Sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

‘I myself did not know him, but for this purpose I came baptizing with water, that he might be revealed to Israel.’

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A revelation has occurred, one that none of us knew of. Even the greatest of
the prophets himself declares; John, who is called the Baptist, declares, ‘I myself did not know him.’

What have we seen?

‘Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away
the sin the of the world.’

This is what John did not see. A lamb, whose blood would replace the blood
demanded of you.

Blood is demanded of you, for in blood
there is life. And in your sin, your life is demanded.

‘There is none without
sin, no, not one.’ For we have all committed great evil.

You children of Adam, will you claim you have not committed
any evil? Will you claim that you owe not your blood? All of mankind’s history
is a story of the shedding of blood, because of our arrogance, because of our
pride, because of our ambition, because of our dreams, these dreams we are
daily told to follow; these dreams of selfish aspiration.

It was a child of Adam who murdered his brother, that his sacrifice might be
more accepted, for what sacrifice is more acceptable than both grain and
animal, but a man?

This murderer was Cain, and we all treasure his memory, if not in our hearts,
at least in our wills, for all our wills are corrupt, and seek to offer to the
world something better, something superior to simple grain, or a simple lamb.

We seek not to build small altars to offer simple sacrifices to a contended
Lord; we seek to build great utopias, to offer great schemes of human
imagination to a discontent world, longing for a joy; a joy in this life, which
can never give joy; for joy is not of this life, but comes from the blood of a
simple sacrifice, a holy lamb to a contented Lord.

I should not burden you with history, but I shall, since it is my will. You
must know what your brothers, the children of Adam, your kin, have done, that
they might find happiness, for they had not faith in what shall be revealed to Israel. They had faith
only in the brilliance of their scheming.

For behold, a tower was built in Babel, reaching to the heavens; a beacon to
gather all humanity, that mankind might all be one. But humanity cannot be one,
for we are overcome with hatred, divisiveness, petty annoyances, jealousy,
avarice, greed. God confused our languages, that we might not speak to one
another at Babel, for if we were united by human machination, and we spoke to
one another, we would speak words of contempt, and, even as Cain, who spoke to
Abel as a brother, murder would be the completion of our desires.

Behold Rome, an empire founded upon the killing of Romulus of Remus. In his blood,
even as in Abel’s blood, a dream was founded, an imperium sine fine, an empire without end, where law would rule,
and all would abide by justice. Yet this greatest of empires, which we still
praise to this day, whose letters with which we and half of humanity still
write; this empire was a rule of massacre, and knew only bloodshed all of its
days. Indeed, the gates of Janus, which were opened in times of war, and closed
in times of peace, never knew closure, for open they were all the days of the
empire, for war and death were the only means mankind could dream of as an
instrument of justice.

And what shall we then say of the bloodshed of our own age?
In dreams of national unity, unity which we all, even in our own country
desire, three nations began a war that took the lives of sixty-million
innocents. In dreams of universal equality, equality which our own covetousness
longs for, a hundred million gave their last breath. This, just in the last
century, a time known to our own fathers and grandfathers.

These are our dreams. These are the realizations of our fantasies, the
fantasies we share with all mankind; the fantasies of Babel; that we, by our
own making, might shed blood, that we may have life. That by our arrogance, we
may build a tower unto heaven, and dwell therein; in a heaven that has no place
for sinful man; this mankind who cuts down its own; this mankind, whose
victim’s blood is crying from the ground.

Feel in your hand the ocean of blood we, you and I, have shed, age upon
age, [washing upon a shore, thick, and lifeless], to bring forth what we hoped
would be justice. See the countless wars, see the endless enmities. See how you
revile your in-laws. See how you revile your spouse. See how you grimace at the
man who was rude to you. See how you despise the woman who cheated on you. If
you only had the power, you would add to the ocean, this ocean of blood, which
would flood the whole earth, and, if God were gracious, but eight would
survive.

There is one who shall shed blood; blood that shall accomplish all that we, in
our bloodshed, have always desired: justice, unity, peace. John saw him at a
distance, and cried out, ‘Behold, the
Lamb of God!’ And disciples heard his cry. They followed Jesus, and Jesus turned and saw them following and said
to them, ‘What are you seeking?’

They seek what all flesh has sought since the forming of Adam: peace with
man, and communion with God. They seek the Church [and His altar]. They ask the
Christ ‘where are you staying?’

In this season of Epiphany, when the Lord’s glory shall be revealed, He
speaks to our weary hearts, not with an answer, but with an invitation.

‘Come, and you will see.’

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Preached by Pastor Fields

Sermon Texts: Isaiah 49:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42.