In the World but not of the World: Jesus’ Way of Presence
(English & Español)
by Raimer Rojas
A Rule of Life • The Three Divine Means Of Grace • The Six Forces Of Unintentional Formation • The Big Shift Into Christian Formation
(English & Español)
by Raimer Rojas
A Rule of Life • The Three Divine Means Of Grace • The Six Forces Of Unintentional Formation • The Big Shift Into Christian Formation
Bill Hybels once pointed out a sobering drift that happens to many believers over time: the longer a person follows Jesus (and the longer they stay closely connected to church life), the fewer meaningful friendships they tend to have with people who are unchurched—and as a result, faith-sharing conversations naturally shrink too.
It’s rarely intentional. It’s often the slow gravitational pull of comfort, routine, and “busy-ness.” Our world becomes filled with good things—church friends, church events, church responsibilities—until our relational world quietly becomes a mostly-churched world. The tragedy is that we can still be sincere, still be growing, still be “good Christians”… and yet drift further away from the very people Jesus came to seek and save. But this was not what Jesus meant—and it’s not what Jesus modeled.
When Jesus prayed for His disciples, He didn’t ask the Father to remove them from the world; He asked the Father to send them into it—protected, sanctified, and anchored in truth. Jesus lived close enough to be criticized as “a friend of sinners,” yet steady enough that His presence didn’t get shaped by the world’s values. Instead, His presence reshaped people. He shows us what it looks like to live with proximity without compromise—fully present with the lost, yet formed by the Father.
What follows is the story Jesus tells with His own life—how His words, “in the world but not of the world,” become visible through the way He treated people like Zacchaeus, the woman at the well, and the woman caught in adultery.
If Hybels’ observation is true—that many believers slowly lose unchurched friendships over time—then Jesus’ life is the corrective. Because Jesus didn’t speak “in the world but not of the world” as a slogan for staying clean by staying far. He spoke it as the description of a people who would be sent into real neighborhoods, real relationships, and real mess—yet carry a different kingdom inside them. He lived it first.
Jesus was “in the world” enough to be seen, available, and accused. People could point and say, “He eats with sinners.” But He was “not of the world” enough that when He sat at the table, the table changed. When He entered a story, the story turned.
His holiness wasn’t fragile. It wasn’t the kind that survives only in religious bubbles. His holiness was contagious—not in a proud way, but in a healing way. He carried the presence of the Father so steadily that proximity to Him didn’t pull Him into darkness—darkness got pulled toward the light.
Zacchaeus isn’t just a short man in a tree. He’s a traitor in the eyes of his people—wealthy off corruption, insulated by power, and likely used to being hated.
Jesus walks by. He doesn’t pretend Zacchaeus isn’t there. He doesn’t scold him from a distance. He stops, looks up, calls him by name, and says—essentially—“I’m coming to your house.” That one move is Jesus “in the world.”
Because in that culture, sharing a meal wasn’t a neutral act. It meant closeness. It meant dignity. It meant, “You are worth my time.” Religious leaders avoided that kind of proximity because they believed it would stain them. Jesus moves toward the very person everyone else moves away from. And people start whispering: “He’s gone to be the guest of a sinner.” That’s the cost of being “in the world”: you will be misunderstood by people who equate distance with holiness.
But then you see what it means that He’s “not of the world.” Jesus doesn’t go to Zacchaeus’ house to blend in. He doesn’t go to approve of greed. He goes carrying a different atmosphere—truth, courage, honor, love. And Zacchaeus cracks open. Not because Jesus shamed him, but because Jesus honored him without enabling him.
Zacchaeus stands up and says he’ll repay what he stole and give generously to the poor. Jesus didn’t isolate from sinners. He ate with them—and His presence produced repentance that fear never could.
“In the world” looks like a dinner table. “Not of the world” looks like a transformed heart.
Then there’s the woman at the well—alone in the heat of the day, carrying a reputation heavy enough to keep her away from the women who drew water in the cool morning. Jesus is tired. He sits down. And when she arrives, He does something simple and shocking: He speaks to her.
He’s a Jewish man talking to a Samaritan woman—crossing cultural hostility, gender barriers, and moral suspicion in one conversation. This is not “safe” religion. This is missionary presence. But Jesus isn’t “of the world,” so He doesn’t flatter her or avoid the truth. He offers her dignity and revelation—and then He names her story.
He doesn’t expose her to crush her. He exposes her to free her. He’s basically saying: “I see you fully. And I’m not disgusted. And I’m not pretending. I have living water for you.”
That’s the Jesus way:
You are safe with me.
You can’t stay the same.
And what happens? She becomes a messenger. The same woman who hid from people runs back to them. The one who lived in shame becomes the first evangelist to her town. Jesus didn’t become like the world to reach the world. He brought the world into contact with God—and it woke them up.
Now watch Jesus with the woman caught in adultery. She’s dragged in front of Him—used as a prop in a religious trap. She’s surrounded by men with stones and certainty. The air is thick with condemnation and spectacle. Jesus doesn’t join the mob. He doesn’t play the game. He stoops, writes, and forces the room to slow down.
Then He says words that slice through hypocrisy: “Let the one without sin cast the first stone.” One by one, they leave. This is what it looks like to be “not of the world” in a world addicted to punishment, performance, and public shaming. Jesus refuses the world’s favorite tools—humiliation, scapegoating, moral theater.
Then He turns to the woman. He doesn’t say, “It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t say, “You’re fine.” He doesn’t minimize sin. He says: “Neither do I condemn you… go, and sin no more.”
That sentence is the whole posture:
No condemnation (mercy)
No compromise (truth)
Jesus creates a space where repentance is possible because love is present and shame is not ruling the room.
Put these scenes together and the meaning becomes clear: Jesus was close enough to be accused. But clean enough to be trusted. And rooted enough to not be moved.
He didn’t do holiness by distance. He did holiness by union with the Father. He stayed steadily formed by God—through prayer, Scripture, obedience, and purpose—so He could walk into messy spaces without getting absorbed by them. That’s why He influenced people instead of being influenced.
The “world” tried to shape Him:
the crowd tried to make Him a celebrity
temptation tried to make Him self-protective
enemies tried to make Him bitter
fear tried to make Him shrink
power tried to make Him control
But He refused the world’s operating system. He lived from a different one.
So “in the world” means:
go to tables, homes, wells, streets
learn names
listen to stories
build trust
be present where life actually happens
accept the cost of being misunderstood
And “not of the world” means:
don’t let culture set your desires
don’t let the crowd set your identity
don’t let fear set your decisions
don’t use shame or superiority
carry a different atmosphere: peace, truth, courage, holiness, compassion
speak truth inside relationship
Jesus’ life defines His words ("in the world but not of the world"):
We don’t withdraw from the lost to stay holy. We stay rooted in God so we can move toward the lost with holy love.