How We Know That We Know: Meditation on Obedience and Love

How do you know that you know him?

The question haunts the early church. False teachers claim special knowledge—γνῶσις, gnōsis—enlightenment beyond ordinary faith, secrets whispered only to the initiated. They speak with confidence. They dazzle with mystery.

John offers a different test.

"We know that we have come to know him if we keep his commands."

Not feeling. Not ecstasy. Not secret revelation. Obedience. The plain, unglamorous keeping of commands. τὰς ἐντολὰς αὐτοῦ τηρῶμεν—we keep his commands. Present tense. Continuous action. Not a single dramatic moment but an ongoing life.

This is how you know. This is how you know that you know.

"Whoever says, 'I know him,' but does not do what he commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person."

Blunt. Almost brutal. The test cuts through all pretension. You say you know him? Where's the evidence? Commands ignored, promises abandoned, holiness neglected—and you claim intimacy with the Holy One?

Liar. ψεύστης—pseustēs. John doesn't soften it.

"But if anyone obeys his word, love for God is truly made complete in them."

Obedience completes love. Not contradicts it—completes it. The person who truly loves doesn't resent commands; they receive them as guidance from the beloved. Keep my commands: this is what love looks like with legs on it.

"This is how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did."

Another test, sharper still. Not just keeping commands in the abstract—living as Jesus lived. περιπατεῖν καθὼς ἐκεῖνος περιεπάτησεν. Walking as he walked. The same feet. The same path. The same love-shaped, sacrifice-shaped, service-shaped life.

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And now John turns to the command that underlies all commands:

"Dear friends, I am not writing you a new command but an old command, which you have had since the beginning. This old command is the message you have heard."

Old. Ancient. From the beginning—ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῆς, the phrase that keeps recurring. Love your neighbor as yourself. Leviticus said it. Moses taught it. The synagogues recited it for centuries before Jesus walked the earth.

Nothing new here. Or is there?

"Yet I am writing you a new command; its truth is seen in him and in you, because the darkness is passing and the true light is already shining."

New and old. The same command, transformed. What makes it new? Jesus. In him the command took flesh. The abstraction became example. Love your neighbor—now we've seen what that looks like when God does it. The command that was only words became a life, a death, a resurrection.

And the truth of that new-old command is seen not only in Jesus but in you—in the community shaped by his Spirit, showing the world what love looks like lived.

"Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness."

The test sharpens again. You claim illumination? You claim to walk in light? Then how do you treat your siblings in faith? Hatred—μισῶν—reveals the truth. You're not in the light. You're still stumbling in darkness, whatever you claim.

"Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble."

Love and light go together. σκάνδαλον—skandalon—a stumbling block, a trap. The one who loves has none of these in them. Their path is clear. They see where they're going.

"But anyone who hates a brother or sister is in the darkness and walks around in the darkness. They do not know where they are going, because the darkness has blinded them."

Walking in darkness. Stumbling. Lost. And worst of all: they don't know they're lost. The darkness blinds. It doesn't announce itself. It simply removes sight, removes orientation, removes the capacity to recognize the danger.

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John pauses. Addresses his readers directly:

"I am writing to you, dear children, because your sins have been forgiven on account of his name."

Children—τεκνία. Sins forgiven. This is settled. The foundation is secure.

"I am writing to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning."

Fathers—πατέρες. Mature ones. They know the eternal Word, the one John touched and proclaimed.

"I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one."

Young men—νεανίσκοι. Strength. Victory. The battle engaged and won.

He repeats the pattern, reinforcing the assurance:

"I write to you, dear children, because you know the Father. I write to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God lives in you, and you have overcome the evil one."

Three groups. Three assurances. The whole community addressed in its variety—beginners and veterans, young warriors and old sages.

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And then the warning:

"Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them."

The world. κόσμος—kosmos. Not creation as such—God made the world, God loves the world in one sense—but the world-system opposed to God. The organized rebellion. The values that invert heaven's values.

"For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world."

Three categories. ἐπιθυμία τῆς σαρκός—the craving flesh. ἐπιθυμία τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν—the craving eyes. ἀλαζονεία τοῦ βίου—the boasting about life, about possessions, about status.

The lust of the flesh: appetites demanding satisfaction regardless of boundaries. The body making demands that override the soul.

The lust of the eyes: seeing and wanting. Coveting what glitters. The endless scroll of desirable things.

The pride of life: the swagger of self-sufficiency. Look what I've built. See what I own. Notice who I am.

None of it comes from the Father. All of it comes from the world-system, the anti-kingdom.

"The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever."

The devastating verdict. The world passes. παράγεται—paragetai. It's already passing, even now, even as you clutch at it. The things you chase are dissolving in your hands.

But the one who does God's will—μένει εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα—remains into the age. Permanence belongs only to those aligned with the permanent One.

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How do you know that you know him?

Keep his commands. Love your siblings. Walk as Jesus walked.

How do you know you're in the light?

Check your heart for hatred. Look for stumbling blocks you've laid for others.

How do you know you're not captive to the passing world?

Examine your desires. Name them. Flesh? Eyes? Pride?

The tests are simple. Not easy—simple. John offers no secrets, no mysteries, no hidden knowledge for the elite.

Just obedience. Just love. Just walking in light.

The darkness passes. The true light already shines.

Walk in it.