I Write to You, Children
12 I write to you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for his name’s sake. 13 I write to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one. I write to you, little children, because you know the Father. 14 I have written to you, fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I have written to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God remains in you, and you have overcome the evil one.
The letter pauses its argument to tell three groups what is already true of them, and every reason given is in the perfect tense.
Six statements in three verses, arranged in two matched sets of three, and the pattern is exact: children, fathers, young men, then children, fathers, young men again. The verb shifts from I write to I have written between the sets, and the letter offers no explanation for the change.
What the passage is doing is clearer than why it is shaped this way. After a paragraph on darkness and blindness 1 John 2:11, the letter stops arguing and starts affirming. Every clause is a reason, introduced by because, and every reason describes something already accomplished.
The assignments are apt. Children: your sins have been forgiven — the first thing, and the letter gives it to the youngest. Fathers: you know him who is from the beginning, which is the knowledge that comes only with years, and it is stated identically both times, as though nothing more could be added. Young men: you have overcome the evil one, and the second time it is expanded with strength and the word of God remaining in them.
Not one of the six is an instruction. In a letter this full of tests, a passage that asks nothing is doing deliberate work: readers unsettled by a departure are told what they already possess before they are told anything further to do.
settled What this mark means