Original Meaning

The Tragic Example of Cain (3:11–15)

GENESIS 4:1–16 HAS always been a potent story to show the destructive impulses that accompany envy. This is an archetypal story in the Old Testament (John’s only Old Testament allusion in this letter), which was well known in the Christian community (see Matt. 23:35; Luke 11:51; Heb. 11:4; 12:24; Jude 11) and widely discussed in Judaism. Since Satan has always been the destroyer of life (John 8:44), it makes sense that in some fashion Cain was working under his inspiration, even though this is not mentioned in Genesis. Brown lists in detail the remarkable fascination of Judaism and the early Christians with the Cain story.5 Philo (a Jewish contemporary of Paul), for example, wrote four works on Cain!6 In Christian literature (Heb. 12:24; Pseudo-Clementine Homilies) the Cain and Abel story is generously used, particularly as a foreshadowing of the martyrdom of Christians. Abel’s sacrifice was pleasing to God; Cain’s was not. In the Christian church, the envy and revenge harbored by Cain were compared to the feelings of the opponents of Christians, whose sacrificial lives were pleasing to the Lord.

In verse 13 John makes this comparison. The passions that fueled Cain’s jealousy and hatred are now fueling those opposed to Christians. And this includes not simply non-Christians outside the church but also Christians—brothers and sisters—who reside within the fellowship.

John furthers his thoughts in verses 14–15 to reinforce the antithesis he has created between those who love and those who hate, between those who possess life and those who are already living in death. Those who exhibit love for Christ’s family demonstrate that already they are enjoying the eternal life promised them. This is not to say (and it cannot be stressed enough) that one way to gain such life is to love others earnestly. That is not John’s point. He is simply underscoring that because such love is already going on, we have a tangible sign of Christ’s salvific work in progress.

Verse 15 echoes the severe exhortation found in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount that our inner motives and attitudes weigh as seriously as our actions in God’s moral economy.

You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, “Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.” But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, “Raca,” is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, “You fool!” will be in danger of the fire of hell. (Matt. 5:21–22)

In other words, anyone who hates is willing to deny life to his or her opponent and in one sense already has committed murder (cf. 1 John 2:9–11; 4:20). But the reverse is also true: Those who exhibit love, who forgive freely and value their neighbor, bring life, healing, and goodness to others. These are nothing less than divine qualities.

Bridging Contexts

LURKING BEHIND THESE verses are hints of the struggle within John’s church now viewed from a different vantage point. It is potent to think about the behavior of Cain as a murderer and reflect on the Johannine division that fills out the background of this letter. John’s interest in the Cain story is in how the brothers destroyed each other because of anger fueled by religion. John himself was facing a religious struggle, a struggle for spiritual power even if it meant inflicting religious casualties. “People who get in the way,” some no doubt thought, “must be eliminated.” Cain met his challenge with brutality—the word sphazo (3:12) actually means “butchered” and occurs frequently in a sacrificial context in the LXX (see Gen. 22:10). Thus, it implies a religious butchering—a slaying wed to piety, murder laced with prayer.

In such a setting, how is this type of conflict viewed from the inside? What pastoral priorities come to the forefront when the wonder of religion is dashed because religion itself is being used as a weapon? This pastoral question has been illustrated for me in an interesting way among the pastors of the churches in Palestine, where Christians are experiencing severe violence, justified with religion by the Israelis: “God has called us to purge this land and take it. Our Scriptures justify our behavior.” In such a context, what is a Palestinian pastor to do? How does one shepherd severely abused people? How do we keep people from abandoning religious faith when faith is corrupted and twisted in violent ways?

This is where I must try to distill the pastoral setting and carry it with me to my own Christian context. John’s strategy becomes my own. I find it interesting how John strives to maintain two things. (1) He begins with the cohesion and purity of his congregation. He urges them to avoid fragmentation, not letting the spirit of fighting pollute their fragile lives together. Yet this is the very thing so many of us experience today. The Johannine context of inner conflict is not unfamiliar to us. I have witnessed laity in revolt over the trivia of church life—such as the time of the worship service. I have mediated between pastors who work together publicly and yet behind the scenes indulge in a lethal war. John’s church was fragmented; our churches are fragmented. Religious righteousness has been as much a weapon for us as it was in John’s day. Therefore, these verses need to be—must be—bridged to our own generation.

(2) John is also concerned that we care for those who are wounded on the sidelines. The fragmentation of corporate bodies ends up fragmenting individual lives—men and women who suffer grave doubt or debilitating disillusionment because of conflict. Here again, the timelessness of John’s message cannot be more clear.

Woven through these verses is John’s insistence that Christians exhibit a purity and innocence like that of Jesus Christ. The very qualities that they have criticized the world for not having must appear within the Christian church. If the world is hypocritical and hostile, the church should have integrity and peace. Therefore, we must work to shore up weakened souls, to strengthen flagging spirits that are under siege and being fragmented.

Like no other, this passage forces us to reflect on the character of fragmented communities. How are they destroyed? How are they healed? Can people like Abel still be murdered in Christian community? Even though John refers to this struggle as the hatred of “the world,” we must keep in mind that these secessionists have come from within his own church (2:19–27). This is a congregational—or denominational—struggle.

Essentially John is asking one basic question: If someone claims to be changed inwardly, to what extent is this change a reality outwardly? Does it affect our relationships with our peers, with the needy, with those we call “our opponents”? And when this fragmentation explodes, what is the collateral damage? What is the cost in human hearts and weakened faith?

Contemporary Significance

I AM INCREASINGLY convinced that every Christian community struggles with fragmentation. Sometimes it is overt, with hostility out in the open. At other times it involves covert and subtle maneuverings for power that gently destroy others in the community. John would have us ask if the spirit of Cain is still alive and well in our churches.

(1) Is this exhortation about insiders or outsiders? John fails to clarify one thing. When he says that we must love our brothers, is he still referring to the secessionists? Or is he referring to his faithful congregants? In other words, is he speaking about cohesion in the church or about how the church should love its enemies?

One could argue that since these errant believers had left the fold, they were no longer to be labeled “brothers”; hence, we are here being called to love those within Christ’s church. In this case the exhortation would sound like this:

Our opponents have demonstrated that they are people of hate; therefore, they cannot have Christ’s life in them. But our ranks should witness no such thing. Our community is a community of love, and we treat one another accordingly.

All nineteen uses of the adelphos word group (“brother/sister”) in these letters leaves some ambiguity about how narrowly we should define the term.21 Certainly the secessionists had once been “brothers,” yet now they have become “enemies.” At the least John is saying that his exhortation is aimed at inner-church conflict, but I am convinced that he has more in mind. The access these people seem to have to the congregation suggests that many still view them as part of the fold, as still being members of the church. But John is drawing no line, as if to say that some on one side deserve only enmity and those on “our side” deserve only love.

Furthermore, if love is to be characteristic of his community, such love must encompass anyone who contacts that community—enemies included. In 3:9 Christ models the love we are to show, and he loved not only his followers to the end (John 13:1) but also his enemies (Matt. 5:44; Luke 6:27, 35). Yet curiously, Jesus’ command to love our enemies appears nowhere in the Johannine literature. Was this an area of struggle for the church? Can we sometimes find personal or theological reasons to withdraw fellowship from others?

(2) Is conflict justified? Most of us are able to justify some sort of hostility when we perceive that our opponents are either incompetent or in the wrong. Perhaps they are in error theologically. Perhaps as leaders they are out of their depth. Perhaps they have lost our respect and (in our view) are impeding the advance of the church. It is in such contexts that we witness breathtaking examples of Cain in ourselves and in others. In Christian contexts I have heard theological professors utter aloud words designed to destroy. In church committees I have seen power brokers maneuver themselves over the lives and feelings of others without any hesitation.

Of course, John’s implication is that since these opponents fought us first, since they departed from the community, it proves that they do not have life in them (3:15). John then turns the thought on its head. Their misbehavior, however, cannot ever become a justification for our misbehavior. Fire must not be fought with fire. “We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers” (v. 14).

But this opens up a whole range of troubling questions. Certainly we are to stand firm and refuse concessions to those teaching spiritual error. Certainly we cannot hand over the church to false shepherds. Church history—from Nicea to the Reformation—is replete with examples of men and women who exhibited conflict in defense of truth. But how do we discern the difference between justifiable conflict and inappropriate hostility? There is an interesting example of this conflict in the pages of the magazine Christianity Today.22 In one issue John Woodbridge wrote an article entitled “Culture War Casualities. How Warfare Rhetoric Is Hurting the Work of the Church.” Among the offenders, Woodbridge named James Dobson. Two months later Dobson responded (“Why I Use Fighting Words”), and Christianity Today even invited Woodbridge to supply a rejoinder (“Why Words Matter”). The point for our purposes has little to do with the Christian concern for Western culture. What makes the exchange interesting is how these two men were trying to negotiate their conflict. Dobson tried to defend his words as justifiable; Woodbridge wondered if such language was appropriate and helpful.

(3) High fashion hatred. John the pastor understands that hatred and division are not always overt. For most of us there are sophisticated ways to avoid the command to love.

But John draws an unexpected parallel between hating and murder in verse 15: “Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer.” This means that attitudes qualify. This brings to mind Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5:21 (see above), where Jesus draws a straight line between murder and hatred. In what sense, I wonder, do we display attitudes that bring death to those around us? How often does polite civility disguise undisclosed feelings of antipathy and aversion? Usually such feelings can never be disguised completely, and in the end they destroy.

Moreover, John draws another unexpected parallel between love and generosity in verse 17, but this time it is about apathy toward those in need. One measure of love is the degree to which people blessed with material wealth distribute that wealth within the community. This is a surprising and unsettling thought! Church mottoes often describe congregations as “friendly” or as “a place where Christ’s love is genuine.” Imagine a church where Christ’s love was generous—not metaphorically, but financially! Admittedly, there are countless practical problems with this sort of thinking, and many (particularly the wealthy) will be quick to point them out. But John could not be clearer. James makes the same argument. A church is no loving community if the rich are simply friendly to the poor and send them on their way after the coffee hour (James 2:14–17). This also means that the financial well-being of church members—their suffering and struggles as well as their successes—should become the interest of pastoral care.

I have always been intrigued to see how poor churches in urban areas frequently have ministries that deal directly with financial need. Some offer short-term loans. Others have full-scale mortgage programs. I know one church that even has housing and employment programs for street people.23 Curiously these are the churches with little cash flow, and yet they recognize that practical financial need is essential to ministry and harness surprising sums to meet these needs. On the other hand, affluent churches, where more resources are available, rarely enter this arena.

(4) Sources of spiritual malaise. This entire section suggests that the church is to become a life-giving community. It should be a place where men, women, and children are healed, not hurt; where the rich take genuine responsibility for the poor; where lives flourish both spiritually and materially. Conflict, struggle, rejection, community fragmentation—all can lead to despair and doubt. When a community loses its solidarity, when its shared vision and life evaporates, personal faith begins to wane. Here in Chicago I have learned of two large churches whose congregations lost influential pastors due to struggle, and in each case over 25 percent of their people disappeared from the membership roles. As one former member said to me, “If Christian leaders can behave like this, I’m not sure if Christianity is true in the first place.”

First John 3:19–24 is John’s answer for pastoral care. As we have seen, his foremost concern is to remind believers that God is greater than all of these things and that therefore, when self-incriminating doubt swamps us, we need to understand his sovereignty and strength. He lists at least three strategies that should be a part of every Christian’s arsenal.24 If these are pursued, we should enjoy a confident and vibrant spiritual relationship with God despite the struggle and fragmentation around us.

First, we should have faith in Jesus Christ (v. 23). This means that the confidence of our faith is not anchored in the church, in other believers, or in our pastor. The words of Jesus, found in the Scriptures, should be more audible to us than the words of those fragmenting the world around us.

Second, we should be obedient and do what pleases Jesus (vv. 22–23). In particular, this means we do concrete acts of love for others, acts that are unexpected and fueled by the love we witness in Christ himself (v. 16). Such deeds, John assures us, will become signs for our hearts that indeed we belong to Christ. Thus we become known in our community not as protagonists, not as theological watchdogs, but as unabashed lovers of the unlovely.25

Third, we should be filled by the Holy Spirit (v. 24). This means that our Christian walk is not only a matter of doctrinal orthodoxy or ethical purity, but is also mystical and spiritual. In verse 24 John says that Jesus Christ will live in us and that the vehicle for this indwelling is the Holy Spirit. Assurance does not spring simply from vigorous works of obedience or orthodoxy, but from the interior life. We know that Christ lives in us by the Spirit he gave us (cf. 4:13). It should therefore be commonplace for us to find evidences of the Spirit that signal Christ’s presence. Regarding John’s community, I am convinced that it was comfortable with what we today would call “charismatic evidences” (gifts of prophesy, healing, etc.). The Spirit is not an insignificant array of feelings, but ushers a concrete presence and reality into our lives.

Original Meaning

The Superior Example of Jesus Christ (3:16–18)

IF CAIN PROVIDES a negative example, Jesus offers an utterly different model of what it means to live in community. He gives life.7 Since God’s essence is love (4:8–12), Jesus, who bears the presence of God in our midst, offers these divine gifts of love and life to us.

John uses the example of Jesus for two reasons. (1) Christ is a model for us to emulate. Thus in verse 16b we learn that we ought to exhibit the same quality of love and life to our communities. In verse 17 this notion takes an interesting turn: If we possess the “life [bios] of the world”—that is, if we possess “material possessions” (NIV) or “the world’s goods” (NRSV)—and refuse to share, shutting down our feelings8 for those in need, we are not giving life (zoe) to those who are suffering. Worldly bios can interfere with godly zoe. Christ as God’s Son possessed more than we can ever imagine; yet he did not keep what he had selfishly but gave of himself voluntarily for others. Paul uses the self-giving of Jesus in a similar way in Philippians 2:5–11. Christ’s model of self-sacrifice ought to inspire us to levels of giving.9

(2) But John has a second, equally important interest in the death of Jesus. In verse 16a we learn that Jesus’ death is also a revelation of God’s effort on our behalf: “Christ laid down his life for us.” The verb used (Gk. tithemi) here is of special interest to John and generally describes “setting aside” something, such as a garment. In John 13:4, for example, Jesus “sets aside” his garment when he washes his disciples’ feet. In John 10 Jesus describes himself as the good shepherd who “sets aside” his life for his sheep (10:11, 15, 17). In 13:37–38 and 15:13 he does the same for his followers. This peculiar Johannine construction suggests “divesting oneself of something” that is precious and personally valued.10

First John 3:16 might be called John’s version of Mark 10:45, that “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”11 A number of scholars even see this verse as a Johannine variation of Isaiah 53:10.12 Jesus’ service for us is not simply in revealing to us self-sacrificial love. His death is not merely an ethical model; it is a genuine offering, a genuine giving of his life. This is further supported by the appearance of the Greek hyper (“on behalf of”), which is a common sacrificial term that occurs only here in 1 John.

Verse 18 serves as a sort of summary—and a plea (cf. “Dear children”). Love that fails to take the form of action on behalf of others is nothing more than religious rhetoric. No doubt the context of the Johannine schism fueled this concern. Religious weapons were being wielded with devastating consequences. John is eager for his community to exhibit visible signs of love—love that acts on the order of Christ’s saving activity.

Bridging Contexts

LURKING BEHIND THESE verses are hints of the struggle within John’s church now viewed from a different vantage point. It is potent to think about the behavior of Cain as a murderer and reflect on the Johannine division that fills out the background of this letter. John’s interest in the Cain story is in how the brothers destroyed each other because of anger fueled by religion. John himself was facing a religious struggle, a struggle for spiritual power even if it meant inflicting religious casualties. “People who get in the way,” some no doubt thought, “must be eliminated.” Cain met his challenge with brutality—the word sphazo (3:12) actually means “butchered” and occurs frequently in a sacrificial context in the LXX (see Gen. 22:10). Thus, it implies a religious butchering—a slaying wed to piety, murder laced with prayer.

In such a setting, how is this type of conflict viewed from the inside? What pastoral priorities come to the forefront when the wonder of religion is dashed because religion itself is being used as a weapon? This pastoral question has been illustrated for me in an interesting way among the pastors of the churches in Palestine, where Christians are experiencing severe violence, justified with religion by the Israelis: “God has called us to purge this land and take it. Our Scriptures justify our behavior.” In such a context, what is a Palestinian pastor to do? How does one shepherd severely abused people? How do we keep people from abandoning religious faith when faith is corrupted and twisted in violent ways?

This is where I must try to distill the pastoral setting and carry it with me to my own Christian context. John’s strategy becomes my own. I find it interesting how John strives to maintain two things. (1) He begins with the cohesion and purity of his congregation. He urges them to avoid fragmentation, not letting the spirit of fighting pollute their fragile lives together. Yet this is the very thing so many of us experience today. The Johannine context of inner conflict is not unfamiliar to us. I have witnessed laity in revolt over the trivia of church life—such as the time of the worship service. I have mediated between pastors who work together publicly and yet behind the scenes indulge in a lethal war. John’s church was fragmented; our churches are fragmented. Religious righteousness has been as much a weapon for us as it was in John’s day. Therefore, these verses need to be—must be—bridged to our own generation.

(2) John is also concerned that we care for those who are wounded on the sidelines. The fragmentation of corporate bodies ends up fragmenting individual lives—men and women who suffer grave doubt or debilitating disillusionment because of conflict. Here again, the timelessness of John’s message cannot be more clear.

Woven through these verses is John’s insistence that Christians exhibit a purity and innocence like that of Jesus Christ. The very qualities that they have criticized the world for not having must appear within the Christian church. If the world is hypocritical and hostile, the church should have integrity and peace. Therefore, we must work to shore up weakened souls, to strengthen flagging spirits that are under siege and being fragmented.

Like no other, this passage forces us to reflect on the character of fragmented communities. How are they destroyed? How are they healed? Can people like Abel still be murdered in Christian community? Even though John refers to this struggle as the hatred of “the world,” we must keep in mind that these secessionists have come from within his own church (2:19–27). This is a congregational—or denominational—struggle.

Essentially John is asking one basic question: If someone claims to be changed inwardly, to what extent is this change a reality outwardly? Does it affect our relationships with our peers, with the needy, with those we call “our opponents”? And when this fragmentation explodes, what is the collateral damage? What is the cost in human hearts and weakened faith?

Contemporary Significance

I AM INCREASINGLY convinced that every Christian community struggles with fragmentation. Sometimes it is overt, with hostility out in the open. At other times it involves covert and subtle maneuverings for power that gently destroy others in the community. John would have us ask if the spirit of Cain is still alive and well in our churches.

(1) Is this exhortation about insiders or outsiders? John fails to clarify one thing. When he says that we must love our brothers, is he still referring to the secessionists? Or is he referring to his faithful congregants? In other words, is he speaking about cohesion in the church or about how the church should love its enemies?

One could argue that since these errant believers had left the fold, they were no longer to be labeled “brothers”; hence, we are here being called to love those within Christ’s church. In this case the exhortation would sound like this:

Our opponents have demonstrated that they are people of hate; therefore, they cannot have Christ’s life in them. But our ranks should witness no such thing. Our community is a community of love, and we treat one another accordingly.

All nineteen uses of the adelphos word group (“brother/sister”) in these letters leaves some ambiguity about how narrowly we should define the term.21 Certainly the secessionists had once been “brothers,” yet now they have become “enemies.” At the least John is saying that his exhortation is aimed at inner-church conflict, but I am convinced that he has more in mind. The access these people seem to have to the congregation suggests that many still view them as part of the fold, as still being members of the church. But John is drawing no line, as if to say that some on one side deserve only enmity and those on “our side” deserve only love.

Furthermore, if love is to be characteristic of his community, such love must encompass anyone who contacts that community—enemies included. In 3:9 Christ models the love we are to show, and he loved not only his followers to the end (John 13:1) but also his enemies (Matt. 5:44; Luke 6:27, 35). Yet curiously, Jesus’ command to love our enemies appears nowhere in the Johannine literature. Was this an area of struggle for the church? Can we sometimes find personal or theological reasons to withdraw fellowship from others?

(2) Is conflict justified? Most of us are able to justify some sort of hostility when we perceive that our opponents are either incompetent or in the wrong. Perhaps they are in error theologically. Perhaps as leaders they are out of their depth. Perhaps they have lost our respect and (in our view) are impeding the advance of the church. It is in such contexts that we witness breathtaking examples of Cain in ourselves and in others. In Christian contexts I have heard theological professors utter aloud words designed to destroy. In church committees I have seen power brokers maneuver themselves over the lives and feelings of others without any hesitation.

Of course, John’s implication is that since these opponents fought us first, since they departed from the community, it proves that they do not have life in them (3:15). John then turns the thought on its head. Their misbehavior, however, cannot ever become a justification for our misbehavior. Fire must not be fought with fire. “We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers” (v. 14).

But this opens up a whole range of troubling questions. Certainly we are to stand firm and refuse concessions to those teaching spiritual error. Certainly we cannot hand over the church to false shepherds. Church history—from Nicea to the Reformation—is replete with examples of men and women who exhibited conflict in defense of truth. But how do we discern the difference between justifiable conflict and inappropriate hostility? There is an interesting example of this conflict in the pages of the magazine Christianity Today.22 In one issue John Woodbridge wrote an article entitled “Culture War Casualities. How Warfare Rhetoric Is Hurting the Work of the Church.” Among the offenders, Woodbridge named James Dobson. Two months later Dobson responded (“Why I Use Fighting Words”), and Christianity Today even invited Woodbridge to supply a rejoinder (“Why Words Matter”). The point for our purposes has little to do with the Christian concern for Western culture. What makes the exchange interesting is how these two men were trying to negotiate their conflict. Dobson tried to defend his words as justifiable; Woodbridge wondered if such language was appropriate and helpful.

(3) High fashion hatred. John the pastor understands that hatred and division are not always overt. For most of us there are sophisticated ways to avoid the command to love.

But John draws an unexpected parallel between hating and murder in verse 15: “Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer.” This means that attitudes qualify. This brings to mind Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5:21 (see above), where Jesus draws a straight line between murder and hatred. In what sense, I wonder, do we display attitudes that bring death to those around us? How often does polite civility disguise undisclosed feelings of antipathy and aversion? Usually such feelings can never be disguised completely, and in the end they destroy.

Moreover, John draws another unexpected parallel between love and generosity in verse 17, but this time it is about apathy toward those in need. One measure of love is the degree to which people blessed with material wealth distribute that wealth within the community. This is a surprising and unsettling thought! Church mottoes often describe congregations as “friendly” or as “a place where Christ’s love is genuine.” Imagine a church where Christ’s love was generous—not metaphorically, but financially! Admittedly, there are countless practical problems with this sort of thinking, and many (particularly the wealthy) will be quick to point them out. But John could not be clearer. James makes the same argument. A church is no loving community if the rich are simply friendly to the poor and send them on their way after the coffee hour (James 2:14–17). This also means that the financial well-being of church members—their suffering and struggles as well as their successes—should become the interest of pastoral care.

I have always been intrigued to see how poor churches in urban areas frequently have ministries that deal directly with financial need. Some offer short-term loans. Others have full-scale mortgage programs. I know one church that even has housing and employment programs for street people.23 Curiously these are the churches with little cash flow, and yet they recognize that practical financial need is essential to ministry and harness surprising sums to meet these needs. On the other hand, affluent churches, where more resources are available, rarely enter this arena.

(4) Sources of spiritual malaise. This entire section suggests that the church is to become a life-giving community. It should be a place where men, women, and children are healed, not hurt; where the rich take genuine responsibility for the poor; where lives flourish both spiritually and materially. Conflict, struggle, rejection, community fragmentation—all can lead to despair and doubt. When a community loses its solidarity, when its shared vision and life evaporates, personal faith begins to wane. Here in Chicago I have learned of two large churches whose congregations lost influential pastors due to struggle, and in each case over 25 percent of their people disappeared from the membership roles. As one former member said to me, “If Christian leaders can behave like this, I’m not sure if Christianity is true in the first place.”

First John 3:19–24 is John’s answer for pastoral care. As we have seen, his foremost concern is to remind believers that God is greater than all of these things and that therefore, when self-incriminating doubt swamps us, we need to understand his sovereignty and strength. He lists at least three strategies that should be a part of every Christian’s arsenal.24 If these are pursued, we should enjoy a confident and vibrant spiritual relationship with God despite the struggle and fragmentation around us.

First, we should have faith in Jesus Christ (v. 23). This means that the confidence of our faith is not anchored in the church, in other believers, or in our pastor. The words of Jesus, found in the Scriptures, should be more audible to us than the words of those fragmenting the world around us.

Second, we should be obedient and do what pleases Jesus (vv. 22–23). In particular, this means we do concrete acts of love for others, acts that are unexpected and fueled by the love we witness in Christ himself (v. 16). Such deeds, John assures us, will become signs for our hearts that indeed we belong to Christ. Thus we become known in our community not as protagonists, not as theological watchdogs, but as unabashed lovers of the unlovely.25

Third, we should be filled by the Holy Spirit (v. 24). This means that our Christian walk is not only a matter of doctrinal orthodoxy or ethical purity, but is also mystical and spiritual. In verse 24 John says that Jesus Christ will live in us and that the vehicle for this indwelling is the Holy Spirit. Assurance does not spring simply from vigorous works of obedience or orthodoxy, but from the interior life. We know that Christ lives in us by the Spirit he gave us (cf. 4:13). It should therefore be commonplace for us to find evidences of the Spirit that signal Christ’s presence. Regarding John’s community, I am convinced that it was comfortable with what we today would call “charismatic evidences” (gifts of prophesy, healing, etc.). The Spirit is not an insignificant array of feelings, but ushers a concrete presence and reality into our lives.

Original Meaning

Shoring Up Christian Confidence (3:19–24)

SOME COMMENTATORS HAVE viewed verses 19–24 as a major digression in the letter’s thought.13 John’s topic shifts abruptly from a discussion of practical examples of love to Christian assurance. Both verses 19 and 24 employ the phrase “this is how we know,” suggesting that assurance is John’s new concern. No doubt Smalley is right when he says that the full phrase in verse 19a actually governs the entire section, “This then is how we know that we belong to the truth.”14 John’s community is a community under siege, and his followers need reassurance that they are indeed on the side of the angels, that they possess the truth.

John’s words of assurance are linked to the foregoing exhortation about love. “In this” (NIV, “This then”) should be taken as pointing backwards to verses 11–18, so that when the crisis of self-examination comes, the first evidence of our security with God is our obedience to the command to love.15 The NIV makes the verb tense present (“we know”) when it is actually future. In other words, John is equipping his church, planning for a future episode when self-doubt and self-incrimination might paralyze them.

If we repunctuate verses 19–20, we can better clarify John’s thought, particularly if we make the first clause clearly point to what comes before.16 Initially, therefore, John is making two points, which we can paraphrase in this manner:

19a:	“In this [the love and obedience we exhibit, vv. 11–18] we will know that we are of the truth.”
19b–20:	“We will reassure our hearts in his presence whenever17 our hearts condemn us, because (1) God is greater than our hearts, and (2) God knows all things.”

This paraphrase gives a clear strategy about what to think when moments of profound insecurity overtake us. Our assurance is anchored in God and God alone, never in our own ability to generate feelings of confidence. John is urging that God is the final arbiter of our personal spiritual well-being. We do not look into our hearts to see if we feel secure and then use this as evidence of our security in the truth. If our conscience condemns, God overrides its verdict. This is possible for two reasons: God is mightier than our hearts, and he knows far more about us than we can ever imagine.

The setting of our insecurity “before God” that was suggested in verse 19 is explained in verses 21–22. When all self-condemnation is gone, when God’s opinion of us is foremost in our minds, we enjoy a newfound boldness in our relationship with him, which is discovered principally in prayer.

The astonishing statement in verses 21–22 echoes other similar forms of confidence found in passages such as John 14:13–14; 16:23–24: Whatever we ask will be given to us! John says much the same in 1 John 5:14–15, but there modifies the statement with a condition: If we ask anything according to God’s will, we will obtain what we ask. It is common in the Scriptures to find conditions attached to such promises: We must pray in Jesus’ name (John 14:13) or abide/remain in Jesus and keep his commands (John 15:7). Here John says that we must do “what pleases him”; this presupposes a quality of intimacy that is in touch with God’s very heart. Thompson comments, “Prayer according to God’s will (5:14) is prayer that understands what is pleasing to God (3:20) and makes its petitions accordingly.”18 Therefore prayer such as this springs from a fruitful and intimate relationship with God that has already matured.

If it is true that our relationship with God can be viewed through the lens of our obedience (v. 22), it now makes sense to review exactly what this means (vv. 23–24). Some have taken this letter wrongly as supporting a minimalist view of the Christian faith, that if we love one another we are Christians. The command of God to obey has two foci, and they enjoy a “fundamental unity.”19 We are to believe in God’s Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another. Verse 24 makes explicit that the success of such love only comes when we are living in intimacy with the Son, an intimacy that takes place when the Son is genuinely living in us and we in him. But the formula goes even further. This indwelling, this intimacy, is made possible by the Spirit he gives to us (cf. John 14:23–27).

Therefore, John’s description of the Christian life is at once theological and ethical. God has sent his Son, through whom we receive life, and in turn God has poured the life of his Son into us through his Holy Spirit.20 The virtues of the Christian life cannot be lived apart from a relationship with God, a relationship defined and sustained by Jesus Christ.

Bridging Contexts

LURKING BEHIND THESE verses are hints of the struggle within John’s church now viewed from a different vantage point. It is potent to think about the behavior of Cain as a murderer and reflect on the Johannine division that fills out the background of this letter. John’s interest in the Cain story is in how the brothers destroyed each other because of anger fueled by religion. John himself was facing a religious struggle, a struggle for spiritual power even if it meant inflicting religious casualties. “People who get in the way,” some no doubt thought, “must be eliminated.” Cain met his challenge with brutality—the word sphazo (3:12) actually means “butchered” and occurs frequently in a sacrificial context in the LXX (see Gen. 22:10). Thus, it implies a religious butchering—a slaying wed to piety, murder laced with prayer.

In such a setting, how is this type of conflict viewed from the inside? What pastoral priorities come to the forefront when the wonder of religion is dashed because religion itself is being used as a weapon? This pastoral question has been illustrated for me in an interesting way among the pastors of the churches in Palestine, where Christians are experiencing severe violence, justified with religion by the Israelis: “God has called us to purge this land and take it. Our Scriptures justify our behavior.” In such a context, what is a Palestinian pastor to do? How does one shepherd severely abused people? How do we keep people from abandoning religious faith when faith is corrupted and twisted in violent ways?

This is where I must try to distill the pastoral setting and carry it with me to my own Christian context. John’s strategy becomes my own. I find it interesting how John strives to maintain two things. (1) He begins with the cohesion and purity of his congregation. He urges them to avoid fragmentation, not letting the spirit of fighting pollute their fragile lives together. Yet this is the very thing so many of us experience today. The Johannine context of inner conflict is not unfamiliar to us. I have witnessed laity in revolt over the trivia of church life—such as the time of the worship service. I have mediated between pastors who work together publicly and yet behind the scenes indulge in a lethal war. John’s church was fragmented; our churches are fragmented. Religious righteousness has been as much a weapon for us as it was in John’s day. Therefore, these verses need to be—must be—bridged to our own generation.

(2) John is also concerned that we care for those who are wounded on the sidelines. The fragmentation of corporate bodies ends up fragmenting individual lives—men and women who suffer grave doubt or debilitating disillusionment because of conflict. Here again, the timelessness of John’s message cannot be more clear.

Woven through these verses is John’s insistence that Christians exhibit a purity and innocence like that of Jesus Christ. The very qualities that they have criticized the world for not having must appear within the Christian church. If the world is hypocritical and hostile, the church should have integrity and peace. Therefore, we must work to shore up weakened souls, to strengthen flagging spirits that are under siege and being fragmented.

Like no other, this passage forces us to reflect on the character of fragmented communities. How are they destroyed? How are they healed? Can people like Abel still be murdered in Christian community? Even though John refers to this struggle as the hatred of “the world,” we must keep in mind that these secessionists have come from within his own church (2:19–27). This is a congregational—or denominational—struggle.

Essentially John is asking one basic question: If someone claims to be changed inwardly, to what extent is this change a reality outwardly? Does it affect our relationships with our peers, with the needy, with those we call “our opponents”? And when this fragmentation explodes, what is the collateral damage? What is the cost in human hearts and weakened faith?

Contemporary Significance

I AM INCREASINGLY convinced that every Christian community struggles with fragmentation. Sometimes it is overt, with hostility out in the open. At other times it involves covert and subtle maneuverings for power that gently destroy others in the community. John would have us ask if the spirit of Cain is still alive and well in our churches.

(1) Is this exhortation about insiders or outsiders? John fails to clarify one thing. When he says that we must love our brothers, is he still referring to the secessionists? Or is he referring to his faithful congregants? In other words, is he speaking about cohesion in the church or about how the church should love its enemies?

One could argue that since these errant believers had left the fold, they were no longer to be labeled “brothers”; hence, we are here being called to love those within Christ’s church. In this case the exhortation would sound like this:

Our opponents have demonstrated that they are people of hate; therefore, they cannot have Christ’s life in them. But our ranks should witness no such thing. Our community is a community of love, and we treat one another accordingly.

All nineteen uses of the adelphos word group (“brother/sister”) in these letters leaves some ambiguity about how narrowly we should define the term.21 Certainly the secessionists had once been “brothers,” yet now they have become “enemies.” At the least John is saying that his exhortation is aimed at inner-church conflict, but I am convinced that he has more in mind. The access these people seem to have to the congregation suggests that many still view them as part of the fold, as still being members of the church. But John is drawing no line, as if to say that some on one side deserve only enmity and those on “our side” deserve only love.

Furthermore, if love is to be characteristic of his community, such love must encompass anyone who contacts that community—enemies included. In 3:9 Christ models the love we are to show, and he loved not only his followers to the end (John 13:1) but also his enemies (Matt. 5:44; Luke 6:27, 35). Yet curiously, Jesus’ command to love our enemies appears nowhere in the Johannine literature. Was this an area of struggle for the church? Can we sometimes find personal or theological reasons to withdraw fellowship from others?

(2) Is conflict justified? Most of us are able to justify some sort of hostility when we perceive that our opponents are either incompetent or in the wrong. Perhaps they are in error theologically. Perhaps as leaders they are out of their depth. Perhaps they have lost our respect and (in our view) are impeding the advance of the church. It is in such contexts that we witness breathtaking examples of Cain in ourselves and in others. In Christian contexts I have heard theological professors utter aloud words designed to destroy. In church committees I have seen power brokers maneuver themselves over the lives and feelings of others without any hesitation.

Of course, John’s implication is that since these opponents fought us first, since they departed from the community, it proves that they do not have life in them (3:15). John then turns the thought on its head. Their misbehavior, however, cannot ever become a justification for our misbehavior. Fire must not be fought with fire. “We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love our brothers” (v. 14).

But this opens up a whole range of troubling questions. Certainly we are to stand firm and refuse concessions to those teaching spiritual error. Certainly we cannot hand over the church to false shepherds. Church history—from Nicea to the Reformation—is replete with examples of men and women who exhibited conflict in defense of truth. But how do we discern the difference between justifiable conflict and inappropriate hostility? There is an interesting example of this conflict in the pages of the magazine Christianity Today.22 In one issue John Woodbridge wrote an article entitled “Culture War Casualities. How Warfare Rhetoric Is Hurting the Work of the Church.” Among the offenders, Woodbridge named James Dobson. Two months later Dobson responded (“Why I Use Fighting Words”), and Christianity Today even invited Woodbridge to supply a rejoinder (“Why Words Matter”). The point for our purposes has little to do with the Christian concern for Western culture. What makes the exchange interesting is how these two men were trying to negotiate their conflict. Dobson tried to defend his words as justifiable; Woodbridge wondered if such language was appropriate and helpful.

(3) High fashion hatred. John the pastor understands that hatred and division are not always overt. For most of us there are sophisticated ways to avoid the command to love.

But John draws an unexpected parallel between hating and murder in verse 15: “Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer.” This means that attitudes qualify. This brings to mind Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5:21 (see above), where Jesus draws a straight line between murder and hatred. In what sense, I wonder, do we display attitudes that bring death to those around us? How often does polite civility disguise undisclosed feelings of antipathy and aversion? Usually such feelings can never be disguised completely, and in the end they destroy.

Moreover, John draws another unexpected parallel between love and generosity in verse 17, but this time it is about apathy toward those in need. One measure of love is the degree to which people blessed with material wealth distribute that wealth within the community. This is a surprising and unsettling thought! Church mottoes often describe congregations as “friendly” or as “a place where Christ’s love is genuine.” Imagine a church where Christ’s love was generous—not metaphorically, but financially! Admittedly, there are countless practical problems with this sort of thinking, and many (particularly the wealthy) will be quick to point them out. But John could not be clearer. James makes the same argument. A church is no loving community if the rich are simply friendly to the poor and send them on their way after the coffee hour (James 2:14–17). This also means that the financial well-being of church members—their suffering and struggles as well as their successes—should become the interest of pastoral care.

I have always been intrigued to see how poor churches in urban areas frequently have ministries that deal directly with financial need. Some offer short-term loans. Others have full-scale mortgage programs. I know one church that even has housing and employment programs for street people.23 Curiously these are the churches with little cash flow, and yet they recognize that practical financial need is essential to ministry and harness surprising sums to meet these needs. On the other hand, affluent churches, where more resources are available, rarely enter this arena.

(4) Sources of spiritual malaise. This entire section suggests that the church is to become a life-giving community. It should be a place where men, women, and children are healed, not hurt; where the rich take genuine responsibility for the poor; where lives flourish both spiritually and materially. Conflict, struggle, rejection, community fragmentation—all can lead to despair and doubt. When a community loses its solidarity, when its shared vision and life evaporates, personal faith begins to wane. Here in Chicago I have learned of two large churches whose congregations lost influential pastors due to struggle, and in each case over 25 percent of their people disappeared from the membership roles. As one former member said to me, “If Christian leaders can behave like this, I’m not sure if Christianity is true in the first place.”

First John 3:19–24 is John’s answer for pastoral care. As we have seen, his foremost concern is to remind believers that God is greater than all of these things and that therefore, when self-incriminating doubt swamps us, we need to understand his sovereignty and strength. He lists at least three strategies that should be a part of every Christian’s arsenal.24 If these are pursued, we should enjoy a confident and vibrant spiritual relationship with God despite the struggle and fragmentation around us.

First, we should have faith in Jesus Christ (v. 23). This means that the confidence of our faith is not anchored in the church, in other believers, or in our pastor. The words of Jesus, found in the Scriptures, should be more audible to us than the words of those fragmenting the world around us.

Second, we should be obedient and do what pleases Jesus (vv. 22–23). In particular, this means we do concrete acts of love for others, acts that are unexpected and fueled by the love we witness in Christ himself (v. 16). Such deeds, John assures us, will become signs for our hearts that indeed we belong to Christ. Thus we become known in our community not as protagonists, not as theological watchdogs, but as unabashed lovers of the unlovely.25

Third, we should be filled by the Holy Spirit (v. 24). This means that our Christian walk is not only a matter of doctrinal orthodoxy or ethical purity, but is also mystical and spiritual. In verse 24 John says that Jesus Christ will live in us and that the vehicle for this indwelling is the Holy Spirit. Assurance does not spring simply from vigorous works of obedience or orthodoxy, but from the interior life. We know that Christ lives in us by the Spirit he gave us (cf. 4:13). It should therefore be commonplace for us to find evidences of the Spirit that signal Christ’s presence. Regarding John’s community, I am convinced that it was comfortable with what we today would call “charismatic evidences” (gifts of prophesy, healing, etc.). The Spirit is not an insignificant array of feelings, but ushers a concrete presence and reality into our lives.