Come and See
Today’s Gospel begins very quietly. John does not stir up the crowd. He does not offer a long explanation. He simply looks at Jesus and says, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” It is not an explanation. It is a word that points in a direction. John does not draw people toward himself. He turns their attention away from himself and points to where Jesus is.
Faith often begins in this way. It does not begin with certainty. It does not begin with full understanding. It begins when someone quietly points the way, and we take a first step in that direction. We often think that faith means knowing more, understanding more clearly. We assume that only then can we truly believe. But the Gospel shows us another way. It does not ask us to understand first. It does not demand that we reach a conclusion. It simply points in a direction and invites us to take a step. Faith begins there, with a small and almost unnoticed movement.
John then says something else: “I myself did not know him.” This confession matters. John was entrusted with God’s work, yet he did not begin with full knowledge. He did not start with certainty. Our faith is often like this as well. To have believed for a long time does not mean that all questions have disappeared. It may mean, instead, that we have learned to live with our questions. Those questions do not mean that faith has grown weak. John did not know either. Yet he stood where he was and pointed toward the way of God.
When the two disciples hear John speak, they follow Jesus. They do not yet know who he is. They do not know what he will do. They simply follow. Jesus turns and asks them, “What are you looking for?” This is not a test. It is not a question of right or wrong. It is a question that looks into their hearts. They answer, “Rabbi, where are you staying?” It is a simple question. Not a theological one. Not a question about life’s meaning. Just this: Where are you staying? Jesus replies, “Come and see.” He does not explain. He does not give them the right answer. He simply invites them to come with him. The Gospel then says, “They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day.” Nothing extraordinary happens. No
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miracle is recorded. No long teaching is given. Only one sentence remains: They remained with him that day.
This short line invites us to reflect. What is faith? It is not a matter of how much we know. It is not a matter of how much we accomplish. The Gospel of John speaks of something more basic: where we remain, whether we stay. In John’s Gospel, discipleship does not begin with a vow or a bold decision. It begins with remaining. Remaining is not easy. We would often prefer clarity, answers, and a clear direction. We want to know where this path will lead. But the Gospel does not give them that. It gives them time—time spent in the presence of Jesus. To remain does not mean doing nothing. It means not running away. It means not rushing to conclusions. When life is unclear, when God’s will is not obvious, it means staying where we are.
In some seasons of life, there is more space for remaining, as our bodies change over time. And we learn that life does not always ask us to do more, but sometimes to stay, to be present, and to remain. Yet the Gospel tells us that this time of remaining can be the time when faith grows deepest.
After remaining with Jesus, one of them, Andrew, goes to find his brother Simon. They may not have spoken much that day. But that day remained with them. Andrew simply says, “We have found the Messiah.” There is no long explanation, only the testimony of having met him. When Simon comes to Jesus, Jesus looks at him and says, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas.” Simon is not yet a rock. He will falter. He will fail. But Jesus does not see only who he is now. He sees who he is becoming. A new name is not a demand. It is a promise, a new possibility opened in God.
So it is with us. What we are now is not the whole story. God already sees what we do not yet see in ourselves.
Today’s Gospel speaks quietly to us. Faith is not about grasping distant truths. It is about a life that remains near Jesus. The Eucharist we share today is part of that same invitation. Even now, the Lord says to us, “Come and see.” Remain at the table. Remain long enough. Remain with the Word, with the bread and the wine. And in that remaining, entrust yourself to the God
who is already at work, slowly shaping our lives. Amen.
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