John 8:25: “Then they said to Him, ‘Who are You?’”
So many of us have lived with disappointments. Either in ourselves, as we failed morally, legally, or simply in character. Sometimes, we were doomed to fail from the start because the standard implanted in us was built on water to begin with, so expectation sank beneath reality. Other times, we just outright let ourselves down. We are only human, after all.
But we’ve also been disappointed by others. Elected governments. Churches. Cultures. Friends. Even well-meaning family. Our religions, passions, and preferences have left indelible marks of disappointment.
So we adapt.
We settle into play-and-repeat mode, where things are comfortably numb enough to romanticise our lack of enthusiasm to try again. We float in the boat of good-enough to avoid the angst of yet-another-letdown. Because let’s be honest, disappointment hurts.
And somewhere, beneath all this disappointment, the question “Who are You?” becomes far too dangerous to ask.
Because if God exists, and is not good, then hope dies.
The Question That Haunts the Gospels
In John 8, the religious leaders corner Jesus:
“Who are You?”
It’s not an honest question. It’s an epistemological impasse. They want credentials. Labels. A box. A category they can either worship—or kill.¹
And Jesus simply replies:
“Just what I have been saying to you from the beginning.”
In other words: You already know.
The issue isn’t information, it’s interpretation.
They’ve seen His works. Heard His voice. Watched His mercy. But they’re asking the wrong kind of question, from the wrong kind of heart.
This is the tragedy of much of religion: we ask “Who are You?” as if Jesus is the one hiding, when in truth, we are the ones refusing to look.²
From John 8 to Matthew 16 to Revelation 4
This question isn’t isolated.
Peter is asked: “Who do you say that I am?” He stammers: “You are the Christ.” Revelation dawns, but even then, he sinks walking on water.³ John, later, is told (Rev. 4:1-2): “Come up here.” He is lifted beyond dissonance into divine coherence. There he beholds Christ not merely as Messiah, but as Ascended King, and it transforms him.⁴
This is the arc of Johannine anthropology:
We move from dissonance to coherence, from religious blindness to relational knowing, not through intellect but through abiding, beholding, and believing.⁵
My Love Story
Fortunately, I can speak a teeny-tiny bit about this process of dissonance giving way to revelation.
Yes; Jesus is the love of my life.
And yours too.
You just don’t know it yet.
It took years of stepping out onto the water like Peter, and sinking, over and over again. I still sink. I am not Jesus, and I have no metaphysical control over matter (trust me, I’ve tried). 😂
But across the past 21 years, leading up to a strange symmetry where my life will soon be divided equally: 50% heathen, 50% Believer, I’ve moved from disbelief because of deep wounding, to falling in love with the One who walked across my storm just to reach me.
And He has healed places so sore I didn’t even want to suffer through the suffering to get better.
Make no mistake, I fail dismally at loving Him well.
But whatever this tiny love of mine is worth, it is His.
Devoted to my Father who loved me enough to send Jesus to rescue a sinner like me.
And who left the Spirit to keep leading me deeper into the knowingness of this one sacred question:
“Who are You?”
I no longer ask that with suspicion.
I ask it with awe.
Because the answer has never changed.
But I have.
Practical Reflection
The next time life wounds you and you find yourself asking “Who are You, God?”, ask it not with the cynicism of those in John 8, but with the longing of Peter, or the humility of John.
Ask it from the boat.
Ask it while sinking.
Ask it even when you feel unworthy to ask.
The answer will not come in formulas, but in footsteps across the water.
A Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You are the One we fear to ask about, because if You are real, we cannot stay unchanged.
And if You are good, we cannot keep pretending that our disappointment was the end of the story.
Heal our wounded expectations.
Call us higher like You did with John.
Lift us when we sink, like You did with Peter.
And walk toward us when we are too afraid to move.
You are the love of our lives.
And we long to know You as You truly are.
In Your Holy Name Messiah King Jesus,
Amen.
References
1) Marianne Meye Thompson, The God of the Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 109.
2) Ben Witherington III, John’s Wisdom: A Commentary on the Fourth Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 158.
3) Matthew 14:28–30. Peter steps out in faith but begins to sink when distracted by fear.
4) Revelation 4:1–2. John is invited into heaven to witness the throne of God and Christ’s exaltation.
5) Andreas J. Köstenberger, A Theology of John’s Gospel and Letters (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009), 404–406.
#Hayibo 