Scripture Daily

Context No. 608 of 4322 · John

Context · Reflection

John 2:18-25: in context

18The Jews therefore answered him, “What sign do you show us, seeing that you do these things?” 19Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” 20The Jews therefore said, “It took forty-six years to build this temple! Will you raise it up in three days?” 21But he spoke of the temple of his body. 22When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he said this, and they believed the Scripture and the word which Jesus had said. 23Now when he was in Jerusalem at the Passover, during the feast, many believed in his name, observing his signs which he did. 24But Jesus didn’t entrust himself to them, because he knew everyone, 25and because he didn’t need for anyone to testify concerning man; for he himself knew what was in man.

After Jesus clears the temple, the authorities demand a sign to justify his authority, and he gives them a cryptic one: destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up. They think he means the great stone building that took forty-six years to construct; he means his own body, which they will kill and which will rise on the third day. But it is the note John adds at the end of the scene that is worth dwelling on. Many people, seeing his miracles, believed in his name. And yet, John says, Jesus did not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people and needed no one to tell him about anyone, for he himself knew what was in man.

That is a piercing observation. Jesus was not swept up by the crowd's enthusiasm. He saw that their belief was shallow, built on spectacle, the kind of faith that thrills at signs and evaporates when the cost appears, and he was not fooled by it. He knew what was in each of them, past the excitement and the acclaim, and he did not entrust himself to a faith he could see was hollow. And that same searching knowledge falls on me. Jesus knows what is in man, which means he knows exactly what is in me, not the version I present, not the performance I put on, not the enthusiasm I can manufacture, but the actual state of my heart underneath all of it.

That cuts two ways, and both are worth feeling. It is exposing: I cannot impress Jesus with a show of devotion, cannot fool him with religious enthusiasm, because he sees straight through to what is really there. And it is strangely freeing: since he already knows what is in me, the worst of it included, there is no point in pretending, and no pretense I could keep up would tell him anything he does not already know. Am I trying to perform for a Jesus who already knows exactly what is in me, and what would change if I stopped pretending before the one from whom nothing is hidden?

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