How to Live a Life

John 1:29-42

The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him, but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.”

And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Chosen One.”

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.”

They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother.

He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

---

A couple of weeks ago, I signed up for Better with Time, a weekly newsletter course. Each week, I get a new tip in my inbox. Something small I can do at a different time of day to add a little more joy and adventure to my life. I’m two weeks in, and so far, I’ve experienced no added joy and absolutely no adventure.

And it’s not because I didn’t try—well, maybe the first one. Week one’s suggestion was to eat chicken parmigiana for breakfast. I mean… who would do such a thing? The point wasn’t nutrition. It was control. The author argues that breakfast can be whatever you want it to be, and that by eating chicken parm for breakfast, you reclaim a sense of freedom over your life. You start thinking outside the bowl.

You can let me know how that goes.

Week two didn’t do much for me either. The challenge was to spend twenty minutes flipping through a dictionary. The most joy I got from that was asking Pastor Mark for a dictionary—who, of course, had one from 1922.

I signed up for this newsletter because, honestly, I could use a little more joy in my day—who couldn’t?

I don’t necessarily need more adventure. But a distraction would be nice. A distraction from the endless updates of insanity that seem to flood our newsfeeds, no matter which one you’re looking at. So when I saw something that promised to tell me how to live my life in a way that might add a little joy—and it was free—I thought, why not?

After all, we are constantly being told how to live a life. By people, by companies, by experts.

We’re told what we should want, what we should value, and then—almost always—we’re offered a solution. Usually at a cost. But our passage today gives us a pretty good picture of how to live a life.

This is Jesus’ first public appearance in the Gospel of John. And instead of John the Baptist doing any baptizing, he shows up here as John the Witness—or John the Testifier. He doesn’t perform a ritual. He points. Literally.

Every time Jesus walks by, John points and says, “Look! There he is!” Honestly, it’s a little odd. John is like a toddler in public, loudly pointing at a stranger: Look at that person! I can’t help but wonder if it was as embarrassing for Jesus as it can be for parents when that happens. But that’s the scene. John sees Jesus, and he wants everyone else to see him too.

The second time John points and shouts at Jesus, two of his disciples finally pay attention.

They hear what John is saying, and something about it catches them. So they begin to follow Jesus.

And then—Jesus turns around.

He looks at them and asks, “What are you looking for?”

In English, the question sounds simple. But it doesn’t really capture the depth of what Jesus is asking.

It’s closer to: What are you seeking? What do you hope to find? What do you long for? The disciples respond to Jesus by asking, “Rabbi, where are you staying?”

It’s a richer question than it first sounds. They aren’t asking for an address. They’re asking where Jesus dwells, where he abides. And that word carries the sense of belonging. It’s the difference between a hotel and a home. You stay at a hotel. But you abide, you belong, at the place you call home. That’s what the disciples are really asking: Where do you dwell? Because we want to dwell there too.

Jesus responds with a simple invitation: “Come and see.” Not an explanation. Not a theological lecture. Not a test to see if they believe the right things or are worthy enough. Just an invitation. Come and see.

And they do. They spend the rest of the day with Jesus. The text doesn’t tell us what happens while they’re there, but something clearly does happen. We know this because before abiding with Jesus, they called him Rabbi, teacher. Respectful. Formal. After spending time with him, they leave calling him Messiah: the anointed one, the one who saves and frees.

Don’t you wonder what happened in between: what they talked about? what they saw? what they experienced? Whatever it was, it changed them. They had to be impressed. Amazed. Astonished. So much so that Andrew immediately goes and tells his brother Simon what he has seen and experienced.

I wonder how Simon took that news. If he’s anything like me, I imagine his response was something like, No way. Are you sure? Prove it. But Andrew doesn’t argue. He doesn’t explain. He simply brings his brother to Jesus. I wonder if he used the same invitation Jesus used with him: Come and see. Because no sooner than he tells his brother the two of them are off to find Jesus.

And that’s when it clicks for me.

I don’t need a newsletter to tell me how to live a more joyful or adventurous life. I don’t need influencers, companies, or marketing campaigns promising they have the product that will finally solve all my problems. What I need in this life is what those two disciples just experienced—because that is living a life: paying attention, being astonished, and telling about it.

And that’s not my framework, but the poet, Mary Oliver’s. In her poem Sometimes, she writes: “How to live a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

The disciples paid attention to what John was saying about Jesus. They noticed where he was pointing, and they were willing to look in that direction. That’s often how faith begins, not with certainty, but with curiosity. With listening to those who point us toward Jesus, and being willing to follow their gaze. And sometimes that pointing takes us somewhere we didn’t expect.

Then they abide with Jesus—and they are astonished by him. What a gift. When was the last time you were astonished by Jesus? Truly astonished—filled with wonder, caught off guard, surprised by grace.

Maybe it happens in the quiet of prayer, when you aren’t looking for an answer, and Christ meets you with peace instead.

Maybe it happens through the words of Scripture - when you read a passage for the one hundred and first time and finally hear the promise it has for you. Not because the words changed, but because you did.

Maybe it happens through a song - when the Spirit overwhelms you at the very moment you least expected it.

You know this kind of astonishment when it happens - because it changes you. No longer is Jesus only a teacher, someone with wise words to admire from a distance. He becomes Messiah: the one you follow, the one who meets you, the one who saves and frees. And once we are astonished, just like Simon, we can’t help but tell about it.

About the Messiah we’ve found. About the astonishment we’ve experienced. About the abiding that has changed us.

And the way we tell isn’t by arguing or proving or persuading. It’s by offering the same invitation Jesus offered in the first place: come and see. Hearts and minds aren’t changed by data or debates. They’re changed through stories and experiences.

Siblings in Christ, Jesus gives the same invitation to us: come and see.

Come and abide with me.

Come and be astonished by me.

This is what I hope for us at Cross of Grace. That we are a people who have seen Jesus, and who can’t help but point to him. A community astonished by his mercy, forgiveness, and grace. So that when others are searching, when they know something is missing, when they are looking for more hope, more joy, more belonging in their life, we don’t try to convince them or fix them.

We simply point. We point to Jesus. We point to a place where he abides with us. A place where they will be welcomed and loved.

And we offer the same simple invitation: Come and see.

Come and see why our joy doesn’t come from newsletters, but from being astonished by the grace of Jesus Christ. Come and see a place where you can experience that grace for yourself.

That’s how we live a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

Amen.

Hard Won, Faithful Following

Mark 1:14-20

After John was arrested, Jesus came from Galilee proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled. The kingdom of God has come near. Repent. And believe in the good news.”

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fisherman. He said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately, they left their nets and followed him. As he walked a little farther, he saw James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John, in their boat mending the nets. Immediately, he called them and they left their father in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

---

Last week, I talked about “Doubting Nathanael,” that guy who hears about Jesus from his buddy Philip, but who is more than a little suspicious that this Jesus from Nazareth could possibly be who they thought he was – the messiah, the Son of God, “the King of Israel,” as Nathanael ultimately declares him to be, in spite of himself.

As part of all of that, I talked about that very churchy word “evangelism,” the notion of sharing the good news of the Gospel with others in order to invite them to faith – what Philip was doing for his friend, Nathanael, with that short, sweet, simple, holy invitation he learned from Jesus, himself: “Come and see.”

And, when it comes to this “evangelism” stuff, I suggested that some of us aren’t inclined to it. We don’t like it. We don’t feel qualified or capable – a lot of us – to talk about our faith. And I suggested that another reason many of us don’t “evangelize” or talk about our faith out there in the world or invite others to Church like we feel we would, could, or should, is because we don’t want to be “one of those kind of Christians.”

And I could feel the shared sentiment in the air when I said that – “one of those kind of Christians” – like many of you knew what I meant. You know, the pushy ones, the “turn or burn,” fire and brimstone, “get saved or else,” Bible-thumping, holy-rolling Christians who see Jesus’ invitation to “follow me” as less “come and see,” and more “get in line, or else.”

Well, when I considered this morning’s bit of Mark’s Gospel this time around, I wondered about another kind of Christian I don’t want to be, and never have been, really, for that matter. And that’s the kind of Christian who just drops everything and follows Jesus. The kind of believer who leaves nets and boats and friends and family to follow this Jesus from Nazareth. The kind of believer with no questions or doubts or suspicions – like the ones Nathanael had. The kind of follower who just buys all of this, who gets caught up in all of this, who gets dragged along by all of this, hook, line and sinker, you might say.

I think too much of the time, we hear this story about Jesus showing up in Galilee after his cousin, friend, and mentor, John the Baptist was arrested, strolling by the lake collecting disciples like so many sea shells by the sea shore, and we pretend that that’s how it’s supposed to work. That it’s that simple.

“Come and see,” I mean. And they do come, it seems. “Follow me and I’ll make you fish for people.” And I’ll be dipped, they drop everything, leave everything, lay it all down, and follow Jesus, like puppies or robots or whatever.

And it bugs me a little bit that someone thinks I’m “that kind of Christian,” just as much as it bugs me that some might think I’m “the other kind of Christian,” I mentioned earlier.

What I mean… And what I know about so many of you… And what I have learned from reading about those very same disciples we just heard about – James, John, Simon, Andrew, Nathanael, and all the rest – is that this faith we share is hard won; it’s rarely, if ever, easy; it’s hard to come by, to cultivate, to cling to, and to even care about some days. And when we just read little bits of the Gospels like this one – and what a lot of people preach and teach about it – we aren’t getting or sharing the whole story. When we pretend that everyone should be able to just drop everything and follow Jesus, we’re not being fair or honest about what this journey of faith and what life in this world are really like a lot of the time.

Because let’s not forget about how hard it was for these disciples to keep up with following Jesus so faithfully in those early days. Yeah, they left their boats and their nets and their dad that day by the lake, but they missed the point and misunderstood his teaching a lot of the time, too. They had amazing experiences where water became wine, where Lazarus was raised from the dead, where people were healed. They, themselves, passed around a couple of loaves and a few fish to feed thousands of hungry people on more than one occasion. Peter walked on water for crying out loud.

But the story goes that he sank like a stone, too, when his faith failed him out there on that water. And Lazarus died again somewhere along the way, too. And those disciples got stingy with the good news they’d received. And, in the end, despite all they’d seen and all they had to celebrate in their time with Jesus … in spite of all that faithful following … they denied him; they betrayed him; they deserted him; they left him hanging, quite literally, in the end.

Which is to say, again, this faith stuff is hard won, not easy, difficult for a lot of us to come by, to cultivate, cling to, and care about some days. And I think Jesus knew that and knows it, still. And I think it’s why he said then – and invites us, always – to “come and see” and “follow me,” nothing more and nothing less.

Peter Marty is a Lutheran pastor and editor of the Christian Century magazine, for which he wrote a piece last month about a man in his congregation who was coming to terms with the imminent death of his mother. The man, Jason, was 44 years old, his mother, Marie, was dying in the ICU. And Jason was utterly out of sorts about it all – never having been inside a hospital before and not resting in or wrestling with, any measure of faith, whatsoever.

So, in the ICU waiting room, trying to minister to Jason, whose mother was hours away from death, Pastor Marty was asking himself some pretty hard questions. Like, “to someone of unbelief sitting beside you in a hospital waiting room, how do you describe the power of faith, the significance of hope, or the meaning of life?” And, “How do you realistically acquaint them with the riches or comfort of faith during a 20-minute sit-down?”

Pastor Marty’s answer was, sadly, “You don’t.” And I think, sadly, most of the time, he’s right. None of us has encountered Jesus, strolling along the seashore with an easy, “Come and see” and “Follow me,” that does the trick.

As Pastor Marty writes, “Faith is a deeply ingrained condition formed through steady habits, disciplined practices, and reliable instincts that take shape over long stretches of time. It’s a way of life that acquires its layers and contours incrementally, developing ever so gradually and often imperceptibly.” He says, it’s something “like the parent who doesn’t notice her infant’s changing appearance until she comes home from a weeklong trip and can’t believe how much her child has matured in her absence.”

With that in mind, with the struggles that surround us in this world, and with the ones all of us are yet to encounter along the way, I hope we can be careful, compassionate, and realistic about how we receive and share this story of those first disciples who seem to so easily drop everything and follow Jesus.

Don’t get me wrong, their first steps were bold and brazen; beautiful and faithful; inspiring, even, to be sure. But, again, I know it’s not always so easy.

Because they were knuckleheads and naysayers, doubters and deniers, cynics and skeptics, fearful and faithless, too. And again, I think Jesus knew and knows that about all of us, just the same.

And it’s why our invitation is to follow in his footsteps. Not believe without question. Not denying that our fears are real or that they get the best of us too often, either.

But following with whatever faith we can muster – putting one foot in front of the other – loving, forgiving, showing mercy, giving generously, praying daily, worshiping regularly. Following as closely as we can – especially on our hardest days. Following Jesus – trusting that God is always somewhere out ahead of us … making a way for us and to us whether we believe it, understand it, can see it, or not. Following this Jesus – because his is the way and the truth and the life – and it makes a difference for us, come what may, in spite of ourselves, and for the sake of the world.

Amen