Prelude to John – WEEK 3 – Recognition and Encounter

The Eyes to See — Preparing to Meet the Word Made Flesh

Theme: From promise to presence. The transition from looking for Jesus to actually seeing Him.

OPENING REFLECTION

“Two thousand years of promise. Then one day, a man walks out of the water, and someone recognizes Him. What made that recognition possible? And more importantly, what makes it possible for us to recognize Him now?”

THEOLOGICAL FOUNDATION: RECOGNITION AS GRACE

What Does It Mean to “See” the Word?

Throughout the Old Testament (Week 1), God’s Word was at work—creating, covenanting, sustaining all things. But it was hidden, mediated, distant. People encountered God’s Word through:

  • Creation itself
  • Prophetic speech
  • Written law
  • Covenant signs

For centuries, this was how Israel knew God: through effects, not presence. Through His voice, not His face.

Week 2 showed us the longing that grew from this distance—the hope that someday God Himself would come. Isaiah spoke of a Light that would pierce darkness. Malachi spoke of a messenger preparing the way.

Week 3 is the answer to that longing: the Word becomes flesh.

But here’s the crucial point: The presence of the Word doesn’t automatically guarantee recognition.

John 1:10-11 captures this paradox: “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, and yet the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, and his own did not receive him.”

Recognition is not automatic. It requires prepared eyes and an open heart.

THE WITNESS AS REVEALER

John the Baptist: A Life Dedicated to Pointing

In John 1:6-9 and 1:19-34, John the Baptist appears—but notice what’s remarkable about him: his entire identity is bound up in witnessing to someone else.

John doesn’t make a speech about his own achievements. He doesn’t gather followers for his own movement. When people ask him directly, “Are you the Messiah?” (John 1:20-21), his answers are stunning in their clarity:

  • “I am not the Christ.”
  • “I am not Elijah.”
  • “I am not the prophet.”

Then he says: “I am a voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.'” (John 1:23)

He identifies himself entirely by his function—a voice, not the one speaking. A witness, not the witnessed-to. A pointer, not the destination.

What Makes This Witness Credible?

The deep theological and cultural reasons for John’s credibility still stand, but reframed: His credibility came from the fact that his entire life was positioned to help others see something other than himself.

  • He lived simply: no distraction of wealth or power
  • He spoke plainly: no coded language or institutional jargon
  • He pointed clearly: “Behold the Lamb of God”
  • He decreased willingly: “He must become greater; I must become less” (John 3:30)

This witness is credible because it’s self-effacing. John has nothing to gain from recognizing Jesus. In fact, by pointing to Jesus, John makes himself unnecessary. His movement will be absorbed. History will barely remember his name. But he does it anyway.

For someone in early recovery, this is profound. Recovery itself requires a kind of witness—the willingness to point toward healing, toward hope, toward the One who saves, rather than building an identity around being “the person who used to struggle.” The focus shifts away from the broken self toward the healing presence.

THE LAMB: WHAT ARE WE BEING PREPARED TO SEE?

John’s Declaration: “Behold the Lamb of God”

John 1:29 contains one of the Bible’s most theologically dense moments, compressed into a single sentence: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”

What are we actually looking at when we behold the Lamb?

Layer 1: The Sacrificial Lamb

In the Jewish temple system, a lamb was the primary offering for sin. It was innocent, spotless, unblemished. When a person brought their lamb to the priest, that animal became the bearer of their guilt. The lamb’s death effected atonement—restoration of relationship with God.

Jesus as the Lamb means: He bears our guilt. Not metaphorically, but actually. The separation from God that sin creates is addressed by His self-offering.

For someone in recovery, this is liberating: You don’t have to carry the weight of your own failures forever. They’ve been borne. There is a way back into relationship.

Layer 2: The Passover Lamb

In Egypt, the blood of the lamb marked the doorframes of Israel’s homes. That blood was a sign and a seal: This household is redeemed. The firstborn are protected. This people is God’s.

Jesus as the Passover Lamb means: He marks you as redeemed. Not because you earned it, but because the price has been paid. You are under His protection.

For someone rebuilding their life, this is identity-restoring: You are not your past. You are marked by grace. You belong to a redeemed people.

Layer 3: The Suffering Servant

Isaiah 53:7 describes the servant “like a lamb led to slaughter.” This lamb doesn’t resist. It surrenders to what’s happening. Its suffering is not punishment for its own sin—it’s vicarious, for others.

Jesus as the Suffering Servant-Lamb means: He enters our pain. Not from a distance, but intimately. He suffers not for His own failings but in solidarity with ours.

For someone who has experienced trauma or addiction, this is deeply compassionate: God doesn’t condemn from on high. He enters the suffering. He knows what it’s like to be vulnerable, humiliated, broken.

Layer 4: The Enthroned Lamb

Jump ahead to Revelation 5, where John (the apostle, not the Baptist) sees cosmic worship centered on a Lamb. This Lamb is “slain”—bearing the marks of sacrifice—and yet He is on the throne. He is the highest power in the universe. The one who appears most vulnerable is revealed as most powerful.

Jesus as the Cosmic Lamb means: Vulnerability and power are not opposites. Love is the deepest power in existence.

For someone in recovery, this reframes strength entirely: The strength you need is not dominance or control. It’s the ability to be vulnerable, to admit need, to surrender to something larger. That’s not weakness. That’s the deepest power there is.

BAPTISM: ENTRY INTO NEW SEEING

What John’s Baptism Actually Signified

In Matthew 3:13-17, Jesus Himself comes to John to be baptized. This moment is crucial for understanding how we encounter the Word made flesh.

Baptism in John’s preaching meant: Repentance—a turning around, a change of mind. The Greek word metanoia carries the weight of cognitive transformation. You see something differently. Your mental orientation shifts.

When Jesus comes for baptism, He’s not coming for personal repentance (He has nothing to repent of). Instead, His baptism is an act of identification. He enters the water—the symbol of death and burial—to emerge into new life. He’s entering into solidarity with humanity in its need for transformation.

The Spirit Descending: How We Recognize the Word

Then something extraordinary happens: “As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove” (Mark 1:10).

The Spirit descends as a dove. Why a dove?

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  • Gentleness: A dove represents peace, not violence. The Spirit doesn’t overwhelm or violate. It comes gently.
  • Creation’s breath: In Genesis 1:2, the Spirit broods over the waters at creation’s beginning. The dove echoes this creative, life-giving presence.
  • Access for the poor: Doves were the sacrifice of the poor. The Spirit doesn’t only visit the powerful or wealthy.

The descent of the Spirit is how the invisible becomes visible. The eternal Word, who has been at work throughout history, is now revealed as publicly, tangibly, personally present.

The Father’s Voice: Affirmation Before Achievement

Immediately after the Spirit descends, a voice from heaven declares: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17).

This is crucial: The affirmation comes before any work is done.

Jesus hasn’t healed anyone yet. He hasn’t taught anyone. He hasn’t worked miracles. He’s simply been baptized—identified with humanity in its need. And already, He hears: You are beloved. I am pleased with you.

For someone in recovery, this is revolutionary. The belief that worth must be earned, achieved, proven is shattered. Before any work, before any change, before any external markers of success: You are beloved.

This is not earned. It’s revealed.

And if this is true of Jesus, what does it suggest about us? That perhaps our worth too is not contingent on performance?

MARK 1:1-11: THE GOSPEL BEGINS WITH RECOGNITION

Notice what Mark does: He opens his gospel with a single declaration—“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (Mark 1:1)—and then immediately moves to John the Baptist, then to Jesus’ baptism.

Why? Because Mark is showing us that the gospel—the good news—doesn’t begin with Jesus’ teaching or miracles. It begins with recognition. It begins with someone pointing and saying, “There. That one. That’s the Lamb of God.”

The entire purpose of the prelude has been to prepare eyes to see. And now, at the threshold of John’s Gospel, we’re meant to have those eyes open.

WHAT “PREPARING THE WAY” MEANS NOW

For Those in Early Recovery

“Prepare the way of the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3) has often been interpreted as external preparation—clearing physical obstacles, making a path.

But spiritually, it’s more intimate than that: Prepare your heart. Clear away what keeps you from seeing.

For someone in recovery, “preparing the way” means:

  1. Honesty: Stop hiding. The obstacles you’re trying to conceal are exactly where Christ wants to shine His light. Light doesn’t shame—it reveals so it can heal.
  2. Repentance (Metanoia): Change how you think about yourself, about God, about what’s possible. You don’t have to stay defined by your failures.
  3. Surrender of Control: Recovery teaches this: You can’t fix yourself. The relief comes in admitting that and making room for Someone else to work.
  4. Readiness: Like the disciples who would follow Jesus in John’s Gospel, are you actually ready to have your life reorganized around encountering the living Word? It won’t leave you unchanged.

For Those Rebuilding Relationships

“Preparing the way” in relationships means:

  1. Removing Obstacles: What pride, shame, or fear blocks reconciliation? What needs to be cleared away?
  2. Speaking Truth: Like John, who spoke plainly without fear of consequences. Authentic relationship requires honest speech.
  3. Pointing Beyond Yourself: Healthy relationships aren’t about getting the other person to focus on you. They’re about both partners pointing toward something larger—shared values, shared faith, shared hope.
  4. Accepting the Other’s Freedom: John could have held onto his followers, made himself central. Instead, he released them to follow Jesus. Real love sometimes means making yourself smaller so the other can grow.

SCRIPTURE DEEP DIVE

John 1:6-9 — The Witness Function

“There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.”

Notice the structure:

  • Verse 6: A person is introduced, sent by God for a specific purpose
  • Verse 7: His purpose is witness—to testify, so others might believe
  • Verse 8: Explicit denial of his own centrality
  • Verse 9: The true subject is introduced—the Light itself

This is the pattern of authentic witness: It always points away from itself. The moment a witness makes the witness the focus, credibility collapses.

John 1:19-34 — Questions and Clarity

When religious authorities ask John directly who he is, he answers with negative clarity. Then:

“The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, ‘Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This is the one I meant when I said, “A man who comes after me has surpassed me because he was before me.” I myself did not know him, but the reason I came baptizing with water was that he might be revealed to Israel.’ (John 1:29-31)

John testifies to something he directly witnessed—the Spirit descending on Jesus. This isn’t hearsay or theory. This is present-tense encounter. John saw it happen.

Recognition is grounded in actual encounter, not just information.

Isaiah 53:7 — The Silent Lamb

“He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter…”

The Lamb doesn’t defend itself or argue its case. It surrenders to what’s happening. This voluntary submission to suffering for the sake of others is the pattern of redemptive love.

Revelation 5:6-10 — The Slain Lamb Enthroned

“Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne… In a loud voice they were saying: ‘Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain…'”

The Lamb who was killed is the one to whom all worship is directed. Vulnerability is not weakness. It’s the deepest power.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS FOR GROUP & REFLECTION

Opening the Text

  1. What strikes you about John the Baptist’s answer when asked who he is? Why do you think he’s so clear about what he’s not?
  2. When John points to Jesus and says “Behold the Lamb of God,” what do you think the people who heard this understood? What Old Testament background would have shaped their response?

Moving Inward

  1. How do you know when someone is pointing you toward something real versus trying to draw attention to themselves? What’s the difference in how it feels?
  2. In your own recovery or rebuilding, who have been the “witnesses”—people whose lives pointed you toward healing or hope? What made them credible?
  3. What does “prepare the way” mean in your own heart right now? What obstacles do you need to remove so you can see Jesus more clearly?

Baptism & Recognition

  1. Jesus came for baptism (identification with humanity’s need) before He did anything else. What does that tell you about the order of importance—presence before performance?
  2. When the Father’s voice declares, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased,” affirmation comes before Jesus does any work. How does that challenge the way you think about your own worth or identity?

Looking Forward

  1. After three weeks of preparation—seeing how God’s Word has always been active, understanding the promise of Light, and now recognizing Jesus as the Lamb—what are you expecting to encounter in John’s Gospel?

APPLICATION: EYES TO SEE

This Week’s Practice

Daily Practice: Read one passage each morning, slowly, asking one question:

  • Monday-Tuesday (Mark 1:1-11): “What am I learning about how to recognize Jesus?”
  • Wednesday-Thursday (John 1:6-18): “Where do I see myself in this—as witness, as seeking, as encountering?”
  • Friday-Saturday (Matthew 3:13-17): “What does my baptism mean? Am I living like I’ve been marked by grace?”
  • Sunday (Isaiah 53:7 + Revelation 5:6-10): “What does the Lamb’s vulnerability teach me about power?”

Reflection Prompts

“Where do I need new creation?” → Not just intellectually, but in your actual life. What area would be transformed if you truly encountered Jesus as the Word who speaks things into being?

“Where is God’s light confronting my darkness?” → Not to shame you, but to reveal what needs healing. Where is that light shining?

“What false lights compete for my attention?” → What voices are you listening to that aren’t actually guiding you toward truth? What are you worshipping that isn’t worthy of worship?

Preparation for John’s Gospel

Before next week, as you prepare to enter John’s Gospel itself, consider:

  • What questions do I want to ask Jesus? Write three. Carry them into the text.
  • Where am I most hungry to encounter Him? In what area of your life do you most need His presence?
  • What am I willing to let change? Encountering the living Word transforms people. Are you prepared for that?

THEOLOGICAL REFLECTION: RECOGNITION AS THE GOSPEL’S CENTRAL WORK

Why Recognition Matters

Throughout Scripture, the central drama is not primarily about information—learning facts about God. It’s about recognition—seeing who God actually is, and therefore seeing who we actually are.

Adam and Eve didn’t lack information about God; they lacked recognition of their true condition and their true need. They didn’t see themselves as vulnerable or dependent.

Israel throughout the Old Testament wasn’t primarily lacking information about God; they were forgetting who they were in relation to Him. They needed to recognize themselves again as the covenant people.

The same pattern holds for those in recovery: information about addiction or grace is important, but transformation comes through recognition. Seeing yourself truly (not through shame, not through denial, but clearly). Seeing God truly (as present, as merciful, as real). And then seeing what’s possible when the two truths meet.

John’s Gospel and the Theme of Sight

Interestingly, John’s Gospel uses the language of seeing and knowing more than any other gospel. John uses the Greek word ginōskō (knowing, recognizing) 56 times—far more than Matthew, Mark, or Luke.

Recognition is the central act of faith in John.

When the Samaritan woman encounters Jesus at the well, she gradually moves from not knowing who He is, to recognizing Him as a prophet, to finally crying out, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Messiah?” (John 4:29)

When Thomas doubts the resurrection, Jesus doesn’t scold him for lack of faith. Instead, Jesus appears and invites Thomas to see—to touch the wounds, to experience directly. And Thomas responds: “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28)

The movement of faith in John is always: from not seeing → to seeing → to believing.

The Threshold

Week 3 is a threshold. You’re moving from preparation to encounter. From reading about the Word to meeting the Word Himself.

John the Baptist stood at that threshold too. His only job was to say: “There. That one. That’s Him. He’s real.”

SPIRITUAL PRACTICE: CORPORATE RECOGNITION

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

This is not belief yet, necessarily. It’s recognition. It’s pointing. It’s the beginning.

BRIDGE INTO JOHN’S GOSPEL

After this week, you will open John’s Gospel itself. You will read: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

Everything you’ve learned in these three weeks will suddenly crystallize. The Word that has been at work throughout creation and covenant and promise is now stepping into history, into presence, into recognizable form.

The Lamb. The Light. The Word made flesh.

And He will speak. And people will see. And some will believe.

That’s where we’re going. But first, we prepare. We clear the obstacles. We open our eyes. We learn to recognize.

This week, that’s the sacred work.

The Witness and the Way: A Theological Deep Dive

Preparation and Response—Seeing the Lamb and Following Him

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I. THEOLOGICAL FRAMEWORK & CORE CONCEPTS

A. The Witness (Martyria) – More Than Testimony

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Theological Definition: The Greek word martyria (μαρτυρία) means “testimony” or “witness,” but carries weight beyond simple reporting. In John’s Gospel, witness is not passive observation but active participation in revealing truth. A martyr (martyrs) is literally “one who testifies”—someone who stakes their credibility, reputation, and sometimes life on the truth they proclaim.

Key Theological Significance:

  • Witness is relational: it always requires both a testifier and an audience
  • Witness is costly: authentic witness demands alignment between message and life
  • Witness is eschatological: it participates in God’s work of revealing His Kingdom
  • Witness points beyond itself: true witness always directs attention away from the witness toward the one witnessed to
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In John the Baptist’s case, his entire mission is framed as witness to the light (John 1:7-8). He is not the light; he testifies to the light. This distinction is theologically crucial—it establishes the pattern for all Christian witness.

Theological Principle: Authority in witness comes not from institutional power, but from the integrity between proclamation and practice.

B. The Forerunner (Prodromos) – Preparing the Way

Theological Definition: A forerunner (Greek: prodromos, προδρόμος) was an advance scout or herald who would prepare the path for a royal procession. In the Old Testament, this role was prophesied for Elijah (Malachi 4:5-6); in the New Testament, John fulfills this calling as the forerunner to Jesus.

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Layers of Meaning:

  1. Literal/Historical: John prepares people through baptism and the proclamation of repentance, creating space for Jesus’ arrival
  2. Spiritual: John’s ministry addresses the fundamental human condition of spiritual disorientation. Israel had been spiritually “lost in the wilderness” for four centuries (the “intertestamental period”). John calls people out of this confusion toward clarity.
  3. Mystical/Personal: For individual believers, the forerunner function invites us to examine how we prepare our hearts for encounter with Christ. What obstacles block our recognition of Him?

Theological Principle: Preparation is not about becoming worthy, but about removing obstacles to encountering God’s grace.

C. Repentance (Metanoia) – Transformation of Mind

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Theological Definition: The Greek word metanoia (μετάνοια) means far more than “regret” or “turning around.” It literally means “change of mind” (meta=after/beyond, noia=mind/perception). This is a fundamental reorientation of consciousness—a new way of seeing reality.

Distinguishing from “Penance”: Many English translations blur the line between metanoia (Greek) and penance (Latin). This is a critical error. Repentance is not:

  • Self-flagellation or punishment
  • Earning forgiveness through suffering
  • Shame-driven self-rejection
  • A one-time event that “fixes” a person

Rather, repentance is:

  • A sustained reorientation toward God
  • Cognitive + emotional + volitional transformation
  • The recognition that current patterns are misaligned with reality (God’s kingdom)
  • The acceptance of a new identity and orientation

Biblical Precedent: Isaiah 1:18 presents repentance not as punishment but as a new way of seeing: “Come now, let us reason together… though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow.” The invitation is to reconsider, to see oneself and God differently.

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Recovery Parallel: This aligns with how modern recovery frameworks understand transformation—not shame-based, but identity-based. “I am no longer defining myself by my addiction” is a form of metanoia.

Theological Principle: True repentance is a gift from God that restores sight, not a price we pay for forgiveness.

D. The Lamb of God (Arnos/Pascha)

Theological Definition: John the Baptist’s declaration—”Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29)—draws on multiple layers of symbolism:

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  1. Sacrificial Lamb (Levitical):
    • In the Jewish temple system, a lamb was the primary sacrifice for sin atonement (Leviticus 4-5)
    • The lamb was typically young, spotless, unblemished—perfect
    • Its death effected atonement for the community
  2. Passover Lamb (Exodus):
    • The lamb’s blood marked doorframes, protecting the firstborn of Israel
    • It provided both protection (salvation) and community identity (you are the redeemed people)
    • This was the most profound liberation narrative in Jewish memory
  3. Suffering Servant (Isaiah):
    • Isaiah 53:7 describes the servant “like a lamb led to slaughter”
    • This servant’s suffering is vicarious—for others, not for himself
    • His self-offering transforms death into redemption
  4. Cosmic Lamb (Revelation):
    • Revelation portrays the Lamb (arnion, the diminutive form suggesting tenderness/intimacy) as central to all cosmic worship and redemption
    • The Lamb who was slain is simultaneously the Lamb enthroned in power (Revelation 5)

Critical Theological Insight: The Lamb is vulnerable who redeems. In a world of power and domination, the Lamb offers a radically different path—the power of self-giving love. This is why in Revelation, the most powerful cosmic being is depicted as a Lamb.

Theological Principle: God’s redemptive power works through self-giving vulnerability, not coercive might.

E. Baptism (Baptizo) – Symbolic Drowning and Rising

Theological Definition: The Greek word baptizo (βαπτίζω) literally means “to immerse” or “to plunge.” It’s not sprinkling or pouring, but total submersion. This is symbolically significant.

What Baptism Signifies:

  1. Death of the Old Self (Romans 6:3-4):
    • Going under the water = entering the grave, the end of old patterns
    • Rising from water = resurrection into new life
    • Paul uses baptism as the primary metaphor for identification with Christ’s death and resurrection
  2. Washing/Cleansing (Acts 22:16):
    • Baptism signifies the removal of shame and guilt
    • In the ancient world, baptism was about ritual purity—entering the presence of the holy
    • For those in recovery, this symbolizes the possibility of being cleansed, not stained by past
  3. Incorporation into Community (1 Corinthians 12:13):
    • Baptism marks entry into the Body of Christ
    • You are no longer alone in your identity; you are grafted into a people
    • In recovery language: you move from isolation to belonging
  4. Public Identification (Matthew 28:19):
    • Baptism is explicitly public and trinitarian—done in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit
    • It’s a declaration to heaven and earth: you belong to God

Recovery Significance: In recovery frameworks, baptism can represent the moment of public commitment—the willingness to be vulnerable, to identify with a community, to declare that your old way of life is over.

Theological Principle: Baptism is both death to self and birth into new identity; both washing and incorporation.

F. The Spirit Descending – God’s Empowerment

Theological Definition: In all four Gospel accounts of Jesus’ baptism, the Spirit descends upon Him “like a dove” (Matthew 3:16, Mark 1:10, Luke 3:22, John 1:32-33). This imagery is profound.

Why a Dove?

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  1. Gentleness, not violence: Doves represent peace, purity, and innocence. This contrasts sharply with other biblical symbols of the Spirit’s power (like wind or fire). Here, power comes gently.
  2. Connection to Creation: In Genesis 1:2, the Spirit “broods” over the waters at creation. The dove echoes this creative, generative presence.
  3. Innocence: Doves were the sacrifice of the poor (Mary’s offering in Luke 2:24). The Spirit descends with identification with the marginal, not the powerful.
  4. Universality: The dove became a symbol of peace across cultures. John’s Gospel uses it to suggest the Spirit’s work transcends ethnic and cultural boundaries.

The Voice of Affirmation: At Jesus’ baptism, a voice from heaven declares: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). This is not about achievement or earning approval. It’s an affirmation of identity before any work is done. Jesus hasn’t begun his ministry yet—He’s simply received the Spirit and heard His Father’s voice.

Recovery Parallel: In recovery, participants often struggle with shame and the belief that they must “earn” their worth. The baptism narrative offers a different model: affirmation precedes achievement. God declares you beloved before you prove yourself.

Theological Principle: The Spirit’s work is characterized by gentleness, empowerment, and identification with the vulnerable.

II. HISTORICAL & CULTURAL CONTEXT

A. First-Century Political Landscape

The Wilderness as Counter-Site: John the Baptist operated in the Judean wilderness—a deliberate choice with political significance. The wilderness was:

  • Liminal space: neither civilized nor truly wild; a place of transition
  • Prophetic space: where Israel encountered God (Moses, Elijah, Amos)
  • Anti-imperial space: removed from Roman administrative control and Jerusalem’s temple-based authority

By preaching in the wilderness, John was making a statement: an authentic encounter with God happens outside the power structures of Rome and the Jerusalem establishment.

Rome’s Religious Strategy: The Roman Empire was pragmatic about local religions. It allowed client kingdoms to maintain religious practices as long as they didn’t threaten the political order. However, John’s preaching of repentance—calling people to radical reorientation—was inherently destabilizing. You cannot preach genuine metanoia without implicitly critiquing the status quo.

This is why John was arrested. Herod Antipas (the tetrarch of Galilee/Perea) saw John as a political threat (Mark 6:17-18). John was preaching repentance, which threatened the entire social order that Herod benefited from.

The Jewish Establishment’s Complexity: The Pharisees and Sadducees represented different responses to Roman occupation:

  • Pharisees: Believed in maintaining Jewish practice and purity despite Roman rule; focused on Torah observance as resistance
  • Sadducees: More accommodationist; collaborated with Rome; controlled the temple system

John’s baptism was radical because it bypassed the temple entirely. You didn’t need to go to Jerusalem, pay a priest, or engage in the sacrificial system. Repentance was available to anyone, anywhere, through water and a change of mind. This was democratizing and therefore destabilizing.

B. Jewish Renewal Movements

John didn’t emerge in a vacuum. First-century Judaism experienced multiple “renewal” movements, each offering different responses to Roman occupation and spiritual disorientation:

  1. Apocalyptic Movements: Believed God would soon intervene violently to overthrow Rome
  2. Qumran Community (the Essenes): Withdrew to the desert to maintain ritual purity; saw baptism as a daily practice of repentance
  3. Zealot Movements: Advocated armed rebellion
  4. John the Baptist’s Movement: Offered spiritual reformation through repentance and baptism

John was part of a broader Jewish renewal conversation, but with a distinct emphasis: repentance, not revolution; baptism, not armed struggle; humility, not political power-grabbing.

III. CULTURAL RELEVANCE FOR 2025

A. Authenticity in an Age of Performativity

The Crisis of Credibility: John’s credibility came from the alignment between his message and his life. Today, we live in an age of unprecedented performative capacity. Consider:

  • Social media allows anyone to curate a perfect image
  • Influencer culture separates the public persona from private reality
  • Religious institutions have experienced successive waves of scandals where leaders’ private lives contradicted their public messaging
  • Deepfakes make it possible to simulate authenticity entirely

The Result: Younger generations are deeply skeptical of institutional religion and religious authority. Pew Research consistently shows that one primary reason young people leave faith communities is perceived hypocrisy—the failure of religious leaders to live out their stated values.

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John offers a model of radical transparency. He lived simply; he had no institutional power base to protect; he explicitly denied his own importance. In an age of performativity, genuine humility and integrity are increasingly rare—and therefore increasingly powerful.

The question for 2025 Christianity: Can we recover a witness that is willing to be small, to refuse institutional protection, and to point away from ourselves toward Christ?

B. Counter-Cultural Witness in Polarized Times

The Polarization Problem: In 2025, we live in unprecedented ideological fragmentation. Every issue is tribal: politics, economics, sexuality, technology, spirituality. The default posture is adversarial—you’re either with us or against us.

Religious communities are not immune to this. Many churches have become effectively political organizations, blessing one partisan vision or another. The boundary between Christian witness and political ideology has dissolved.

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John stood outside the power structures of his day. He didn’t ally with Rome, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, or the Zealots. His allegiance was singular and undivided: to the God who was coming.

This suggests a prophetic posture for 2025 Christianity: the willingness to critique all human power structures from the perspective of God’s kingdom, rather than investing in any earthly power system.

This is countercultural in every direction:

  • To progressive Christians, it suggests you cannot simply sacralize left-wing political movements
  • To conservative Christians, it suggests that you cannot baptize right-wing nationalism
  • To political moderates, it suggests the kingdom of God is not a middle-ground compromise

John’s witness invites believers to a different kind of politics—one rooted in repentance, humility, and reorientation toward Christ, rather than securing earthly power.

C. The Hunger for Authenticity in Spirituality

The Spiritual-But-Not-Religious Movement: Over the past 20 years, the “spiritual but not religious” category has exploded. In 2025, many younger people are:

  • Rejecting institutional religion
  • Exploring mysticism, meditation, Eastern spirituality
  • Seeking authentic spiritual experience rather than doctrinal correctness
  • Valuing experiential knowledge over inherited tradition

The Gap: Many spiritual-seeking people are not actually anti-Christian; they’re anti-institutional-Christianity. They want an encounter with transcendence, community, and transformation, but without the perceived baggage of hypocrisy and control.

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John offers Christianity at its most reduced and most powerful: a call to repentance, baptism, and encounter with the living God in the wilderness. No institution, no priesthood, no complex theology. Just: change your mind, be immersed, meet the one who is coming.

This suggests that authentic Christian witness in 2025 may look less like defending institutions and more like inviting people into a genuine encounter with God. Not as a defensive posture, but as an offensive proclamation: There is a reality larger than your current perception. Come, and your mind will be changed.

D. The Wilderness as Metaphor for Digital Disorientation

The Information Wilderness: In 2025, we live in a kind of wilderness—not a geographical one, but an informational one. The digital landscape is:

  • Unstructured and overwhelming
  • Full of competing voices claiming authority
  • Algorithmically designed to fragment consensus
  • Increasingly difficult to navigate with integrity

Social media creates what we might call “spiritual disorientation”—the sense that you don’t know what’s true, who to trust, or which way is forward. Conspiracy theories flourish. Expert knowledge is distrusted. Everyone has a platform.

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John preached clarity in a time of confusion. He stood in one place, spoke one message, and pointed in one direction. His witness was singular and undivided. In an age of infinite choice and information overload, this is spiritually compelling.

The question for 2025 believers: Can we offer a witness that is clear, coherent, and courageous amid digital chaos? Can we help people navigate the wilderness?

E. Recovery and the Language of Rebirth

The Recovery Movement’s Growth: In 2025, awareness of addiction—not just substance abuse, but behavioral addiction, digital addiction, relational trauma—is widespread. More people than ever before have some connection to recovery frameworks (12-step programs, therapy, spiritual direction).

Recovery language emphasizes:

  • Admission of powerlessness and need
  • Spiritual reorientation (the “higher power”)
  • Community accountability
  • The possibility of transformation despite past failure

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John’s entire proclamation is oriented toward people who recognize they are spiritually lost and need reorientation. He doesn’t shame; he invites. He doesn’t demand perfection; he offers change.

For people in recovery, John’s witness says: Your past does not determine your future. Repentance is real. You can be baptized into a new identity. The Lamb of God takes away the sin of the world—including yours.

This is not judgment; it’s liberation. This is not shame; it’s hope.

F. Leadership Without Institutional Power

The Crisis of Authority: In 2025, institutional authority is fundamentally compromised:

  • Religious institutions have credibility crises around abuse and misconduct
  • Political institutions are deeply distrusted
  • Corporate institutions are seen as serving shareholders, not communities
  • Even educational institutions face questions about their true purposes

Young people are skeptical of anyone claiming authority based on position, credentials, or institution.

Where John’s Witness Speaks: John had no institutional authority. He had no credentials, no ordination, no official status. His authority came entirely from the integrity of his witness. He pointed away from himself to One greater. He refused to capitalize on his own influence—when people tried to follow him, he redirected them to Jesus.

This offers a model for 2025 leadership: Authority grounded not in position but in integrity; power exercised through humility; influence wielded by pointing away from oneself.

This is radical in every context. It suggests:

  • Pastors should be willing to be small, unknown, humble
  • Religious leaders should critique their own institutions when necessary
  • Spiritual authority is not something you claim but something others recognize in your witness
  • The goal is never to build your own platform but to redirect people toward Christ

IV. THEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS FOR DEEPER EXPLORATION

For Individual Reflection:

  1. On Witness: Where am I most tempted to let my actions contradict my proclaimed values? What would it look like to align more fully?
  2. On Preparation: What obstacles in my life prevent me from seeing and following Christ clearly? What would removing them cost?
  3. On Repentance: Where do I need a fundamental reorientation of my thinking? Where has my “mind” become captured by cultural narratives rather than divine truth?
  4. On the Lamb: How do I tend to seek power—through dominance, manipulation, accumulation? How might the Lamb’s way of vulnerability change my approach?
  5. On Baptism: Have I truly “died” to my old identity, or am I still trying to resurrect aspects of my former self? What would a wholehearted commitment to a new life require?
  6. On the Spirit: Where in my life do I need the Spirit’s gentle empowerment rather than my own striving?
  7. On Counter-Cultural Witness: Where am I tempted to align Christianity with a particular political or cultural system? How might I recover a witness that transcends such alignments?

For Community Dialogue:

  1. How do we foster authentic, humble witness in contexts where the default is performance and self-promotion?
  2. What does it look like to invite people into genuine repentance without shaming or coercion?
  3. How can we recover baptism as genuinely transformative rather than merely ceremonial?
  4. What would it mean for our community to offer genuine spiritual sanctuary—a “wilderness” space where people can encounter God outside consumer and entertainment logic?
  5. How do we cultivate leadership that points away from itself toward Christ?

V. PASTORAL INTEGRATION: FROM THEOLOGY TO LIVED TRANSFORMATION

A. Preaching Theology to Those in Recovery

The theological themes here are not abstract—they speak directly to the experience of addiction, relapse, and recovery.

Witness & Integrity: Many in recovery have had their trust shattered by people who claimed to have their interests at heart but didn’t. John’s integrity—his willingness to be small and to point away from himself—offers a model of trustworthiness that wounds can begin to heal around.

Repentance, Not Shame: The distinction between metanoia and penance is critical. Many people in recovery have internalized profound shame about their addiction and failures. Repentance (change of mind) offers transformation; shame offers only degradation. The proclamation must be: You don’t have to be ashamed of who you were to be transformed into who you’re becoming.

Baptism as New Identity: For someone who has been labeled “addict” or “failure,” baptism offers an alternative narrative. You are not your history. You are beloved. You are being reborn.

The Lamb’s Vulnerability: People in recovery understand vulnerability. They’ve experienced rock bottom. John’s Lamb—powerful through self-giving, not domination—speaks to the paradoxical strength found in admission and surrender.

B. Liturgical & Spiritual Practices

Ritual Recommitment: Consider a baptismal renewal practice in which people publicly reaffirm their commitment to a new life. This is not a requirement but an invitation—a moment to declare before the community that they are identifying with Christ’s death and resurrection.

Wilderness Pilgrimage: Create intentional “wilderness” space—whether literal (a retreat in nature) or metaphorical (a period of prayer and silence). This is not an escape from community but deeper entry into it, via encounter with God.

Witness Sharing: Create safe containers where people can share their witness—how they’ve seen God work, where their integrity has been tested and held, how their minds have been changed by encountering Christ.

Contemplative Prayer on John 1: Lead people through extended meditation on John’s first chapter, using different senses: What do you see? What do you hear? What invitation are you sensing?

VI. CULTURAL COMMENTARY: THE PROPHETIC TASK

For 2025, a word about the prophetic role of John the Baptist witness:

The prophetic stance is not:

  • Being right about politics
  • Defending Christian civilization
  • Gaining cultural influence
  • Building institutional power
  • Making Christianity palatable to the dominant culture

The prophetic stance is:

  • Calling all people—including ourselves—to repentance
  • Pointing away from human power toward God’s kingdom
  • Offering hope grounded in reality, not wishful thinking
  • Maintaining integrity at the cost of comfort
  • Standing in solidarity with the vulnerable and marginalized
  • Speaking truth even when it threatens our own interests

John the Baptist was executed for his witness. Not because he directly attacked Rome or the religious establishment, but because his call to repentance was fundamentally destabilizing to all existing power structures.

For Christians in 2025, this raises a question: Are we willing to be small, to lose influence, to be misunderstood, to be marginalized—in order to maintain integrity in our witness?

The culture war posture says: Gain power so you can impose your values.

The John the Baptist posture says: Lose power so you can witness to a different kingdom entirely.

FINAL REFLECTION

John the Baptist is not the hero of his own story. He is the forerunner, the witness, the voice crying in the wilderness. His greatness consists entirely in his humility—his willingness to be small so that Another might be great.

In 2025, as we navigate polarization, performativity, institutional crisis, and spiritual seeking, John’s witness remains timely. It is prophetic. It invites us to:

  • Trade authenticity for performance
  • Trade political power for spiritual authority
  • Trade the pretense of perfection for the reality of transformation
  • Trade the comfort of belonging to worldly systems for the cost and joy of following the Lamb

The one who testifies to the Light is not the light. But by pointing clearly and humbly away from himself, he becomes a clear channel through whom others can see.

This is the calling. This is the invitation. This is the way forward in 2025.

SCRIPTURE REFERENCES & FURTHER STUDY

Primary Texts:

  • John 1:1-34 (John’s Prologue and John the Baptist’s testimony)
  • Mark 1:1-11 (Gospel opening and baptism)
  • Matthew 3:1-17 (John’s preaching and Jesus’ baptism)
  • Luke 3:1-22 (John’s prophetic witness and baptism)
  • Isaiah 53:1-12 (Suffering Servant passage)
  • Revelation 5:6-10 (The Lamb in cosmic worship)

Key Theological Texts:

  • Romans 6:1-14 (Paul on baptism and dying to self)
  • 1 Peter 1:18-21 (Redemption through the spotless Lamb)
  • 2 Corinthians 5:17 (New creation in Christ)
  • Ephesians 5:25-27 (The Church as spotless Bride)

Secondary Sources for Further Study:

  • N.T. Wright, Simply Christian (on witness and kingdom)
  • Richard Rohr, The Universal Christ (on Christ’s cosmic redemption)
  • Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning Church (on baptismal theology)
  • James Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit (technical theology of baptism)
  • John Dominic Crossan, The Historical Jesus (context of John the Baptist)

Life

It’s a Beautiful Life— Life Abundant, Life True, Life in Christ

Life is a gift far deeper than breath and heartbeat. It is a sacred invitation to walk with the One who said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). When we hear the words “It’s a beautiful life,” our first instinct may be to think of ease, comfort, or quiet days without conflict. But Jesus defines beauty differently. To Him, beauty is found where truth sets us free, where grace restores what is broken, and where His presence fills even the darkest valley with hope.

Life becomes beautiful not because everything is perfect, but because Christ stands in the center of it.

He is the One who finds us in our weariness, lifts our eyes beyond the moment, and reminds us that abundance is not measured by possessions, status, or comfort. Abundance is measured by Him—His nearness, His mercy, His strength, and His peace.

Jesus does not offer a life free from trouble. He offers a life filled with Him.

When He declared, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), He was not giving philosophical poetry. He was making a personal claim: the path you seek is found in Me, the reality you long for is revealed in Me, and the life your soul hungers for is sustained by Me. Without Him, life may be full, but it is never whole. With Him, even seasons of hardship carry meaning, purpose, and direction.

A beautiful life is not a life without scars; it is a life where scars testify to grace.

A beautiful life is not the absence of storms; it is the presence of Jesus in the boat.

A beautiful life is not found by chasing moments; it is found by walking with the Savior who holds eternity.

Every day Christ invites us to live more deeply into that beauty. He calls us to lay down the lesser things that drain us and take hold of the greater things that renew us. He invites us to exchange anxiety for trust, noise for silence, striving for surrender, and self-direction for His leadership.

To follow Jesus is to discover that beauty is a Person before it is an experience.

It is His voice guiding us, His truth correcting us, His Spirit empowering us, His peace guarding us, and His love shaping us. Even in times of grief or confusion, His life becomes the light in ours, shining through every circumstance with the promise: “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

So today, let your heart rest in this assurance: Christ’s life in you is your beauty. Christ’s presence in your story is your strength. Christ’s promise over your future is your hope. Whatever yesterday held, whatever tomorrow may bring, today is still a beautiful life—not because of the world around you, but because of the Savior within you.

And as you walk with Him, may you recognize the beauty of the life He gives: abundant, anchored in truth, and shaped by the One who is Himself the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Tracing the Signal: A Life in Waves and Whispers 

Every engineer knows that when a system fails, you don’t start guessing—you put a probe on the line and trace the signal back to its source, watching for where it weakens, distorts, or disappears entirely. That’s what I’ve been doing these sixty-seven years: tracing the signal God sent into the world the night I was born in Kirbyville, Texas, and following it through noise, interference, dead zones, and moments of perfect, breathtaking clarity.

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The first carrier wave came in strong: a boy in Buna listening to Sputnik beep overhead, lying in the pasture staring at stars that felt close enough to touch, taking apart a broken transistor radio on the back porch just to watch voices spill out like magic. That was the pure tone—undistorted curiosity modulated by a father’s quiet integrity and a mother’s stubborn faith. Grandpa Truman’s drafting table was the first antenna: every clean line he drew taught me that order could be imposed on chaos if you were willing to measure twice and draw once.

Then came the teenage years—atmospheric skip, bounce, fade. The signal scattered energy of scouting, summer river swims, and the first awkward pings toward a blue-eyed girl named Leisa. The signal was still there, but it was jumping, looking for a path.

College and early marriage brought multipath interference: two kids barely scraping by, barely enough money for ramen, anger echoing off the walls of a tiny apartment. I was transmitting on the wrong frequency—rage, exhaustion, pride—and the receiver (Leisa’s heart, our little home) was picking up mostly noise. For over a decade the trace showed severe attenuation: success on the scope at work, but flatline at home. I was transmitting, but the message was garbage.

October 13, 2000, 9:00 p.m., Orange, Texas. That was the night the repeater finally kicked in. On my knees at a simple prayer rail, surrounded by other broken men, the signal suddenly punched through—clean, strong carrier, no sidebands of pretense. Prevenient grace, the theologians call it. I just call it the moment Jesus turned the gain all the way up and said, “I’ve been here the whole time; you were just tuned to the wrong channel.”

Two years later the deepest null I’ve ever measured arrived: losing our only son Joshua in 2002. The scope went flat. For a while I thought the transmitter had been destroyed. But when I put the probe on the line again, I found the carrier was still there—weak, almost buried in grief, yet steady. The signal had changed modulation: it was now amplitude-modulated by pain, frequency-modulated by love that refused to quit. The waveform was no longer pretty, but it was true.

From that null onward, every project became part of the trace.

  • The 80-hop microwave system for Gulf States Utilities? Learning how to bend a signal around the earth without losing the message.
  • The fiber ring for College Station in ’96? Burying the cable so storms can’t touch it.
  • The hundreds of SCADA channels for rural co-ops? Making sure the most important data gets through when everything else fails.
  • The pandemic WISP so kids in Buna could log on to class? Boosting the signal for the least of these.

Every tower I climbed in the rain, every midnight page, every impossible budget—they were all attempts to clear the path, raise the antenna, clean the connectors so the signal could keep traveling a little farther into the dark.

And the personal channels—the Bible studies in our living room, the youth groups, the late-night texts to grieving parents—those were the repeaters God placed exactly where the terrain blocked the direct shot.

Now, at sixty-seven, the trace on the spectrum analyzer is remarkably clean again. There’s still some harmonic distortion from the limp I’ll always walk with, some background noise from regrets that haven’t fully quieted. But the fundamental is strong: love God, serve, build, repair, connect.

One day soon the final packet will arrive—“Well done, good and faithful servant”—and the transmitter here will go silent. But I’ve learned something tracing this signal all these years: the message doesn’t end when the local oscillator stops. It keeps propagating, bouncing off the ionosphere of eternity, refracting through the lives I was privileged to touch—through Leisa’s steady blue-eyed faith, through Joshua’s brief but blazing eighteen years—until it reaches every receiver God intended.

The boy from Buna who just wanted to know how the voices got inside the radio spent his life becoming one of those voices.

And by the grace that first beeped across a Texas sky in 1958 and never stopped calling my name, the signal is still strong, still clear, still traveling.

This is John Hargrove, over and out—for now.

The quiet time

As I sit here on a quiet November evening in 2025, sixty-seven years after that January night in Kirbyville, I find myself doing what old engineers do best: tracing the signal all the way back to its source.

It started with a curious boy in Buna who followed a dog named Brownie too far into the pasture and had to be rescued by the fire department, milk and cookies waiting with Ms. James. That same boy took apart radios just to watch the voices spill out, swam a mile for a merit badge at thirteen, and somehow earned the rank of Eagle Scout before most kids earn a driver’s license. He learned drafting at his grandfather Truman’s knee, watched his dad Robert come home from Dupont with plastic under his nails and quiet integrity in his eyes, and felt his mom Lavee’s faith wrap around the house like the smell of coffee and bacon on Sunday mornings.

That boy met a girl named Leisa at a graduation ceremony in 1975, and something silent and certain took root. We married in 1980 while I was still failing (and then passing) calculus at Lamar, barely scraping together rent, nearly losing each other in the exhaustion and anger of those lean years. But grace is stubborn, and we stayed. In 1984 God gave us Joshua—our Disney World miracle—and for eighteen bright years the three of us were a complete world.

Then came a season of wandering in the wilderness of my own making. Through the late 1980s and most of the 1990s—while on the outside I was climbing towers, building companies, and looking like the picture of success—inside I was coming undone. I wore a faith mask on Sundays and a competent-engineer mask on weekdays, but underneath I was angry, blind, and selfish. I kicked walls, punched doors, tore things apart with my hands when I couldn’t fix what was breaking in my soul. I hurt Leisa and Joshua with fits of rage I still regret, and toward the end I tried to fill the God-shaped hole with every wrong thing I could find. I was lost and didn’t even know how lost.

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But on an October night in Orange, Texas, in 2000—two years before the worst day of my life—Jesus found me anyway. I was on my knees at a simple prayer rail, surrounded by other broken men unloading their souls, tears soaking a box of Kleenex. It wasn’t a dramatic revival; it was gentle, forceful, prevenient grace pulling me home before I had earned a single step. That night the signal broke through the noise, and I came back to the Father who had never stopped chasing me.

Two years later, when the valley came and losing Joshua in 2002 broke things in me I didn’t know could break, I discovered that God had already been rebuilding the foundation. The rage was quieter, the mask no longer fit, and though the grief was deeper than any ocean, I now had an Anchor. For a long time I still wore a limp and carried the ache, but I no longer carried it alone. Grief taught me that the capacity to ache is the capacity to love, and love, it turns out, is the only thing that outlasts death. Leisa and I opened our home, led youth groups, hosted Bible studies, and tried—imperfectly—to turn sorrow into sanctuary for others walking the same road.

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The years after Joshua are marked by a limp I will carry to my grave, but also by a clarity I never had before. Grief taught me that the capacity to ache is the capacity to love, and love, it turns out, is the only thing that outlasts death. Leisa and I opened our home, led youth groups, hosted Bible studies, and tried—imperfectly—to turn sorrow into sanctuary for others walking the same road.

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Meanwhile the work kept calling. From student engineer at Gulf States Utilities to supervising microwave networks that spanned half of Texas; from founding New Signals Engineering on a wing and a prayer to watching it grow into two decades of service; from climbing towers in the rain to keep the lights on in rural counties, to standing up a wireless internet company in the middle of a pandemic so kids in Buna could go to school online—none of it was glamorous. Most of it was midnight pages, impossible budgets, and prayers whispered over schematics. But it mattered. Lights stayed on. People stayed connected. Grace snuck in through fiber and radio waves.

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Looking back, I see the thread God was weaving when I could only see tangles: every tower I climbed, every co-op boardroom where I fought for resilience, every late-night text to a grieving parent, every tower hand-off that brought broadband to a forgotten corner of East Texas—it was all the same calling dressed in different clothes. Build. Repair. Connect. Stand in the gap.

I am not the man I planned to be. Thank God. I am the man grief refined, grace pursued, and Leisa loved into existence. Joshua is waiting (I know this in my bones), my dad and grandparents have gone ahead, and one day soon the final signal will come through clear: “Well done.”

Until then, I keep showing up—still curious, still learning, still building, still surrendering. The quiet work goes on.

And by the mercy that has chased me across six decades of East Texas pine and microwave paths, I can say with all my heart: I had a great life. Because He did.

My Epitath

Here lies John E. Hargrove January 24, 1958 – [date yet to be written]

A boy from Buna who never stopped wondering how things worked and never stopped trying to make them work for others.

He chased signals across microwave towers and fiber miles, built networks that carried light to forgotten places, and in the darkest valleys carried the light of Christ to broken hearts.

Husband to Leisa for a lifetime and beyond, father to Joshua—whose brief life taught him how to love forever, son of Robert and Lavee, brother, friend, mentor, builder.

He knew grief intimately, yet chose every morning to show up, to do the quiet work that lasts when applause has long faded.

He was not perfect. He was faithful.

Still learning. Still building. Still becoming. Now, at last, fully known and fully home.

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“Have a great life. If I can, I can too.” (He did.)

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Soli Deo Gloria

Spiritual Power

Acts 1:8 presents the risen Christ’s final commission to His disciples and sets the enduring pattern for the Church’s mission. Across the major translations, the central message remains unchanged: authentic ministry begins with divine empowerment, not human ingenuity. The promise, “you will receive power,” speaks of the Spirit-given capacity to speak, act, persevere, and represent Christ in ways far beyond natural ability. This empowerment is never abstract. It is tied directly to purpose—“you will be my witnesses.”

A witness, biblically, is one who embodies and testifies to the reality of the risen Christ. Witnessing is more than verbal proclamation; it is a life marked by truth, grace, and the authority of Jesus made visible. The geographic movement—Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth—illustrates the outward progression of this calling. It begins where we stand, reaches those near us, crosses boundaries we would not choose on our own, and ultimately touches the whole world. The mission is outward-facing, intentional, and entirely Spirit-driven.

The translations highlight different nuances. The NLT emphasizes the practical dimension—“telling people about me everywhere.” The ESV and NIV maintain the formal commission—“you will be my witnesses.” The Berean Standard reflects closely the structure of the Greek text, holding empowerment and mandate side by side. Together, they articulate the Church’s identity as a Spirit-empowered people bearing the testimony of Jesus across every place, every community, and every generation.

Yet between Acts 1:8 and our daily lives, a gap often emerges. Scripture describes power, but our experience sometimes feels marked by worry, fear, doubt, or persistent sin. It is not that the Spirit has withdrawn; rather, the supernatural is often constrained by the natural—by the patterns of thinking and living that we default to in the flesh. Many believers either forget how to walk in the power of the Spirit or were never taught what that life looks like.

The Spirit is not merely a comforter. He is an active force, the animating power of God within us. Galatians 5:25 captures this call plainly: “If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit.” Witnesses are not self-made. They are Spirit-formed, Spirit-enabled, and Spirit-directed. The effectiveness of their lives does not come from strategy, personality, or cleverness, but from the power of the Holy Spirit working through them.

Understanding our design helps bridge the gap. We are created as spirit, soul, and body. The flesh—our fallen, natural inclinations—cannot produce life. The soul—our mind, will, and emotions—can be shaped either by the flesh or by the Spirit. The spirit—the part of us made alive in Christ—was designed to lead. But distraction, pressure, and sin turn our attention away from the Spirit and back toward the flesh. When we live facing the flesh, we live in weakness. When we turn toward the Spirit, the power of God illuminates the soul and brings the whole person into alignment with His purposes.

So the essential question becomes: What are you looking at? What direction is your inner life facing—toward your own strength or toward the Spirit who empowers?

Acts 1:8 is not simply a historical statement. It is an invitation to daily dependence:

“Lord, fill me. Lead me. Empower me to walk in the Spirit and reveal Christ through my life.”

When the Spirit leads, the gap closes. The witness becomes real. The power becomes visible. And ordinary lives become instruments of the risen Christ in the world.

Reminder of the Light

Some days I’m reminded to go back to the starting point. “In the beginning was the Word…” That truth centers me. It reminds me that everything we’re doing—family, work, community—rests on something solid and steady.

The scriptures in the RCL today lean into that same hope.

Daniel talks about God standing with His people even in hard seasons. Psalm 16 says our security isn’t in what we build, but in the One who holds us. Hebrews encourages us to keep lifting each other up. And in Mark, Jesus tells us not to get lost in the noise or fear when the world feels shaky.

Then He brings it all home: “I came that they may have life, and have it more abundantly.”

That’s the thread that runs through it all. A reminder that real life—steady, grounded, meaningful—comes from the One who speaks light into dark places and hope into tired hearts.

So if you’re carrying a lot today, take a breath. The One who was there in the beginning is still speaking life now. We can walk forward with that.

#SteadyLight

#AbundantLife

#HopeForToday

Keeping Going When No One’s Listening?

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to do work that matters when it feels like no one cares.

For the past few years, I’ve been advocating for rural East Texas communities—places like Buna, Newton, San Augustine. I’ve built communication frameworks, written strategic plans, installed digital kiosks, organized meetings, drafted policy briefs. I’ve tried to give voice to communities that have been systematically left out of planning conversations, to help people shape their own futures instead of having decisions made for them from far away.

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Most days, it feels like pushing a boulder uphill alone.

The Generational Game

I’m starting to realize this work isn’t measured in months or even years—it’s generational. The infrastructure I’m building, these communication frameworks and pilot models and community briefs, they’re seeds that may not fully mature in my lifetime. And I think I’ve been measuring success wrong.

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Maybe success isn’t getting county commissioners to read every brief I send. Maybe it’s that one local leader who picks up this work five years from now and has a template to start from. Maybe it’s just that these documents exist at all—proof that someone saw what was happening, cared enough to name it, and offered solutions.

That’s not failure. That’s foundation-building.

Celebrating What’s Actually There

When the big wins feel impossible, I’m learning to notice the small ones:

  • A county commissioner who actually responded to a community brief
  • A kiosk that’s been running for six months without breaking down
  • One new business owner who showed up to learn about the community
  • The fact that I’ve created templates other rural organizers can use

These aren’t nothing. They’re evidence of progress, even if they’re not transformation yet.

Finding My People

The San Augustine meeting this year reminded me of something important. Sitting around that table with Eddie, Nancy, Tania, and Marianne—people doing similar work in their own communities—I didn’t feel alone. We shared frustrations, traded contacts, problem-solved together.

I’ve been spending too much energy seeking alignment “up”—with county officials, state agencies, foundations—and not enough building lateral relationships with peers. Those relationships aren’t just strategic. They’re sanity-preserving. They remind me I’m not crazy for thinking this work matters.

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The Documentation Matters

Even when nothing changes immediately, these reports I’m writing serve a purpose:

  • They validate what communities are experiencing
  • They create a record for future organizers
  • They protect against institutional amnesia (“we didn’t know there was a problem”)

I need to remember that documentation is activism. Recording what’s happening, naming the gaps, proposing solutions—that’s meaningful work even when it doesn’t produce immediate results.

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Letting Go of Universal Buy-In

Not everyone is going to get it. Some officials will remain indifferent. Some developers will keep ignoring community input. Some residents will stay skeptical of any change.

That’s okay. The goal isn’t to convince everyone—it’s to build enough of a coalition to create momentum. I don’t need universal support for this work to matter.

Taking Real Breaks

I’m bad at this one. I need to take actual breaks—not performative self-care, but real disengagement. Days where I don’t mention rural development. Weeks where the kiosks can wait.

This work will always be there. It’s generational, remember? Burning out doesn’t serve anyone.

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What Does “Enough” Look Like?

I’m trying to get more specific about what meaningful progress would look like in the next year. Not transformation—just progress:

  • Three communities actually using the communication framework I built
  • One successful regional roundtable where rural leaders are at the table
  • Maybe a single rural navigator position gets funded somewhere

When I make it concrete like that, I can tell the difference between “not enough impact yet” and “actually making progress.” They’re not the same thing.

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Why I Keep Going

Buna, Newton, San Augustine—these aren’t abstractions to me. They’re people who deserve to shape their own futures. The work I’m doing affirms their dignity and their right to be heard.

That has value independent of whether it produces immediate systemic change.

The fact that I keep showing up, keep documenting, keep building frameworks when no one asked me to—I don’t think that’s naivete anymore. I think it’s moral courage. Or stubbornness. Maybe both.

The question isn’t whether to keep going. It’s how to keep going sustainably, strategically, with enough support to avoid burning out completely.


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I don’t have all the answers yet. But writing this helps. Naming what’s hard helps. Remembering I’m building foundations, not finished structures—that helps too.

If you’re doing similar work somewhere else—advocating for a place everyone else overlooks, building infrastructure no one asked for, showing up when it feels pointless—you’re not alone. And you’re not crazy.

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Keep going. The work matters.

WEEK 2 – The Coming Light Prelude Study for Book of John

Key Truth

The light of Christ does not arrive after the night ends—it enters while it is still dark. God’s promise is not that suffering will disappear before He comes, but that His presence is stronger than any darkness you’re walking through.

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Scripture Focus

Isaiah 9:1-7

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.”

For centuries, Israel walked in shadows. They were exiled, oppressed, silenced—waiting for God to return. They didn’t know when or how. But the prophets kept whispering: Light is coming. Not someday when everything is fixed. Not after you’ve earned it. The light comes into the darkness, meeting you exactly where you are.

Isaiah 40:1-11

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God… The voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway for our God.'”

God doesn’t wait for the path to be perfect before He comes. He comes into the wilderness—the place of broken things, lost things, wandering things. And His coming transforms the terrain itself. The desert becomes a highway. The crooked places are made straight. You don’t have to clean yourself up first.

Malachi 3:1

“I will send my messenger, who will prepare the way before me. Then suddenly the Lord you are seeking will come to his temple.”

After 400 years of silence, God promises to speak again. The people had given up hope. They thought God had abandoned them. But He was preparing His coming all along. In your silence, in your waiting, in your despair—God is preparing His coming too.

Luke 1:26-38

Mary’s encounter with Gabriel. An ordinary girl in an ordinary place receives an extraordinary promise. “The Lord is with you,” the angel says. Not because Mary deserves it. Not because she’s perfect or ready. But because God chooses her. And she chooses to trust.

Luke 2:25-32

Simeon has waited his whole life for God’s promise. “Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, for my eyes have seen your salvation.” He recognized Jesus immediately—not because he was looking for a king, but because he knew what hope looked like after a lifetime of waiting.

John 8:12

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Jesus doesn’t say the darkness goes away when you follow Him. He says you won’t walk in it alone. The light walks with you, through you, ahead of you.

What This Means for You

  • Your darkness is not disqualifying. God’s light doesn’t wait for you to get better, sober, stronger, or more worthy. It comes for you in the mess, in the relapse, in the confusion. That’s when it matters most.
  • Waiting doesn’t mean abandonment. Israel waited 400 years. You may have waited years for healing. That silence wasn’t absence—it was God preparing His coming. Your waiting is not wasted.
  • Hope is not naive. Israel knew their pain. They lived it every day. But they also knew God’s promises. Healing doesn’t deny the darkness; it walks through it with company. Your hope can hold both the pain and the promise.
  • You are seen and called by name. Like Mary. Like Simeon. Like the people Isaiah spoke to. You are not invisible to God. He knows your wilderness and your waiting. He comes for you personally.
  • The light exposes to heal, not to shame. When Christ’s light comes into darkness, it reveals what was hidden—not to condemn you, but to heal you. In recovery, you learn to name your pain, your choices, your truth. That exposure is the beginning of freedom, not judgment.
  • You can trust the light. After years of living in darkness—whether addiction, abuse, silence, or shame—trusting light feels dangerous. But Jesus says: follow me. You won’t walk alone. The light is stronger than any relapse, any failure, any day you think you can’t make it.

Discussion Questions

  • What kinds of darkness have you walked through? What did that darkness feel like?
  • Israel waited 400 years for God to speak. When have you waited for hope? What sustained you?
  • When light breaks through after long darkness, what does that feel like? Does it ever feel scary?
  • In your recovery or healing, where have you experienced God “entering the darkness” rather than waiting for things to be perfect first?
  • What does it mean that the light comes while you’re still walking in darkness, not after the darkness ends?
  • How does it change things to know that Christ’s light exposes wounds to heal them, not to shame you?
  • Who in your life has been “light” to you when you were in a dark place?

This Week’s Practice

  • Read Isaiah 9:1 each morning. Let it be your mirror. You are the people walking in darkness. The light has come for you.
  • Journal one word each day: “One way I see light breaking through today…” Notice small things—a moment of peace, a connection with someone, a choice you made toward healing, grace you received.
  • Sit in one dark room this week. Literally. Sit in darkness for 5-10 minutes. Notice how even a small light—a candle, a phone screen—changes everything. Let that be your prayer: Jesus, be that light for me.
  • Memorize: “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” (Isaiah 9:2)
  • Call or text one person this week who has been light to you in your darkness. Thank them. Tell them what their presence meant.

Daily Reflections

DAY 1 – DARKNESS AND LONGING

Read Isaiah 9:1-7

Imagine Israel waiting. Centuries of waiting. Foreign rulers, broken temples, silence from heaven. But in that darkness, they held onto a promise: the light is coming.

Where in your life do you feel like you’re waiting? In your recovery? In your relationships? In your faith?

Ask God: “Help me wait without losing hope. Show me signs that You’re coming, even now.”

DAY 2 – GOD IN THE WILDERNESS

Read Isaiah 40:1-11

God doesn’t meet us at the finish line. He meets us in the wilderness—where we’re lost, broken, confused.

What does your wilderness look like right now? Where do you feel most lost?

Sit with this: God is preparing a highway through your desert. Not to skip the hard parts, but to make a way through them. You’re not alone in there.

DAY 3 – AFTER THE SILENCE

Read Malachi 3:1

Four hundred years. That’s how long Israel waited after God stopped speaking. Four hundred years of silence. And then: “I will send my messenger.”

Have you experienced silence from God? A time when you didn’t hear His voice, didn’t feel His presence?

Healing often begins in silence. Sometimes God is quiet not because He’s absent, but because He’s coming. Write: “One way I’ve experienced God’s silence was…”

DAY 4 – CALLED BY NAME

Read Luke 1:26-38

Mary was nobody important. Just a young girl in a small town. But when the angel came, he didn’t say, “You’ve earned this.” He said, “The Lord is with you.”

God doesn’t call the qualified. He qualifies the called. He comes to ordinary people in ordinary places and says: You. I choose you.

Ask yourself: What would change if I truly believed God chose me—not because I’m perfect, but because I’m His?

DAY 5 – RECOGNIZING THE LIGHT

Read Luke 2:25-32

Simeon waited his whole life. He was old. He had waited so long he might have stopped looking. But when Jesus came, he knew. Something in him recognized what he’d been waiting for.

In your recovery, have you had moments where you suddenly recognized healing? Where hope showed up when you least expected it?

Write: “I recognized God’s light when…”

DAY 6 – WALKING IN LIGHT

Read John 8:12

“Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

Not: the darkness goes away. Not: you’ll never struggle again.

But: you will not walk alone. The light walks with you.

In what area of your recovery do you most need to remember: I’m not walking this alone?

DAY 7 – REST IN THE PROMISE

Read all passages from this week, slowly.

This week, you’ve sat with Israel’s waiting, with God’s silence, with His sudden breaking-through. You’ve remembered that light doesn’t wait for perfection. It comes into the mess.

Today, simply rest. Let yourself feel seen by God. Let yourself trust that the light you’ve seen—in yourself, in your recovery, in God’s grace—is real and strong.

Write: “The light I’m holding onto this week is…”

A Word for You

You are not too dark for God’s light. You are not too far gone, too broken, too much of a mess. The light of Christ enters darkness—it doesn’t wait for the darkness to leave first. In your recovery, in your healing, you are learning to walk in that light. Some days it feels bright. Some days it’s just a flicker. But it’s there. And it’s stronger than you know.

Next Week: The Gift of Presence (Luke 2, Matthew 2; Incarnation and Emmanuel)