As you hike up the Arcadian Way, going from the harbor toward the Temple of Artemis, you make a path through the afternoon crowds. Porters, soldiers, prostitutes, and enslaved workers are headed in every direction, but you're going to a special meeting at a new friend's home. It's a scandalous mix—a couple of Jewish fishermen, a Gentile leatherworker, a Roman centurion's wife, and a freedwoman who exports grain—and you've found them surprisingly kind. Outside, as the imperial cult burns its incense, a woman rises to speak. John, one of Jesus' handpicked disciples, has sent her with a letter and encouragement. Recently, the group split in half, as a former elder shared mystical visions, talked about special knowledge, and implied that his view of God was far more loving. It was convincing, and a small group followed him to start what he said would be a better church. But now you hear from John. He says that God doesn't show up in private visions, but through public revelation. Jesus came into the world so that everyone could see him. John denies that love is an abstract feeling. No, love means showing up like Jesus did. The false teachers have made 'love' into a tribal badge of honor. Their elite group separated themselves from the needy and then claimed their better circumstances made them better. And when they were challenged to love as God does, they left. We all want to define love on our own terms. But John points at Jesus. He says we can't define love by what we do, but by looking at Jesus. It's the ultimate standard: he willingly paid the price for our hostility through a bloody, unseemly death. Not to solve a doctrinal equation, but to turn his enemies into friends. If you know the love of Jesus, then you know you are beloved. Then, I think, you push yourself to constantly serve others until you get angry at God. But John says that God gives us love for each other. As we love each other, God lives within us, and he completes our love.