The musings of Peter

We begin where Gospel of John begins—not with a manger, not with a genealogy, but with eternity itself:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1).

Yet even here, we must pause. “Word” is not a full translation. John did not write “word” as we understand it. He wrote Logos—a term that reaches far beyond speech. It is reason, order, meaning, the principle by which all things exist and are held together. It is not merely something spoken—it is something that is. And John, an old fisherman, tells us that this Logos is God.

Before we go further, we should consider the man who wrote this.

John was not trained in the schools of philosophy. Acts of the Apostles tells us plainly that he was seen as “uneducated and ordinary” (Acts 4:13). A fisherman. A man of labor, not letters. And yet he writes words that have stood at the center of theology for two thousand years.

Logos was a term that had been that came into parlance in 535 BC. It was an objective universal presence that regulated the cosmos.  It was used by Plato and Aristotle. It came to mean a divine active reasoning force that penetrates all of nature. The Jewish philosopher Philo really defined Logos with Biblical tradition, Logos to him was the intermediary between God and humanity. John takes the idea, one that he would have engaged with in the learned centers of Ephesus, and boldly states that Logos came to life and had a name..Jesus. This is a bold claim, noone else had ever claimed that the divine and the human could come together and walk the earth. That wisdom could eat a meal with you, or the creator could laugh at your jokes. 

He likely knew Jesus long before he followed Him. Their families were intertwined. He would have heard the stories—the strange birth, the flight into Egypt (Matthew 2:13–15), the whispers of something different, something set apart. So when Jesus said, “Follow me” (Matthew 4:19), it was not the call of a stranger. It was the summons of someone already known—yet not fully understood. Family ties are strong in the Middle East, but would that have been enough for him to fight against his religious traditions? Evidently it was. He jumped in with his lifelong companion and ran into the future with Jesus. 

John followed. He witnessed. He endured.

He stood at the Cross when others fled (John 19:26–27). He took Mary into his home. He watched his companions be killed—one by one—under Roman persecution. His own brother, James, was martyred early (Acts 12:2). He saw Jerusalem fall in the Destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD. He saw the faith of his childhood shaken, and the divide between synagogue and Church grow into open hostility.

This is the man who writes: not in comfort, but in memory. Not in theory, but in scars.

And when the Christians around him begged him to write—so that they too might know Jesus—he did not begin with Bethlehem. He began with Genesis.

“In the beginning…” (Genesis 1:1).

But where Genesis says, “God created,” John reveals how:

“All things were made through Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made” (John 1:3).

This is no mere biography. This is revelation. This is saying to all that my family, was present at the beginning of time and created all that is and will ever be. 

We already had glimpses. We heard the voice at the burning bush (Exodus 3:2). We saw the cloud and fire that guided Israel (Exodus 13:21). We heard the Father declare, “This is my beloved Son” (Matthew 3:17). We heard Jesus say, “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30).

But here, in one line, John gathers it all:

The Word was with God, and the Word was God.

Not two gods. Not separation. But unity—distinction within oneness. The foundation of what we now call the Trinity.

The first cause and the second are not two causes—but one.

And then John tells us something even more astonishing:

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).

This is the turning point of all history. Not a prophet. Not a messenger. But God Himself entering His own creation. This changed the concept of Logos. Logos was too divine to ever lower itself to the human condition. Let alone allow the created to hang it on a cross. 

And in Him, John says, “was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:4–5).

Light.

Throughout Scripture, God reveals Himself as light. Moses saw it, and his face shone (Exodus 34:29). The psalmist says, “The Lord is my light and my salvation” (Psalm 27:1). Light is not decoration—it is revelation. It is truth breaking into darkness.

And what is that darkness?

It is the condition of man without God.

Consider it, my brothers. Strip away heaven. Remove the promise of resurrection. Eliminate the hope of eternal life. What remains?

Survival. Struggle. A brief existence passed from one generation to another. Moments of joy, yes—but fleeting. Hope, but uncertain. A world where the gods are distant, arbitrary, even hostile. A world where man is not cherished, but merely exists.

This was the fog into which Christ came.

And into that darkness, a light appeared—not cold or distant, but warm, personal, and full of love. A light that revealed not just truth, but meaning. A light that showed that we are not abandoned, not forgotten, not disposable. A light that says God did not move on—but came near.

John had seen that light. He had leaned against it at the Last Supper (John 13:23). He had watched it dim on the Cross and blaze forth again in the Resurrection. He had lived long enough to see its effect—to see lives changed, souls awakened, hope reborn.

And so he writes, not as a philosopher, but as a witness:

“The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world” (John 1:9).

This is what Christ brought—the end of death as the final word.

Not the end of suffering, not the end of struggle—but the end of despair.

We speak of Sin. We claim that Sin is offensive to God, He cannot abide sin. But despite a Being that is so repulsed by Sin, Jesus forgives our sins instantly. He removes them. His love for us is greater than His view of our Sin. But He allows us to decide for himself if we want to be forgiven, an open invitation, although there are consequences for not asking. The history of mankind has been a gradual realization that there was only One God. Adam and Eve brought into the human thought the acceptance that life could be lived alternatively. God said yes, but it’s painful. And it doesn’t end where you will be comfortable. We were born with a North Star that only is peaceful when it reaches the actual North Star. Greek thought had discovered the first cause, as they called it. The jewish people had stopped turning to other Gods when they came back from the Babylonian exile. They lived in eager anticipation that the prophecy of Daniel, both in Daniel 2 and in Daniel 9, that the messiah would appear after the 4th kingdom ( Rome ) or in 490 years after which the Temple would be destroyed and not rebuilt. 

And when that truth broke through, when that light enters the soul, everything changes. What once seemed ultimate—death, loss, time—becomes temporary. What once seemed distant—God, eternity, purpose—becomes near. We emerge transformed into beings that will shed their mortal cloak and rise to meet our Maker and live forever in His light. That light is now instantly recognized, it is no longer shrouded in mist. 

The darkness is still there. But it is no longer victorious. Because the Light has come. And the Light still shines. John the Baptist saw that light. He saw Jesus and recognized Him. Here is the Lamb of God. Why would John call him a Lamb? No doubt that John saw the path of Jesus, he understood what redemption would take. He recognized that his own soul found its home in Jesus. That the salvific work of Jesus would bring him the peace that he sought for. John the apostle and John the baptist were both family to Jesus. They now joined in following Jesus, John the baptist proclaiming him now, John the apostle proclaiming his later. 

The first chapter of John is a wonder to read, to ponder, to meditate on. It sets us up to recognize and accept the divinity of Christ in a way the other Gospels don’t. We wrestle with a Divine make human. A gesture of service to something far below recognition for the Divine. How to understand the absolute love it would take to come to earth. 

I have asked my children for years… is it easier to leave home or come home? When Jesus left Heaven, heaven wept. When they watched him live a tough life on earth, restrained from using the power and authority that He had, they must have been frustrated. As Jesus got closer to the Cross they must have risen in anticipation. One more task and Jesus could come home. He could shed that mortal coil and return to His rightful place. As Christ suffered and died, man wept and the angels rejoiced. John the Baptist , who heralded his coming to earth must have heralded his triumphant return into Heaven. The mist and veil that we had inherited from Adam and Eve, dispelled revealing the glories of Heaven and the Heavenly countenance of Jesus and the Father and the Spirit. 

Be well brothers for John is upon us and will change your lives if you embrace the Gospel.