Many years ago, in my early 20s, one of the most significant books I read was a book on the Puritan theologians of the seventeenth century, written by J. I. Packer.
Its American title is A Quest for Godliness, but my copy had the earlier British title, Among God’s Giants: Aspects of Puritan Christianity. Here’s how Packer begins his introduction:
On a narrow strip of the northern California coastline grow the giant Red-woods, the biggest living things on earth. Some are over 360 feet tall, and some trunks are more than 60 feet round. They do not have much foliage for their size; all their strength is in those huge trunks, with foot-thick bark, that rise sheer for almost half their height before branching out …
Many hundreds of years old, over a thousand in some cases, the Redwoods are (to use a much-cheapened word in its old, strict, strong sense) awesome. They dwarf you, making you feel your smallness as scarcely anything else does. Great numbers of Redwoods were thoughtlessly felled in California’s logging days, but more recently they have come to be appreciated and preserved, and Redwood parks are today invested with a kind of sanctity. A 33-mile road winding through Redwood groves is fittingly called the Avenue of the Giants.[1]
I have no idea why the American publisher felt the need to change the original title, but that is why J. I. Packer titled his book, Among God’s Giants.
Packer looked around at those who claimed to follow Jesus in the 1970s and 1980s, and concluded that he was living among thousands of spiritual pygmies. He perceived that the Christians of his time, on the whole, were remarkably different from those he encountered in the pages of the New Testament, and equally different from the seventeenth-century Puritans in terms of what Packer would call spirituality.
Pygmies compared to giants; dandelions compared to California Redwoods.
The tiny Letter of 3 John, wedged between its tiny companions 2 John and Jude, presents one of the sharpest contrasts in Christian character and leadership in the New Testament. We meet two characters at the centre of the letter: Gaius and Diotrephes, both probably members of the same Christian network, shaped by similar theological traditions, moral expectations and ecclesial practices. Yet they emerge as profoundly different figures.
At first glance, Diotrephes may have appeared to be the towering godly leader of his faith community. But on closer examination, Diotrephes (vv. 9f) is more like a fading weed, here today and gone tomorrow, and it is Gaius (vv. 1-5) whose faith and works resemble those California Redwoods.
The letter’s author, known to us only as “The Elder,” commends Gaius for walking “in the truth” (v. 3b, 4), and for generous hospitality to travelling missionaries (vv. 5-8). The congregation of which Gaius is a vital member is not an institution or system, but a fellowship of love shaped by shared participation in the good news of Jesus and its fruit.
By contrast, Diotrephes embodies a corrupt model of Christian leadership. He seeks prominence, rejects apostolic authority, spreads malicious accusations, and excludes others from fellowship.
The letter warns that spiritual authority that is detached from genuine humility and truth is spiritually destructive. Leadership in the church has legitimacy when it reflects the character of Jesus, promotes the mission of Jesus, and serves the needs of those who seek to follow Jesus.
The letter also highlights the interconnectedness that was a vital part of the early church. Local congregations were not isolated entities but part of a rich apostolic fellowship grounded in four essential qualities: gospel truth, mutual accountability, sacrificial love, and missionary vision.
The sad reality is that these two men were probably formed in the same Christian environment. They probably both heard the same teachings about Christ, participated in similar worship practices, and inherited the same traditions of apostolic faith. They both became influential members of their church. The contrast between them was not based on differences in opportunity, culture or education. The contrast has its basis in their moral character.
This tension reflects a recurring New Testament theme. Those early congregations were not blueprints of perfect Christian life. Each one had its tensions, its challenges, its dark side. Those early churches were communities of sanctification and conflict, faithfulness and ego, humility and rivalry, light and darkness.
Every generation discovers that proximity to truth does not guarantee transformation by truth. Diotrephes appears sufficiently orthodox in his faith to remain a leader within the community, but his moral actions contradict the ethical shape of the gospel. His leadership style resembles the authoritarian patterns of the surrounding Greco-Roman world rather than the servant leadership exemplified by Jesus.
Gaius, on the other hand, exemplifies the ethics commended in the three letters of John. Here, truth is not mere intellectual correctness but faithful participation in the love of God. The hospitality that Gaius offers is a theological act because it eloquently expresses the heart of Christian fellowship, drawing on the beautiful example of Jesus in the Gospels. Gaius’s support of travelling missionaries is not driven by a sense of cultural obligation but by practical solidarity with those who love the truth and long to share the truth they have found with others.
There may not be a Gaius and a Diotrephes in every congregation, but there is light and darkness in each one of us. Every day, we make moral choices as the hours and minutes tick by.Every day, our thoughts shape our actions, our actions shape our habits, our habits shape our character, and our character determines our destiny.
Gaius and Diotrephes represent two trajectories available within any faith community. One path is marked by grace, generosity, cooperation, and fidelity to truth embodied in love. The other path is characterised by insecurity, control, self-importance and destructive relationships. The sobering reality is that both possibilities can easily arise within the same congregation.
This little letter of 3 John offers an important reminder that the deepest divisions within the church are often not between believers and unbelievers, but between competing visions of the Christian life. How, then, can we shape our lives more in harmony with the character of Gaius, and less like Diotrephes? I have four suggestions.
First, cultivate humility rather than social status.
Those who seek social status are often perceived as arrogant, and serve their own interests rather than the wellbeing of the group. Diotrephes is criticised because he “loves to have first place” (v. 9). Ambition itself is not necessarily wrong, but the desire for dominance easily corrupts relationships and leadership.
Humility grows and bears fruit when people consciously share credit, respect and listen carefully to others, and accept reasonable correction without defensiveness. A reputation for humility usually develops slowly through consistent behaviour rather than through dramatic gestures.
Second, practice generous hospitality.
In the letter, Gaius is praised because he welcomes and supports travelling missionaries, including strangers. Hospitality enlarges the heart. It teaches me to see the other person not as competition, not as an inconvenience or an impediment to my agenda, but as a person of intrinsic dignity, worthy of love and care.
In our situation, hospitality may include practical generosity, sharing a meal, encouragement, mentoring, openness to newcomers, or making room for overlooked voices within our community.
Third, speak with truth and grace.
Diotrephes damaged his community by engaging in malicious talk and destructive accusations. Character is often revealed most clearly in the words we use. If we are committed to follow Jesus in speaking with truth and grace, we will strive to avoid spreading rumours, exaggerations, and unfair criticism.
Sometimes, of course, criticism is warranted, even necessary. But how we communicate the message is vitally important. Valid criticism may be expressed with restraint, fairness, and concern for reconciliation rather than humiliation. And always remember the wisdom of seeking first to understand, then to be understood.
Fourth, support the success of others.
Gaius cooperated with fellow workers in the gospel, whereas Diotrephes appears threatened by outside influence and leadership. Mature character rejoices when others flourish, but it requires the learned capacity to resist jealousy and insecurity.
Every community becomes healthier when people actively encourage giftedness in others rather than fanning the flames of envy, resentment, shaming, fear-mongering, gatekeeping, and taking an instrumental approach to the potential of others.
Character is not formed accidentally. Communities shape people, but individuals also make choices about whether they will become generous and trustworthy like Gaius, or controlling and self-important like Diotrephes.
Aspire to be a Gaius, not a Diotrephes.
Aspire to be a California Redwood, not a dandelion.
Sermon 854 copyright © 2026 Rod Benson. Preached at North Rocks Community Church, Sydney, Australia, on Sunday 17 May 2026. Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from The Christian Standard Bible (Nashville: Holman Bible Publishers, 2020).
Rev Dr Rod Benson is General Secretary of the NSW Ecumenical Council and a minister of the Uniting Church in Australia serving at North Rocks Community Church in Sydney.
Reference
[1] J. I. Packer, Among God’s Giants: Aspects of Puritan Christianity (Eastbourne, UK: Kingsway Publications, 1991), 11.
Image source: ConiferousForest.com
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