The Great Divide: Antichrists, Children, and the Coming Unveiling

They left.

That's what John's churches remember—the day the teachers gathered their followers and walked out. The schism that cracked communities in two. The moment when people who'd shared meals, shared prayers, shared the kiss of peace turned their backs and departed.

"They went out from us, but they did not really belong to us. For if they had belonged to us, they would have remained with us; but their going showed that none of them belonged to us."

The departure revealed what was always true. The church didn't create the division; it exposed it. Those who left were never really in. Their exit was diagnosis, not tragedy.

But for those who remained, the questions linger. How did we miss it? How did they worship beside us for years and harbor such different beliefs? Were there signs we should have seen?

John offers both warning and comfort.

"Dear children, this is the last hour; and as you have heard that the antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have come. This is how we know it is the last hour."

The last hour. ἐσχάτη ὥρα—eschatē hōra. The final stretch. Not a specific prediction of when—John knows better than to set dates—but a recognition of where history stands. The end has begun. The clock runs down.

And the sign of the last hour? Antichrists. Not one only—the singular figure will come—but many. πολλοὶ ἀντίχριστοι. Plural. The spirit of antichrist has spawned a movement.

What makes someone antichrist? Not horns and sulfur. Not obvious evil.

"Who is the liar? It is whoever denies that Jesus is the Christ. Such a person is the antichrist—denying the Father and the Son."

Denial. Specifically: denying that Jesus is the Messiah, the anointed one, the fulfillment of Israel's hope. The Gnostic teachers in John's day did exactly this—separating the human Jesus from the divine Christ, claiming the Christ descended on Jesus at baptism and fled before the cross. A phantom savior. A ghost that didn't really suffer.

Antichrist theology. Right there in the church. Smiling, teaching, leading worship.

"No one who denies the Son has the Father; whoever acknowledges the Son has the Father also."

The stakes clarify. You cannot have the Father without the Son. No spiritual shortcut. No mystical path around Jesus. Deny the Son—you've lost everything. Acknowledge the Son—you have everything.

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John turns from warning to assurance:

"As for you, see that what you have heard from the beginning remains in you. If it does, you also will remain in the Son and in the Father."

What you heard from the beginning. Not the new teaching, not the innovative theology, not the advanced secrets. The original message. The gospel as first delivered. Let it remain. μενέτω—menetō. Abide. Stay.

"And this is what he promised us—eternal life."

The promise hasn't changed. The destination remains. Eternal life—ζωὴν αἰώνιον—life of the age to come, life that participates in God's own deathlessness.

"I am writing these things to you about those who are trying to lead you astray. As for you, the anointing you received from him remains in you, and you do not need anyone to teach you."

The anointing. τὸ χρῖσμα—to chrisma. The same root as Christ—christos, the anointed one. You have received anointing too. The Spirit dwells in you, teaches you, confirms truth within you.

You don't need the secret knowledge. You have the Spirit.

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And now John's voice rises toward mystery:

"See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!"

Children of God. τέκνα θεοῦ—tekna theou. Not metaphor. Not honorary title. That is what we are. Really. Truly. Ontologically.

"The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him."

The world looked at Jesus and didn't recognize God. The world looks at his children and doesn't recognize family resemblance. The world's ignorance is consistent.

"Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known."

Already and not yet. We are children now—present tense, settled fact. What we will become—future tense, still hidden. The transformation has begun but isn't complete. We live between the already and the not yet.

"But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is."

When he appears. φανερωθῇ—phanerōthē. When he is manifested, unveiled, made visible in glory. And in that moment—seeing him as he is, not through glass darkly but face to face—we shall be like him.

ὅμοιοι αὐτῷ ἐσόμεθα. We shall be similar to him. The sight transforms. Beholding becomes becoming.

"All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he is pure."

Hope produces holiness. If you really expect that transformation, you prepare for it. You don't wallow in what you're leaving behind; you reach toward what you're becoming.

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The divide sharpens:

"Everyone who sins breaks the law; in fact, sin is lawlessness."

ἀνομία—anomia. Law-less-ness. Not breaking specific rules only but rejecting the whole principle of divine order. Sin isn't mistake; it's rebellion.

"But you know that he appeared so that he might take away our sins. And in him is no sin."

The purpose of incarnation: sin removed. The nature of the incarnate one: sinless. He came from sinlessness to address sinfulness.

"No one who lives in him keeps on sinning. No one who continues to sin has either seen him or known him."

Present tense verbs. Continuous action. John isn't claiming Christians never commit individual sins—he's already addressed that with confession and advocacy. He's saying the person who lives in Christ doesn't keep on sinning as a pattern, a lifestyle, an unbroken habit.

Continued sin reveals absence of sight, absence of knowledge.

"Dear children, do not let anyone lead you astray. The one who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous. The one who does what is sinful is of the devil, because the devil has been sinning from the beginning."

Two families. Two origins. Two patterns. The one who practices righteousness belongs to the Righteous One. The one who practices sin belongs to the devil.

This is not speculation. This is not complexity. This is binary clarity.

"The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work."

Destroy. λύσῃ—lysē. To loose, to undo, to dismantle. The incarnation is warfare. The cross is demolition. What the devil built, the Son tears down.

"No one who is born of God will continue to sin, because God's seed remains in them; they cannot go on sinning, because they have been born of God."

God's seed. σπέρμα αὐτοῦ—sperma autou. The divine life implanted. The genetic code of heaven. Those born of God have something new inside—and that something resists sin, fights sin, makes ongoing sin impossible.

Not that they never fail. But that they cannot be comfortable in failure. Cannot settle into sin as home. The seed protests. The new nature rebels against the old.

"This is how we know who the children of God are and who the children of the devil are: Anyone who does not do what is right is not God's child, nor is anyone who does not love their brother and sister."

The final test. Two marks of God's children: righteousness and love. Miss either one and the family resemblance is absent.

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The divide John draws is stark. Uncomfortable, perhaps, for those who prefer ambiguity.

But the teachers who left didn't traffic in ambiguity. They taught clearly—and taught lies. John responds in kind. Clear truth. Sharp lines. Light and darkness. Children of God and children of the devil.

You can't have the Father without the Son.

You can't claim birth from God while practicing sin.

You can't be a child of light while hating your siblings.

The tests are simple. The stakes are eternal.

And the hope—the hope that purifies—is this: we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

Already children.

Not yet complete.

But becoming.