— John 1:1-18 —
There is a weight and wonder to beginnings. They carry both promise and mystery—silent and grand all at once. That’s how the Gospel of John opens, not with a manger or a genealogy, but with poetry.
Before there was a sunrise,
Before there were stars to count or oceans to chart,
Before there was breath in our lungs—
There was the Word.
“In the beginning…” It’s a familiar phrase for those who have read the Bible from the start. These words don’t just take us back to Genesis; they take us back to a time before history, even before anything was created. John’s opening reveals eternity, not as an abstract concept, but as a person: the Word, who was with God and was God.
Jesus, the eternal Word, is not a footnote to the human story; He is its author. He was not an answer formed after the fall, not a backup plan for humanity’s mistakes. He is the Beginning, the very expression of God’s nature and will.
He is not a stranger to our world. He made it.
He is not a stranger to your pain. He entered it.
He is not far from your life. He moved into it.
Creation wasn’t random; it was intentional. Through Him, everything came to life, and in doing so, we learn about where we come from and why we’re here. That means your story is not accidental either—it’s authored with purpose. He gives us a sense of renewal and hope every day.
A Moment to Reflect:
Where in your life do you need to remember that God’s presence and purpose were there from the very beginning?
God Moved In
Pause here. Read that again.
God moved in.
There’s something so deeply personal about this language. It doesn’t say He visited. It doesn’t say He passed through. It says He dwelt, not with fanfare, not from a distance, but with skin and heartbeat. The Creator took on creation.
Sometimes, we think of holiness as something far away. A glowing light unreachable behind stained glass or high heavens. But in Jesus, holiness moved into the neighborhood. Jesus became like us in every way—a baby who needed feeding, a man who would grow tired, a Savior who would bleed. This is the astonishing center of our faith: the Word did not remain abstract or far off. He became flesh and chose to dwell.
He stepped into time, wore the dust of our earth, and lived beneath the weight of gravity and grief. He entered the story not to observe it, but to redeem it. He didn’t just visit, He came to stay.
A Moment to Reflect:
What does it mean to you personally that God didn’t just visit humanity but chose to stay?
You Are Not an Afterthought
John makes this quietly stunning invitation:
This isn’t just poetic, it’s the foundation of our hope. Jesus did not come to condemn the world but to fill it with light, grace, and truth. He came to invite us into the family of God.
You don’t need to hustle your way into God’s affection. You don’t need to earn your place at the table. You are not a guest in God’s house; you are His child. Welcomed in, not because of who you are, but because of who Jesus is. You are not on probation in the Kingdom. You are deeply known and dearly loved. And when the voices of the world tell you that you’re not enough, the Word says otherwise.
I recall a season when I constantly compared my faith journey to others, thinking I needed to “catch up” or do more to feel a sense of belongingness. But this verse reminded me that belonging to God isn’t earned, it’s received.
A Moment to Reflect:
Where in your spiritual life do you feel like you still have to “earn” your place with God?
When Light Breaks Through
From the moment light split the void, Christ has been the source of life. But this light is more than physical; it is the illumination of hope in a world darkened by sin, sorrow, and silence.
There have been nights when I’ve sat in my room with only the glow of a single lamp, feeling like the weight of the world might swallow me whole. Grief, anxiety, and self-doubt can be like that—creeping in and convincing you the darkness is here to stay.
But as I started studying the Word, John’s words remind me: the darkness does not win. Jesus does not shy away from broken places. He enters them, bearing light strong enough to endure every darkness of the soul.
No darkness is too deep.
No heartbreak is too final.
No fear is too strong.
No situation is too far gone.
His light shines continually, faithfully, and triumphantly. The darkness has not, and will not, overcome it. This is a message of hope and reassurance that we can cling to in our darkest moments.
A Moment to Reflect:
What “dark place” in your life right now needs the reminder that the light has already won?
A Glory That Changes You
John’s words invite you to look closely, not to do more nor fix yourself, but to behold. To sit with the wonder of a Savior who came not just for you, but to you.
Jesus is not merely a teacher or healer—He is the glory of God in human form. He didn’t remain a distant deity; He became your neighbor. He stepped into your skin and bore your griefs. And He didn’t come with cold truth or distant righteousness; He came full of grace and truth.
I often think about this in the context of my ordinary days—doing chores, driving to a place, reading a book, or sitting in quiet prayer. In times when my faith feels quiet or life feels unremarkable, I can forget that the glory of God came close. The same Jesus who was with God in the beginning, who formed the cosmos and took on flesh, is still dwelling among His people.
Through His Spirit, He is present. He is Light in our darkness. He is Grace in our failure. He is Truth in our confusion.
So, today, rest in this:
Before your fears, failures, and struggles—there was Jesus.
You don’t have to go far to find Him.
You don’t have to climb higher, do better, or appear holier.
He has already come all the way to you.
A Moment to Reflect:
How might your daily life change if you really believed that God is dwelling with you right now?
Your Turn
Whether you’re at the beginning of a new chapter or in the middle of a storm, take heart. The Word is already here amid the mess. He is near, the Light shines, and your place in the family of God is secure. So open the door, let Him dwell again in your thoughts, in your schedule, in your fears, in your ordinary.
—
This week, take one intentional step to invite Him into your everyday life—your commute, your mealtimes, and your conversations. Whisper a prayer of welcome and watch how His presence shifts your perspective.
Remember: You are not alone. You are not forgotten.
