St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

John 1:29-42

So, I’m just going to start
by naming what we all know is true:
there is a particular kind of heaviness
many of us are carrying right now.

You can feel it in the air.

The news keeps coming.
Stories pile up.
Violence.
Threats.
Power used in ways that leave us unsettled.
And even when there are cameras everywhere,
people still can’t agree on what is true.

That kind of thing doesn’t just stay on the screen.
It gets into our bodies.
Our nervous systems.
Our prayers.

And some of us are carrying
extra weight right now.
Public responsibility.
Difficult decisions.
Grief.
Change.

And yet, today’s gospel
doesn’t meet us with answers.
Instead, it meets us with a question.

The very first thing
that comes out of Jesus’ mouth
in John’s Gospel
is not a statement,
but a question:

“What are you looking for?”

And the disciples totally dodge it,
answering his question
with another question:
“Rabbi, where are you staying?”

Which is no answer at all.

It’s the kind of thing you say
when you don’t have a good answer
and all you know
is that you want to stick around.

And here’s what I love.

Jesus doesn’t push them.
He doesn’t correct them.

He just says,
“Come and see.”

And that’s what they do. 
They go.
They see.
And they stay with him.

Turns out, that, my friends,
is the beginning of faith in this gospel.
Not clarity.
Not confidence.
But staying . . .
staying close enough
to be changed.

* * *

That matters right now
because all of us are trying to figure out
how to live faithfully
in a world that feels loud and volatile.

How to care about human life deeply
without hardening our hearts.
How to honor public service
without excusing overreach.
How to seek justice
without turning into people
who delight in rage.

And when the pressure rises,
there is a real temptation
to grab onto something loud and simple.
A slogan.
A tribe.
A version of Christianity
that feels powerful
instead of faithful.

So let’s just go ahead 
and be clear right here, right now 
about what the Christian hope is
and what the Christian hope is not.

The Christian hope is not
Christian nationalism.

It is not
slapping a Bible verse
on our Instagram account
and a cross on our anger
and calling it righteousness.

It is not
using the name of Jesus—
  Jesus, the Prince of Peace,
  Jesus, the friend of the poor,
  Jesus, the One who will come again
    and be our Judge—
to justify what diminishes life
instead of what guards it.

No, the Christian hope
is something sturdier than that.

The Christian hope 
is the deep, quiet trust
that God walks with us
through confusion and conflict,
steady, present, abiding,
and calls us to walk that same way
with one another.

That kind of hope 
does not make us passive.
It makes us steady.

Because only steady people
can tell the truth without cruelty,
seek justice without vengeance,
and refuse to dehumanize anyone
even when anger and fear 
are shouting on all sides.

This is why John points to Jesus and says,
“Here is the Lamb of God.”

Not a mascot.
Not a weapon.
A lamb.

And in biblical times,
lambs weren’t there
to be cute and cuddly.

Lambs were for sacrifice.
They were vulnerable.
Costly.
Bearing what the world
would rather avoid.

* * *

Some days,
we come to church worn down,
needing quiet, prayer, and steadiness.

And some days,
we are sent back out
to speak truth,
to show mercy,
to stand firm
without becoming hard.

And that’s why staying with Jesus
matters so much.

Because prayer can become
a way of hiding
if it’s only about avoiding the world.

And action can become
a way of hardening
if it’s only about discharging our anger.

Both prayer and courage are holy.
But fear will happily hijack either one
if we let it.

The hard part is this:
we don’t always know
which kind of day it is.

So the Lamb of God does not ask us
to figure everything out first.
He tells us to stay.

To remain close enough to grace
that fear does not get the last word.

To abide with him
so that when we act,
we act as people
who know we are not God,
but who also know
we are still responsible
for how we love our neighbors.

And here’s the thing.

Staying works.
Grace is steady.
Love is resilient.
God is not rattled by this moment,
even when we are.

The world may be loud,
but God is faithful.

* * *

So stay, my friends.
Stay close to Christ.
Stay rooted in prayer.
Stay hopeful.
Stay human.

Because the light still shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.

Not yet.
Not ever.

Amen.