We continue in our journey through the Narrative Lectionary here at Roland Park Presbyterian Church. We follow something called the Narrative Lectionary, which takes us through the narrative arc of scripture.

In this new year, we are in the Gospel of John. We’ve been there for several weeks now, and we’re getting used to John’s world and John’s view of things—and the various themes that John uses in the stories.

And in particular, for today, how focused John is in telling the story of Jesus—how often it is through the vehicle of one-on-one relationships. We saw this over the past several weeks.

The Sunday that we missed was the Sunday with Nicodemus. And then last Sunday was the woman at the well. And those were meant to be kind of read in comparison and contrast. And it’s striking to me how often the relationship in John’s Gospel is the focus.

John 4: 46-54

Then he came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had changed the water into wine. Now there was a royal official whose son lay ill in Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went and begged him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. Then Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.”  The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way.¹ As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive. So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.”  The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he himself believed, along with his whole household.  Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.

For the Word of God in scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

‘It’s a radical claim we Christians make—that Jesus is the Son of God, fully human and fully divine,” writes my friend (and former golf partner before he rudely moved out of town), the Reverend Roger Scott Powers. He continues, “Without Jesus, my view of God remains a blurry abstraction—God as mysterious, invisible, creative life force behind the universe. But with Jesus, that blurry, abstract God comes into greater focus. God becomes clearer and more concrete to me. He makes the invisible visible, the infinite finite. With Jesus, I feel closer to God and the divine.”

Now, all four of the Gospel writers claim that Jesus is, as it has been said, a mirror of our humanity and a window into divinity. In other words, Jesus is clearly like us. He has friends and family. He eats and drinks. He travels and talks to people. He experiences emotions.

But they all claim that he is something more as well—that when he speaks, he reveals the mind of God, and when he acts, he shows us the character of God.

We know of John’s fondness for signs. What the other Gospels call miracles, John calls signs. The first occurred at the wedding at Cana. It wasn’t planned, but circumstances—and his mother, if you recall—dictated Jesus’ actions.

When the wine runs out at the wedding, Jesus has them fetch the jars of water for handwashing, and then he instructs the steward to draw water out from the jug. And when he does—it is changed into wine.

And John calls that the first sign.

In today’s reading, Jesus returns to Cana, where a royal official approaches him and asks him to follow him home so Jesus can heal his son.

Jesus tells the man to return home—that his son will indeed live. And the man heads home, only to be met by servants running to tell him the good news—that his son is better after all.

Then, just to make sure that we get it, John tells us that the father asked when the boy’s fever broke—only to find out that it’s precisely the time when he was talking to Jesus.

What are we to make of this?

Healing stories are tricky, aren’t they? Because not all fevers break. Not all sons recover.

Which makes us wonder—is there a criterion for healing? Do we have to have a strong faith? Live the right kind of life? Is it random? Just plain luck? To be in the right place at the right time?

Honestly, the Gospel writers don’t give us much help with these questions. They seem to be just as lost as the rest of us. But they certainly seem to want to take our merit out of the equation.

In other words, they view healing as a gift, not an achievement.

When it does not occur, it does not mean that God withdraws God’s love and care. Quite the opposite—as we’ll soon encounter in John’s Gospel when Jesus’ own friend Lazarus is not spared, and we are told: Jesus weeps.

What stands out to me in this story—and in many of the healing stories we encounter in the Gospels—is that it is often someone else who approaches Jesus on behalf of the one needing healing.

And it’s rather blatant in today’s story, right? Because the boy isn’t even present—far from it. It sounds like he’s about a day’s travel away.

But the father approaches Jesus on behalf of the son. He intervenes. He advocates for him.

And it’s plain to see why—his well-being is wrapped up in his son’s. What impacts that boy impacts the father.

And we see this pattern in the first sign story as well—thinking back to the wedding at Cana. Jesus never touches the water. He never touches the jars. Heck, it wasn’t even his idea in the first place. It was his mother’s idea. Then the servants and stewards did what was asked.

If Jesus is a mirror to our humanity and a window to God’s divinity, then what does this say about God?

Presumably, God can get along just fine without us. But God chooses not to be God without us.

We are brought into the equation not because we are necessary, but because we are God-loved.

In his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, Martin Luther King Jr. writes:

“Human progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts of those willing to be co-workers with God. And without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always right to do what is right.”

Friends, we don’t have to save the world. It’s not our job.

But it is our job to love one another—and in so doing, to be co-workers with God for the healing of the world.

It is a radical claim that we Christians make—that God so loved the world that God sent his only Son, not to condemn the world, but that we might have life, and have it abundantly through him.

You know, I don’t know about you, but I used to get really hung up on that title: Son of God—until I realized two things.

The first is that Jesus was not the first one to walk around with that title.

It was the title for Caesar.

So as an early Christian, to claim that Jesus is the Son of God means that Caesar is not.

The other thing I eventually realized is that the title reveals a theological reality, not a biological one.

In that sense, we are all sons and daughters and children of God—even Caesar.

We can acknowledge that someone is broken—and that they are still loved by God.

We can see someone who is so blinded by hate—and still respond in love and kindness, without being a doormat.

Sometimes, the most loving thing to do is simply to ignore someone.

Other times, we must speak the truth in love—and demand accountability.

Friends, we’ve seen evidence that racism and sexism and all sorts of prejudice and hate have made it to the highest office in our country—not for the first time, and maybe not the last.

It’s true, the most recent manifestation seems particularly poignant in our hyper-connected world.

It can feel at times as though the very fabric of our society is being pulled apart.

And what is particularly alarming for me as a person of faith is that it’s all being cloaked in Christianity—a Christianity that I do not recognize, that looks nothing like the Jesus I read about in the Gospels or have experienced through the various communities of faith that have shaped me, including this one.

So friends, what I want to say to you today is really very simple:

Thank you for all the ways that you have been co-workers with God in building up a beloved community in this time and place—and through it, advocating for a more just world.

Furthermore, I want to offer a word of encouragement for us to all keep working.

Keep on loving and advocating for others.

It does make a difference. It does matter.

We must continue to work with God until the day when we all fully recognize, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that every one of us—every last one of us—is a son, is a daughter, is a beloved child of God.

Amen.

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Discussion Questions:

1. Seeing the Signs

• John’s Gospel refers to miracles as signs. What do you think is the difference between a sign and a miracle?
• How does viewing healing as a gift, rather than something we earn, change how you think about suffering and God’s presence?

2. Faith, Intercession, and Advocacy

• In this story, the father pleads with Jesus on behalf of his son. Have you ever advocated or prayed for someone else’s healing or well-being? What was that experience like?
• How does this story encourage us to be advocates for others—in prayer, in our community, and in the world?

3. God Chooses Partnership

• Pastor Mark highlighted that “God chooses not to be God without us.” What does that mean to you?
• How might viewing ourselves as “co-workers with God” influence how we live out our faith day to day?

4. Holy Trouble and Speaking the Truth

• The sermon confronts the misuse of Christianity in public life and challenges us to discern what truly reflects the Jesus of the Gospels. When have you felt called to speak the truth in love? What made that easy or difficult?
• What does “holy trouble” mean in today’s world? Where do you see the need for compassionate disruption?

5. Living as Beloved Children of God

• Pastor Mark says, “We are all sons, daughters, children of God—even Caesar.” What does this statement ask of us in how we treat others, especially those we disagree with?
• How does being God’s beloved help you face injustice, division, or brokenness in the world?

6. Applying the Sermon

• What specific action can you take this week to live as a co-worker with God for healing and justice?
• How can our church community continue to build up a beloved community in this time and place?

The post Sermon Discussion Guide: Co-Workers with God appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Well, it’s time to get back on track.

We have—I know this is shocking—we have strayed and veered from the narrative lectionary for over a month now. So it’s time to return to our habit of following the narrative lectionary. This year, the gospel is the Gospel according to John. And, as we will find out throughout the year, John’s a little bit different than the other gospel writers. And that’s a good thing.

So, we read part of the first chapter of John before Christmas and on Christmas Eve, and we will continue now with John chapter 1, verses 35 to 51: 

John 1:35-51

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). 

The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the Law and also the Prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”For the Word of God in scripture,

For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

Come and see.

That has been the theme of our capital campaign, which started nearly two years ago. It’s the invitation that Jesus gives to his first disciples in John’s Gospel. They are seeking the Messiah, and when they find Jesus, they don’t want to lose him. So they ask, “Where are you staying?” And instead of simply saying, “Well, I’m staying down there in that village,” Jesus offers up an invitation:

Come and see.

Then a little later, Philip echoes the invitation when Nathanael doubts that the Messiah—or anything good—can come out of Nazareth. To Nathanael’s skepticism and cynicism, Philip shares the invitation that Jesus first offered him:

Come and see.

It is this same open-ended invitation that inspired us to make our building not only more accessible and welcoming but intentionally inviting. As stewards of Christ’s generous and gracious invitation, our job is to make sure that we don’t get in the way.

Like Nathanael, right? With his doubts and biases.

Removing physical barriers is important because it provides real access to people who need it. But it also serves as a reminder that we need to continually check those interior barriers that we may carry with us, which may keep us from extending the gracious invitation of Christ to all—which is what we celebrate on Epiphany later this week.

Typically, on the Sunday closest to Epiphany, we recount the story of the Magi following the star, bringing gifts to the baby Jesus. We read how the Magi visit Herod, supposing that such an important birth would take place somewhere special. Meanwhile, Herod is very interested to learn of this baby some are saying will replace him. So Herod tells the Magi to come back once they’ve found him and report on his whereabouts. But they choose to return home by another way after being warned in a dream not to go back to Herod. And then consequently, Jesus and Mary and Joseph flee from Judea to Egypt to escape danger.

In 1952, Pope Pius XII said, “The Holy Family of Nazareth fleeing into Egypt is the archetype of every refugee family. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph living in exile in Egypt to escape the fury of an evil king. For all times and all places, the models and protectors of every migrant, alien, and refugee of whatever kind, who whether compelled by fear or persecution or by want, is forced to leave his native land, his beloved parents, relatives, his close friends, and to seek foreign soil.” Now, not everyone agrees with this analogy.

Esau McCaulley writes, “Some critics accuse us of using a central element of the Christian story for political ends, when we should be focusing on singing our hymns and saying our prayers instead. But eyes are not so easily closed,” he writes.

And this is on the front of your bulletin:

“The incarnation of the Son of God as human ties him to all other human stories.
If God is going to take up residence with humanity, then surely his narrative touches all other narratives. What God has joined together, we cannot allow man to tear asunder.”

He continues:

“The Christian narrative does not and cannot create a specific immigration policy. That’s not its goal. Its purpose was to reveal God’s humility, his fragility, so that all might gather around him and worship for a while. At the same time, we can’t ignore that in introducing himself, God also revealed the kinds of people he wants his followers to attend to—the neglected and pushed-aside people of the world. You cannot worship a vulnerable God and smash hurting people in his name. That is blasphemy.”

So this year we have an Epiphany mashup of sorts.

You all know what a mashup is, right? It’s when they take two songs and blend them together.

This year, we are reading John’s telling of the first disciples being called, with Jesus’ words: Come and see. And at the same time, it is Epiphany, and the story of the Magi following the star is seared into our collective consciousness.

Now, when we put these two stories together, I think we get a pretty cool invitation for the new year: Come and see. Come and see how much God loves us. And come and see the people that God calls us to love and protect as well.

In just a moment, we will gather around the Lord’s Table, where we taste and see that the Lord is good—where we are reminded that we are one human family, all deserving of love and grace.

As you come forward, you are also invited to pick up a star which is on the table. Each star has a word on it. That word will be your star word for 2026.

May the word that you pick guide you in new and unexpected ways in the new year, and may it be a year of love and justice for all—a year where, like Philip, we echo the invitation of Christ: Come and see.

Amen.

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