January 18, 2026, Year A, The Second Sunday of Epiphany

John 1:29-42, Psalm 40:1-11, Exodus 12:21-28

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ on this Second Sunday of Epiphany.

We gather around the light that has come into the world—not a light that flickers uncertainly, but the true light that enlightens everyone (John 1:9). Epiphany is the season when the church rejoices in the manifestation of Jesus Christ: first to the Magi from the East, then at his baptism in the Jordan, and now in the public testimony of John the Baptist. Today, our attention is drawn especially to John 1:29-42, found on page _______ of your pew Bibles. This passage is where the Baptist points with unmistakable clarity and declares in verse 29: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29, ESV).

These words are not casual poetry. They are a thunderclap of revelation. In a single sentence, John the Baptist connects the entire history of Israel's redemption to the person standing before him. He bridges the ancient Passover night in Egypt with the eternal deliverance accomplished in Jesus. And he issues an invitation that still echoes across the centuries: Come. See. Behold.

To appreciate the weight of this title—“the Lamb of God”—we must travel back in time to that fateful night in Exodus 12. The Israelites were slaves in Egypt, groaning under centuries of oppression. God had sent nine plagues, each more devastating than the last, yet Pharaoh's heart remained hard. Now the final judgment was coming: death would pass through the land at midnight, striking every firstborn.

In that hour of impending doom, God gave Moses precise instructions for deliverance. “Go and select lambs for yourselves according to your clans, and kill the Passover lamb,” Moses told the elders. “Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it in the blood that is in the basin, and touch the lintel and the two doorposts with the blood that is in the basin. None of you shall go out of the door of his house until the morning. For the Lord will pass through to strike the Egyptians, and when he sees the blood on the lintel and on the two doorposts, the Lord will pass over the door and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to strike you down” (Exodus 12:21-23, ESV).

Picture the scene. Families huddled inside humble homes. The smell of roasted lamb filling the air. The blood—still warm—smeared across the doorframes with hyssop. And outside, the silence of a city waiting for judgment. Then, the cry. Wailing in every Egyptian household. But inside the marked houses? Safety. Life. The destroyer passed over.

This was no mere protective charm. The lamb died in place of the firstborn. Its blood was the sign of obedience and faith. God said, “When I see the blood, I will pass over you” (Exodus 12:13, ESV). And he commanded that this act be remembered forever: “You shall observe this rite as a statute for you and for your sons forever” (Exodus 12:24, ESV). Year after year, generation after generation, the Passover lamb was slain, the blood applied, the story retold. It became the heartbeat of Jewish identity: God delivers. God saves. God remembers.

Now stand with John the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan. He has been preaching repentance, baptizing crowds, preparing the way. Suddenly Jesus approaches. John sees him and cries out—not once, but twice: “Behold, the Lamb of God!” (John 1:29, 36, ESV). The crowd would have understood immediately. Lamb. Passover. Blood. Deliverance. But John adds something breathtaking: this Lamb “takes away the sin of the world.”

The old lambs could shield from physical death for one night. They could not remove guilt. They could not cleanse the conscience. They could not break the power of sin that enslaved humanity from Eden onward. But this Lamb—this person—Jesus—takes away sin. Not for one household. Not for one nation. For the world, kosmos. The entire created order. This is the Epiphany moment: the long-awaited fulfillment is here, and he is standing among us.

John's testimony is public, bold, and costly. He knows the religious authorities are watching. He knows Herod's court is listening. Yet he points without hesitation in verse 30. “This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks before me, because he was before me’” (John 1:30, ESV). John saw the Spirit descend like a dove and remain on Jesus. He heard the Father's voice. He knew. And because he knew, he could not be silent.

Epiphany is always about manifestation that leads to mission. The light appears so that it may be seen. The truth is revealed so that it may be proclaimed. John models the preacher's calling: point to Jesus and then get out of the way in verse 30,“He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30, ESV). May God grant us the same humility and courage.

Now watch what happens next. Two of John's disciples hear him speak and immediately follow Jesus. Jesus turns, sees them trailing behind, and asks a question that pierces every heart in verse 38: “What are you seeking?” (John 1:38, ESV).

What a question. What are you seeking? In the quiet moments of your life, when the noise fades, what do you really want? Significance? Love? Forgiveness? Meaning? Escape? The question is not accusatory; it is invitational. Jesus wants to know what drives us, what we chase in the dark.

The disciples answer with beautiful simplicity in the rest of the verse: “Rabbi (which means Teacher), where are you staying?” (John 1:38, ESV). They do not ask for miracles. They do not request a sign. They want to be with him. To abide. To dwell in his presence.

Jesus' reply is one of the most tender invitations in all Scripture in verse 39: “Come and you will see” (John 1:39, ESV). Come. Not tomorrow. Not when you have it all together. Not when you understand everything. Come now. And you will see.

They went. They stayed with him that day. From the tenth hour—about four in the afternoon—until who knows how late. The text does not record the conversation. It does not list the questions asked or the answers given. But something happened in those hours. Something transformative. The two disciples emerged changed men.

One of them was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. The other remains unnamed. The first thing Andrew does is find his brother. “We have found the Messiah,” (John 1:41, ESV) he declares in verse 41. Messiah. The Anointed One. The promised King. The deliverer Israel had awaited for centuries. And then Andrew does what every true encounter with Christ compels: he brings Simon to Jesus.

Jesus looks at Simon—really looks—and says in verse 42, “You are Simon the son of John. You shall be called Cephas” (which means Peter) (John 1:42, ESV). In that gaze, Simon is renamed. His identity is no longer defined by his father, his occupation, or his failures. He is defined by the call of Christ. He becomes Peter—the rock. A new name for a new life.

This pattern is the heartbeat of Epiphany discipleship: hear the testimony → behold the Lamb → come and see → abide with him → be transformed → proclaim what you have found → bring others to Jesus.

To deepen our appreciation of this Lamb, let us linger for a moment with Psalm 40:1-11. David cries out from personal experience: “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure” (Psalm 40:1-2, ESV).

The imagery is vivid. The pit of destruction. The miry bog. These are not abstract metaphors; they evoke the hopelessness of slavery in Egypt, the despair of bondage, the sinking feeling of being trapped with no way out. God hears the cry. He inclines—leans down from heaven. He draws up. He sets on rock. He secures the steps.

Then comes the result: “He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord” (Psalm 40:3, ESV). Deliverance is never private. When God rescues, he gives a song. And that song is meant to be sung in the congregation so that others may hear, see, fear, and trust.

David continues: “I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation; behold, I have not restrained my lips, as you know, O Lord” (Psalm 40:9, ESV). Proclamation flows naturally from rescue. The one who has been lifted from the pit cannot stay silent.

Later David declares, “I delight to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart” (Psalm 40:8, ESV). The writer to the Hebrews applies this verse directly to Christ: “When Christ came into the world, he said, ‘Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body have you prepared for me... I have come to do your will, O God’” (Hebrews 10:5-7, ESV, quoting Psalm 40). Jesus is the one who perfectly delighted in the Father's will. He offered himself—the body prepared for sacrifice—so that the old system of repeated lambs could end, finding completion in Jesus.

The psalm closes with confidence: “As for you, O Lord, you will not restrain your mercy from me; your steadfast love and your faithfulness will ever preserve me!” (Psalm 40:11, ESV). In the old covenant, this was a prayer of hope. In Christ, it is a declaration of accomplished fact. God's mercy is not restrained. His steadfast love and faithfulness are poured out without measure through the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world.

So, let us bring all of this together in our own lives in this Epiphany season.

First, have you beheld the Lamb? Have you looked at Jesus and seen him as the one who takes away your sin? Not covers it. Not excuses it. Takes it away. The Passover lamb's blood shielded from death for one night. Jesus' blood cleanses from all unrighteousness forever (1 John 1:9). If you have never come to him in faith, confessing your need and trusting in his sacrifice, today is the day of Epiphany. The light is shining. Come and see.

Second, are you abiding? The disciples spent the day with Jesus. They lingered. They listened. They let his presence do its work. In our hurried world, we are tempted to treat Jesus like a quick stop on the way to something else. But transformation happens in the abiding. “Abide in me, and I in you,” (John 15:4, ESV) Jesus says later in John's Gospel. Make space. Read his word. Pray. Worship. Let the Epiphany light shine deeply into the corners of your heart, exposing what needs to die and revealing what he is making new.

Third, are you proclaiming? Andrew could not keep silent. “We have found the Messiah.” Simple. Direct. Joyful. Who in your life needs to hear those words from you? A coworker struggling with guilt? A neighbor carrying hidden shame? A family member who thinks God has forgotten them? Epiphany is not a private celebration. The manifestation is for the world. Your testimony, however small it feels, is part of the great chorus singing the new song of redemption.

Fourth, are you bringing others? Andrew brought Simon. Simon became Peter. Peter preached at Pentecost, and three thousand were added that day. One invitation led to a movement that continues to this hour. Who will you bring to Jesus this week? Invite them to church. Share a conversation over coffee. Send a text with a verse that has encouraged you. Be the one who says, “Come and you will see.”

Finally, remember the cost. John the Baptist's bold testimony eventually cost him his freedom and his life. The disciples who followed Jesus that day would face persecution, exile, and martyrdom. Yet they counted it worth it. Why? Because they had seen the Lamb. They had beheld the one in whom all the promises of God find their Yes (2 Corinthians 1:20).

In our own day, when cultural pressures push toward silence, may we have the courage of John, the curiosity of Andrew, the openness of the unnamed disciple, and the willingness of Simon to be renamed and repurposed.

As we prepare to close, hear again the Baptist's cry: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29, ESV).

• Behold him in his humility, born in a manger.
• Behold him in his obedience, baptized in the Jordan.
• Behold him in his sacrifice, lifted up on the cross.
• Behold him in his victory, risen from the dead.
• Behold him in his glory, seated at the right hand of the Father.
• Behold him coming again to make all things new.

And as you behold, hear his gentle invitation: “Come and you will see.”

May the God of all grace, who manifested his Son in the flesh, manifest his Son anew in our hearts this Epiphany season. May we see him clearly, follow him faithfully, proclaim him boldly, and bring others joyfully.

Let us pray.