Learning To Be In Christ
Second Sunday of Epiphany
1 Corinthians 1.1-9; John 1.29-42
We seek him here, we seek him there,
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel?
... famously says the hero pretending not to be such in Baroness Orczy’s novel The Scarlet Pimpernel. The Pimpernel is a wealthy English aristocrat who rescues those sentenced to death by guillotine in revolutionary France. The Pimpernel is a master of disguise, and when not being the rescuing hero, allows himself to be seen as something of a foppish dim-wit. Every time he completes a rescue, this formidable fighter leaves behind him a small card with a picture of the tiny scarlet pimpernel flower on it – all France is desperate to know who this gallant hero or (or depending on which side you are) villain, really is. ‘There he is,’ is the repeated shout of those trying, and failing, to capture the romantic hero in every film ever made of the story.He’s there for a moment or two, completing some dashing rescue, righting some dreadful wrong, but then he is gone. And all those who’ve tried to capture him lie in a bruised heap on thefloor. The shout goes up, ‘There he is, after him!’
I wonder whether John the Baptiser’s pointing to Christ doesn’t have at least a tinge of a similar querulousness to it? Was it so obvious to John just who his cousin Jesus really was?
Was he so certain that his call to people to radically change was finding its ultimate fulfilment in Jesus? I wonder? ‘There he is, follow him!’
Does the cry express hope, anticipation, a questioning expectation, a worried possibility, or an asserted determination of new things? Perhaps touches of all that, and more. Is it both conviction and query at the same time? Perhaps that’s why, when the Baptiser was in prison, his disciples came to see whether they could be certain whether Jesus was after all the Messiah.
The Baptiser’s disciples were certainly looking for something, or someone. They were ready for a ‘There he is.’ They wouldn’t have been out in the desert with the Baptiser if that hadn’t been the case. They were seekers – individuals who pondered, and wondered, and thought about the meaning of life and the nature of God – people who kept alive that
flicker of hope embedded in the heart of the people from the long-gone days of Moses and Abraham, through the terrors of the exile and the humiliations of the return, and through the more recent times of anticipation that God was going to do a new thing. They were longing for, and looking for, the Messiah to come.
No wonder that John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness, was received by them as a prophet of hope. He insisted that the Promised One would come – the one who was to restore the glory of Israel. He called those gathered at the Jordan to repent and return to the way of righteousness.
The day after Jesus had presented himself to be baptized by John, when John saw and heard the Lord's sign that Jesus was indeed the promised one. Accompanying John that day was Andrew the fisherman and another man; both of whom were disciples of John. As Jesus passed by them, John hailed him as the Promised One, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’
Or to put it in more everyday speech, ‘Look here friends, this is the one sent by God to be the offering that takes away the sins of the world.’
Starling words – although the gospel doesn’t record whether Andrew and his companion were shocked or not. It only says they heard what the Baptiser said and then they simply followed Jesus. And that doesn’t mean followed in some symbolic, theological or deep sense – it
means that they simply followed him, literally stalked him.
They walked away from John and started walking behind Jesus. They wanted to see what sort of person this was, who had prompted such a comment from their beloved teacher, John the Baptiser.
Jesus was one of those kind of people who notices intently what’s going on around him, even the hidden and subtle things according to the Gospel writers. He knows he’s being followed and he turns and confronts the two with a question, ‘What are you looking for?" And their reply is strange. Instead of answering him with something simple and straightforward like, ‘Well, we’re looking for the Messiah,’ or even just, ‘We're wondering who you are after what John said,’ they seem to parry his question with yet another question.
It sounds like the beginning of a Jewish joke. You know the form: A doctor held a stethoscope up to a man's chest. The man asks, ‘Doc, how do I stand?’ The doctor says, ‘That's what’s puzzling me!’ Or, why do mothers-in-law make great parole officers? Answer: They never let anyone finish a sentence. The pattern is familiar, but it isn’t quite what we’re expecting. They answer his question, ‘What are you seeking?’ by asking him, ‘Teacher, where are you staying?’ And he in turn replies, ‘Come and see.’
The Pimpernel’s ‘There he is,’ becomes the Christ’s ‘Come and see.’ Query is turned into invitation. And so they went. They spent the day with him. And as dusk fell, they went off and told the rest of their friends – the other seekers – that they had found someone, something, very special. And so began the Christ disciples, who became the apostles, who became the church – until we became part of that company.
In every time and in every age there are seekers – people who are questing for deeper truth; richer hope; better understanding. Jesus’ gracious invitation is as simple and as open today
as it was for Andrew and his companion, ‘Come and see.’ There are no pre-conditions. Jesus does not say, ‘If you're willing to subscribe to these rules, or accept these presuppositions, or sign this statement, or swear this oath – then you are welcome to come and be with me.’ No, when he recognizes the seeker, he simply says, ‘Come and see.’
When the two answer Jesus’ question with a question it seems awkward, but perhaps it’s telling us something important. At the beginning of his letter Saint Paul writes, ‘To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus.’ IN Corinth
and IN Christ. In Corinth, as everywhere, the word ‘Church’ and the word ‘churches’ are interchangeable. You can say the Church in such and such a place or the churches in the same place, because there is only one community of faith called together by God. The local church is never a branch office, it is the catholic Church. Secular, ordinary realities of place determine the basic units of the church. Here we meet Christ – in Corinth, in Kalamazoo, in Copenhagen.
Then secondly, Paul describes the Church as being ‘in Christ’ – almost as if this also was a physical location, another place – somewhere like Never-Never Land, or Narnia. In the slang of an earlier generation you could probably translate the two disciples’ question as, ‘Where are you coming from?’ i.e. ‘What matters to you?’ ‘How do you see life?’
‘In Christ’ is a place in the sense that it is a way of life, another state of being, and that way of living is experienced ‘in Corinth,’ or wherever. The only way to experience this ‘place’ is to ‘come and see.’ Those first disciples were moulded and shaped ‘in Christ.’
That’s what being a disciple is about – being ‘in Christ’ in the ways we shape our lives and our actions.
Each time we come together ‘in Christ’ in wherever, we come to know more – about ourselves, about the truth, about the meaning of our lives and the life in God. And as we grow in him, we are called to extend Jesus’ invitation to other seekers, to ‘Come and see.’ Come and see what it’s like to live ‘in Christ.’ Come and see.
We seek him here, we seek him there,
The Lamb of God found everywhere.
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.
Is he in heaven? Is he in hell?
That demmed, elusive Pimpernel?
... famously says the hero pretending not to be such in Baroness Orczy’s novel The Scarlet Pimpernel. The Pimpernel is a wealthy English aristocrat who rescues those sentenced to death by guillotine in revolutionary France. The Pimpernel is a master of disguise, and when not being the rescuing hero, allows himself to be seen as something of a foppish dim-wit. Every time he completes a rescue, this formidable fighter leaves behind him a small card with a picture of the tiny scarlet pimpernel flower on it – all France is desperate to know who this gallant hero or (or depending on which side you are) villain, really is. ‘There he is,’ is the repeated shout of those trying, and failing, to capture the romantic hero in every film ever made of the story.He’s there for a moment or two, completing some dashing rescue, righting some dreadful wrong, but then he is gone. And all those who’ve tried to capture him lie in a bruised heap on thefloor. The shout goes up, ‘There he is, after him!’
I wonder whether John the Baptiser’s pointing to Christ doesn’t have at least a tinge of a similar querulousness to it? Was it so obvious to John just who his cousin Jesus really was?
Was he so certain that his call to people to radically change was finding its ultimate fulfilment in Jesus? I wonder? ‘There he is, follow him!’
Does the cry express hope, anticipation, a questioning expectation, a worried possibility, or an asserted determination of new things? Perhaps touches of all that, and more. Is it both conviction and query at the same time? Perhaps that’s why, when the Baptiser was in prison, his disciples came to see whether they could be certain whether Jesus was after all the Messiah.
The Baptiser’s disciples were certainly looking for something, or someone. They were ready for a ‘There he is.’ They wouldn’t have been out in the desert with the Baptiser if that hadn’t been the case. They were seekers – individuals who pondered, and wondered, and thought about the meaning of life and the nature of God – people who kept alive that
flicker of hope embedded in the heart of the people from the long-gone days of Moses and Abraham, through the terrors of the exile and the humiliations of the return, and through the more recent times of anticipation that God was going to do a new thing. They were longing for, and looking for, the Messiah to come.
No wonder that John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness, was received by them as a prophet of hope. He insisted that the Promised One would come – the one who was to restore the glory of Israel. He called those gathered at the Jordan to repent and return to the way of righteousness.
The day after Jesus had presented himself to be baptized by John, when John saw and heard the Lord's sign that Jesus was indeed the promised one. Accompanying John that day was Andrew the fisherman and another man; both of whom were disciples of John. As Jesus passed by them, John hailed him as the Promised One, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’
Or to put it in more everyday speech, ‘Look here friends, this is the one sent by God to be the offering that takes away the sins of the world.’
Starling words – although the gospel doesn’t record whether Andrew and his companion were shocked or not. It only says they heard what the Baptiser said and then they simply followed Jesus. And that doesn’t mean followed in some symbolic, theological or deep sense – it
means that they simply followed him, literally stalked him.
They walked away from John and started walking behind Jesus. They wanted to see what sort of person this was, who had prompted such a comment from their beloved teacher, John the Baptiser.
Jesus was one of those kind of people who notices intently what’s going on around him, even the hidden and subtle things according to the Gospel writers. He knows he’s being followed and he turns and confronts the two with a question, ‘What are you looking for?" And their reply is strange. Instead of answering him with something simple and straightforward like, ‘Well, we’re looking for the Messiah,’ or even just, ‘We're wondering who you are after what John said,’ they seem to parry his question with yet another question.
It sounds like the beginning of a Jewish joke. You know the form: A doctor held a stethoscope up to a man's chest. The man asks, ‘Doc, how do I stand?’ The doctor says, ‘That's what’s puzzling me!’ Or, why do mothers-in-law make great parole officers? Answer: They never let anyone finish a sentence. The pattern is familiar, but it isn’t quite what we’re expecting. They answer his question, ‘What are you seeking?’ by asking him, ‘Teacher, where are you staying?’ And he in turn replies, ‘Come and see.’
The Pimpernel’s ‘There he is,’ becomes the Christ’s ‘Come and see.’ Query is turned into invitation. And so they went. They spent the day with him. And as dusk fell, they went off and told the rest of their friends – the other seekers – that they had found someone, something, very special. And so began the Christ disciples, who became the apostles, who became the church – until we became part of that company.
In every time and in every age there are seekers – people who are questing for deeper truth; richer hope; better understanding. Jesus’ gracious invitation is as simple and as open today
as it was for Andrew and his companion, ‘Come and see.’ There are no pre-conditions. Jesus does not say, ‘If you're willing to subscribe to these rules, or accept these presuppositions, or sign this statement, or swear this oath – then you are welcome to come and be with me.’ No, when he recognizes the seeker, he simply says, ‘Come and see.’
When the two answer Jesus’ question with a question it seems awkward, but perhaps it’s telling us something important. At the beginning of his letter Saint Paul writes, ‘To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus.’ IN Corinth
and IN Christ. In Corinth, as everywhere, the word ‘Church’ and the word ‘churches’ are interchangeable. You can say the Church in such and such a place or the churches in the same place, because there is only one community of faith called together by God. The local church is never a branch office, it is the catholic Church. Secular, ordinary realities of place determine the basic units of the church. Here we meet Christ – in Corinth, in Kalamazoo, in Copenhagen.
Then secondly, Paul describes the Church as being ‘in Christ’ – almost as if this also was a physical location, another place – somewhere like Never-Never Land, or Narnia. In the slang of an earlier generation you could probably translate the two disciples’ question as, ‘Where are you coming from?’ i.e. ‘What matters to you?’ ‘How do you see life?’
‘In Christ’ is a place in the sense that it is a way of life, another state of being, and that way of living is experienced ‘in Corinth,’ or wherever. The only way to experience this ‘place’ is to ‘come and see.’ Those first disciples were moulded and shaped ‘in Christ.’
That’s what being a disciple is about – being ‘in Christ’ in the ways we shape our lives and our actions.
Each time we come together ‘in Christ’ in wherever, we come to know more – about ourselves, about the truth, about the meaning of our lives and the life in God. And as we grow in him, we are called to extend Jesus’ invitation to other seekers, to ‘Come and see.’ Come and see what it’s like to live ‘in Christ.’ Come and see.
We seek him here, we seek him there,
The Lamb of God found everywhere.