risks bringing disunity. In my own Presbyterian Church, U.S.A., the limits of pluralism are often stretched to a breaking point. In order to maintain unity, a theological “lowest common denominator” is sought—a minimalist doctrinal umbrella that excludes no one. At what point does right belief become more important than church unity?
First John 1:1–4 suggests that at least one doctrine, one conviction, cannot be dismissed lightly. Any minister, any Christian, who does not embrace the reality of God-in-history, any believer who can be cavalier about the definitive event in salvation history, namely, Jesus Christ as God-among-us, has departed significantly from the faith of the early church.
I recognize this opens up a whole variety of other questions. Are there other essential beliefs that define Christian identity? The virgin birth, for instance, is a corollary of incarnational theology, but is it essential for Christian identity? What about less directly connected doctrines, such as Scripture, charismatic gifts, the sacraments, universalism, women’s ordination, and the saints? Should the church sanction within its ranks diversity on these issues for the sake of a larger unity? Whatever we make of these, at least John would have our starting point be the Incarnation. Jesus-in-history is the touchstone from which all other doctrines emerge.
A friend of mine once told a remarkable true story about Harvard Divinity School. Upon learning that one of her professors there was agnostic, she inquired about the range of theological diversity on the seminary campus. “Anything goes,” came the reply. My friend pursued the point: “You mean no belief or absence of belief would keep one from being hired to teach theology?” “Only one,” came the clarification, “the refusal to endorse women’s ordination.” Regardless of how one feels on this subject, John would anchor the starting point (or litmus test) of Christian theology elsewhere. The absence of a sound Christology is John’s test. The same confusion rests in evangelicalism. The Evangelical Theological Society, an academic fellowship of hundreds of evangelical professors and pastors, has only one doctrinal affirmation that every member must sign: the inerrancy of Scripture. A faithful Mormon could join easily. Both concerns in my illustration—the ordination of women and inerrancy—are legitimate and important. But they are not central. John reminds us that Christology is at the center of our theological identity.
Many theologians who are in dialogue with modern theological trends see this clearly. The intramural theological debates of the church often lose sight of the larger question of Christology on the border between the church and the world. In his generation Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s lectures on Christology, Christ the Center, sound this challenge clearly.10 The same call needs to be sounded today. The particularity of Jesus Christ is the scandal of Christianity that sets us apart from the world. Christology is the one theme that we cannot jettison, no matter what the benefit or what the temptation.
(3) What does it mean to see/touch/hear Jesus today? It seems clear to me that John is trying to describe a compelling experience for himself and the first generation of believers. But it is less clear what that means for believers who live even one generation removed from Jesus’ ascension. Of course we might say that this compelling experience belonged only to one generation and that all subsequent generations must live with reference to that experience, a “touching” from afar, as it were.
But I believe that John wants more than this. The Fourth Gospel, for instance, suggests that there will be a continuity of “Jesus experience” for all generations and not just the first. In John 14 Jesus promises that he will never leave his followers “orphans” (14:18) and that those who love him and are obedient will become Christ’s new dwelling place (14:23). In other words, Johannine theology does not see the Ascension as a terminus of Christ’s presence. Christ’s Spirit given to his followers (John 20:22) is indeed his own Spirit. First John 3:24 says clearly, “And this is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us.” And 4:13 adds, “We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.” Therefore, a necessary dimension of Christian discipleship is the ongoing communion of the believer with the Lord.
Is this a mystical experience? An ecstatic or charismatic experience? How do we commune with the Lord in a way that corresponds to John’s experience? At least we can say what it is not. It is not just doing Christian things (although obedience to his word is a part of it, see 1 John 2:5). It is not just giving intellectual assent to a set of doctrines (although believing right things is a part of it too, see 4:2–3). Christian discipleship must be experiential. It must be personal in the sense that the person of Jesus indwells our life and makes himself known. Using John’s terms in 1:3, the believer has fellowship with the Father and the Son in a manner not dissimilar to having fellowship with other Christians.
This is why John knows that true Christian community is hinged to true experiences of Jesus. In this letter he desires a sort of intimacy that unites spiritual realities with life together. On the other hand, when church members meet together and no one can speak of the way Christ is penetrating and healing and leading the chief areas of life, it is doubtful we should call this fellowship at all. Furthermore, such experiences of Jesus form the basis of Christian authenticity. John writes with authority because he knows what he says is true—not because of reason, but because of experience. Today the authenticity of our faith is likewise linked to the vitality of Jesus’ life within us. If Jesus is a doctrine, our testimony will be hollow. If Jesus is a person, our testimony will be potent.
In an age that places religious experience above doctrine and ethics, however, one caution must be sounded. Indeed, the present reality of Jesus may be mystically seen in prayer and powerful encounters of Christ-in-Spirit. Yet there are other ways that Christ should be seen. I remember the first time a friend placed a copy of Jim Wallis’ Agenda for a Biblical People in my hand.11 Wallis wrote a stirring, compelling argument for transformed communities that bear Christlike qualities in our cities. Christ is more than conversion, salvation, and private renewal. He is about the transformation of the world. He calls us to bring his kingdom to bear upon the powers of this world. In a similar way, Stanley Grenz has reviewed the failed attempts of evangelical theology to fire the imagination of the modern world.12 He argues for “the kingdom of God” as the new organizing center of what we say and do. In a world of fractured communities, Christ has come to bring a new vision of life, to give a “transcendent vantage point for life in the present,” and to give “a qualitative meaning to life, time and space, persons and groups.”13 This forging of radical community is likewise the work of Christ—the presence of Christ—which John would no doubt champion as well.