Some truths are too large for plain speech.
John begins his Gospel not with an essay or a plain declaration, but with a poem. Because poetry, both then and now, is not ornamental—it is a powerful vessel of truth.
Poetry is how we collectively remember who we are.
The Psalms, the prophets, the songs of Moses and Miriam—these were not private reflections or decorative embellishments, but shared memory, spoken aloud in worship and carried across generations. Their rhythm and repetition make truth portable. Poetry allows a community to hold onto God when circumstances threaten to make Him feel distant.
Poetry invites us to more than just learning more about God—it invites us to stand before Him.
When John writes his prologue, he is not only telling us who Christ is—he is giving us lines to return to when the world feels uncertain. He is giving us anchors:
- He was in the beginning…
- All things were made through Him…
- In Him was life…
- The light shines in the darkness…
- The darkness has not overcome it
This is theology set to cadence, truth made portable. Truths meant to be recited when our world feels disordered.
John is giving us a way to remember:
Before anything else—He was.
And the theology here is not abstract. John is telling us that the One who holds all things together has drawn near, not as an idea, but as flesh.
This means that nothing in your week is outside His presence or beneath His attention. The same Word who spoke light into being now meets you in the ordinary, the strained conversation, the quiet disappointment, the unseen faithfulness.
To receive this poem is to let it reorder what feels ultimate. If Christ is the Word, then your life is not defined by chaos but by coherence—whether you can see it or not. If He is the light, then darkness is never final, even when it feels heavy. If He became flesh, then God is not distant from your humanity but has fully entered it.
So this week, return to these lines not just as something to understand, but as something to inhabit. When anxiety rises, let In the beginning was the Word remind you that your story does not begin with your circumstances. When discouragement creeps in, hold onto the light shines in the darkness as a quiet act of resistance. When you feel alone, remember that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us—and now dwells within you.
Over time, this is how a poem works on you. It trains your memory, steadies your perception, and reshapes your reflexes. You begin to interpret your life through Christ rather than trying to fit Christ into your life. And slowly, almost quietly, your days take on a different texture—less driven by fear, more anchored in presence; less reactive, more rooted in a deeper reality that does not shift.
The Word has come near. And if you let these words dwell in you, they will begin to form something steady in return.
Where do you need poetry today—not just explanation?
Where does your soul need something to hold onto rather than figure out?
Maybe it’s this:
- When life feels chaotic: In the beginning was the Word.
- When things feel dark: The light shines in the darkness.
- When God feels distant: The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
Let these lines become part of your rhythm of remembrance this week.
New Podcast Series: Gospel of John
We'd like to invite you to join us as we dive into the gospel of John, studying it chapter by chapter, unpacking the story together so we can see it clearly. This is the perfect opportunity to study with a friend or small group. Each episode will give you literary and historical insights and practical takeaways to bring the Word to life.
Join us as we explore together—because Scripture is better when it's shared. Series begins April 21!
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