The Unfinished Portrait

As the Day Ends

“And be renewed in the spirit of your mind: and… put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness.” — Ephesians 4:23–24

As the day draws to a close, it is comforting to remember that God is not finished with us. We often measure our spiritual progress by what we still lack, noticing our weaknesses more readily than God’s ongoing work. Yet Scripture reminds us that the Christian life is a process of renewal. The same God who called us to Himself continues shaping our character, refining our hearts, and reproducing the beauty of Christ within us.

One of the marks of genuine spiritual growth is humility. The closer we come to Christ, the less likely we are to boast about our progress. Like an artist carefully working on a masterpiece, God patiently adds His touches day after day. We may not yet see the completed portrait, but He does. Tonight we can rest knowing that His grace is still at work, and His faithfulness will carry us forward until the day we stand in His presence.

Prayer to the Father

Heavenly Father, thank You for Your patience and unwavering love. As I reflect upon this day, I am grateful that You do not abandon the work You have begun in me. Forgive my failures, strengthen my weaknesses, and help me trust Your timing. When I become discouraged by my imperfections, remind me that You are steadily shaping me into the image You desire. I place my life in Your hands and rest in Your faithful care tonight.

Prayer to the Son

Jesus the Son, thank You for revealing what true righteousness, humility, and holiness look like. I long to reflect Your character more clearly in my daily life. Where selfishness remains, replace it with Your love. Where pride lingers, teach me Your meekness. Thank You for walking beside me through every victory and every struggle. As I rest this evening, help me fix my eyes upon You and trust that Your transforming work continues.

Prayer to the Holy Spirit

Holy Spirit, continue Your renewing work within my heart and mind. Illuminate areas where I need growth and give me courage to follow Your leading. Fill me with wisdom, peace, and assurance as this day comes to an end. Help me awaken tomorrow with a deeper desire to honor Christ and serve others. Thank You for Your constant presence and for guiding me into truth that shapes me into the person God created me to become.

Thought for the Evening

God is not asking you to be a finished masterpiece tonight. He is asking you to trust the Artist who is still painting.

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Walking With Him Until Christ Is Formed

A Day in the Life

“Him we preach, warning every man and teaching every man in all wisdom, that we may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus.” — Colossians 1:28

When I reflect on what it truly means to disciple someone, I cannot help but return to the way Jesus Himself walked with His followers. He did not simply give instructions and move on. He lived among them, corrected them, encouraged them, and patiently revealed Himself to them. Discipleship, then, is not a program or a checklist—it is the intentional sharing of a life centered in Christ. Paul’s words in Colossians carry a weight that is easy to overlook. The Greek term teleios, translated “perfect,” speaks not of flawlessness but of completeness, maturity, a life fully shaped by Christ. That becomes the aim—not activity, but transformation.

As I consider this, I realize how easily I can substitute Christian activity for Christlike maturity. I can attend services, read Scripture, and even serve others, yet still remain unchanged at the deeper level of my heart. Jesus encountered this very issue in His ministry. In Matthew 23, He confronted the Pharisees, not because they lacked religious activity, but because their hearts were distant from God. “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me” (Matthew 15:8). That statement exposes the danger. Activity can mimic devotion, but it cannot replace relationship. Discipleship must go beyond encouraging behavior; it must introduce a person to the living Christ.

I think of how Jesus discipled Peter. There were moments of bold confession, like in Matthew 16, when Peter declared Jesus as the Christ. Yet there were also moments of failure, even denial. Still, Jesus did not abandon him. After the resurrection, in John 21, Jesus restored Peter not with a lecture but with a question rooted in relationship: “Do you love me?” The Greek word used there, agapaō, speaks of a deep, self-giving love. Jesus was not merely correcting Peter’s behavior; He was calling him into a deeper relationship that would ultimately shape his life and ministry. That is discipleship—remaining with someone until Christ is formed in them.

This challenges me to rethink how I invest in others. Am I content when someone simply participates in Christian practices, or am I committed to walking with them until they begin to reflect the character of Christ? The fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control—these are not the result of external pressure but internal transformation. As A.W. Tozer once observed, “The goal of the Christian life is not to be busy, but to be like Christ.” That insight reminds me that discipleship is deeply relational, requiring time, patience, and presence.

There is also a sense of responsibility woven into Paul’s words. He says, “Him we preach… that we may present every man…” There is intentionality here. Discipleship is not accidental. It requires a willingness to “stay with” someone, just as Jesus stayed with His disciples through their misunderstandings and struggles. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Christianity without discipleship is always Christianity without Christ.” That statement presses into the heart of the matter. If I reduce discipleship to activity, I risk leading others into a form of faith that lacks the very presence of Christ.

So, as I walk through this day, I ask myself a simple but searching question: Am I helping others know Christ, or merely encouraging them to do Christian things? There is a difference, and it is significant. One leads to transformation; the other can lead to spiritual stagnation. Jesus calls me not just to speak about Him, but to walk with others in such a way that they come to know Him personally. That means patience when growth is slow, grace when failure comes, and persistence in pointing them back to Christ.

In the end, discipleship is an act of love. It is choosing to invest in someone else’s spiritual journey, not for a moment, but for the long haul. It is trusting that the same Christ who is at work in me is also at work in them. And it is believing that, over time, He will bring each of us into that place of completeness—teleios—where His character is increasingly reflected in our lives.

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Since I Have Been Raised with Christ, Why Do I Still Make Others Feel Small?

There is a peculiar grief in recognizing that one has been given a great gift and yet still lives so often beneath it. There is a sorrow that belongs especially to those who know the language of grace, who have sung resurrection hymns, who have confessed Christ, who have spoken of new life, and yet who still discover in themselves an ugly tendency to diminish others. Not always openly. Not always with shouting or cruelty. Sometimes it is done with a tone. A look. A correction too sharp to be loving. A joke that lands like a knife. A silence meant to chill. A habit of always needing to be the wiser one in the room. And afterward comes the question, heavy and humiliating: Since I have been raised with Christ, why do I still make others feel small?

The question matters because it is not merely psychological. It is theological. It is spiritual. It touches the nerve of discipleship itself. If resurrection is real, if new life is real, if the old self has died with Christ and the new self has been raised with him, then why does so much pettiness remain? Why does pride still rise so quickly? Why does the self still reach for superiority as if it were food?

Part of the answer is that resurrection is both gift and calling. Scripture speaks in a strange and beautiful double voice. On the one hand, the believer has already died and been raised with Christ. This is not an aspiration but a declaration. On the other hand, the believer is also commanded to put to death what belongs to the old way of life and to clothe oneself with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. In other words, what is true in Christ is still being worked out in us. The risen life has begun, but it has not yet fully overtaken every chamber of the soul. We are new, but not yet wholly healed. We belong to Christ, but many habits still belong to fear.

That may be the most painful truth of all: making others feel small often has less to do with strength than weakness. It can look like power, but it is usually a defense. We reduce others in order to protect some fragile place in ourselves. We feel uncertain, so we become cutting. We feel unnoticed, so we dominate. We feel ashamed, so we become severe. We fear our own inadequacy, so we magnify the inadequacy of someone else. The impulse to make another person shrink is often the frightened self’s attempt to avoid disappearing.

This is why belittling can wear so many respectable disguises. It can appear as discernment, when it is really contempt. It can appear as honesty, when it is really impatience. It can appear as theological precision, when it is really the pleasure of standing above another. It can appear as leadership, when it is really insecurity in clerical dress. It can appear as humor, when it is really aggression with a laugh track. One does not need to curse someone to make them feel small. One only needs to remind them, subtly and repeatedly, that their words matter less, their insight is thinner, their mistakes are more visible, their presence less weighty. There are many ways to wash one’s hands while still leaving another diminished.

For this reason the question is not simply, Why am I like this? It is also, What am I protecting? What wound, what vanity, what fear, what hunger in me reaches for elevation by lowering another person? The old self does not die gracefully. It flails. It bargains. It borrows the language of virtue. It even tries to make holiness itself into a platform. The ego can turn anything into a ladder, including religion.

And yet there is mercy in the asking of the question. The fact that one feels pierced by it may itself be evidence of grace. There was a time, perhaps, when making others feel small brought satisfaction, or at least went unnoticed. But to feel the sting of it, to be unable to rest in one’s own superiority, to hear in one’s own words an echo of something un-Christlike, is already a sign that the conscience has not been abandoned. The Spirit is often most present not when we feel triumphant, but when we are unable to escape the truth about ourselves.

The raised life in Christ does not make us impressive. It makes us honest. It frees us from the exhausting labor of having to appear larger than we are. The gospel does not inflate the self; it crucifies the need for inflation. To be raised with Christ is not to become grand over others, but to be joined to the one who took the form of a servant. The risen one still bears wounds. The exalted Christ is still the crucified Christ. Therefore any resurrection that makes us harsher, more self-certain, more dismissive, more addicted to being right at the expense of being loving, is not resurrection in the shape of Jesus. It is merely ego with religious lighting.

Perhaps that is why humility is so difficult. Humility is not humiliation, but it often feels like death because it requires surrendering the illusion that our value depends on being above someone else. Many of us have learned to live by comparison. We know how to feel secure only when we are more faithful, more intelligent, more discerning, more moral, more wounded, more enlightened, or more correct than another. Even our suffering can become a form of superiority. But Christ does not raise us in order to place us on a pedestal from which we can look down. Christ raises us into a life where we no longer need the pedestal.

To make others feel small is to forget the shape of grace. Grace does not approach us in order to embarrass us into transformation. Christ does not stand over the weak and smirk at their incompleteness. Christ stoops. Christ touches. Christ restores. Christ tells the truth, certainly, but never to annihilate the person standing before him. Even his rebukes open a door toward life. How often ours merely close it.

This is not to say that all correction is wrong or that all clarity is cruelty. Love does sometimes speak hard truths. Pastors, parents, teachers, friends, and prophets cannot avoid this. But there is a difference between helping another stand and needing them to kneel. There is a difference between truth spoken for healing and truth used as an instrument of self-exaltation. One can tell the truth in a way that enlarges the soul of the hearer, even in pain, and one can tell the truth in a way that shrinks them. Christ seems always to do the former. We too often do the latter.

So what is to be done? Not self-hatred. Self-hatred is only pride turned inward, the ego still fascinated with itself. Not despair. Despair is another refusal of grace. The better path is confession joined to watchfulness. One must begin to notice the moments when the spirit tightens, when irritation becomes an appetite, when another person’s weakness starts to feel useful, when one’s own cleverness becomes too pleasurable, when the urge rises to interrupt, correct, expose, or diminish. These are holy warning signs. They are invitations to stop before the damage is done, or to repent quickly when it has been.

And repentance in this matter may need to be very plain. It may mean apologizing without explanation. It may mean resisting the impulse to add one more clarifying comment that keeps oneself in control. It may mean listening longer than feels comfortable. It may mean asking whether someone felt dismissed, and then enduring the answer. It may mean learning silence not as withdrawal, but as restraint. It may mean praying before speaking in rooms where one is accustomed to ruling by tone. It may mean letting another person be bright without feeling dimmed by it.

Most of all, it means returning again and again to Christ, not merely as the one who raises, but as the one who lowers himself. The church rightly loves the language of resurrection, but resurrection can be sentimentalized unless it remains joined to crucifixion. One does not rise with Christ without also dying with him, and one of the things that must die is the craving to secure oneself by making others smaller. That craving is old self business. It belongs to the tomb, even if it keeps trying to crawl out.

The good news is not that those raised with Christ never again wound another person. The good news is that Christ does not abandon them when they discover they still can. He exposes, convicts, forgives, and continues the long work of conforming them to his likeness. He is patient with the slow unmaking of our pride. He is not surprised by our unfinishedness. He knows how much of us still needs to come alive.

So the question remains a worthy one: Since I have been raised with Christ, why do I still make others feel small? Perhaps because some part of me is still afraid to die. Perhaps because the old self is more deeply rooted than I imagined. Perhaps because I still confuse being Christlike with being impressive. Perhaps because resurrection has entered my life, but I am still learning how not to live by the old hierarchies of ego, power, and fear.

But the question need not end in condemnation. It can become prayer.

Lord Jesus Christ, if I have been raised with you, then raise also my speech, my reactions, my habits of thought, my hidden motives, my need to tower, my secret pleasure in being above. Show me where I make others small so that I may finally become small enough to enter your kingdom rightly. Teach me the humility that does not need to humiliate. Teach me the strength that does not need to diminish. Teach me your risen life, which is never domination, but love.

And perhaps that is where the answer finally begins: not in pretending that resurrection has already finished its work in us, but in yielding ourselves again to the Christ who is still raising the dead.

A Living Message of His Love

A Living Message

Scripture Reading: Philippians 1:1–6
Key Verse: Philippians 1:6 — “Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

As the saying goes, “There is only one you.” You are a living message for Christ in a one-of-a-kind way that no one else can duplicate. Message building is a lifelong process, and the Lord wants you to participate actively in developing His purpose for you in many ways:

Read and study the Scriptures. Time in God’s Word is essential for growth. As you learn who God is and what He has done, He unfolds His truth in a personal way through the Holy Spirit and gives you wisdom and understanding for everyday life.

Realize God’s ultimate goal. While His specific plans for you are custom made, His goal for every believer is the same—to conform us to the likeness of His Son—so your words and actions are reflections of Jesus’ character.

Review God’s pattern of operation. Ask, “How has He gotten my attention before? What is He teaching me in this present situation?” Read and study the many character portraits in the Scriptures.

Reach out to serve others. Meeting the needs of others and becoming involved in their lives challenge you to trust the Lord to provide the resources. Your faith will grow as He uses you to bless others.

Dear Lord Jesus, make me a living message of Your love.

— Charles F. Stanley, Seeking His Face

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Samuel Ringgold Ward escaped slavery and became a Congregationalist minister. He talks of the different levels of esteem that Canada has, between slaveholders and enslaved people. Freedom and dignity affected a country’s reputation.

Today, I meet people who seem to relish at the idea of a country having a reputation for cruelty. Is this biblical (1 Peter 2:12)?

How can you consider the reputation you’ve earned?

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Psalm 22:28-29 28 To Abba God alone all who sleep in the earth bow down in worship; all who go down to the dust fall before Abba God. My soul shall live for God; my descendants shall serve God; they shall be known as Abba God’s for ever.

Introduction

Last week, I ended the sermon with this:

The Christian walk is hard not because we have to be pious and self-righteous or force ourselves to be perfect and better than everyone else; it’s hard because to love your neighbor in the name of God is hard. In her most systematic text, Thinking About God, Dorothee Sölle writes,

“Love has its price. The cross expresses love to the endangered, threatened life of God in our world. It is no longer a question of a biophilic embracing of life which spares itself the cross. The more we love God, the threatened, endangered, crucified God, the nearer we are to [God], the more endangered we are ourselves. The message of Jesus is that the more you grow in love, the more vulnerable you make yourself.”[1]

Beloved to love is hard because it’s risky; God knows because God loves and risked everything for you, the beloved.

I didn’t know that this week’s gospel message would take that message and go deeper into the depths of Christian existence that is radically shaped by God’s love, faith in Christ, and the power of the Holy Spirit. Following Christ out of the Jordan is risky business; following Christ out of the tomb is even more risky. Because love—the love of God and the love for the neighbor—makes us vulnerable, as vulnerable as God made God’s self in Christ for the Beloved.

John 15:1-8

I, I am the true vine and my Elder is the vinedresser. All vine-branches in me not bearing fruit [God, God] removes, and all [vine-branches] bearing fruit [God, God] prunes so that they may bear more excellent fruit…Remain in me, and I [remain] in you. Just as the vine-branch is not able to bear fruit from itself if it does not remain in the vine, in this way neither can you, you if you do not remain in me. (John 15:1-2, 4)

Our gospel brings us to Jesus’s announcement that he is the true vine, God (his parent) is the vine-dresser, and those who follow Christ are the vine-branches. This passage falls within the “farewell discourses.” Through these chapters (13-17), Jesus leaves his disciples with exhortation and guidance, warning and prayer, all things necessary for them to persist when he leaves (in chapter 18 he is arrested and is resurrected in chapter 20). So, seen through the larger discourse of the “farewell discourses” a discussion about Jesus being the true vine, God being the vine-dresser, and the disciples being vine-branches makes more sense. Thus, in being the true vine there is no other vine for the disciples to find true life apart from Jesus.[2] This is why the disciples are exhorted by Christ to remain in Christ as they go about the activity of the Spirit in the world through proclamation and prayer.[3] In other words, to isolate this passage may render it more traumatizing and scarier than it ought to be—though, that doesn’t make its message easier to digest.

Christ knows that his disciples, those near and far, will come up against turmoil and tumult in the world either indirectly (because the world is chaotic and a bit happenstance) or directly (because the message of God’s revolutionary love causes things to be right-side-up that have been up-side down for too long). Christ is eager to give his disciples something to cling to while they wander this earth without him, so that when they encounter indirect or direct suffering they know they are not alone but that God, Christ, and the Spirit are with them, walking them through this trial and tribulation.[4] And while the thrust of the passage is on the vine and the vine-branches (and which ones are or are not bearing fruit), God is pictured here in a tender and loving way who faithfully forms and shapes the lives of those who follow the vine, those who follow after Jesus.[5] In this passage we see God use the (indirect and direct) ills of this world for the well-being and benefit of those who follow after God by faith and love.[6] It is this God who is for the disciples whom the disciples have direct access to through Christ.[7]

I need to tread lightly here because I do not want to communicate that either we should be seeking out turmoil and tumult or that God in God’s self is intentionally bringing us pain. Rather, it is in turmoil and tumult where we cling tighter to the word and grip that divine hand of our beloved elder/parent with more fervor as we go through these challenges.[8] And in this we are formed (more and more) to the likeness of Christ, fashioned after God’s own heart, made one with the divine Spirit in us rendering us softer rather than harder.[9]

It is this process of moving from hard to soft, from invulnerable to vulnerable that makes Christian existence in the world painful. The world would deal us strife and encourage us to become hard and closed off; but with Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit and God walking with us, we are exhorted and encouraged to get up when we fall and not put on the world’s emotional armor so we can feel again, identify with the suffering of others again, to be as Christ again to our neighbor and in the world. We have no “human security”; rather we are to trust that even in this God is with us and God will bring comfort to these who are afflicted through our love which is informed/formed by our faith.[10] To be grafted onto the vine that is Christ and pruned as a result is to be grown into Christ and to be Christ’s body in the world searching and seeking the beloved of God, bringing liberation, loving even though its risky, and daring to live and fight for life even when death is all around.[11],[12] This is the good fruit that we bear into the world. [13]

Conclusion

As those daring enough to follow Christ out of the Jordan and then again follow him out of the tomb on Easter Morning, we are called to remain in Christ. We never move on from Christ as the source of our life and love in the world, and the reality of our liberation to participate in divine liberation of the whole world. To remain in Christ is to persist in faith even when things seem to be falling apart, are all on fire, and when everything actual is poised to dismantle anything possible. We are called to be those who represent Christ in the world, those who are from Christ, those who bring Christ close to God’s beloved who are in pain, who suffer, who lack, and to remind them and the world that Christ is not truly gone, but very present in our actions of love informed by faith.[14]

It is this from-ness, this remaining in that informs our prayer life and in this way as we are aligned with the life giving sap of the vine, and we are pruned, and become fruit-bearing vine-branches. In this way, our prayers align informed by our faith in Christ manifesting in loving deeds bringing God glory in the world. [15] Our Father who is in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven… To pray in this way, to remain in Christ, to bear divine fruit in the world aligned with the will of God, to be Christ’s body and to represent God in a world that is convinced God is dead is what it means to be Christ’s disciples. [16]

To quote her text, Suffering, Dorothee Sölle writes,

“Love does not cause suffering or produce it, though it must necessarily seek confrontation, since its most important concern is not the avoidance of suffering but the liberation of people. Jesus’ suffering was avoidable. He endured it voluntarily. There were other ways out, as is stressed again and again in mythical language: it would have been possible for him to come down from the cross and allow himself to be helped. To put it in political terms, he didn’t need to go to Jerusalem and could have avoided the confrontation. … To reconcile God with misery means precisely avoiding confrontation and, in fear of being formed in the image of Christ, which includes pain, putting off liberating love.”[17]

“The meaning of the cross is not to reconcile God with misery and finish us off in the paradox. The unity of cross and resurrection, failure and victory, weeping and laughing, makes the utopia of a better life possible for the first time. He who does not weep needs no utopia; to him who only weeps God remains mute.”[18]

[1] Dorothee Soelle, Thinking About God: An Introduction to Theology (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 1990), 134.

[2] Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary, trans. GR Beasley-Murray, gen. ed., RWN Hoare and JK Riches (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 529-530. Originally published as, Das Evangelium des Johannes, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1964, 1966. “With the words ἐγώ εἰμι the Revealer presents himself again as the object of the world’s desire and longing; if one asks about the ‘true vine’, then the answer is given: ‘The true vine am I’. There is no comparison here, or allegory. Rather, Jesus as the true, authentic ‘vine’ is contrasted with whatever also claims to be the ‘vine’.”

[3] Bultmann, John, 529. “Thus the first part of the discourse, vv. 1-8, is an exhortation to constancy of faith in the language of μείvατε ἐν ἐμοί, …”

[4] Martin Luther, “Sermons on the Gospel of St. John Chapters 14-16,” Luther’s Works, vol. 24, ed., Jaroslav Pelikan (Saint Louis: Concordia, 1961), 194. Here after LW 24. “That is how Christ interprets the suffering which He and His Christians are to endure on earth. This is to be a benefaction and a help rather than affliction and harm. Its purpose is to enable them to bear all the better fruit and all the more, in order that we may learn to impress this on ourselves as He impresses it on Himself.”

[5] LW 24, 199. “This is an especially charming picture. God portrays Himself, not as a tyrant or a jailer but as a pious Vinedresser who tends and works His vineyard with all faithfulness and diligence, and surely does not intend to ruin it by fertilizing, hoeing, pruning, and removing superfluous leaves.”

[6] LW 24, 210. “Thus, as has been stated before, God uses all trials and suffering, not for Christendom’s harm, as the devil and the world intend, but for its welfare, so that it may thereby be purified and improved, and bear much fruit for the Vinedresser. This is what he here calls pruning, so that those who are in Christ may continue to grow and increase in strength.”

[7] Bultmann, John, 531-532. “Before the exhortation is given, the phrase καὶ ὁ πατήρ μου ὁ γεωργός ἐστιν declares that Jesus’ existence for his own is ground in his existence from God, which is an indirect way of saying that as the revealer he makes it possible for his own to approach the Father.”

[8] LW 24, 211. “Therefore your suffering is not the cleanness itself, and you are not declared clean in the sight of God because of it. But it does serve to drive man to grasp and hold the Word with a better and firmer grip, in order that in this way faith may become active. The word is itself the purification of the heart if the heart adheres to it and remains faithful to it.”

[9] LW 24, 212. “Behold, thus Christ shows clearly that the cleanness of Christians does not come from the fruit they bear but that, conversely, their fruit and works spring from the cleanness which they already have from the Word, by which the heart is cleansed.”

[10] Bultmann, John, 532-533. “The relationship with God means the destruction of human security—for the believer as well. It does not provide enjoyment of peace of mind, or a state of contemplation, but demands movement, growth; its law is καρπὸν φέρειν. The nature of the fruit-bearing is not expressly stated; it is every demonstration of vitality of faith, to which, according to bb. 9-17, reciprocal love above all belongs.”

[11] LW 24, 226. “And it is done in this manner: When I am baptized or converted by the Gospel, the Holy Spirit is present. He takes me as clay and makes of me a new creature, which is endowed with a different mind, heart, and thoughts, that is, with a true knowledge of God and sincere trust in His grace. To summarize, the very essence of my heart is rendered and changed. This makes me a new plant, one that is grafted on Christ the vine and grows from Him. My holiness, righteousness, and purity do not stem from me, nor to they depend on me. They come solely from Christ and are based only in Him, in whom I am rooted by faith, just a s the sap flows from the stalk into the branches. Now I am like Him and of His kind. Both He and I are of one nature and essence, and I bear fruit in him and through Him. This fruit is not mine; it is the Vine’s.”

[12] Bultmann, John, 536. “For the Revealer is not the mediator of a doctrine that can be received once for all; his word is not a dogma, nor a view of the world, but the free word of revelation that makes alive and that establishes anew one’s whole existence.”

[13] LW 24, 226. “Thus Christ and the Christians become one loaf and one body, so that the Christian can bear good fruit—not Adam’s or his own, but Christ’s For when a Christian baptizes, preaches, consoles, exhorts, works, and suffers, he does not do this as a man descended from Adam; it is Christ who does this in Him. The lips and tongue with which the proclaims and confesses God’s Word are not his; they are Christ’s lips and tongue. The hands with which heh toils and serves his neighbor are the hands and member of Christ, who, as he says here, is in him; and he is in Christ.”

[14] Bultmann, John, 535-536. “Μέωειν is persistence in the life of faith; it is loyal steadfastness to the cause only in the sense of always allowing oneself to be encompassed, of allowing oneself to receive. The loyalty that is demanded is not primarily a continued being for, but a being from; it is not the holding of a position, but an allowing oneself to be held, corresponding to the relationship of the κλῆμα to the ἄμπελος.”

[15] Bultmann, John, 538-539. “In prayer the believer, so to speak, steps out of the movement of his life, inasmuch as the prayer is not an action that satisfies the claim of the moment—which for the believer is the demand of love. But as he prays the believer also steps out of the context of his life, in that he is certain of the prayer’s being granted, and he no longer has need to fear the future about which he prays, as of something that threatens to destroy him he can be certain that the prayer will be heard, whatever he prays for; for what else could be the content of his petition, whatever form it may take, than the Revealer’s μένειν in him, and his μένειν in the Revealer? The granting of such a prayer, which arises him out of the context of his human life in the world, is itself the documentation of his eschatological existence.”

[16] Bultmann, John, 539. “…the disciples’ union with the separated Revealer is achieved in their discipleship; and after vv. 4-6, the radical meaning of μαθητὴς εἶναι has become clear as a reciprocal μένειν ἐν.”

[17] Dorothee Sölle, Suffering, trans. Everett R. Kalin (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress, 1975), 164-165. Originally published as: Leiden “Themen der Theologie” ed. Hans Jürgen Schultz, Stuttgart: Kreuz Verlag.

[18] Sölle, Suffering, 166.

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