We’ve been studying Saint John’s first epistle every Tuesday in this year’s seventh and eighth-grade religion class. We started back in August, and yet, we’re only halfway through what is a relatively short book of the Bible. Some would say we’re moving slowly. I would argue we’re plugging along at just the right pace. There’s a lot to be mined from John’s words. And besides, the students remain thoroughly engaged.

We ended this past week’s class at 1 John 2:27, which reads: “But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie—just as it has taught you, abide in him.” 

This was a challenging but rewarding way to end the class. It consumed the final ten minutes of our time together. In short, John wrote that his readers received an “anointing” (whatever that is), and because they have it, there’s “no need that anyone should teach” them because it “teaches you about everything.” If this is true, what on earth were these seventh and eighth-grade students doing in school, and why was I standing in front of them teaching them? They could be out somewhere doing something else. 

Well, not so fast.

Essentially, John is deeply concerned about keeping his readers secure in the true faith. He does not want them duped into unbelief by false theology, namely, by the Gnostics intent on poisoning Christian doctrine. Occasionally, along the way, John references his readers’ “anointing.”

I can’t even begin to tell you how the word “anointing” is grossly misused in modern Christendom. In the Greek, the word is χρῖσμα. In its simplest form, it means to be assigned a task. Unfortunately, today’s folks apply it to just about every wacky theological idea they have, eventually granting themselves license to massage it apart from God’s Word. “I’ve been anointed to run for office,” or “She’s such a great speaker. She’s definitely anointed.” Well, whatever. John doesn’t use it that way. When he talks about a Christian’s anointing, he means the faith at work by the Holy Spirit through the Gospel (v. 24). He doesn’t consider it a special sanction uniquely given to a select person. The Holy Spirit’s work for faith is the divine “something” that’s been given and is available to all believers.

John goes further in verse 27, explaining that the anointing actively teaches the one it inhabits about everything. This is to say faith handles everything through the lens of the Gospel. It sees, discerns, and interprets the world this way. And to what end? That the believers would always have a heart and mind guarded in Christ. To explain further, I shared with the students the first thing that came to mind. It was a casual example, but an example nonetheless.

I told them how my world is filled with stories. Theirs is, too. Take a look around, and you’ll see. At every turn, even the things we see are speaking. For me, one particular proof is that I’ve been able to write an eNews message like this one every Sunday morning since 2015, having written well over six hundred in total. How can I do this? Because each Sunday morning, I reflect on my week. When I do, there they are—the stories! And they exist in various forms. Carrying the point further, I picked a relatively familiar voice for storytelling: metaphor.

A metaphor is a comparison between two things that are nothing alike. Writers employ metaphors to enliven language. The example I used in class was that instead of saying my daughters’ eyes are beautifully blue, I prefer to call them sapphires. Their eyes are stunning, and all but the colorblind among us will experience just what I mean when these gems are turned in one’s direction.

I use metaphorical language a lot. It’s perfect for narrative communication. Relative to 1 John 2:27, John would say that faith is actively intercepting and interpreting these narratives and, as a result, teaching the viewer lessons. To demonstrate, I shared a recent experience.

Two objects caught my eye before leaving my house early one Sunday morning. The first was the scale-shaped clock sitting atop our refrigerator. Glancing at it while putting on my shoes, I had a thought. Time weighs things differently. Some of what we say and do is relatively weightless and easily forgotten. Others are heavier. Even though it’s only decorative, the scale clock was a consolidated reminder—a metaphor—teaching me to weigh my words and deeds carefully as I go about the next twenty-four hours of my life. As a Christian, I am distinct from the world (1 Peter 1:15), and as such, I demonstrate faith through word and deed (1 John 3:18), and this happens in incredibly weighty ways—the kind that can move people to consider the God I trust (Matthew 5:16).

But the scale clock didn’t teach me this. With faith as its handler, the Gospel did. God’s Word was the curriculum (1 John 2:24). 

I shared another example.

A glass vase holding about fourteen or fifteen lemons is not far from the clock. It sits on the island in our kitchen. As the saying goes, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Looking at the lemon-filled jar while putting on my coat, I had another thought. Actually, I had two thoughts. The first was that everyone makes mistakes, and I’m no exception (1 John 1:8; James 3:2). Still, a Christian can keep the lemons (life’s mistakes and misfortunes) in a separate container apart from everything else (Psalm 103:12). When another lemon comes along, God promises to put it with the rest. As humans, we can sometimes see them—as if our failures are displayed prominently. Still, we know not to dwell on the lemons. Alternatively, we behold them and remember the lessons learned (Philippians 3:12), all the while giving thanks to the Lord for His grace (Psalm 136:1).

The second thought was that making lemonade takes a lot of lemons. That’s not a license to make mistakes; instead, it is a way to remember one’s genuine frailty and the overwhelming need for Christ’s forgiveness. And for the one who knows his need for Christ’s thirst-quenching rescue, His divine forgiveness is the sweetest and most refreshing beverage there is. (Certainly, Lutherans will know that’s not necessarily a metaphor.)

As you can see, before leaving my house one morning, I was already learning from the great professor, Faith. And it really wasn’t all that hard. As believers—as the Lord’s anointed—we are already enrolled in the Holy Spirit’s classroom. We’re anointed to exchange information in ways that accomplish what John set out to preserve: “Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word that you have heard…. I write these things to you about those who are trying to deceive you…. Little children, let no one deceive you” (1 John 2:7, 26; 3:7).

Seated securely in the Lord’s holy Word, faith is a brilliant instructor. Following this lead, indeed, we can and will “abide in [Christ]” (1 John 3:27). I challenged the students to maneuver this way throughout their week, paying attention to faith’s lessons relative to everything they see. I look forward to circling back around to them this Tuesday. I’m sure there will be stories because, as I said, they’re everywhere. One only needs to look around.