Sermon for the Second Sunday after Epiphany, Year A (1-18-26)
Our old pal John the Baptist sees Jesus approaching the crowd today. And I envision him really being in his element. The news of all that took place at Jesus' baptism last week has made its rounds. People are curious, and excited, and some still skeptical I'd assume. And in the midst of this hubbub, John sees Jesus approaching the crowd:
“Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”
These are familiar words to some of us. And maybe too familiar. Because it's pretty easy to forget that this declaration is pretty big news. And not just for you and me, but potentially for everyone. Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Not sins in the plural. Sin in the singular. John's not just talking about individual moral failures. He's naming something far larger and more destructive—the deep, pervasive power that distorts human life, that fractures community, that bends systems away from God’s purposes.
The sin of the world is the condition that makes injustice seem normal, makes violence seem necessary, and makes fear seem wise. It's the web of brokenness that entangles hearts, relationships, institutions, and nations. And John dares to proclaim that Jesus comes not to ignore it, excuse it, or manage it—but to take it away. Imagine that reality today.
To talk about sin this way - or at all - can be uncomfortable; especially in a culture that prefers to individualize everything. We're often taught that sin is merely about personal behavior: what I did wrong, what you did wrong, what rules were broken. But the Gospel refuses to let us stop there.
Sin is not just what we do; it also has a way of shaping us if we let it. It's the lie that some lives matter more than others. It's the fear that teaches us to treat strangers as threats. It's the pride that convinces us we can achieve security by excluding others. It's the apathy that allows injustice to continue because it does not affect us directly.
This is why the Gospel is not content with personal piety alone. Jesus does not come only to forgive individuals—he comes to heal the world.
That truth stood at the heart of the ministry of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. - whom we remember tomorrow - and who understood that racism was not merely a matter of individual prejudice, but a moral and spiritual disease. And one that weaves into laws, economies, and habits of thought. Things like segregation, voter suppression, economic exploitation—these were not accidents. They were symptoms of what Scripture calls the sin of the world. And King insisted that such sin must be named before it can be healed. Silence, he said, is itself a form of violence. Neutrality in the face of injustice is not neutrality at all—it sides with the status quo. It is fuel that feeds the sin of the world.
We live in a time when immigrants fleeing violence and poverty are spoken of as burdens or invaders rather than as neighbors made in the image of God. We live in a time when fear is weaponized to justify cruelty, and when entire communities are reduced to talking points instead of human lives. This isn't simply a matter of policy opinion - it's sin at work—sin that dehumanizes, excludes, and divides. Likewise, when democratic institutions are weakened, when truth is treated as optional, when participation is restricted rather than protected, we are witnessing more than political dysfunction. We're seeing the sin of the world at play—the drive to dominate rather than serve, to control rather than collaborate, to secure power rather than seek the common good.
The Gospel tells us that these forces - the powers and principalities of this world - that they are real, they are powerful, and they are destructive. And from Washington DC to Minneapolis to our own neighborhoods, the rotten stench of sin fills the air. Putrid offerings to the idols of power, and wealth, and individualism. All totally outside of the scope of the Gospel of Christ.
Luckily, that same Christ came to do something about sin. John points to Jesus and says, “Here is the Lamb of God.” The Lamb does not conquer by violence. The Lamb does not rule by fear. The Lamb absorbs the world’s sin and exposes it for what it is—empty, corrosive, and incapable of producing life.
When Andrew encounters Jesus, he goes and finds his brother Simon and says, “We have found the Messiah.” And when Simon comes to Jesus, Jesus looks at him and gives him a new name. Grace does not leave us untouched. It re-forms us. It calls us out of old identities shaped by fear and into new ones shaped by love. This is what happens when the sin of the world begins to loosen its grip. People change. Communities change. The future opens.
Dr. King believed this with his whole life. He believed that love could dismantle hatred, that truth could outlast lies, and that justice—though delayed—couldn't be denied forever. He believed that the Lamb of God was still at work, taking away the sin of the world one transformed life, one courageous act, one faithful witness at a time.
So when Jesus asks us, “What are you looking for?” he's asking whether we are willing to confront sin honestly—both within us and beyond us—and whether we trust God enough to follow him into that hard and holy work of repentance. Of turning around. Of coming home to God and one another.
Here is the Lamb of God - Not the Lamb who excuses the world’s sin, but the Lamb who takes it away. God has come to do something about sin. Come and see, and then go bear witness to this world-changing, life-giving Good News.
Amen.
