A Sermon on John 1:29-42

Preached January 20, 2002

By Donald M. Tuttle

First Christian Church, Corpus Christi, Texas

It was almost Christmas when The Rev. Douglas Hood Jr.’s church finished the final performance of its living nativity. In celebration the cast of children and teenagers gathered in the fellowship hall for food and drink. Hood needed to stay and his three-year-old son wanted to stay, so Mrs. Hood left her husband to watch over their son while she took their infant daughter home for bed. Of course, as people in such gatherings are want to do, Hood found himself in conversation. Until suddenly he remembered his son and looked around but couldn’t find him. Any parent knows that horrible feeling. "Where is Nathaniel?" Hood shouted. "Has anyone seen Nathan?"

"He’s with an angel," someone replied. "They went through the door together."

Hood rushed outside, the frightening possibilities going through his mind. But there they were--a young woman, still in her angel costume, and his three-year-old son. They were standing at the now empty manger.

"He wanted to see Jesus," the angel explained.

That’s what all of us want, isn’t it? Don’t we all want to see Jesus?

William Willimon notes that in many churches there is a little brass plaque attached to the preacher’s side of the pulpit. It is not something the people in the pew can see, but something that no pastor can miss as he or she prepares to speak. It is a reminder of why people have come to church that morning. It simply reads: "We would see Jesus."

And it’s true, isn’t it? Isn’t that why people come to worship?

Take Oscar for example. He had been in the church most of his life. Like many, he attended more or less regularly, gave as he could, and enjoyed the company of a few friends he had there. But when his wife was diagnosed with MS, his presence in worship took on a different thrust. He came wanting answers for his questions, peace amid life’s uncertainty, healing for his wife’s brokenness. He came wanting to see Jesus.

And we know how that is, don’t we? We too want to see Jesus.

But you know what I’ve noticed? A lot of the time we want to see Jesus, but we prefer to do it from a distance.

Take the two followers of John the Baptist in our lesson this morning. They are standing with their teacher when Jesus walks by. John recognizes Jesus, points him out to them, and announces that Jesus is the Lamb of God. Now one would think they would do exactly what they did—that they would drop everything, leave John and follow Jesus. But they do so at a distance. They hang back. They seem to want to watch from afar--to get close, but not too close.

That’s the way a lot of us may look for Jesus.

Meg was the second generation of her family to opt out of church involvement. Yet Meg said that somewhere deep inside she knew she needed God. She knew there was a cure for the discontent she felt in her life, but she didn’t really know where to find it. So she started going to church. Actually, she started going to churches—one this week, one the next, another two weeks later. By her own count, she attended 30 different churches in one year. She was hoping to see Jesus, but she also didn’t want to get too close.

The same was true for Bobby. He was a single father with full custody of two children, 9 and 11. Although he had never been a member of a church, he sensed that some type of religious training would be important for his children and that it would help his family. He wanted them introduced to the faith. Without using the language, he wanted them—and maybe even himself—to see Jesus. So he began to take them to church. But he didn’t want to get too close, so he dropped them off at Sunday School and limited his own involvement to a back pew from which he could easily slip away before the benediction. He wanted to see Jesus, but only from afar.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t work. To experience Jesus, to experience his grace, his healing, the richness of the life he offers, you have to get close. Later in John’s Gospel, Jesus uses the term "abide." "Abide in me as I abide in you," he says. The term is an intimate one. It means to "dwell with," to stay, to take up lodging, to remain. One can’t "abide" with Jesus at a distance. To see Jesus you have to get up close, intimate, personal.

That’s what John’s disciples learned. While they were following behind Jesus, watching his every move, trying to get close enough but not too close, when Jesus noticed them. He turned to them—or maybe we could say he turned on them—and asked: "What are you looking for? What do you want? What is it that you seek?" And they were caught. They were not ready to commit, but they wanted to know more. So they said, "Rabbi"—a nice safe term, one that is non-committal, it simply means ‘teacher’—"where are you staying? Where are you abiding? Where can we go if we want to know more?"

And how did Jesus answer? Not, "I’m staying at so-and-so’s house" or "I’m at the Jerusalem Hilton, stop by sometime." Jesus put them on the spot. "Come and see." It was an invitation to stop hanging around at a distance and move in with Jesus, to dwell with him, to come into his presence, to abide with him.

And that is what they did. They went, saw and stayed the rest of the day with him. And it was then, and only then, that Andrew, one of the pair, could go and find his brother, Simon Peter, and testify to who Jesus really is. "We have found the Messiah," he said. "We have found the one sent by God." That was a confession he could never have made watching Jesus from afar.

So what about you? Did you come this morning to see Jesus? Better yet, did you come to see him in the distance, to catch a glimpse of some reflected glory, to learn a little about him the way you learn a little about Oprah, or did you come to get close enough to really know him, to abide with him, to have him change your life?

It won’t happen at a distance. To experience Jesus one has to accept the invitation to come and see, to dwell with him, to abide in his presence.

But how? Through the age-old practices that have brought Christians into his presence for 2000 years--the spiritual disciplines. It is through confession of sin and experiencing absolution, through worship and prayer, through studying the Scriptures and serving in the name of Christ, through meditating on what God has done and nurturing the fruits of his spirit that we abide in his presence. It is through the practices of the faith that we draw nearer and nearer to the point that we can more fully grasp the depth of his love, comprehend the wisdom of his words and come to manifest the hope of his promises. It is abiding in him that makes it possible for us to testify--to speak from our first-hand knowledge--to that fact that he is the one sent by God.

That was true for Oscar. His wife’s illness pushed him to move beyond a fan of Jesus to become someone who craved his friendship. While he did not find either all of the answers nor the miracle he sought, he did discover in his prayer and worship and study the faith to trust God and the strength to carry on.

It was true of Meg. She finally went to a church where she couldn’t find a reason to go anywhere else. There, Sunday after Sunday, she found herself lost in worship, coming to adore the babe of the manger, the teacher from Galilee, the Christ of the Cross, the Risen Lord of Easter. Through word and sacrament, she returned each week into his presence.

And it was true of Bobby. One Sunday a father with children in the same class as Bobby’s kids invited him to Sunday School. Bobby didn’t want to go, but the father was insistent. That day Bobby sat awkwardly in class, fearful that someone would ask him a question for which he had no answer. But instead he found himself listening to a fine teacher who began to not simply teach him about Jesus but to invite him to encounter Jesus, to dwell in his presence, to let him shape his life.

It happened to all of them; it can happen to you. You can see Jesus. Won’t you come and see?