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John 1: 29–42
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Send out your light and your truth, O Lord, that they may lead us to your
holy hill and to your dwelling. Amen.
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This morning, in the Gospel of John, we are picking up a story we began
to hear in the Gospel of Matthew last Sunday. It’s the story
of Jesus’ baptism. But St. John doesn’t tell stories
in the same straightforward way that Matthew
does . . . as in, ‘First this
happened, and then that.’ In the Gospel of John, though
Jesus seems only to be making small talk, speaking about inconsequential
things, he is always shifting our attention to deeper issues. A
woman is talking about water – and Jesus shifts the conversation
to spiritual thirst. Nicodemus asks how one can be born a second
time from the womb – and Jesus begins to talk about spiritual
rebirth. A crowd in Jerusalem marvels that Jesus has given sight
to a blind man – and Jesus starts talking about spiritual
blindness. It’s always that way in the Gospel of
John. And it will be that way again this morning.
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John picks the story up on the day following Jesus’ baptism,
when John the Baptist again sees Jesus approaching him on the footpath
beside the river. But now the Baptist realizes that Jesus is more
than some distant relative of his, someone he just happened to baptize
the day before. For he himself saw the Holy Spirit, in the form
of a dove, descend on Jesus and stay there, abiding on him. This
was the sign he had been told to watch for, the sign that would signify
the coming of Messiah. In other words, John has just realized that
Jesus is the long–awaited Messiah, the One who will save the world
from sin. So, he cries out, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who
takes away the sin of the world!”
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Two of John’s disciples, hearing him say this, turn and follow
after Jesus. Suddenly they want to know more – much
more — about this rabbi their own rabbi now holds in such high
esteem. So, they ask Jesus, “Rabbi, where are you
staying? Where do you abide?” They want an
opportunity, you see, to spend more time with him, to listen and learn
from him.
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Jesus, in good rabbinical fashion, answers their question with a
question of his own. “What are you looking for?” he
asks them. Only his question is not just for them. In this
Fourth Gospel, these are the very first words out of Jesus’
mouth – and that is not simply coincidence. Instead, it is
a crucial question for all of us. What are we looking for in our
lives, more than anything else?
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Evidently, if you Google that question, what you get back in response
is the clarification, “What are you looking
for . . . in a
relationship?” And that turns out to be a pretty
good hint, pointing us toward something we all want. We all want
relationships in our lives – not just fleeting ones, but good
ones. We want loving connections with other people, caring
companions on our life’s journey, relationships that will
last. Newborn babies already know this. They are
hard–wired for relationship. If you touch the palm of a
newborn, instinctively that little hand will curl its fingers around
your finger, holding on for dear life.
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Jesus knows this. So, he extends an open invitation to the two
curious disciples. “Come and see,” he says.
And — as far as we know — from that day onward, Andrew and
the other disciple, still unnamed, never leave Jesus’ side.
They simply continue to bring their friends and brothers, their
acquaintances to him – so others can find what they have
found. And all together they begin to share a network of loving
relationships, relationships that will support them their whole lives
long. It’s the story of the Church, an ancient and
ever–new story that you and I know something about.
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For you and I are also looking for the love of Jesus. Somewhere
along the way we encountered him. Maybe it happened at our
baptism when the Holy Spirit descended on us. Or maybe we
discovered him in the love of some beloved parent or
grandparent. Or we felt his presence as we praised and worshiped
him here at church. Wherever it began, we want to feel that
love again. We want the relationship to grow. And it
will . . . if we do as Jesus himself
did . . . and give that love away.
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This happened for me this past Christmas Eve in a seemingly small
series of events. Maybe you will remember two names that were
frequently on our “Please pray for” lists the past few
years. Ron and Rhonda Erwin were my cross–the–street
neighbors for twenty years. They weren’t church goers, but
at Christmastime they did love to give home–baked gifts to their
neighbors – every house on the street. And people
reciprocated. It became a Christmas Eve tradition on Porter
Street in Madison – to respond to Ron’s joyful gifts with
gifts of our own. So, we all gave gifts — to everyone on the
street.
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Sadly, this year, both Ron and Rhonda died — Ron last January
and Rhonda in September. So this Christmas, I wasn’t sure
anyone on Porter Street would be exchanging gifts, especially because
temperatures that day were threatening to go down to frigid single digits.
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At the last minute, though, I realized this was a neighborhood tradition
I didn’t want to relinquish. So, Friday afternoon, December
23, just before the temperatures plummeted, Walt and I went house to
house with some peppermint bark I had bought up in Athens that morning,
and had gift wrapped myself early that afternoon. And once
we’d actually made those calls, I knew we had done the right
thing, for we had some lovely conversations with our neighbors.
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But the best part was still to come. One neighbor, who didn’t have
a gift ready to exchange when we came by Friday afternoon, appeared at
our door Saturday morning with a big box of freshly made fudge. By
this time the temperatures outside had plummeted and I came
downstairs that morning to discover that our downstairs furnace had
died – and it was 37 degrees inside our house. But
when the furnace repairman finally showed up a few hours later, I had a
big box of homemade fudge to share with him. And then heard his
stories about his beloved grandmother, who used to make fudge for him.
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That evening, as you know, I didn’t even make it here to church
at All Angels. I sent the bulletin and the sermon electronically
and had others read them, do them for me. But in the giving and
receiving of a few simple gifts – the love of God had arrived on
Porter Street. Christ had been born into this world once
again . . . and church had happened,
after all.
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Amen.
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