Twice in as many days, John the Baptist points to Jesus: “Look, the Lamb of God!” (1:29, 36). Lambs had one purpose in Israel’s relationship with God. We delight in Jesus who heals, teaches, who speaks truth to power, loves, blesses. Let’s also delight in Christ who comes to atone, to be the atoning sacrifice, to shed his blood and offer up his life, that we might be reconciled to God, restored to our Father in heaven. When John calls Jesus the Lamb of God, this sacrifice, this blood, and this reconciliation are uppermost in his heart.

          John’s disciples don’t seem to understand. No one at the Jordan seems to understand. No one there is seeking Jesus. They hadn’t gone to him. Jesus had come to them: Jesus, the one through whom all things came into being, the power of the Word of God. John’s disciples heard what John says. He is testifying that Jesus has precedence; he is saying take a closer look.

The purpose of John’s ministry was that this Lamb of God “might be revealed” (1:31). The way is always prepared through repentance. No one is going to want Jesus until they’re through with wanting sin. They won’t be done with sin, not by a long shot, but they’ll be done living for sin. It took some of us a while. We wanted sin, though we didn’t talk or think about it that way. We wanted to pursue our way, but that wasn’t preparing the way for the Lord. Pursuing our way prepares the way away from God. With sin, the only destination is away from God.

The Spirit still whispers to us. John’s testimony resonates with us because he is candid enough to confess that he at first didn’t know who Jesus was (1:33). It took the Spirit speaking to John to make him realize Jesus is the one. When Peter proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah, Jesus responds, in the hearing of them all, that flesh did not reveal this insight, this truth, this reality to Peter, but God (Mt 16:16). Faith is a miracle, an intervention and act of God. God truly is at work in you. Never lose sight of the wonder of this reality.

Why a dove? Why not fire, light, or thunder? Elijah in the cave, yearning to see God, to know God in a more profound, more intimate way, hears a strong wind, sees as it tears up trees and shatters rocks, yet Elijah knew this was not the Lord Himself, only a sign of the Lord. Then an earthquake so terrible that it seemed the earth would collapse in on itself, yet Elijah knew this was not the Lord Himself. Then a firestorm, consuming, purifying, terrible; Elijah knew this was not the Lord Himself. You remember what happens next: a gentle whisper, the Spirit (1 Kings 19:11-13).

Why a dove? Gentleness. The Lord comes in gentleness. He understands our weaknesses and limitations. He knows how to come to us so that we might hear, rather than be so terrified that we are unable to hear, unable to think, unable to act. At the Jordan, the voice speaks from heaven like thunder and the Spirit comes as a dove, gentle, peaceable. In Noah’s day, that dove with the olive branch was God’s sign of peace: His intention to be reconciled, His promise to preserve His own. The whiteness of the dove may point our thoughts to purity.

Another thought that might come to us as it came to the biblical authors is that low, soft, someway mournful sound of the dove. Jesus came to die. I can’t help but think there’s something mournful in that. When you see all that is amiss in life, all the soul deformity and mutilation caused by sin, the suffering and sorrow, the violence and abuse, the devastation, all that litter alongside the freeways of sin, how should there not be some mournfulness, beholding that sight? I love to think of Christ’s joy, his laughter, his glory, and I can’t help, sometimes, but reflect upon his sorrow. This, too, is grace.

John tells us Jesus is the one promised, now here, with us, among us, who will do far more than baptize with water and call to repentance. Here is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit (1:33), who will speak words of life, for he himself is the Word of Life. If John is reliable, trustworthy, then his testimony is trustworthy. Testimony sends people to Jesus.

The problem is that Jesus doesn’t look like much. That’s just as true today as it was there at the Jordan. People weren’t flocking to Jesus, and there are so many who show no interest in Jesus today. A couple of John’s disciples go to Jesus because of John’s testimony. They don’t know Jesus, but they know John. They trust and respect John. If John thinks so highly of this man with nothing particularly remarkable about him . . . well, they’ll go and see.

Shouldn’t there be something noteworthy about Jesus? Shouldn’t people just know, standing near him, that there’s something amazing, wonderful, powerful about him? Shouldn’t Jesus just sort of glow, or be five inches taller than everyone, or at least much blonder and bluer-eyed? How are we going to know Jesus is so special if he doesn’t look special?

Andrew and his companion look at each other and shrug: well, what have we got to lose? They go and follow Jesus. How did they decide to do that? John had many disciples. Only two go. These two decided. But not the others? They all presumably heard what John said. Presumably, they all respected and believed John. There’s more than the human power of decision, will, at work here, beloved.  John testified that Jesus was going to baptize with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit brings life. The Spirit causes change. The Spirit brings about what we by ourselves cannot do. The Spirit clears the way for decision; the Spirit brings about decision. Andrew and his companion, turning from John and his other followers, are turning through the power of the Spirit.

“What do you want?” Jesus asks (1:38). They reply, “Where are you staying?” They don’t answer the question. They don’t know how to answer, because they don’t know Jesus, yet. They don’t know to say; it doesn’t occur to them to say salvation, or forgiveness, or grace, life. What are they looking for? What do their hearts yearn for? What do they most desire in this life? We feel the tug of such questions, too; I think this, also, is from the Spirit.

They don’t answer the question Jesus asks, but he answers their question (patience, gentleness, understanding): “Come and see” Jesus says (1:39). Until we come and see, we can’t really answer that question: what do you want? When Jesus says come and see, he is giving us his answer to all our questions about Jesus, about the church, about faith, about God. Come and see. That’s the way. That’s why attending worship on Sundays matters and why missing out on worship more Sundays than not also has an impact on faith and our fellowship and follow-ship with Jesus. If you don’t come, you won’t see; if you want to see, come.

Jesus’ answer is a call to discipleship, an evangelistic call. People receive Jesus Christ when they come and see. The Spirit draws feet and hands and hearts here; the Spirit speaks through our mouths as we invite. If people decline when Jesus himself invites them, of course they will decline when you invite them: but not always, not every time. Our task isn’t to make people come to church, but to invite them. There are people who know and trust us, who may even know that faith matters to us, that Jesus matters to us and that, wonder of wonders, church matters to us. That might not be the case with them, but they know it is with us. They may wonder why. That wondering could be from the Spirit.

Approach everyone, beloved, as though the Spirit of God were already at work in them; approach everyone knowing that the Spirit of God is at work in you and through you to bring about God’s purposes. Invite. Share your story. Don’t be content keeping your faith to yourself. Gently open conversations about life, hope, and faith; invite people to come and see.

Andrew ends up spending the day with Jesus (1:39). What would that have been like? A day with Jesus! Sitting with him, listening to him, hearing the sound of his voice, eating with him, laughing with him, wondering, growing in the conviction that, although he doesn’t look like much, there is indeed something special, different, something wonderful about this man. An afternoon discovering you want to hear more, kind of beginning to hope that you might become friends, sort of eager, already, to see just where this friendship might lead.

          At the end of the day, Andrew hurries to his brother, Simon, probably there at the shore, among the boats and the nets, the sails and the baskets, the fish and the birds, haggling, arguing, throwing his weight around, looking out for himself, busy about the business of life. I always see James Farentino, in my mind’s eye, when I think of Simon Peter.

To look at him, to hear him, you’d think Peter would give half a rotten fish for what Andrew had just been doing: loafing around with a religious man, talking about God and goodness and sin and salvation, and all that stuff. Bland, goody-goody mush. Wear a tie, comb your hair, and try, not too successfully, not to look bored. To look at him, you’d be pretty sure that all Peter cared about was his work, his money, his property, and himself, and maybe his family a bit, too, when he felt like it and wasn’t busy with other things.

Yet his brother goes to Simon, first. He tells his brother this staggering news: “We have found the Messiah!” (1:41). Andrew says this to his brother because he loves his brother, and because Andrew knows something about his brother: deep down, in the place Simon doesn’t let many people see or know about, Simon does care. What Simon has truly always wanted out of life, and what life had done such a poor job delivering, is knowing God. Simon has been seeking, and because his search had been so frustrated, he’s buried it: his treasure, his sorrow, his emptiness, his hope.

And here’s Andrew, who knows his brother, saying he knows where Peter can find what he’s longed for all his life. And because that longing is there, and because he knows and trusts Andrew, what can Simon do, except come and see?

And to Jesus Christ, who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests of his God and Father, to him be glory and dominion forever and ever.