View today's sermon on our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HO46WW_7EhY.

Isaiah 49:1-7 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition (with revised pronouns)

49 Listen to me, O coastlands; pay attention, you peoples from far away!The Lord called me before I was born; while I was in my mother’s womb I was named.² The Lord made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of their hand I was hidden; The Lord made me a polished arrow; in their quiver I was hidden away.³ And The Lord said to me, “You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified.”⁴ But I said, “I have labored in vain; I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity; yet surely my cause is with the Lord and my reward with my God.”

⁵ And now the Lord says, who formed me in the womb to be their servant, to bring Jacob back to the Lord, and that Israel might be gathered to the Lord, for I am honored in the sight of the Lord, and my God has become my strength—⁶ The Lord says, “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”

⁷ Thus says the Lord, the Redeemer of Israel and their Holy One, to one deeply despised, abhorred by the nations, the slave of rulers, “Kings shall see and stand up; princes, and they shall prostrate themselves, because of the Lord, who is faithful, the Holy One of Israel, who has chosen you.”

John 1:29-42 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

²⁹ The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! ³⁰ This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ ³¹ I myself did not know him, but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” ³² And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. ³³ I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ ³⁴ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Chosen One.”

³⁵ The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, ³⁶ and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” ³⁷ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. ³⁸ When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” ³⁹ He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. ⁴⁰ One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. ⁴¹ He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). ⁴² He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

January 18, 2026 – Second Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 49:1-7 and John 1:29-42

Rev. TJ Mack – Union Congregational Church of Hancock

On Friday night, a few of us went to see Amelia in Hadestown: Teen Edition at the New Surry Theater. And like so often happens with good art, the story did not stay on the stage. It followed me home. I fell asleep still turning it over in my mind—its music, its longing, its ache—and waking up realizing how deeply it echoes the scriptures we heard today.

Hadestown retells an ancient myth: It is a story about love and loss, about the underworld and the fragile hopes of Orpheus and Eurydice, Persephone, and even Hades. Hopes that dare to believe the world could be different. It is a story about listening—really listening—and about what happens when fear drowns out trust. And underneath it all, it is a story about names and callings. About who we are when the world grows harsh. About whether hope is foolish—or mandatory.

Hermes, the messenger, keeps stepping forward to tell the story, even though they know how it ends. “It’s a sad song,” they say, “but we’re gonna sing it anyway.” That line crept into my heart. Because faith often feels like that—telling the old story again in a world that has heard plenty of bad endings. Singing anyway. Hoping anyway. Loving anyway.

This echoes Isaiah’s world. It echoes the world that Jesus inhabited. It echoes the world we live in now.

Isaiah speaks to people who feel like they are already living in the underworld—exiled, crushed by empire, unsure whether they still matter. And yet the prophet does not begin with despair. Isaiah begins like Hermes stepping onto the stage, like John the Baptist pointing into the crowd, like Jesus turning to curious followers:

Isaiah says, “Listen to me, O coastlands; pay attention, you peoples from far away.”

That is how Isaiah begins—not with a call to the faithful few, but with a summons that includes both Jews and Gentiles. A summons that stretches across the globe and spans many centuries.

Listen. Pay attention. This story is still being told. This is not just for those who already belong. This is for everyone who has ever wondered whether their life matters, whether their labor counts, whether God sees them in the midst of their exhaustion and disappointment.

Isaiah speaks into a world where powerful rulers dictated whose lives were valuable and whose lives were crushed. A world where people were scattered, displaced, and told—explicitly or implicitly—that they were worthless.

And into that world, God speaks words of astonishing intimacy: Before you were born, I knew you. While you were still in the womb, I named you. I hid you in the shadow of my hand.

We belong to a God who shelters. One who uses their power not to erase but to protect. It calls to mind another ancient story—when Moses is hidden in the cleft of the rock, shielded as God’s glory passes by. The same divine instinct is at work: Cosmic Love that does not overwhelm fragile humanity, but draws near carefully and lovingly.

And then the servant in Isaiah dares to speak a truth that feels painfully familiar:“I have labored in vain. I have spent my strength for nothing.”

Who among us have not doubted our worth in the world? In a world of climate anxiety, endless conflict, economic pressure, and fragile institutions, many of us wonder whether our efforts matter at all. Whether showing up, speaking out, loving others, or simply surviving makes any real difference.

What does God do next, according to Isaiah? God does not suggest we keep repeating the past but instead God implores us to expand our vision. “It is too small a thing,” God says, “to restore only your own people. I am making you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

It is too small a thing to limit our care to people who look like us, worship like us, vote like us, or speak like us. It is too small a thing to imagine God’s healing as something we hoard rather than share. God’s imagination is larger than our fear, and God’s hope is not confined to any single tribe, nation, or church.

God’s imagination is bigger than what can be captured in words. God’s hopes for the world do not end with us.  God plays the long game. Not individual successes, but the slow, sacred work of ensuring that all of God’s people—across borders, cultures, and gender identities—can survive and thrive.

Isaiah uses male pronouns for God, not because God is limited to male pronouns, because that was the language of the time. But the truth beneath the language is expansive. God calls all bodies, all identities, all names. No one is outside the reach of the light of our God.

Fast forward several centuries, and we find ourselves standing by the Jordan River.

John the Baptist sees Jesus and says, “Here is the Lamb of God.”

Have you stopped to consider what that means? Lambs are gentle and vulnerable. Lambs were sacrificial offerings. Passover lambs marked doorways with blood so death would pass over. But  Jesus is not a lamb offered to appease an angry God. Jesus is a lamb sent to confront the sin of society—not by violence, but by love strong enough to expose injustice and to heal people and places broken by violence.

Notice how many names swirl around Jesus in this short passage: Lamb of God. Chosen One. Rabbi. Messiah. Anointed. Each tries to capture something that ultimately exceeds the capacity of our language.

And notice who else is called by name, and renamed. John, the Baptist. Andrew. Simon Peter—who becomes Peter, which means Rock.

In both Isaiah and John, God’s work unfolds through naming. To be named is to be seen. And sometimes, to be renamed is to be invited into a future you could not yet imagine.

Peter had not earned the name Rock. He grows into it through failure and forgiveness, fear and faith. God often names us not for who we are now, but for who we are to become.

The very first words that Jesus speaks in John’s Gospel are addressed to two of John’s followers who as he passed by began to follow him. Jesus turned and said to them: “What are you looking for?”

Their response  of “Rabbi, where are you staying?” seems to me a strange, almost evasive answer to his question.

In Greek, the word used again and again in this text is “meno”—to remain, rest, stay or abide. The Spirit in the form of a dove abides on Jesus. The disciples ask where he abides. And then—they abide with him.

This was not a superficial question. They were not asking for a physical location. They are asking: Where do you live your life? Where does God live in you? Where can we learn how to live this way?

Jesus did not give them answers but invited them to learn for themselves. He says, “Come and see.”

Jesus taught not by coercion, but by invitation. We learn not from certainty, but from curiosity.

So the question turns toward us: What are we looking for? Security? Success? Certainty in an uncertain age? Relief from pain? Justice that does not require cruelty? Perhaps all of these things.

Are we also looking for a dwelling place with a God who has already come near—who finds us in desolation, who calls us by name, who does not demand our suffering but meets us in it and consoles us as a parent consoles a child?

When will we be curious enough, bold enough, and brave enough to believe that the stories we live in and the stories we tell ourselves can be re-imagined with justice and love and mercy at the core?

Praise be to our God who does not waste our pain, but weaves it into purpose. Who sees those in need who are deeply despised by the ruthless and powerful and promises that they will one day be free from tyranny. The promise is not that we will see everything made right in our lifetime. Isaiah didn’t. Jesus’ first followers didn’t. Martin Luther King, Jr. didn’t.

The entire time I was watching Hadestown on Friday night I was hoping and praying for a different ending. I knew the traditional ending of the story. As I sat in that theater, I kept hoping that the ending would be transformed. Please, please, please, I thought, people choose differently this time! But they did not.

But God is faithful. God is still speaking. And God is not finished. Therefore, we are not finished.

Accept the invitations extended to you.

Come and see.

Come and abide.

Come and discover the name that God is calling you.

Amen

Rev. TJ Mack – January 18, 2026