January 11, 2026, The Baptism of Jesus

“Called by Name, Called in Love”

In these Sundays after the Epiphany, the Church invites us to linger with light. Epiphany is not a single moment but a season of unveiling—of God making known who Jesus is, and, just as importantly, who we are in relation to him. For most of this year we will walk with Matthew’s Gospel, but today we pivot briefly to John. That pivot is not a distraction; it is a deepening. Because John’s Gospel does not begin with events so much as meaning. It asks us not only what happened, but also what does it reveal?

And what is revealed today, across Isaiah, Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, and the opening chapter of John, is this: God is a God who calls. And God’s calling is always rooted in love.

Calling is a word we use often in the Church, sometimes carefully, sometimes loosely. We speak of vocations, of callings to ordained ministry, to particular forms of service. But Scripture speaks of calling more broadly and more tenderly. Before calling is about what we do, it is about who we are. Before calling is a task, it is a relationship. Before it is outward, it is inward: you are known; you are loved; you are called by name.

Isaiah gives us one of the most intimate descriptions of calling in all of Scripture. “The Lord called me before I was born,” the servant says; “while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.” This is not a triumphant call story. It is quiet, even vulnerable. The servant admits weariness, discouragement, a sense that labor has been “spent for nothing.” And yet, even there, the call remains secure—not because of success or visibility, but because it rests in God’s faithfulness.

Notice what God says to the servant: “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob.” Too light. Too small. God’s calling is wider than the servant imagined: “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.” The call expands, not because the servant is exceptional, but because God’s love refuses to be narrow.

Here is the first pastoral word of this morning: God’s call on your life is not undone by discouragement, failure, or weariness. Isaiah reminds us that God’s calling precedes our achievements and survives our disappointments. The One who names us before we can speak does not abandon us when we falter.

Paul echoes this assurance in his greeting to the Corinthians. On the surface, it sounds routine—almost formulaic. But knowing this church, fractured by conflict and confusion, Paul’s opening words are astonishing. He addresses them as “those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints.” Not “called to become saints someday,” but already named as such. Paul does not begin by scolding; he begins by reminding them who they are.

And then he says something even more striking: “I give thanks to my God always for you.” Always. For you. This deeply imperfect community is still the object of Paul’s gratitude because they are held in God’s grace. Their calling does not depend on their coherence or competence; it depends on God’s faithfulness. “God is faithful,” Paul says, “by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son.”

Calling here is not individualistic. It is communal. To be called is to be drawn into fellowship—with Christ and with one another. That may be one of the most challenging aspects of Christian calling: God does not simply call us to private spirituality but to shared life. To be called is to belong, and belonging is rarely neat or easy. Yet Paul insists that God remains faithful to that call, even when we struggle to live it well.

Then we come to the Gospel, where calling takes on flesh and voice and movement. John the Baptist stands and points—not to himself, not to a program, but to a person: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” This is the heart of Epiphany. Jesus is revealed not as an abstract idea but as God’s self-gift, God’s own life offered for the healing of the world.

Two disciples hear John speak, and they follow Jesus. Notice how understated the moment is. No thunder, no heavenly voice. Just a question from Jesus: “What are you looking for?” It is one of the most searching questions in all of Scripture. Not, “What do you believe?” Not, “What have you done?” But, “What are you seeking?”

Their answer is tentative: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” And Jesus replies with an invitation that is both simple and profound: “Come and see.” Calling, in John’s Gospel, begins not with command but with curiosity. It begins with proximity. Stay with me. Walk with me. See for yourself.

Andrew then does what called people do: he shares the call. He finds his brother Simon and says, “We have found the Messiah.” He brings him to Jesus. And Jesus looks at Simon—really looks at him—and says, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas.”

This is not a nickname for convenience; it is a declaration of identity. Jesus names Simon not only as he is, but as he will become. And yet notice: Simon does nothing to earn this naming. He is simply seen and loved and called.

Here the threads come together. Isaiah tells us we are named before birth. Paul tells us we are called into fellowship by a faithful God. John shows us that calling happens in encounter—with Jesus who sees us fully and loves us anyway.

So what does this mean for us, here, now?

First, it means that calling is not reserved for the extraordinary. These early disciples are not impressive by worldly standards. They are seekers, followers, brothers. God’s call often comes to us in ordinary places, through ordinary relationships, in moments we might otherwise overlook.

Second, it means that calling is not primarily about doing more, but about trusting more deeply. Many faithful people feel anxious about calling, as though they have missed it, or failed it, or misunderstood it. Scripture offers a gentler truth: God’s call is not a puzzle to solve but a relationship to live into. It unfolds over time. It grows clearer as we walk with Christ, not before.

And finally, it means that each of us is called and loved—without exception. Before you contribute, before you serve, before you understand, you are beloved. That is not sentimental; it is sacramental. It is the deep grammar of the Christian life.

Epiphany light reveals not only who Jesus is, but who we are in him. Called by name. Held in grace. Sent—not because we are sufficient, but because God is faithful.

And so we hear again the invitation that echoes through Scripture and through our own lives: Come and see. Come and see what love looks like in flesh and bone. Come and see who you are when God calls you by name. Come and see—and then, in your own way, invite others to do the same. Amen.