“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1, New International Version)
John opens this chapter with an expression of sheer wonder—a joyous exclamation over the breathtaking truth of our identity as God’s children. The Greek phrase John uses here, “ποταπὴν ἀγάπην” (potapēn agapēn), translated as “how great” or “what manner,” carries the sense of astonished admiration, implying the love shown to us is unusually profound, unexpected, and foreign to ordinary human experience.
In the 1st-century Roman culture, adoption carried significant social weight. An adopted child received not only the privileges and status but also a new identity, complete and final. John’s first-century audience would readily connect to this imagery. Paul similarly references adoption in Romans 8:15-16, emphasizing our intimate connection to God as “Abba, Father!” Indeed, becoming God’s child transforms our identity completely—not merely in a symbolic sense, but in reality, spiritually and eternally.
Yet, we must expect difficulty in our earthly pilgrimage—John says the “world does not know us” because it does not know Christ (verse 1). In the ancient world, one’s identity was often intertwined with the community or social group one belonged to. Christians, however, found themselves marginalized, misunderstood, and sometimes persecuted precisely because their citizenship belonged to a different kingdom. Even today, true identification as Christ-followers may place us in tension with surrounding society. This is no mark against our faith, but rather a sign of authentic devotion to a heavenly Father whose ways transcend that of the world.
John next addresses a sobering topic—the relationship between our habitual behavior and our true spiritual lineage. He starkly contrasts the nature of sinfulness (Greek: ἁμαρτία, “missing the mark”) against the transformative reality of abiding in Christ:
“No one who lives in him keeps on sinning. No one who continues to sin has either seen him or known him.” (1 John 3:6, New International Version)
This powerful statement has often perplexed believers. Does this imply perfectionism? Historically, some Christian groups mistakenly taught that true believers become absolutely sinless. However, we must interpret John carefully and contextually—he refers here not to occasional failings (he acknowledges believers still struggle with sin in 1 John 1:8-10), but to ongoing, deliberate patterns of sinfulness that betray a lack of genuine spiritual regeneration.
Throughout church history, theologians like Augustine and later Calvin clarified that John’s intent is not to push believers toward unattainable perfection, but rather to encourage sincere pursuit of holiness, fueled by the authentic spiritual transformation Christ brings into a believer’s life. Habitual, unrepentant sinfulness is incompatible with the transformative presence and power of Christ in us.
Verse 8 poignantly says, “The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil’s work.” The Greek verb translated “destroy” (λύω, luo) literally means “to dissolve” or “undo.” What a beautiful assurance: Christ’s coming undoes the damage and bondage inflicted by evil, setting us free to live genuinely righteous lives.
After rooting our identity in divine adoption and righteousness, John now inevitably turns toward our communal responsibility: active, practical love. Once again he highlights love as a primary indicator of authentic discipleship. And for John, love is always visible, tangible, and sacrificial (agapē love—intentional, self-sacrificing, action-oriented care).
“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.” (1 John 3:16, New International Version)
Notice the sacrificial standard Christ sets. Crucifixion in the first-century Roman world was designed not just for maximum pain but also to display maximum humiliation and shame. In calling Christians to imitate Christ’s self-sacrifice—even to uncomfortable, costly extents—John confronts his audience (and us) to genuinely love each other beyond mere words or superficial kindness, demonstrating gospel love through real-world acts of practical compassion, provision, and generosity.
Historically, Christians in the Greco-Roman world took this command seriously, caring for poor brothers and sisters and providing aid during epidemics and disasters. Their practical love stood powerfully in sharp contrast to the surrounding pagan culture, often noted by historians of the time. May our generation similarly live active agapē through deeds, not sentimentality alone.
John gently concludes this chapter turning from moral exhortation towards pastoral assurance, recognizing the sensitivity and human vulnerability of God’s people. He acknowledges our fragile hearts—our conscience that at times condemns us when we feel spiritually inadequate. The beautiful pastoral wisdom that flows from this elder apostle is deeply comforting:
“If our hearts condemn us, we know that God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.” (1 John 3:20, New International Version)
Take comfort in the Greek verb here (καταγινώσκω, kataginōskō), imparting judicial accusation—our hearts sometimes wrongly accuse us, misrepresenting our true standing before God. John tenderly reassures us that despite our fears and self-condemnation, God’s knowledge and grace surpass the accusations of troubled feelings. It is His loving approval, grounded in Christ’s righteousness rather than our fluctuating emotions, that grants deep peace.
Gracious Father, what marvelous love You’ve lavished upon us that we might truly become Your children. Teach us daily to embrace our identity in You. Sanctify us in righteousness, lead us to genuine repentance, and empower us to visibly love our brothers and sisters, imitating Christ’s sacrificial love. When our hearts condemn us with uncertainty, remind us that Your loving approval is deeper, truer, and greater. Guide us gently into confident assurance that we indeed dwell securely in Your grace.
We ask all this in Your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.