There are moments in Scripture that whisper rather than shout, and yet somehow, they shape more leaders, heal more wounds, and reveal more truth than entire books of thunderous prophecy. Third John is one of those moments. It is the smallest book in the New Testament, a single chapter that many people have never read slowly, and yet it contains one of the clearest portraits of what it actually means to be a Christian in community. Not in theory. Not in doctrine alone. But in lived, relational, everyday faith. When John sat down to write this letter, he was not trying to impress anyone. He was trying to protect something fragile, something holy, something easily destroyed: the way believers treat one another when power, influence, and ego enter the room.
That is what makes 3 John so dangerous in the best possible way. It does not let anyone hide behind theology while behaving badly. It does not allow someone to be right in belief but cruel in practice. It quietly insists that truth must always be carried on the shoulders of love, humility, hospitality, and faithfulness. In a time when the church was growing fast and leadership structures were still forming, John saw something that worried him deeply. He saw faithful servants being rejected by arrogant leaders. He saw traveling teachers being shut out. He saw power being used to silence, not serve. And instead of launching a public campaign, he wrote a personal letter that has echoed for two thousand years.
The beauty of 3 John is that it does not read like a theological treatise. It reads like a conversation between a spiritual father and a trusted friend. John addresses a man named Gaius, and right away he reveals the heart of the gospel in one sentence that feels almost too simple to be revolutionary: “I pray that you may enjoy good health and that all may go well with you, even as your soul is getting along well.” John ties spiritual health to practical life. He ties faith to wellbeing. He refuses to separate holiness from wholeness. That alone challenges modern Christianity more than we often realize, because many people today are spiritually loud but emotionally broken, doctrinally correct but relationally destructive. John refuses to allow that split.
When John praises Gaius, he does not do it because Gaius knows a lot of Scripture. He praises him because he lives it. He celebrates the way Gaius treats traveling believers, the way he supports them, welcomes them, and sends them on their way in a manner worthy of God. That phrase alone is a spiritual mirror. Are we sending people on their way in a manner worthy of God? Are we speaking about others in a way that reflects God’s heart? Are we opening doors or closing them? Are we protecting our status or advancing God’s mission?
John makes it clear that hospitality is not a side issue. It is a frontline expression of the gospel. In the early church, traveling teachers and missionaries depended on the generosity of believers. To welcome them was to welcome Christ. To reject them was to resist the work of God. Gaius understood that. Diotrephes did not. And here is where 3 John becomes quietly explosive.
Diotrephes is one of the most revealing characters in the New Testament, not because of what he believed, but because of how he behaved. John describes him as someone who “loves to be first.” That single phrase could diagnose a thousand church conflicts today. He was not protecting doctrine. He was protecting his ego. He was not guarding the church. He was guarding his throne. He refused to welcome the brothers, and worse, he stopped those who wanted to do so. He even expelled them from the church. This is what spiritual abuse looks like before anyone names it. It is leadership that uses authority to isolate, silence, and control.
John does not soften his language. He does not say Diotrephes is misguided. He says his actions are evil. Not because he held a different theological opinion, but because he violated the love and unity that define Christ. That should make every believer pause. You can preach the right sermons and still oppose God if your heart is driven by pride rather than love.
What makes this letter even more powerful is that John does not end with condemnation. He introduces another man, Demetrius, whose life testifies to the truth. John holds him up as an example, not because he is perfect, but because his life aligns with the gospel. In just a few verses, John gives us three models of leadership: Gaius the faithful supporter, Diotrephes the controlling egoist, and Demetrius the trustworthy servant. The entire Christian life can be traced through those three paths.
Every one of us, whether we lead a church, a ministry, a family, or a business, will become one of those three. We will either open doors for others to grow, close them out of fear, or walk humbly in truth so that our lives themselves become evidence of God’s work.
What makes 3 John so timeless is that nothing about it feels ancient. It feels like today. It feels like churches struggling with control. It feels like ministries wrestling with influence. It feels like believers deciding whether they will support what God is doing or protect what they have built. John is not writing to a denomination. He is writing to a heart.
The reason this letter still matters is because the church has never stopped being tempted by Diotrephes. Every generation produces leaders who love being first. Every era creates systems that reward visibility over faithfulness. And every season requires people like Gaius, who quietly keep doing what is right even when it is inconvenient, risky, or uncelebrated.
Gaius did not have a platform. He had a heart. And in the economy of God, that matters far more.
When John says he has no greater joy than to hear that his children are walking in the truth, he is revealing the true measure of spiritual success. Not numbers. Not fame. Not power. Faithfulness. Are people walking in truth because of how we love them? Are they growing because of how we serve them? Or are they shrinking because of how we control them?
This is where 3 John becomes deeply personal. It forces us to ask not only what we believe, but how we behave when belief meets relationships. It invites us to examine whether our faith creates more freedom or more fear, more generosity or more gatekeeping, more unity or more division.
John’s letter does not give us a checklist. It gives us a mirror.
And what we see in that mirror may change the way we lead, love, and live forever.
The tragedy of Diotrephes is not that he was opposed by John. It is that he was blind to his own soul. He thought he was protecting something sacred when he was actually poisoning it. That is always how spiritual pride works. It convinces us that we are defending God when we are really defending ourselves.
The grace of Gaius is that he never had to say he was faithful. His actions said it for him. People testified to his love. The truth itself bore witness to his life. That is the kind of faith that lasts.
And Demetrius stands as proof that even in difficult environments, people can still live with integrity. Even when power is abused, truth still finds a way to shine.
This is not just a letter about church politics. It is a letter about the soul of leadership. It is about whether we will be people who make space for others or take space from them. It is about whether we will welcome God’s work even when it does not center on us.
That is why 3 John is so small and so massive at the same time.
It is not trying to be impressive.
It is trying to be true.
And truth, when it is lived, changes everything.
The reason John’s letter continues to feel so alive is because it speaks to a struggle that never goes away. Every generation of believers eventually has to decide what kind of community they will become. Will it be a place where truth is carried gently, or a place where power is carried loudly? Will it be a place where people are welcomed into growth, or screened for compliance? Will it be a place where God’s work is celebrated wherever it appears, or only when it appears under certain leaders?
John understood something that many people only learn the hard way: spiritual health is revealed most clearly not by how a church talks about Jesus, but by how it treats people. That is why he ties Gaius’s faithfulness directly to the way he treats strangers. Hospitality was not a social courtesy in the early church. It was a theological statement. To open your home was to open your life. To support a traveling believer was to participate in the gospel. John makes this point explicit when he says that by welcoming these workers, “we may become fellow workers for the truth.” That sentence is breathtaking. It means that even if you never preach a sermon, even if you never travel, even if you never stand on a stage, you can still share in the work of God by how you treat those who do.
This is one of the most liberating truths in the New Testament. The kingdom of God is not built only by those who are seen. It is built by those who serve. Gaius was not famous. But he was faithful. And in God’s eyes, faithfulness is what moves history.
That is what makes Diotrephes so tragic. He wanted visibility, not service. He wanted control, not collaboration. John describes him as someone who “refuses to welcome us,” which is extraordinary because John himself was an apostle, an eyewitness of Jesus, a spiritual authority. Diotrephes was so committed to being first that he rejected even those who had walked with Christ. That is what pride does. It isolates people from correction. It turns leadership into a fortress. It turns community into a threat.
When John says that Diotrephes was spreading malicious nonsense, he is describing something we still see today: spiritual leaders who use words as weapons. When someone is threatened, they often attack. When their influence feels fragile, they become defensive. Instead of welcoming truth, they control narratives. Instead of protecting people, they protect their reputation. John does not treat this lightly because the damage it causes is not theoretical. People were being pushed out of the church. Believers were being silenced. God’s work was being hindered.
This is why John promises to deal with Diotrephes when he comes. Not because he enjoys confrontation, but because truth requires accountability. Love without truth becomes weakness. Truth without love becomes cruelty. John carries both.
What is striking is that John never tells Gaius to fight Diotrephes. He tells him to keep doing what is good. That is one of the most powerful forms of resistance. Faithfulness outlives corruption. Integrity outlasts ego. Quiet goodness endures longer than loud ambition. John is teaching us that we do not have to become bitter in order to remain strong.
Demetrius stands as the evidence of that. John says that everyone speaks well of him, and even the truth itself speaks well of him. That phrase suggests something almost poetic: a life so aligned with reality that truth itself becomes a witness. Demetrius did not need to defend himself. His life did it for him. That is what spiritual credibility looks like. It is not self-promoted. It is revealed.
There is a reason John ends his letter the way he does, talking about seeing Gaius face to face. Faith is relational. It is not just about what we say. It is about who we are with one another. John wanted to look Gaius in the eyes, to encourage him, to affirm him, to remind him that he was not alone. Even in the midst of conflict, John’s instinct was connection.
This is the heartbeat of the gospel. Jesus did not come to build an institution. He came to build a family. And families are held together by love, truth, and humility.
Third John reminds us that every believer has a choice. We can be like Gaius, opening doors and hearts to the work of God. We can be like Diotrephes, clinging to power and pushing others away. Or we can be like Demetrius, quietly living in such a way that our lives themselves become testimony.
The letter never tells us what Diotrephes believed. It tells us how he behaved. That is intentional. Orthodoxy without love is hollow. Right doctrine without right character is dangerous. The gospel is not just something we agree with. It is something we embody.
If the church today struggles with division, distrust, and disillusionment, 3 John shows us why. Too often, the faith has been led by people who love being first rather than people who love being faithful. Too often, communities have been shaped by control rather than compassion. Too often, we have mistaken visibility for virtue.
But the hope of 3 John is that God still works through people like Gaius and Demetrius. He still builds His kingdom through those who open their lives, not those who close their fists. He still advances His truth through humility, not hierarchy.
The most revolutionary thing a believer can do is live in a way that makes room for others to encounter God.
That is what Gaius did. That is what John celebrated. And that is what this tiny, powerful letter calls us to do.
In a world obsessed with being seen, 3 John invites us to be faithful.
In a culture addicted to control, it calls us to be generous.
In a church often tempted by power, it reminds us that love is the true measure of leadership.
And in that quiet, faithful way, it continues to change lives.
Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph
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