Sermon for January 19, 2020 - Epiphany 2A - The Rev'd Isaac P. Martinez
Isa. 49:1-7; Ps. 40:1-12; 1 Cor. 1:1-9; John 1:29-42
Good morning, St. Paul’s! Once again, it is a joy to break open the Word with you this morning. There’s a lot to cover in today’s Gospel passage, so let’s dive in.
In our reading, John the Evangelist gives his account of Jesus’s baptism by John the Baptist. In this telling, John the Baptist is the first person to get a glimpse of who Jesus truly is. As Jesus walks by, John proclaims, “Behold the Lamb of God, who is taking away the sin of the world.” Lamb of God, the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit, Son of God. These are more than just titles for Jesus. For the Gospel-writer, they are signs pointing at Jesus’s divine identity. But pay attention to how John the Baptist knows this about Jesus, despite claiming to not personally know him. John says, “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.” John the Baptist is so steeped in his relationship with God, that through his prayer, he expects a sign like the Spirit descending upon Jesus, revealing who he is and beginning a remarkable chain of events.
Because our story keeps going. The next day, two of John’s own disciples are with him when Jesus comes by again. Again, John proclaims Jesus to be the Lamb of God, prompting John’s disciples to leave him and start following Jesus. Just imagine, if it hadn’t been for John telling these two men what he knew about Jesus, there might have been no Jesus movement, no church, none of us sitting here today.[1]
But notice, church, that when Jesus asks them what they are looking for, they don’t exactly know. But they feel drawn to him and sense that he can teach them something, which is why they call him Rabbi. “Where are you staying?” they ask Jesus, hoping for an invitation. “Come and see,” Jesus says to them.” Come and see, he says to us still.
They spend a whole day with Jesus. Frustratingly, the Gospel doesn’t tell us what they did or talked about. But maybe, like with the Samaritan woman at the well a few chapters later, Jesus tells Andrew and the other disciple “everything they have ever done,”[2] revealing their true identities not as impoverished fishermen or subjects of a cruel empire, but as beloved children of God. This is what spending quality time with Jesus can do, it can reveal to us who we truly are. Before any human labels are applied to us, beyond anything we can do or achieve, regardless of any failure or imperfection, we are beloved by our Creator.
Finally, because from this daylong encounter with Jesus, Andrew and the other disciple become more than disciples, more than students. They become evangelists, sharers of the Good News! But pay attention to whom they tell it. Andrew goes first to his brother, Simon, telling him that he hasn’t found just another human rabbi, but the Messiah, God’s very own anointed one. The most receptive people we can share about what God has done in our own lives, about who Jesus is and what that means for us, aren’t strangers on street corners or on the Internet, but our own closest friends and family, people who already know and trust us. And when Simon meets Jesus through Andrew, he has his identity revealed as well, becoming Peter, the rock upon which the family of God will be anchored. Relationship, testimony, true identity. So much is packed into this story!
But maybe you’re not quite convinced. “That’s a Bible story, Isaac,” you might be thinking, “Not real life.” Fair point. So here’s another story. You can think of it as my testimony.
I left church for a time when I came to Boston for college over 14 years ago. I figured I had what I needed: be a good person and maybe say a prayer now and then.
And though there were a few setbacks, my life was mostly going to plan. I graduated with a degree in Government, intending to become an American diplomat. I tried for three years to get into the U.S. Foreign Service, each time getting a little closer. Finally, in September 2011, I made it all the way to the final stage, the Oral Assessment, a day-long interview process in Washington, DC. I was super type-A that summer: I joined a study group, I read everything I could, and I practiced my answers to possible interview questions over and over again. The first two-thirds of the day went well, I thought.
So as I’m coming to the final part, the actual Structured Interview, I go over my answers for the billionth time. I come into the room and there are two seasoned diplomats seated across from me, sitting stiff and silent because they aren’t allowed to show any emotional response to my questions. The first few questions go well. “Tell me about a leadership experience you’ve had.” Things like that. Soon, we get to the question I felt most prepared for, which was in so many words, “Why do you want to become a diplomat?” And as I’m about to give my perfectly rehearsed answer about how it would combine my love of politics with my love of seeing the world and a chance to serve my country, I immediately have to stop talking because I feel I’m about to lie to these people. There is nothing true anymore about that answer. As I’m trying to figure out something else to say, the bottom drops from my stomach and I feel the heat rise to my face. It’s the most surreal thing that’s ever happened to me and I don’t even know how I make it through the rest of the interview. When the day is over, they call us one by one to give us our results and as I open up the manila envelope to read “We are not accepting at you at this time.” I walk out of that office building in DC in a full-blown identity crisis, not knowing who I am or what I’m supposed to do with my life.
In the days and weeks after that Oral Assessment, my closest friends and family all tried their best to help me, telling me things like “It’s an accomplishment just to get that far,” and “You can try again next year.” But only one friend, Nicholas, took the time to really sit with and listen to me, never giving me answers he didn’t have. He helped me make meaning of what I still saw as a failure by reminding me of who I’d been even before college, a queer kid who really loved Jesus. I always left my dinners with Nicholas that fall more assured of my belovedness. Finally, months later, when Nicholas invited me to St. James’s Church in Cambridge, I didn’t hesitate to join him. I needed to know where he learned how to be such a good friend, a good listener, a good disciple. That’s how I rejoined the church, became an Episcopalian, and started my journey to priesthood.
So what’s your testimony, my friends? What has your relationship with Jesus revealed to you about your true identity as God’s beloved child? Maybe you’re still waiting, learning, discerning. That’s alright. Keep at it. Because once you do realize your good news, I’ll bet you can’t help but share it. As our psalm today puts it, Great are the things you have done, O God; how great are your wonders and your plans for us. I have not hidden your righteousness in my heart. I have spoken of your faithfulness and your deliverance. Amen.
[1] I owe this idea to the Rev. Joshua Bowron, Rector of St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in Charlotte, NC - https://episcopalchurch.org/library/sermon/testimony-epiphany-2-january-19-2020
[2] Cf. John 4:29