Life in His Name: Sitting with Jesus in the Gospel of John


As I woke up today and reflected on my last blog from last night, my mind was already turning toward Scripture. There are mornings where the day begins slowly and quietly, and there are mornings where something deeper is stirring even before the first coffee is finished. Today felt like one of those mornings.

Lately I have been trying to build rhythms into my life that keep me anchored in Christ. Life has a way of becoming busy very quickly. Between work, study, writing, responsibilities, and relationships, the mind can become scattered across many different directions. One thing I have learned over the years is that if I do not intentionally create space to sit with Jesus, the noise of life will gladly fill that space for me.

Because of that, I have built a simple spiritual discipline into my life.

At least once a week, no matter what else I am studying or writing, I make sure I sit with Jesus directly in the Gospels.

Even while studying theology, reading other books, or writing my own reflections, I keep returning to the same place. I return to the stories where we see Christ walking among people, speaking, healing, teaching, and revealing the heart of God.

There is something about the Gospels that continually recenters the soul.

Theological study is important. Doctrine matters. The church has spent centuries carefully thinking through the truths of Scripture, and those discussions help guard the faith from confusion or error. But if theology ever drifts too far away from the person of Jesus Himself, it begins to lose its warmth.

The Gospels bring us back to the source.

They remind us that Christianity is not first a system of ideas. It is a relationship with the living Christ.

So this morning, after reflecting on yesterday’s writing, I opened the Gospel of John.

The Gospel of John has always carried a particular weight for me. It feels different from the other Gospels. Matthew, Mark, and Luke often move through events quickly, recording the actions and teachings of Jesus as He moves from place to place.

John writes differently.

John writes slowly.

He writes with reflection.

He writes as someone who has spent years thinking deeply about what it all meant.

By the time John wrote his Gospel, he had lived with the memory of Jesus for decades. The events he records had already reshaped the entire course of human history. Churches were forming across the Roman world. The message of Christ was spreading far beyond the small group of disciples who first walked with Him in Galilee.

And yet when John sits down to write, his goal is very simple.

Near the end of the Gospel, he explains exactly why he wrote it.

“These are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in His name.”

That verse stopped me in my tracks again this morning.

John could have written many different kinds of books. He could have recorded every miracle he witnessed. He could have described every conversation he remembered. He could have written a detailed biography of Jesus from beginning to end.

But he tells us clearly that his purpose was something very specific.

He wanted people to believe.

Not believe in an abstract philosophy.
Not believe in a general idea about God.

He wanted people to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.

That statement carries enormous theological weight.

The word “Christ” is not simply a last name attached to Jesus. It is the Greek form of the Hebrew word “Messiah,” meaning the anointed one promised throughout the Old Testament. The Christ is the one through whom God would rescue His people and restore creation.

When John says Jesus is the Christ, he is saying that all the promises of Scripture converge in Him.

But John goes even further.

He says Jesus is the Son of God.

In the context of the Gospel of John, this phrase does not mean merely that Jesus has a special relationship with God. John is pointing toward something much deeper.

From the very first chapter of the Gospel, John introduces us to a breathtaking truth.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

John identifies Jesus as the eternal Word through whom all things were created.

This means that the one who walked dusty roads in first-century Israel is the same one who spoke the universe into existence.

The one who sat beside wells and spoke with ordinary people is the same one who set the stars in their places.

The one who allowed Himself to be nailed to a Roman cross is the same one who holds authority over heaven and earth.

Jesus is not simply a moral teacher.

He is God.

For the audience living in the ancient world, these claims were radical — almost shocking.

The Roman world believed in many gods, but none of those gods entered human history as a suffering servant. Greek philosophers spoke about divine reason or cosmic order, but they did not claim that the Creator Himself walked among ordinary people. The Jewish people believed deeply in one true God, yet the idea that this God would take on flesh and dwell among humanity challenged their expectations of the Messiah.

John’s message cut through all of those systems.

He was declaring that the eternal Creator had stepped into human history in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.

For ancient readers, this was revolutionary.

And in many ways, it remains just as radical today.

Even in a modern world filled with technology and scientific advancement, the idea that God stepped into human history through Jesus Christ still confronts our assumptions about reality.

Christianity does not simply offer spiritual advice.

It announces a historical event.

God has revealed Himself through Christ.

That truth stirred my heart again this morning in a way that is difficult to describe.

Because when you begin to understand who Jesus truly is, the entire gospel becomes even more astonishing.

The one who came to rescue humanity was not merely a prophet sent by God.

He was God Himself entering the human story.

When Jesus walked the earth, He did not cease being divine. He remained fully God while also becoming fully human. This mystery sits at the very center of the Christian faith.

But beyond the theological discussions, there is something deeply personal about this truth.

If Jesus is truly God in the flesh, then every moment recorded in the Gospels carries eternal significance.

When Jesus touches a leper, it is God reaching into human suffering.
When Jesus forgives a sinner, it is God declaring mercy.
When Jesus calms the storm, it is the Creator commanding the forces of nature.
And when Jesus walks toward the cross, it is God Himself stepping into the place of human redemption.

Yet the Gospel of John also contains a warning that is deeply sobering.

Jesus once confronted the religious leaders with these words:

“You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life.”
 John 5

That verse cuts through me every time I return to it.
Here were men who had devoted their entire lives to the Scriptures. They studied. They memorized. They debated. They built entire systems of thought around the sacred texts. And yet Jesus looked at them and said something staggering you have missed the point entirely.
The Scriptures were never meant to be the destination. They were always meant to point somewhere. To someone.
And they refused to come.
It is possible to be deeply religious and still miss Jesus.
It is possible to fill your life with spiritual activity  reading, studying, serving, writing — and still quietly drift away from the One those things are supposed to lead you back to.
That is why I keep returning to this simple rhythm. Not because I have it all figured out. Not because I am always consistent. But because I know how quickly the noise rushes in, and how easily the soul can become busy without becoming nourished.
So as I carry this passage into the rest of my week, my prayer is a simple one.
That we would slow down. That we would resist the pull to always be moving, producing, and performing. That we would come back and rest — truly rest — in the fullness of God revealed in the face of Jesus Christ.
He is not just a subject worth studying.
He is a person worth knowing.
And He is still saying, come to me that you may have life.

About the Author

Dylan Verdun Sullivan is the founder of Refined by Fire Press and an Australian author indexed in the National Library. As a Level 7 Local Guide with over 1.2M views on Google Maps, he documents the intersection of faith, recovery, and the "light in the mundane."

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