In the third chapter of the Gospel of John, we meet Nicodemus—a man of stature, learning, and influence. He is identified as a Pharisee, a ruler of the Jews, and a teacher of Israel. In every measurable way, Nicodemus is successful. His life has been carefully constructed around knowledge, discipline, and religious credibility. He has earned his place. He has mastered the system.
Yet he comes to Jesus at night.
That detail matters. Nicodemus does not come as a public figure seeking debate, nor as a confident leader issuing instruction. He comes quietly, privately, perhaps cautiously. Whatever confidence he carried in daylight seems to fade in the presence of Jesus. Something in him knows that his credentials are no longer sufficient.
Jesus does not flatter him. He does not affirm his status. He does not invite him to refine his theology or intensify his efforts. Instead, Jesus speaks words that would have cut straight through everything Nicodemus had built his life upon:
“You must be born again.”
Not improved. Not corrected. Not advanced to the next level.
Born again.
This is not a call to self-help or religious achievement. It is a declaration that the entire foundation is inadequate. Jesus looks past Nicodemus’s titles and accomplishments and sees a man who, despite all his success, still lacks life. Not information. Not morality. Life.
For Nicodemus, this would have been deeply unsettling. His identity was forged through study, obedience, and reputation. To be told that none of that could produce what was required would have felt like the ground shifting beneath his feet. Jesus is not asking him to add something to his life. He is telling him that he must become someone entirely new.
This is the scandal and the mercy of John 3. God’s kingdom is not entered through merit, pedigree, or position. It is entered through rebirth—through a work of God that cannot be controlled, earned, or managed. “The wind blows where it wishes,” Jesus says. Life with God begins not with human effort, but with divine initiative.
Nicodemus’s story confronts us with an uncomfortable question: What happens when the things we rely on to define ourselves—our success, our knowledge, our service, even our religion—are no longer enough?
Jesus does not shame Nicodemus. He invites him. But the invitation is costly. It requires surrender. It requires letting go of the illusion that we can build our way into God’s life. It requires trusting that God can remake us from the inside out.
John does not tell us everything Nicodemus felt that night. But later in the Gospel, we see him again—first speaking cautiously in Jesus’s defense, and finally standing openly at the cross, helping to bury the crucified Christ. The man who came in the dark eventually steps into the light. New birth, it seems, is a process as much as a moment.
John 3 reminds us that faith is not about becoming better versions of ourselves. It is about becoming new. It is about allowing ourselves to be fully seen by Jesus—and trusting Him enough to let go of what we thought made us secure.
That invitation still stands.
Not “try harder.” Not “prove yourself.” But: be born again.
John establishes this immediately: “To all who received Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). In John’s theology, belief is not passive. It is an act of trust that precedes clarity.
Reflection Where is God asking you to believe before you fully understand?
Response Name the area where faith must lead before sight follows.
Stanza Two Theme: Perseverance Through Resistance
The song acknowledges obstacles. The journey is long. Opposition exists. Yet the commitment remains firm.
John 16:33 records Jesus saying, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John never promises ease. He promises victory rooted in Christ, not circumstance.
Reflection What resistance has tempted you to stop trusting?
Response Anchor perseverance not in strength, but in Christ’s completed work.
Stanza Three Theme: Identity Anchored in Purpose
The song affirms identity: knowing who you are sustains endurance.
John’s Gospel repeatedly shows Jesus grounding identity in relationship. “I know My own and My own know Me” (John 10:14). Faith of the heart is relational confidence, not self-assertion.
Reflection Are you defining yourself by struggle or by belonging?
Response Rest in the truth that you are known and held.
Stanza Four Theme: Hope That Looks Forward
This movement looks ahead with confidence. The future is not feared; it is faced with expectation.
John 14:1–3 speaks directly to this posture. “Do not let your hearts be troubled… I go to prepare a place for you.” John’s theology frames the future as secured by Jesus’ presence.
Reflection Does your hope rest on outcomes, or on Christ Himself?
Response Entrust tomorrow to the One already there.
Stanza Five Theme: Endurance Rooted in Love
The closing theme resolves into steady commitment. Faith remains because love remains.
John 15:9 calls believers to abide in Christ’s love. This is the sustaining power of faith: not willpower, but remaining connected to the source of life.
Reflection What practices help you remain rather than strive?
Response Choose abiding over anxiety this week.
Closing
“Faith of the heart” reflects the core message of the Gospel of John: belief that endures, hope that holds, love that remains.
John writes so that belief would lead to life (John 20:31). Faith is not loud confidence. It is quiet persistence rooted in Jesus—who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
The journey may be long. The road may be costly. But faith of the heart is sustained by the One who walks it with us.
The opening theme declares resolve. Faith is chosen before outcomes are visible. The heart commits even when the path ahead is uncertain.
John establishes this immediately: “To all who received Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God” (John 1:12). In John’s theology, belief is not passive. It is an act of trust that precedes clarity.
Reflection Where is God asking you to believe before you fully understand?
Response Name the area where faith must lead before sight follows.
Stanza Two Theme: Perseverance Through Resistance
The song acknowledges obstacles. The journey is long. Opposition exists. Yet the commitment remains firm.
John 16:33 records Jesus saying, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” John never promises ease. He promises victory rooted in Christ, not circumstance.
Reflection What resistance has tempted you to stop trusting?
Response Anchor perseverance not in strength, but in Christ’s completed work.
Stanza Three Theme: Identity Anchored in Purpose
The song affirms identity: knowing who you are sustains endurance.
John’s Gospel repeatedly shows Jesus grounding identity in relationship. “I know My own and My own know Me” (John 10:14). Faith of the heart is relational confidence, not self-assertion.
Reflection Are you defining yourself by struggle or by belonging?
Response Rest in the truth that you are known and held.
Stanza Four Theme: Hope That Looks Forward
This movement looks ahead with confidence. The future is not feared; it is faced with expectation.
John 14:1–3 speaks directly to this posture. “Do not let your hearts be troubled… I go to prepare a place for you.” John’s theology frames the future as secured by Jesus’ presence.
Reflection Does your hope rest on outcomes, or on Christ Himself?
Response Entrust tomorrow to the One already there.
Stanza Five Theme: Endurance Rooted in Love
The closing theme resolves into steady commitment. Faith remains because love remains.
John 15:9 calls believers to abide in Christ’s love. This is the sustaining power of faith: not willpower, but remaining connected to the source of life.
Reflection What practices help you remain rather than strive?
Response Choose abiding over anxiety this week.
Closing
“Faith of the heart” reflects the core message of the Gospel of John: belief that endures, hope that holds, love that remains.
John writes so that belief would lead to life (John 20:31). Faith is not loud confidence. It is quiet persistence rooted in Jesus—who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
The journey may be long. The road may be costly. But faith of the heart is sustained by the One who walks it with us.
As the year closes, I am not counting accomplishments or failures. I am paying attention to what remained. What endured when plans changed, when strength ran thin, when answers did not arrive on time.
This year asked more than I expected. It required steadiness when clarity was limited and faithfulness when results were slow. I learned again that life rarely moves by clean chapters. Most days are written in pencil, not ink, and grace shows up quietly rather than dramatically.
On this New Year’s Eve, I am reminded that Jesus did not promise ease, but presence. He did not offer certainty, but direction. He did not remove the valley, but He walked into it with us. That has been enough. It is still enough.
As midnight approaches, I release what I cannot carry forward. Regret. Fear. The need to control outcomes. I step into the coming year with trust instead of urgency, obedience instead of noise, and hope rooted deeper than circumstances.
Tomorrow will not be a reset. It will be a continuation. Another day to show up, to serve, to love well, and to walk faithfully with the One who holds time itself.
I enter the new year not demanding answers, but willing to listen.
There is a quiet detail in the opening chapters of the Gospel of John that has stayed with me.
At the wedding in Cana, nothing dramatic is asked of the servants. Jesus does not tell them to pray harder, believe louder, or understand more deeply. He gives a simple instruction:
“Fill the jars with water.”
That is it.
The miracle does not begin with wine. It begins with obedience that looks ordinary.
Naming What Has Run Out
Mary does something equally simple before that moment. She names the shortage:
“They have no more wine.”
She does not fix it.
She does not explain it.
She does not manage the outcome.
She places the lack before Jesus and steps back.
That pattern matters.
My Concrete Step
Here is the one step I am choosing to take in response to this passage:
I will name what has run out in me and place it before Jesus without trying to solve it.
Practically, this looks like this:
I sit alone, quietly, with no agenda.
I write one sentence:
“Lord, I have no more ______.”
I do not explain the blank.
I do not justify it.
I do not turn it into a prayer list or a plan.
Then I stop.
I pray one short sentence:
“I place this in Your hands. I will do whatever You tell me next.”
And I leave it there.
No fixing.
No rushing.
No forcing clarity.
Why This Matters
This step resists my instinct to manage outcomes, optimize solutions, or turn faith into a project. It places me where the servants stood—faithful, available, and unremarkable.
The servants did not make wine.
They carried water.
The transformation was Jesus’ work, not theirs.
What I Am Watching For
I am not watching for a dramatic answer.
I am watching for a quiet instruction.
Something small.
Something ordinary.
Something that feels almost too simple to matter.
That will likely be my “fill the jars with water” moment.
A Closing Reflection
I am not responsible for producing abundance.
I am responsible for obedience.
When I do what I am told—without knowing the outcome—I make room for God to reveal His glory in ways I could not manufacture.
As Jesus’ birth drew near, Bethlehem was crowded and restless. Because of the Roman census, families were arriving from every direction to register, including Joseph and Mary, traveling late in pregnancy. Homes were full, guest rooms taken, animals sheltered close to families for warmth. Shepherds were likely in the fields outside town, watching flocks through the cold night hours. Ordinary life was busy and strained, yet God was quietly bringing His promise to completion. On this day, the Messiah was not yet seen—but He was very near.
Photo by Jessica Lewis ud83eudd8b thepaintedsquare on Pexels.com
There is a particular kind of weight that comes with leadership in a small rural community. It is not loud or dramatic. It does not announce itself. It settles in quietly and stays. You carry it when you unlock buildings early in the morning, when you answer questions no one else has time to answer, when you make decisions knowing there is no backup team waiting behind you. This year has been full of that kind of weight.
In rural East Texas, leadership is less about titles and more about presence. People know where you live. They know your family. They see whether you show up consistently or disappear when things get hard. Stewardship here is personal. You are not managing abstractions; you are caring for places and people with names, histories, and long memories. That responsibility can be humbling, and it can be heavy, especially when the year brings grief alongside progress.
As an engineer, I spend much of my time working with systems, infrastructure, and technology. Fiber routes, wireless links, power systems, networks that must stay up even when conditions are less than ideal. This year reinforced something I already knew but needed to relearn: technology is never the purpose. It is a tool. It exists to serve people, not to replace presence, wisdom, or care. Infrastructure matters deeply, but only because of what it enables—connection, opportunity, safety, and dignity. When the work becomes only about equipment or metrics, something essential is lost.
There were many days this year when exhaustion and calling pulled in opposite directions. Fatigue does not always come from doing too much; sometimes it comes from caring deeply over a long period of time. There were moments when it would have been easier to step back, to delay decisions, to wait for someone else to take responsibility. But calling is persistent. It does not shout. It simply asks, again and again, whether you will show up today.
Patience has been one of the quiet lessons of this year. Progress in rural places is slow by nature, and that slowness can feel frustrating in a world accustomed to rapid change. Trust grows the same way. It is built through small, repeated acts of reliability. Showing up on time. Following through. Listening more than speaking. These habits rarely make headlines, but they form the foundation of healthy communities.
Faith has been less about answers and more about posture. There were seasons of waiting when clarity did not come quickly. In those moments, faith looked like staying present, doing the next right thing, and trusting that light does not always arrive all at once. Often it comes like morning—gradually, almost unnoticed at first, until suddenly you realize you can see farther than you could before.
Grief has been part of the landscape this year as well. Loss changes how time feels. It reshapes priorities. It has a way of stripping away what is unnecessary and leaving what truly matters. In that sense, grief has also clarified calling. It has reminded me that people are not projects, and that leadership is ultimately an act of care.
As 2026 approaches, there is plenty that could invite fear: uncertainty, resource constraints, the complexity of rural challenges. But fear is not a useful guide. Hope, grounded in faith, is steadier. It does not deny difficulty; it simply refuses to let difficulty have the final word. Looking forward, the goal is not perfection or speed, but faithfulness—continuing to build, serve, and lead with integrity, even when the work remains unfinished.
So the choice at the end of this year is a simple one. To keep walking forward. To trust that God is at work in the quiet, steady moments more than in the loud ones. To believe that showing up, again and again, is itself an act of faith. And to rest in the confidence that light, even when it comes slowly, is still light.
Every human life, whether quietly or loudly, is shaped by a single, foundational question. Most people never stop long enough to name it, yet it governs their priorities, their decisions, and their understanding of meaning.
The question is not, “What do I want out of life?” It is not, “How can I be successful?” It is not even, “How can I be happy?”
The most important question of life is this:
What is ultimately true—and how should I live in light of that truth?
Every worldview offers an answer, whether stated explicitly or assumed quietly. If reality is accidental and impersonal, then meaning must be manufactured. Life becomes a project of self-definition, and morality becomes negotiable. Purpose is temporary, and hope rarely extends beyond the present moment.
If, however, truth is personal, moral, and purposeful, then life is not something we invent but something we receive. Meaning is discovered, not created. Responsibility matters. Love carries weight. Suffering is not meaningless, even when it is painful.
Christian faith brings this question into sharp focus through the words of Jesus Himself. When He looked at His disciples and asked, “Who do you say that I am?” He was not asking for information. He was inviting a decision that would reorder their entire lives.
That question still does the same today.
If Jesus is merely a teacher, His words may inspire but carry no ultimate claim. If He is who He claimed to be, then truth is not an abstract concept but a person to be known and followed.
Scripture consistently frames life in relational terms. Human beings are not autonomous projects but stewards of a gift. We are accountable not only for what we do, but for how we respond to the God who reveals Himself. This reframes everything: work, family, suffering, joy, justice, and hope beyond death.
The tragedy of modern life is not that people ask too many questions, but that they settle for questions that are too small. When the ultimate question is ignored, the answers we chase never quite satisfy.
Life does not become clearer when we eliminate the question of truth. It becomes clearer when we face it honestly.
What is ultimately true? And how, then, should we live?
That is the question every life answers—whether intentionally or by default.
1. The New Testament canon is earlier than Constantine
A common modern claim is that “Constantine or Nicaea created the Bible.” Historically, the Council of Nicaea (325) dealt with Christology (Arian controversy), not a canon list, and there is no historical record of Nicaea deciding the New Testament contents. Phoenix Seminary+2The Gospel Coalition+2
What we actually see is a recognition process already underway well before the 300s:
By the late 2nd century, a substantial core of NT books is already listed in early canon evidence such as the Muratorian Fragment, which includes Acts, Paul’s letters, and other familiar books; it also distinguishes between books read publicly in church and books read privately. Encyclopedia Britannica
By A.D. 367, Athanasius’ Festal Letter 39 provides the earliest surviving list that matches the 27-book New Testament used by Protestants, Catholics, and Orthodox today. New Advent+2Archive.org+2
This matters because it shows that the 27-book NT is not a late, political invention. It is a convergence of early, widespread Christian usage that becomes explicitly documented.
2. Councils did more “confirm” than “create”
Councils and synods functioned to standardize what churches were already reading and receiving, especially when disputed writings circulated. That is different from “a group of bishops invented Scripture.” The historical record supports a gradual recognition and consolidation rather than a single moment of authoritarian selection. Phoenix Seminary+1
3. The Great Schism (1054) does not destabilize the New Testament
The 1054 schism created institutional and doctrinal tensions between East and West, but it did not produce rival New Testaments. The 27-book NT is shared across Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox traditions. The major differences across traditions relate primarily to Old Testament scope (Deuterocanonical/Apocryphal books and some tradition-specific texts), not to the apostolic NT core. New Advent+1
4. Reformation-era disputes were mostly about the Old Testament boundary and authority, not “losing the Gospel”
A frequent claim is “Protestants removed books.” Historically, the Reformers argued that the Old Testament canon should follow the Hebrew Bible (the 39 books Protestants use), while often still printing the Apocrypha as useful reading but not a basis for doctrine. Evidence of this is visible in the Geneva Bible tradition, where the Apocrypha was included in many editions (often between testaments), even when distinguished from canonical Scripture. Garrett Guides+1
So the Reformation is better described as a dispute over the status of certain books, not a discovery that Christians “had the wrong Bible for 1500 years.”
5. The strongest reliability claim is the textual evidence base
Reliability is not only “which books,” but also “do we have the text accurately.”
Modern textual criticism tests reliability through:
comparing thousands of manuscript witnesses,
cataloging variants,
weighing manuscripts by age, geography, and textual family,
and publishing transparent apparatus notes in critical editions.
This discipline exists because the manuscript base is large enough to detect copying variations rather than hide them. The existence of variants is not evidence of corruption; it is evidence that we can see and evaluate differences openly. Archive.org+1
Addressing modern criticisms directly
A. “Constantinian corruption”
This claim generally assumes centralized political control could rewrite Christianity’s texts.
The counter-evidence is:
Canon recognition and widespread usage predates Constantine (late 2nd century evidence exists). Encyclopedia Britannica+1
By Athanasius (367), the 27-book NT list is explicit and matches today’s NT—again, not a late medieval invention. New Advent+1
Manuscripts and early translations are distributed across regions and languages, which makes coordinated, empire-wide “rewriting” implausible without leaving obvious traces across textual families.
B. “Various councils picked winners”
Councils helped settle disputes about public reading and orthodoxy, but the evidence points to recognition of already-authoritative books, not the creation of authority. Phoenix Seminary+1
C. “The Reformation changed the Bible (Geneva/KJV, etc.)”
The key clarifications:
Canon (which books) is different from translation (how the text is rendered in English).
Many early Protestant Bibles included the Apocrypha as non-canonical reading; later publishing decisions often omitted it. Garrett Guides+1
The central Christian message does not depend on the Apocrypha, and the New Testament canon is shared across major traditions.
Translation errors: what’s possible, and how we investigate it
What can go wrong in translation
word-sense ambiguity (one word, multiple meanings),
idioms that don’t map neatly across languages,
textual variants (different manuscript readings),
theological bias (rare, but possible).
How accuracy is tested
translation committees include specialists in Hebrew/Aramaic/Greek,
they work from critical editions with documented manuscript evidence,
differences are footnoted,
translations are compared across philosophies (formal vs dynamic).
In other words, modern scholarship does not ask you to “trust blindly.” It shows its work.
What remains contested today
It’s important to say plainly what is still debated:
A small set of New Testament passages with notable manuscript variation (often flagged in Bible footnotes).
Old Testament scope across Protestant/Catholic/Orthodox/Ethiopian traditions (a canon-boundary question more than a “text corruption” question).
Interpretation (especially Revelation), far more than the existence or basic wording of the core texts.
A clear bottom line
The Protestant canon’s reliability is supported by:
explicit 27-book listing by Athanasius in 367, New Advent+1
and a manuscript tradition robust enough for transparent, critical comparison rather than reliance on a single “controlled” transmission line.
Why the Book of Enoch Is Not Canon Elsewhere
1. Not Included in the Hebrew Scriptures
The Hebrew Scriptures (what Christians often call the Old Testament) were preserved, transmitted, and recognized within the Jewish community long before the time of Jesus. By the first century, there was a widely recognized core collection of sacred writings—the Law (Torah), the Prophets, and the Writings.
The Book of Enoch does not appear in any Jewish canonical lists from antiquity. It was not copied or preserved alongside the Hebrew Scriptures, nor was it read in synagogue worship as Scripture. While it circulated among some Jewish groups, circulation alone was never sufficient for canonical status. Many ancient Jewish writings existed, but only a limited set were recognized as divinely inspired.
From a Christian standpoint, this matters because Christianity received the Old Testament through Israel’s Scriptures, not by later Christian invention. A book excluded from the Jewish canon already stands outside the primary scriptural stream Jesus and the apostles inherited.
2. Not Affirmed as Scripture by Jesus
Jesus consistently treated the Hebrew Scriptures as authoritative. He regularly cited the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms, and He spoke of them collectively as “the Scriptures.” When Jesus appealed to divine authority, He appealed to this recognized body of texts.
There is no record of Jesus quoting or affirming the Book of Enoch as Scripture. He never introduced it with formulas such as “It is written” or “Scripture says,” which He frequently used for canonical texts. His teaching assumes and reinforces the authority of the Jewish Scriptures already recognized by His contemporaries.
This silence is significant. If Enoch had been regarded as Scripture in Jesus’ time, its absence from His teaching would be difficult to explain, given how freely He used other texts. Christian theology has always treated Jesus’ use of Scripture as a decisive indicator of what belongs to the canon.
3. Not Used as Scripture by the Apostolic Church
The apostles followed the same scriptural framework Jesus used. In their preaching, teaching, and letters, they consistently quoted from the recognized Jewish Scriptures, especially the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms. These writings formed the foundation for how they interpreted Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.
There is no evidence that the apostolic churches read the Book of Enoch as Scripture in worship or instruction. Early Christian communities distinguished between writings that were spiritually helpful and writings that were authoritative. Enoch falls into the former category for most of the early church.
When disputes arose in the early centuries, the question was not “Is this book interesting?” but “Is this book apostolic, consistent with the rule of faith, and universally received?” Enoch did not meet those criteria outside of a limited geographic tradition.
4. Quoted Once in Jude, Illustratively Rather Than Canonically
Jude 14–15 contains a quotation that parallels a passage from 1 Enoch. This is often cited as proof that Enoch should be considered Scripture. However, the logic does not hold historically or theologically.
The New Testament contains multiple examples of authors quoting non-biblical sources:
Paul quotes Greek poets (Acts 17:28; 1 Corinthians 15:33; Titus 1:12)
Biblical writers allude to cultural sayings, hymns, and traditions
Wisdom literature sometimes reflects common ancient Near Eastern thought
Quoting a source does not canonize it. Jude uses a familiar text to make a point his audience would recognize, just as Paul does with pagan poetry. Jude does not introduce the quotation with “Scripture says,” nor does he place Enoch on the same authoritative level as the Law or the Prophets.
The early church understood this distinction clearly. Jude’s use of Enoch was seen as illustrative and rhetorical, not as an endorsement of Enoch as inspired Scripture.
Theological Summary
The Book of Enoch is excluded from most Christian canons not because it was hidden or suppressed, but because it was never widely received as Scripture in the first place.
It was not part of the Jewish Scriptures Jesus affirmed
It was not treated as Scripture by the apostles
It was not used authoritatively in early Christian worship
Its occasional quotation functions illustratively, not canonically
Ancient, interesting, and influential do not mean inspired.
Christian Scripture is defined not by curiosity or novelty, but by apostolic witness and Christ-centered authority. The canon reflects a careful process of recognition, not the loss of secret books or suppressed truths.
When people refer to “the Ethiopian Bible,” they are usually referring to the canon of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, which is the largest biblical canon in Christianity.
It includes:
The standard Old Testament and New Testament books
Additional writings not included in Protestant, Catholic, or Eastern Orthodox canons
Notably, 1 Enoch, Jubilees, and other texts
This canon reflects local church tradition, not a universal early-Christian consensus.
2. Historical Origins of Ethiopian Christianity
Christianity reached Ethiopia very early:
Acts 8:26–39 records the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch
By the 4th century AD, Christianity was established as a state religion under King Ezana
Ethiopian Christianity developed largely independently of Roman and later Western ecclesial structures
Because of this isolation:
Ethiopian Christianity preserved texts and traditions that fell out of use elsewhere
Canonical boundaries developed differently
This explains difference, not superiority or inferiority.
3. Language and Manuscript Tradition
The Ethiopian Bible is preserved primarily in Geʽez, an ancient Semitic language.
Important points:
Most Ethiopian biblical manuscripts date from the medieval period (not the 2nd century)
Earlier sources are inferred through translation lineage, not surviving originals
The Ethiopian canon is based on received tradition, not apostolic authorship tests
There is no complete Ethiopian Bible manuscript from 160 AD. That date often cited refers to:
Approximate composition periods of certain texts
Or to traditions preserved orally or textually before later compilation
4. The Book of Enoch (Most Common Question)
Authorship
Not written by the biblical Enoch
Composed by multiple Jewish authors between 300 BC and 100 AD
Pseudepigraphal (written under an ancient name to give authority)
Content
Apocalyptic visions
Angelology
Judgment imagery
Commentary on Genesis 6
Why Ethiopia Preserved It
It was valued in some Jewish communities
It survived in Ethiopia when lost elsewhere
Preservation does not equal inspiration
Why It Is Not Canon Elsewhere
Not included in the Hebrew Scriptures
Not affirmed as Scripture by Jesus
Not used as Scripture by the apostolic church
Quoted once in Jude, as Paul quotes pagan poets—illustratively, not canonically
5. How the Canon Was Determined Historically
Across early Christianity, books were recognized as Scripture if they met these criteria:
Apostolic origin or authority
Consistency with the rule of faith
Widespread use in worship
Theological coherence
Reception across the whole church
The Ethiopian canon reflects local reception, not ecumenical recognition.
6. Reliability vs. Authority (Critical Distinction)
The Ethiopian Bible is:
Historically valuable
Culturally important
A witness to early Jewish and Christian thought
But reliability and authority are not the same.
A text can be ancient and preserved yet not inspired Scripture
Reliability in Christianity is measured by apostolic witness and Christ-centered coherence, not age alone
7. Does the Ethiopian Canon Undermine the Bible?
No.
Key reasons:
Core Christian doctrines do not change across canons
The identity of Jesus is consistent
Salvation theology is unchanged
The Gospel message is stable
The Ethiopian canon adds material, not corrections.
8. Why These Questions Arise Today
Interest in the Ethiopian Bible often comes from:
Internet apologetics
Suspicion of Western authority
Desire for “lost” or “hidden” knowledge
Cultural fascination with ancient texts
Pastorally, this often signals:
Curiosity mixed with insecurity
Hunger for certainty
Fear that something essential was withheld
9. A Theological Bottom Line
The Ethiopian Bible does not expose a flaw in Christianity.
It shows:
Christianity developed across cultures
Scripture was preserved in multiple streams
The Church carefully discerned, not casually discarded
The Bible we have is not a reduced version of something larger. It is a focused, Christ-centered witness.
10. Pastoral Closing
Christ did not promise secret books. He promised the Holy Spirit.
Scripture was not given to satisfy curiosity, but to reveal Christ and form faith.
The Ethiopian Bible is a valuable historical witness. The canonical Scriptures are a reliable theological foundation.
Today we light the third candle of Advent—the Shepherds’ Candle—the candle of Joy.
Its color is different for a reason. Joy is not merely another virtue in the Advent lineup; it is the evidence that the world is already being changed by God’s promise.
Joy appears before circumstances improve. Joy arrives while the night is still dark. It is the shepherd’s fire on a hillside, burning long before the sunrise.
The Revised Common Lectionary gives us a vivid tapestry this morning—texts that speak to people living under pressure, uncertainty, and discouragement. In each passage, joy does not arise from ease but from the assurance of God’s nearness.
I. “Sing Aloud… Rejoice with All Your Heart”
Zephaniah 3:14–20
Zephaniah speaks to a people who have been shaken, scattered, and exhausted by judgment and loss. Their world has been unstable. Their future has been uncertain.
Yet the prophet commands what their emotions do not feel ready to offer: Sing. Rejoice. Lift up your heart.
This is not denial; it is revelation.
Zephaniah tells them why they can rejoice:
“The Lord, your God, is in your midst… He will rejoice over you with gladness… He will renew you in His love.”
The joy of God’s people begins with the joy of God Himself.
Before the shepherds rejoiced, Heaven rejoiced over them. Before Bethlehem sang, God was already singing.
There are moments in all our lives when joy feels beyond reach—when responsibilities tower, when exhaustion settles in, when losses pull on the heart. Yet Scripture invites us to trust that God’s joy reaches us long before we can reach it ourselves.
II. “Surely God Is My Salvation”
Isaiah 12:2–6
Isaiah’s song is the testimony of someone who has come through deep waters and discovered that God did not abandon them.
“God is my strength and my song… With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”
Joy is not a shallow emotion.
Joy is the water you draw when everything else has run dry.
Joy is the evidence that God has not merely saved you from something but saved you for something—to live, to hope, to become a witness of His faithfulness.
The shepherds understood this. Their lives were ordinary, hidden, uncelebrated. Yet when the angels declared “good news of great joy,” their hearts recognized it instantly. This was the water their souls had longed for.
III. “Rejoice in the Lord Always”
Philippians 4:4–7
Paul writes these words from a place of confinement. There is no comfort in his setting. Yet he instructs the church to live with a joy that cannot be cancelled by circumstance.
“Rejoice in the Lord always… The Lord is near.”
Joy is not a reaction. Joy is a posture.
Joy anchors us when anxiety rises. Joy guards the heart when pressures mount. Joy flows from the confidence that Christ is not far away—He is near, attentive, present.
And Paul says this nearness produces something profound:
“The peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
The shepherds would soon stand in that peace, beholding a newborn King in a manger. What Paul proclaims in a prison is exactly what the angels announced in the fields: God has come near.
IV. John the Baptist and the Joy of Expectation
Luke 3:7–18
Luke’s Gospel offers a surprising text for a Sunday dedicated to joy. John the Baptist’s message is blunt, confrontational, and demanding. He calls people to repentance, integrity, and transformation.
And yet the passage ends with this assertion:
“So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.”
Good news and repentance are not competing ideas.
True joy is impossible without transformation. Joy is what emerges when God clears the debris, breaks the chains, and calls us into honest, renewed living.
John’s message prepared the people to receive the Christ-child with hearts ready, uncluttered, and awakened. The angels announced joy; John cleared the way for that joy to take root.
The shepherds illustrate what this looks like: when God interrupts your ordinary life with His glory, you move. You go. You see. You bear witness. And you return “glorifying and praising God” because joy has become personal.
V. The Shepherds’ Candle for Us Today
Advent joy is not naïve. It is not blind to hardship, pressure, or grief. It is not manufactured by effort.
It is the recognition that:
God is in our midst.
God rejoices over us.
God renews us in His love.
God draws near when the world is dark.
God speaks truth that sets us free.
God opens wells of salvation where we thought only dryness existed.
Joy is the shepherd’s discovery—that the long-promised Messiah has come not to the palace but to the quiet fields where ordinary people stand watch at night.
Joy is not found by escaping our responsibilities; it is found when Christ steps into them.
Joy is not the absence of strain; it is the presence of a Savior.
Joy is the announcement that Heaven came looking for us.
VI. Joy in the Midst of Family Life
Let me speak directly to what many of us face this Advent season.
For the parent working long hours: You clock in before dawn at the plant or the refinery. You drive the highways to Beaumont or Port Arthur. You come home tired, and the house still needs tending, the kids still need help with homework, and Christmas is coming whether you’re ready or not.
Joy is not waiting for you at the end of a less demanding season. Joy meets you in the truck on the way home. Joy sits with you at the kitchen table. The Lord is near—even there.
For the mom holding everything together: You’re managing schedules, stretching the budget, keeping peace between siblings, and wondering if you’re doing enough. December multiplies the pressure—school programs, family gatherings, gifts to buy when money is already tight.
Hear what Zephaniah says: God rejoices over you. Before you get it all figured out. Before the laundry is done. Before you feel like you’ve measured up. He is already singing over you.
For the grandparent raising grandchildren: You thought these years would look different. Instead, you’re back in the thick of it—school lunches, discipline, bedtimes—when your body is tired and your heart carries grief over what led to this.
Joy does not ignore your weariness. But joy reminds you: God sees your faithfulness. He has not forgotten you. The same God who sent angels to shepherds working the night shift sends His presence to you.
For the family walking through grief: This Christmas, there’s an empty chair. The holidays remind you of who’s missing—a spouse, a parent, a child. Joy feels like a word for other people.
But Advent joy is not cheerfulness. It is the deep-water confidence that God draws near to the brokenhearted. Isaiah’s wells of salvation are for those who have walked through the valley. You are not forgotten. You are held.
For the young family just getting started: Maybe you’re newly married, or you’ve got little ones underfoot, and you’re trying to build something on one income or two jobs. You look around at what others have and wonder when your turn comes.
The shepherds had nothing but their flocks and their fields. And God came to them first. Joy is not reserved for those who have arrived. Joy is given to those who are willing to receive.
For the one battling anxiety or depression: Some of us carry burdens that don’t show on the outside. The holidays can make it worse—expectations, gatherings, the gap between how things look and how things feel.
Paul wrote “Rejoice in the Lord always” from a prison cell. He was not pretending everything was fine. He was anchoring himself in a truth deeper than his circumstances. You can bring your real struggle to a real Savior. He does not require you to clean up first.
VII. A Word for This Community
We live in a place where people know how to work hard and look after their own. We’ve weathered storms—the kind that come off the Gulf and the kind that come through family crisis. We’ve rebuilt after floods. We’ve buried people we loved too soon. We’ve held together when times got lean.
And Advent says to us: Even here, Joy approaches.
Not because everything is resolved. Not because life has become easy. But because the Lord is near.
When the shepherds ran to Bethlehem that night, they were not running toward relief. They were running toward revelation—a God who chooses the humble places, who draws close to the weary, who brings joy to those who least expect it.
That same God stands near you today.
And because He is near, joy is possible.
VIII. A Call to Respond
What does it look like to receive this joy?
First, believe it is for you. Not for people with easier lives. Not for people more spiritual than you feel. For you—in your tiredness, your doubts, your ordinary days.
Second, make room for it. This week, take even five minutes away from the noise. Sit with the Lord. Let Him remind you that He is near. You cannot hurry joy, but you can clear space for it.
Third, share it. The shepherds did not keep what they found to themselves. They told everyone. Joy multiplies when it moves through families, through neighbors, through a church that refuses to let anyone walk alone.
This Advent, let the Shepherds’ Candle burn in your home—not as decoration, but as declaration: The Lord is near. And because He is near, we have joy.
Closing Prayer
Lord, we thank You for the joy that does not depend on circumstance but on Your presence.
Renew us in Your love.
Clear our hearts by Your truth.
Let the wells of salvation open again within us.
Meet the tired parent on the drive home.
Comfort the grieving at the empty chair.
Strengthen the grandparent giving more than they thought they had left.
Anchor the anxious heart in Your peace.
And may we, like the shepherds, become witnesses of the joy that has entered the world—
John Hargrove Seeking Truth and Reality 