1 John 2:3–11

Original Meaning

Obedience and Spiritual Maturity (2:3–5)

EVERYTHING JOHN SAYS in 2:4–11 is hinged to the thesis statement found in 2:3. Knowing God is evidenced by our heartfelt desire to obey him. We must be clear that John’s choice of words here is not accidental. He is concerned to stress obedience, but also to challenge those who boast in knowing. The Greek term gnosis means knowledge and describes a religious disposition (hence, Gnosticism) that promoted enlightenment or mystical inspiration as the central feature of faith. No evidence exists that by John’s day a formal religion called Gnosticism was known, even though we can confidently say that popular trends in that direction were already beginning and in the second century gave birth to formed religious systems. Thus John’s use of the words related to “knowing” (as well as his interest in “light,” cf. 1:5ff.) indicates his acquaintance with such trends. Like an infection in the Christian community, this virus urged that the pathway to salvation did not depend on freedom from sin, but rather freedom from ignorance. If esoteric mysticism opened the way to God, then other mundane matters, such as earthly obedience and morality, could easily be swept aside. If we keep in mind the denial of sin and the insensitivity to one’s need to be forgiven (described in 1:8–2:2), it is apparent that such Gnostic strains were wreaking havoc on the peculiar view of ethics in this community.

John likewise uses grammar carefully. “We know that we have come to know him” disguises a perfect tense verb, which in Greek means not simply that knowledge is a one-time enlightenment, but rather a past experience with ongoing present consequences.2 Knowledge for John is experiential, not speculative and abstract. It reveals itself in present activity, namely, the continuing reflex to obey God.3 Therefore, people who make some claim that they know God must have evidence in their daily lives that they are conforming their decision-making to his will.

John’s habit is to make a statement, offer a negative example, then reinforce his point by repeating the first statement in more depth. This is the pattern here, for verse 4 now describes the person who feigns intimacy with God and rejects obedience (the same description is given in 2:11). John’s words are severe: This person is a liar. In 1:8 we learned that the denial of sin is evidence that truth is not in a person. Now we learn that the denial of obedience means the same thing: Truth is absent. We must keep in mind the central place of “truth” in Johannine vocabulary. Truth describes Jesus (John 14:6), the Holy Spirit (14:17), and the word (17:17). Truth is the principle of spiritual integrity that should accompany all worship that is empowered by God’s Spirit (4:24). Therefore, John is here not simply saying that someone who fails to obey has missed the point; instead, such people are seriously disconnected from God.

On the other hand (1 John 2:5), the profile of true Christians is quite the opposite: They keep God’s word. John offers two important points. (1) Throughout these verses he employs the Greek word tereo (“to keep”) in order to describe obedience. Brown argues convincingly that this verb means more than observance.4 Its use in the LXX and elsewhere implies duration and perseverance: to observe diligently, to guard carefully, to suddenly realize a truth—and to protect it.5 In other words, “to keep God’s word” goes far beyond mere conformity to law. It expresses a zealous desire to adhere to God’s will. On the other hand, in verses 3–4 John used “commands” to describe God’s will, and now in verse 5 it is changed to “word.” John is well known for his variation, so that no difference of meaning exists here.

(2) Mature Christians make complete (or perfect) the love of God. This thought provides an exegetical puzzle. In English and in Greek “the love of God” can mean different things. Is this God’s love for us, as the NIV translates it (a subjective genitive, see 4:9)? Or is it our love for God (an objective genitive, see 2:15 and 5:3)? Or does it mean love that is like God’s love (a genitive of quality)? All three interpretations have been used for this verse, and some even think that John is intentionally ambiguous or is not making a sharp distinction.

I am inclined to see this as an objective genitive (“our love for God reaches perfection”). After all, throughout these verses John is outlining how we might express fidelity and obedience to God. He is looking for the signs of response that show our desire to act in such a way that we unveil our devotion to the Lord. Of course we understand from a wider theological perspective that such obedient love does not arise unless God’s own love first inspires it. But this is not John’s present purpose. By “perfection” John has in mind the maturation of the steadfast believer. Perfect obedience springs from perfect love. When we have discovered God’s inexhaustible love for us, we love him utterly, and this is expressed tangibly in obedience to his will. This dialectic between love and obedience is a constant theme in the Fourth Gospel. In the Upper Room, Jesus says, “If you love me, you will obey what I command” (John 14:15). Later he adds, “If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching…. He who does not love me will not obey my teaching. These words you hear are not my own; they belong to the Father who sent me” (14:23a–24; cf. 15:10).

This, of course, adds yet another practical problem: To what extent is perfection possible for the believer? Christians in the Wesleyan-Holiness tradition have always taken a keen interest in verse 5 because of its stress on perfection. Our application of it below should do likewise.

Bridging Contexts

THE COMMAND TO love and obey is universally understood, and thus it is not difficult to carry forward themes found here to our context. Moreover, John’s setting is not unlike many today, in which difficult relationships within the church have paralyzed the church’s mission. Christians who claim to have an intimate walk with God, who say that they are “in the light,” and who yet promote their own spiritual prowess, sometimes find themselves in bitter conflict with others making the same spiritual claim.

Distilling the timeless features of the passage demands that I understand the particular setting of John’s letter as well as the message brought there. But to build a bridge to our century I need to discern what themes can have universal value when I find myself in an analogous setting or perhaps even an entirely different setting. It is clear that John has a unique church landscape on his mind: There are those outside the fellowship who exhibit error and hostility, there are those inside the fellowship who continue to be faithful to John’s teachings, and there are no doubt those in the middle—Christians who give an ear to both sides. I am speculating on this third group because while evidence for it is slim, experience tells us that they are there. Perhaps this group is trying to play a reconciling role. Or perhaps they have not decided where to align themselves. John’s tendency is to use broad brush strokes, to paint things black and white. And yet church life is generally more nuanced than this. In other words, I have to be cautious, lest I introduce the same polarity into my church that John seems to be describing for his.

There are other reasons to be careful. John’s absolute, dualistic view of things leads him along other risky paths. Those who fail his tests are “liars,” “the truth” is not in them, they live “in the darkness,” and they are “blinded.” To what extent does the absence of godly behavior jeopardize one’s claim to be Christ’s follower? John’s demand that we test ourselves opens up a constellation of questions about assurance. These criticisms of errant would-be Christians were heard in chapter 1, but in that case we were clearly dealing with people who had left the fold. Their theological errors were obvious. Now something different is at hand. John’s strong language is being applied to believers within the church.

All of this springs from a unique view of the church that John is promoting. John expects the church to exhibit the real presence of Christ so powerfully that he can even use eschatological language to announce its character (2:11). He can even describe the maturity of Christians as reaching perfection (2:5). This is a view of the church that is unlike anything I see today. John’s church was a bridgehead in its culture. It was an underground movement that had to stand together in strength or else it would die. Perhaps it was the jeopardy of his situation that gave his ecclesiology such urgency. And following from this, perhaps it is the absence of our perception of threat that makes our ecclesiology so lax.

If the eschatological language of John is foreign to our context, the same is true with the passage’s central themes, love and obedience. As I have suggested, they can be understood today, but it is another question whether our society genuinely wants to hear such absolute commands. We have built a world based on free choices, not obedience. We have viewed love as attraction, which, when the feeling passes, may be directed elsewhere. We rarely hear calls for obedience and love as work. In each case such calls may cost me my freedom. They may limit my spontaneity. They may put boundaries around what I can and cannot do. Recently in a premarriage counseling session at a Naval air station chapel, a young couple affirmed their love for each other but refused to work on hard compromises. The young lieutenant in front of me was even unwilling to stop seeing a former girlfriend despite his engagement and the objections of his fiancée! He remarked, “I didn’t think marriage was just more rules, chaplain. Sure, I’ll love my wife, but I don’t want love taking away my freedom.”

This attitude that flees from obedience and sees love as a passing affection is prevalent today. And to bring John’s message to an audience that has accepted it will take some serious bridge-building. I was fortunate. The young man in my office was in the Navy. He was an Annapolis graduate and an ace helicopter pilot. “Look,” I said, “there are rules for the flightline, right? What you can wear, where you can walk, when you can’t smoke. You obey them because you know that if you don’t, you can get killed—and you can kill others. It’s obedience to the rules that makes flying possible, that makes you complete your mission. Life is a flightline. Marriage is your mission. Our counseling is your preflight briefing. Freedom comes from disciplined obedience.” For the first time in our hour together I thought I had caught this pilot’s attention. But in his heart he was not eager to hear what John would say about obeying and loving. But we both realized that in order for helicopters or life to work, there has to be fidelity to guidelines that will not flex.

Contemporary Significance

A WELL-KNOWN PASTOR from Florida once said that there was nothing wrong with his congregation that a couple of funerals would not fix.13 Of course, after we smile, it dawns on us—soberly—that this is exactly what we occasionally want. Every pastor can think of people who seem to have too much time on their hands and too much of the church on their minds. They are obsessed with the church and make it their business to straighten out everything from table linens to the pastoral staff. I have met many people like this and have often wondered what they were doing at the church or what personal needs were being met by being there. Did they enjoy the tension they created? Did they have any perspective about the harshly destructive behaviors they brought? One constant characterizes their presence: Rarely did they exhibit a deeply pious, Christlike demeanor. Instead, they were inflexible, angry, manipulative, and coercive. And they would never guess that their behavior had this effect.

This passage levies severe tests on all who would claim to be followers of Christ. To what extent, it asks, is our faith simply a matter of pious slogans (“I know him, live in him, and am in the light” were the Johannine slogans)? To what extent do I seriously reflect the demeanor of Jesus Christ? Am I known as obedient and loving or simply as religious? As the text lays these challenges at my feet, it also opens up a variety of fresh ideas.

(1) Do we unwittingly neglect the call to obedience? Many of us recoil at the mere word “obedience.” I often meet students who have grown up in conservative churches and families where obedience and righteousness were pounded home so often that today they have been pushed aside as vehicles of death and suffocation. Obey? such students ask. God loves me. Let me simply enjoy him and live. For some of us, promoting obedience is difficult particularly when we ground our salvation in the rich goodness and charity of God. Nevertheless, John could not be clearer.

Sometimes I wonder if our concern to support the Reformation teaching about grace has sabotaged any hope for this call to obedience. We frame the theology of the New Testament as a series of juxtapositions: the synagogue versus the church, Jesus versus Moses, Paul versus the Jerusalem legalists, grace versus law. In doing so, we forget that Paul’s first concern was works of Jewish ritual that were thought to earn some benefit from God. Paul can at once say that the Christian life should display good works and yet that we are not saved by works. Paul endorsed no compromise to the believer’s pursuit of righteousness. The same is true of Jesus. In his Sermon on the Mount he said that our righteousness must exceed that of the Pharisees (Matt. 5:20). He was openly critical of Pharisaic behavior but still told his followers to take note of what they had to say (23:3). This is a difficult paradox: Personal righteousness and obedience are an essential component of our faith and yet do not form the basis of our salvation. It is no wonder that theologians continually debate the synthesis of these themes and ask if the “gospel according to Jesus” has long been neglected.14

(2) Can the call to obey be abused? Admittedly, there are other theological settings, other arenas of Christian life, where obedience arises to become the center of things. Conformity and obedience become watchwords as everything from our social life to our financial decisions are legislated. What happens when a pastor or a church demands inappropriate obedience? I recall meeting a refugee from such a congregation, who was told once that she would simply have to leave the church if she could not conform to the pastor’s teachings about quitting her job and staying home with her elementary school-age children.15

Simply put, what—or whom—should we obey? Naturally, our impulse is to say that we obey the Lord. But how is his will manifest? John refers again and again to what was “since the beginning” in order to say that the teachings of the Jesus of history, found today in our Scriptures, should be the basis of our obedience. This is the perfect place for us to begin. But it does not solve the problem of the abuse of authority. Many Christian leaders go further and say that their interpretation of these Scriptures or their application of them in the church is authoritative. And here absolute conformity is sometimes demanded. Frequently it is a teaching, such as a view of charismatic gifts or women’s ordination. It could even be a lifestyle issue, such as the use of alcohol. On occasion these “authoritative” teachings may become bizarre. I have heard a pastor preach that all of the women in his congregation must never wear trousers but always wear skirts—and any who disagree must leave. A congregation I know of in California required its members to give their property deeds to the pastoral staff. Another church gives specific biblical instructions on how to breastfeed infants.

This is abusing the call to obedience. As Christian leaders we need to employ restraint when we call our people to obey. We may need to be minimalists, grounding ourselves constantly in the Scriptures. Human leadership can be fallen leadership. Therefore, our reflex must always be to point men and women to the ultimate authority in God’s Word.

(3) And if we disobey? At once this raises a vital theological question, which must be handled with care. John is nothing short of absolute in his description of those who disobey: They are liars (2:5) and walk in the darkness (2:9). Can the absence of obedience disqualify someone as a Christian? I think of Jesus’ sobering words in Matthew 7:21–23, which conclude the Sermon on the Mount.

Not everyone who says to me, “Lord, Lord,” will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?” Then I will tell them plainly, “I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!”

This passage is followed by our Lord’s parable about building our houses on rock. Hearing Jesus’ words and doing them compares with a person whose house has an unmovable foundation.

Taking a passage such as this at face value comes with significant risk. Above all it demands that the measure of saving faith can be seen in some tangible outworking of grace and goodness in a person’s life. The timeless theological problem is here, however: How do we preach such a theme without destroying Christian assurance or making obedience a criterion for salvation?

In recent years this debate has been launched again by John MacArthur of Grace Community Church in California. In his book The Gospel According to Jesus, MacArthur argues that our emphasis on grace has emptied the gospel of its sharper edge; many who say “Lord, Lord” simply will not enter the kingdom of heaven. The following paragraph represents the book’s tone and outlook:

The gospel in vogue today holds forth a false hope to sinners. It promises them they can have eternal life yet continue to live in rebellion against God. Indeed, it encourages people to claim Jesus as Savior yet defer until later the commitment to obey Him as Lord. It promises salvation from hell but not necessarily freedom from iniquity. It offers false security to people who revel in the sins of the flesh and spurn the way of holiness. By separating faith from faithfulness, it leaves the impression that intellectual assent is as valid as wholehearted obedience to the truth. Thus the good news of Christ has given way to the bad news of an insidious easy-believism that makes no moral demands on the lives of sinners. It is not the same message Jesus proclaimed.16

This volume has opened afresh an age-old debate and inspired yet more authors who have taken exception with MacArthur. There is a delicate balance here that each of us must find for ourselves. On the one hand, we dare not compromise the pivotal doctrine of grace. And yet there must be a call to discipleship that shows how such grace has transformed the disciple. It must be a call that makes room for important, difficult passages, such as James 2:14–26. It must be a call that sobers, that makes us check our Christian resolve—all without sacrificing the loving character of God.

(4) The absolute command to love. Not enough can be said for the importance of love in 1 John. However, the pastoral problem is that we speak of it so often that we have become anesthetized, dulled from hearing afresh its demand on us. Of course we’re loving. We’re Christians, aren’t we? Three thoughts come quickly to mind. (a) Does this mean that Christians cannot have disagreements? That Christians cannot be angry? That emotions of dissent must be repressed? We would likely disagree, and yet this command is often used to inhibit fair and passionate disagreement in church life. It is much like the biblical injunction not to judge (Matt. 7:1), which is then turned into a denial of critical discernment. I believe John is describing a sustained attitude that repudiates another. It is a disposition of heart that condemns and criticizes out of habit and has not been shaped by the selfless love of God.

(b) This command is also a call to reconciliation. The test of obedience to the command to love surfaces when we come to terms with those whom we have difficulty loving. And the first step in this direction is reconciliation. When I was in seminary, I participated in a two-year internship at a church in California. I was supervised by a staff member who, frankly, seemed never to appreciate what I did. It was a difficult relationship. And as a fledgling intern-minister, it became one of the most painful and anger-filled formative experiences of my life. Fifteen years later we met again and were reconciled. And we laughed—healing laughter—when we discovered that both of us then were profoundly unhappy and caught up in strenuously difficult ministries that had ruined our chances to see each other clearly. The command to love is a command to work at relationships that have gone wrong.

(c) While John is eager to see love promoted, that does not mean that we are to be naive about those who would hurt us. John distinguishes carefully in these letters between those who are “deceivers,” who belong “to the world,” and Christians who belong to the family of God. In 2 John 10 he explicitly states that such people are not to be welcomed into our lives.

This teaching requires thoughtful discernment since, in the interests of evangelism, we are called to go into the world. At the same time, we must be warned that the world holds dangers. There are intellectual dangers, which lure us into patterns of thinking that rob us of the simplicity and immediacy of Jesus. There are moral dangers, lifestyles and attitudes that deal with everything from corrupt obsessions with money to destructive views of sexuality. There are religious dangers, passing gurus who can out-evangelize most evangelists. I even wonder if there are theological dangers, a sort of fossilized orthodoxy that does not promote Jesus but rather promotes doctrine, deceiving its adherents that they actually possess the true gift. Dangers are everywhere. And even though we should be generously open and loving, we must also be shrewdly discerning and wise.

Original Meaning

Obedience and the Life of Jesus (2:6–8)

THE SECOND TEST of authenticity, of genuine spiritual vigor and life, has to do with living as Jesus lived (2:6–8). If we claim to live in him, we must also walk as he did. The verb used at the beginning of this affirmation, however, is a specialized Johannine term, meno, which occurs in John’s Gospel forty times and in his letters twenty-seven times. “To live in him” goes beyond merely imitating Christ in lifestyle or “living as Jesus lived.” This verb generally describes the indwelling of the Christian in God (1 John 3:24; 4:13ff.) or in Jesus (John 6:56; 15:4ff.; 1 John 2:27–28; 3:6). It may even depict God indwelling us (1 John 3:24; 4:12–13, 15–16). Therefore, many translators prefer “abide” or “remain” as a way of conveying the sense of permanence and duration, of interior participation and connection with God. In this sense, the word parallels what we heard in verse 4. To know God truly is to abide in him deeply. And in each case, the outgrowth of such knowing and indwelling is obedience.

John holds up the earthly life of Jesus as a model to be imitated. This is the first time he has done this, and it is an important development, given the controversy in his church.6 As earthly conduct is an essential part of faith, so too the earthly life of Jesus is an essential model for our lives. This, of course, indicates some consensus about the earthly life of Jesus and suggests that these Christians had at their disposal an account of Jesus’ life. The numerous parallels with the Fourth Gospel no doubt tell us that (as we outlined in the introduction) this Gospel was well known in this community. And now John is making an appeal to it directly.

Verse 7 contains a fresh, impassioned tone. John slips into the first person (“I am not writing”) and addresses his audience as “beloved.”7 The Greek term agapetoi (based on agape, “love”) is used sixty-one times in the New Testament and seems to have been a common early Christian term of endearment (Rom. 12:19; 2 Cor. 7:1), which John uses frequently (1 John 3:2, 21; 4:1, 7; cf. “my dear children” in 2:1). It almost seems as if for the moment John is leaving the arguments and slogans of the controversy behind and is writing to his flock from his heart about the true character of a discipleship that pursues the center of God’s will, namely, that we love one another.

But how is the command to love not new (v. 7a)? On the one hand, it has been around since the Old Testament (see Lev. 19:18; Matt. 19:19), and thus even Jesus appealed to it directly (Mark 12:28–34).8 But in another sense, this church had the Fourth Gospel and knew well Jesus’ words in John 13:34, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (cf. 15:12; 1 John 3:23). Therefore, John’s exhortation is anchored in an authority not even his opponents can challenge. It is “from the beginning”—which refers, as it does in 1:1; 2:13; and 3:8, to the events surrounding Jesus’ life and ministry.

And yet there is still something new in this (v. 8). The ancient command has taken on a new form since the coming of Christ. Initially, Christ himself exemplified this love by demonstrating his self-giving love for us. He fulfilled the law of love in a way never before seen. But more, Jesus has enabled this love to be realized in the present age among his followers. Hence, the truth of love is evidenced “in him” and “[in] you.” In other words, a new era has dawned, a new age has come, a new empowering light is shining, all of which give the church new possibilities for love and a new imperative (see v. 8b). The newness John describes is an eschatological reality now at work among Christians.

So once again John is providing a test for spiritual reality. In the first test, obedience was the natural outgrowth of an intimate life with God. Now we learn that the second test of life is a love that bears the quality of Christ’s love.