Familiarity is one of the great spiritual dangers.
The more familiar we are with a subject, the more likely we are to make assumptions about it. And few figures in human history are more familiar than Jesus. Millions—billions—know about Him. We know the stories. His teachings. The Cross. Even the empty tomb. And yet, familiarity can be deceptive.
Many people believe in a Jesus shaped less by the Gospels and more by their preferences, culture, pain, or politics. Over time, we can end up following a version of Jesus that feels recognizable and manageable—but not necessarily the Jesus who actually is.
As I prayed through what our primary teaching focus should be this year, an awareness kept surfacing. At Fellowship West, we talk a great deal about following the Way of Jesus, being disciples of Jesus, living with a Jesus-formed life. We preach the gospel of Jesus. We’re big on Jesus—and I love that.
And yet, we need to be careful. When we preach Jesus, we must make sure we are talking about, being formed by, and serving the same Jesus. The true Jesus.
That’s why we’re spending A Year in the Life of Jesus—so that we might be introduced (or reintroduced) to Jesus by Jesus. Like refreshing a browser or resetting a device so it functions as intended, we are seeking a fresh encounter with the God-Man from Nazareth. Not our ideas about Him, but the Jesus revealed in Scripture—allowed once again to be the shaping authority of our lives.
The aim of this year is not to master information about Jesus, but to be formed—re-formed—by His presence.
That matters, because we all tend to gravitate toward certain aspects of Jesus. Some are drawn to His compassion. Others to His confrontation of injustice. Some are captivated by His wisdom and brilliance as a teacher. None of that is wrong. But there is a temptation to emphasize the parts of Jesus we admire while minimizing the parts that unsettle us.
When we over-emphasize or de-emphasize aspects of Jesus—and all of us do this—we risk following a caricature, not the fullness of Christ.
So if we are going to let Jesus introduce us to Himself, the best place to begin is where Scripture begins—not with what He did, but with who He is.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” – John 1:1
This sentence is pregnant with meaning—not only for your life, but for the universe itself. That is John’s extraordinary claim.
To grasp it, we need to hear it as the first readers would have heard it. John uses the word Logos—a word loaded with philosophical and spiritual meaning. Logos referred to reason, meaning, purpose—the hidden principle of harmony behind reality itself. John takes that word and makes a staggering declaration: the Logos is not an idea, a force, or a principle. The Logos is a person.
And that person is Jesus.
John doesn’t begin his Gospel in Bethlehem or Nazareth. He places Jesus at the center of the cosmos. By echoing Genesis—“In the beginning”—John tells both Jews and Gentiles that Jesus is not merely part of the story. He is the beginning of meaning itself.
And then John pushes us further.
How can the Word be with God and be God? It’s a theological mind-bender—and that’s the point. Before John ever gets to miracles or parables, he wants to awaken awe. This Jesus is not merely a philosopher. He is not merely a rabbi. He is God.
John continues:
“In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it.” – John 1:4–5
The word for life here is zoē—not mere existence, but soul-deep life. John moves from the meaning of the cosmos to the meaning of your life. Jesus is not meaning in the abstract. He is personal. He illuminates hearts, minds, and paths. And most importantly, He conquers darkness.
That language would have sounded familiar to Jewish ears shaped by Isaiah:
“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” – Isaiah 9:2
John is saying: Jesus is that light.
And still—there is more.
“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” – John 1:14
“Dwelt” literally means “to pitch a tent.” John connects Jesus to the tabernacle—the place where God once dwelled among His people. Jesus is God made visible. God refusing to remain abstract. God moving into the neighborhood.
This leads us to a response.
If Jesus is the Logos—the source of meaning, life, and light—then He cannot merely be admired. He must be trusted.
Theologically, this changes everything.
Jesus is not a supplement to our lives; He is the source. Meaning is not something we create—it is something we receive. Formation is not optional; the only question is who or what is forming us. Whatever we give sustained attention to doesn’t just inform us—it forms us.
And practically, this year becomes an invitation.
To give Jesus sustained attention.
To let Him challenge us, not just comfort us.
To trust the Light, even in seasons of darkness.
Some are walking through heavy seasons right now. Diagnosis. Grief. Weariness. John reminds us that the presence of Jesus does not mean the absence of darkness—but it does mean the end of darkness’s dominion.
In the beginning was the Word. And that Word has not stopped speaking.
This year, may we choose to listen. To stay near the Light. And to let Jesus—the real Jesus—have the final word in our lives.
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