The Open Hand and the Closed Heart: Love Tested

Marcus sees him every week at the gathering.

Demetrius—the freed slave who works the docks, whose tunic is always frayed, whose children are always thin. They share the bread together. They drink from the same cup. They call each other brother.

And every week, Marcus walks home to his warm house with its full pantry, and Demetrius returns to his cramped room near the harbor.

John's letter arrives the same week the harbor work dries up. Demetrius and his family have nothing. And Marcus hears these words read aloud in the assembly:

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters."

Lay down his life. The words echo. Jesus didn't theorize about love; he bled it. He didn't define it; he demonstrated it. The cross stands as love's shape, love's measure, love's meaning.

And we ought to do the same.

Not someday. Not in dramatic martyrdom moments. Now. In the ordinary. With real people who have real needs.

"If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person?"

Marcus feels the words land like stones in his stomach.

He sees Demetrius. Every week, he sees him. Sees the thin children. Sees the frayed tunic. And his pantry stays full. His purse stays closed.

How can the love of God be in that person?

κλείσῃ τὰ σπλάγχνα αὐτοῦ—closes his compassion. The word is σπλάγχνα again, the guts, the bowels, the visceral seat of mercy. To see a brother in need and close off that internal response—to override what compassion wants to do—is to demonstrate that God's love doesn't actually dwell there.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth."

Words and speech. Marcus has plenty of those. "Brother Demetrius, peace be with you." "The Lord bless you, Demetrius." Kind words. Warm greetings.

Empty hands.

John calls for something else. ἐν ἔργῳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ—in deed and truth. Love that shows up. Love with calluses on its hands. Love that costs something.

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That evening, Marcus walks to the harbor district.

He finds Demetrius's door. Knocks. When it opens, he holds out bread, oil, coins. "Brother," he says. "I should have come sooner."

Demetrius stares. Then embraces him.

Something shifts in Marcus's chest. The closed thing opens. The σπλάγχνα—those deep guts—feel alive again.

This is how we know that we belong to the truth and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence: If our hearts condemn us, we know that God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.

Marcus's heart had been condemning him. Quietly, persistently, every time he saw Demetrius and did nothing. But now—heart at rest. Not because the condemnation was wrong, but because he finally responded. Obedience quiets the accusing conscience.

And if the heart still condemns? God is greater. God knows everything—including the faith beneath the failure, the seed beneath the soil. The heart can condemn too harshly; God judges with full knowledge.

"Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God and receive from him anything we ask, because we keep his commands and do what pleases him."

Confidence. παρρησίαν—parrēsian. Boldness, openness, freedom of speech. The person who loves in action approaches God without cringing. The prayer rises unhindered because life and lips align.

"And this is his command: to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as he commanded us."

Two commands—or one? Believe in the Son. Love one another. Faith and love. Vertical and horizontal. They interweave so completely that separating them destroys both.

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But the gathering faces another test.

New teachers have arrived. They speak with authority. They claim the Spirit. They offer revelations and prophecies and visions.

"Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world."

Test. δοκιμάζετε—dokimazete. Examine. Assay like metal. Don't swallow everything that claims spiritual authority. The Spirit is real—and so are the counterfeits.

"This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God."

The test is christological. Does this spirit confess Jesus Christ come in flesh? ἐν σαρκί—in flesh. Real body. Real bone. Real blood poured out. The incarnation as non-negotiable center.

"But every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you have heard is coming and even now is already in the world."

The denial is damning. If a spirit—however impressive, however eloquent, however powerful—refuses to confess Jesus Christ come in flesh, that spirit is antichrist. Already here. Already working.

"You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world."

The assurance follows the warning. You've overcome. The battle isn't uncertain—the victory is already decided. The Spirit in you is greater than the spirits in the world. ὁ ἐν ὑμῖν μείζων ἐστὶν—the one in you is greater.

"They are from the world and therefore speak from the viewpoint of the world, and the world listens to them."

The false teachers draw crowds. Of course they do. They speak what the world wants to hear. Their message resonates because it comes from the same place the audience lives.

"We are from God, and whoever knows God listens to us; but whoever is not from God does not listen to us. This is how we recognize the Spirit of truth and the spirit of falsehood."

The final test. Who listens to the apostolic testimony? Those who know God. Who refuses? Those who don't.

It sounds circular—but it's actually diagnostic. The apostles preached Jesus Christ come in flesh. Those who know God hear resonance. Those who don't hear static.

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Marcus walks home that night, mind full.

Love tested by action—he passed today, barely, belatedly. He passed.

Spirits tested by confession—the new teachers refused to say it clearly. "Jesus Christ come in flesh." They hedged. They spiritualized. They made the flesh a shell the divine discarded.

He knows now which voices to trust.

And he knows what the open hand means.

Not just doctrine. Not just orthodoxy. Love in deed and truth. Compassion that moves from gut to hand.

The test continues. Every day. Every brother in need. Every spirit claiming authority.

Test them.

Love them.

And trust the One within who is greater than the one in the world.