John 1:14; In, Among, and Within: Not one or the other but all three

John 1:14 says: “And the Word became flesh, and tabernacled ἐν ἡμῖν.” For centuries, English translators have debated whether this phrase should read “in us” or “among us.” Most major translations choose “among us,” perhaps out of caution. Yet if we return to the Greek, and even further back to the Aramaic worldview that likely shaped John’s thought, the truth is more layered and profound.

The Greek preposition ἐν (en) is most directly translated as “in.” Had John wanted to stress “among” in the sense of external proximity, he had better choices: μεταξύ (between, among) or παρά (alongside). Instead, he used ἐν, the same preposition that recurs throughout his Gospel to convey deep indwelling. Jesus declares, “I am in you, and you are in me” (John 14:20). In his prayer, he asks the Father “that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us” (John 17:21). Clearly, John uses ἐν to speak of union, not mere proximity.

Dr. Neil Douglas-Klotz, drawing from the Aramaic idiom behind the text, points out that the word for “in” and “among” was often the same. In the first-century Semitic mind, the distinction between external and internal was less rigid than ours. The Logos could simultaneously dwell “within” us as individuals and “among” us as a people. This duality is captured beautifully in James Murdock’s 19th-century translation from the Syriac Peshitta: “And the Word became flesh, and tabernacled with us.” The word “tabernacled” brings to mind the tent of meeting in the wilderness, where the Divine Presence filled the midst of Israel. But a tabernacle is not only beside you; when you enter, it surrounds you. It becomes both a place among and a presence within.

This is where theology and spirituality meet consciousness studies. If scientists and philosophers are correct that consciousness is foundational, then consciousness and the Logos may very well be two names for the same reality. In John’s prologue, the Logos is the divine Reason, the ordering principle of creation, the Light that enlightens everyone (John 1:9). Modern philosophers like Bernardo Kastrup argue from analytic idealism that all things arise within a universal field of consciousness. Donald Hoffman proposes that conscious agents, not matter, are the basic building blocks of reality. Their work mirrors what John proclaimed two millennia ago: that the Logos is at the root of all that exists, and that this Logos is not separate from us but intimately present, indwelling.

The choice between “in” and “among” is not simply academic. It shapes the way we experience faith. If the Logos only dwelt “among us,” then Christ is kept external — a figure in history, an example to follow, but always other. If the Logos dwells “in us,” then Christ is not merely a neighbor but our very life. The incarnation is not just about God pitching a tent in our neighborhood; it is about God setting up dwelling inside the human heart, awakening us to who we already are.

Of course, translators were wary of this implication. To render John 1:14 as “in us” leans toward a universal mystical truth: that every human being carries the indwelling Christ, the divine Logos within. Orthodoxy often recoiled from this, fearing it would collapse the distance between Creator and creature. Better to play it safe with “among,” which allows Christ to be revered but external, present but still apart. Yet I believe John’s language, both in Greek and in the Aramaic echoes behind it, resists this narrowing.

“Tabernacled with us” is the perfect middle ground. It suggests a presence that is both in and among. Just as Israel’s tabernacle was pitched among the tents of the tribes, yet filled with the indwelling glory of God, so too the Logos became flesh, dwelling not only in history but within human beings. The incarnation is not proximity but participation.

This has deep implications for how we approach Christianity today. If consciousness is foundational, and if Logos is another name for this primal consciousness, then the story of Christ is not a myth to discard in light of science, but a myth to be upgraded with the insights of consciousness studies. When I say “upgraded,” I mean holding onto the myth, the story, and the history of Jesus, while re-framing them in light of what we now know about reality. The prologue of John reads almost like a pre-scientific cosmology of consciousness: “In the beginning was the Word… and in him was life, and the life was the light of men.”

To incarnate into Christianity today, in my view, means to honor the tradition without freezing it. We keep the stories of the manger, the cross, the resurrection — but we allow them to breathe in the light of current understanding. We see Christ not only as an external figure but as the unveiling of what consciousness itself has always been doing: awakening to itself within us. The Word becoming flesh is not just God stepping into history; it is consciousness clothing itself in matter, revealing that spirit and flesh are never separate.

This also heals a divide that has long haunted Christianity. By translating ἐν as “among,” we kept Christ outside, safe from mystical union, and in doing so built walls of doctrine, authority, and control. But if Christ is “in us,” then no hierarchy can mediate that reality. The Logos already speaks in the depths of every heart. The true Light enlightens everyone. This does not diminish the unique role of Jesus; rather, it magnifies it. Jesus becomes the archetype of awakened humanity, the one who shows us what it means to live conscious of the Logos within.

The “in vs. among” debate, then, is really a debate about whether Christianity is primarily external or internal, historical or mystical, safe or transformative. I argue for “in” not because I deny the external reality of Jesus of Nazareth, but because I affirm that his coming reveals the deeper truth that God is never merely external. The incarnation is the eternal union of God and humanity, consciousness and matter, spirit and flesh.

Even science, when listened to carefully, echoes this. Physics tells us that matter is not solid but energy; neuroscience struggles to explain consciousness as an output of matter, and many now argue the opposite: that matter is an expression of consciousness. This fits seamlessly with John’s vision. The Logos, consciousness itself, became flesh — not as a one-time intrusion but as the revelation of what has always been true: all flesh is infused with Logos.

So when translators soften ἐν ἡμῖν to “among us,” I see it as a missed opportunity. It keeps the Logos external when John was opening the door to mystical participation. I believe we must reclaim the full force of ἐν — not in opposition to “among,” but as a union of both. Christ is among us in history, in community, in the stories we tell and the sacraments we share. But Christ is also in us, awakening us to the divine consciousness that is the foundation of all reality.

To incarnate into Christianity today is to embrace both. To tabernacle with Christ means recognizing the Logos both in our midst and in our innermost being. It means reading John 1:14 not through the lens of fear but through the lens of fullness. The Word became flesh and dwelt in us and among us. And we beheld his glory — not only as an external spectacle, but as the unveiling of the divine consciousness at the heart of all things.

That is the story worth keeping. That is the myth worth upgrading.