There is much excitement in that phrase: Come and see!
One of my favorite pericopes comes from John’s Gospel. John the Baptizer points to Jesus and declares, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29). After this moment, two of John’s disciples begin following Jesus. Jesus turns, sees them following, and asks a fascinating question: “What are you seeking?” Their response is equally interesting: “Rabbi…where are you staying?” Jesus answers them most simply and provocatively: “Come and see” (John 1:38-39).
This passage is sometimes described as a “bringer text.” Andrew encounters Jesus and immediately goes to find Simon, his brother. Jesus then calls Philip, and Philip goes to Nathanael. The movement begins with Jesus’s invitation and then spreads outward through those who have responded to him. They encounter Christ, and then they invite someone else to encounter him.
The growing roots of Jesus’ ministry begin, at least in part, with a simple invitation: Come and see.
As I write, the calendar is moving toward the end of August. A great deal happens at this time of year. Families are returning from final efforts to squeeze in a summer vacation. Schools have resumed across much of the country. The parade of yellow school buses has become visible in my area and has signaled that summer’s irregularity, instability, and detachment are giving way to a more familiar rhythm.
Work schedules settle. School schedules return. Calendars become more predictable. Weeks begin to resemble the weeks that came before them. There is nothing wrong with summer and its needed breaks from routine. Rest is a gift of God. But there is nothing wrong with returning to healthy rhythms, either. In fact, some rhythms are essential to the Christian life.
It is my hope as a pastor that the return to fall routines will also include a return to the rhythms of weekly worship, prayer, Scripture, Christian fellowship, and small-group discipleship. Andrew, John, Philip, and Nathanael did not encounter Jesus in a spiritual vacuum. There were people already participating in the worship and expectations of Israel. They had been shaped by Scripture, prayer, community, and the hope that God would fulfill his promises. Within those practiced rhythms, Jesus was revealed to them, and they were prepared to respond. You see, church, these habits are not merely helpful additions to Christian living. They are among the means through which God forms us.
John Wesley frequently spoke of the means-of-grace—practices such as prayer, searching the scriptures, the Lord’s Supper, Christian conversation, worship, and works of mercy through which God ordinarily communicates His grace to the church.[1] These practices do not earn God’s favor. Rather, they place us in a posture of attentiveness and receptivity to the grace God is already giving.
And there is an apologetic dimension to this disciplined life of faith.
Christian apologetics is sometimes reduced to winning arguments or producing enough evidence to silence objections. There is certainly a place for careful reasoning. Peter instructs believers to “always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you,” but he immediately adds, “yet do it with gentleness and reverence” (1 Pet. 3:15-16.
The Christian faith should be thoughtfully articulated. Our neighbors deserve serious answers to the serious questions. Yet the New Testament suggests that our defense of the faith is never merely intellectual. It is embodied.
The early disciples did not possess fully developed theological systems when they first encountered Jesus. Andrew did not return to Simon with a lengthy philosophical defense of Jesus’ messianic identity. Philip did not hand Nathanael a manuscript proving every claim about Christ. He simply said, “Come and see” (John 1:46)
That invitation was not anti-intellectual. It was experiential. Philip was essentially saying: Encounter Jesus. Listen to him. Walk with him. See whether what I am telling you is true. Something is compelling about that approach.
The disciplined practices of the Christian faith become part of our apologetic because they create a community in which people can actually see what we proclaim. If we tell the world that Jesus brings reconciliation, then our church should become places where reconciliation is practiced. If we proclaim that Christ offers grace, then grace should characterize our relationships. If we confess that the Holy Spirit transforms lives, there should be evidence of that transformation in patience, generosity, holiness, compassion, and love.
The argument for Christianity is weakened when Christians proclaim one thing but habitually live another. Conversely, the witness of the gospel becomes compelling when the truth we confess is visible in the lives we practice.
This does not mean that Christians are expected to be perfect. Far from it. In fact, confession, repentance, forgiveness, and reconciliation are themselves part of the witness. A Christian community does not testify that its people never fail. It testifies that grace gives us somewhere to go when we do.
That kind of life requires discipline.
Paul tells Timothy, “Train yourself in godliness” (1 Tim. 4:7). The Greek word translated “train,” gymnaze (γύμναζε), carries the sense of disciplined exercise—the word from which we derive “gymnasium.” Spiritual maturity does not normally emerge accidentally. God’s grace forms us as we repeatedly place ourselves in practices through which our desires, imaginations, relationships, and actions become increasingly oriented toward Christ.
Randy Maddox describes Wesleyan theology as a vision of “responsible grace”: God always acts first, but grace enables and invites our response.[2] The disciplined life is therefore not an attempt to manufacture holiness by our own strength. It is our response to grace—a willingness to remain where the Spirit can continue shaping us into the likeness of Christ.
And with the return of our fall rhythms comes an opportunity. Summer may have taken us outside our usual circles. We traveled. We attended ball games and neighborhood gatherings. We met new teachers, new coworkers, new parents, new neighbors, and new friends. Our circles may now include people who were not part of them a few months ago.
Perhaps some of them are seeking. They may not describe themselves that way. They may not describe themselves that way. Their questions may sound more like, “Is there really any meaning to all of this?” “Can people actually change?” “Is there a place where my children can learn something deeper than success?” “Does God care?” “Can I really be forgiven?” “Is there any hope when life falls apart?”
Jesus’ question remains: “What are you seeking?”
And perhaps our response does not always need to begin with a complicated answer. Perhaps it can begin with an invitation. Come and worship with me. come and sit with our small group. Come and serve alongside us. come and hear the Scriptures. Come and receive the Lord’s Supper. Come and meet some people who are learning to follow Jesus.
Come and see.
And then we must commit ourselves to becoming the king of people among whom there is something worth seeing—not because we have perfected the Christian life, but because Christ is truly at work among us.
Our apologetic is both spoken and practiced. We tell people why we believe. We learn the Scriptures. We take difficult questions seriously. We think deeply about our faith. But we also worship faithfully, pray regularly, serve generously, forgive repeatedly, seek holiness, and remain rooted in Christian community.
The disciplined practices of faith prepare us to give an account of our hope. Over time, those practices of faith prepare us to give an account of our hope because, over time, those practices teach us what our hope actually is.
It is Jesus Christ.
Andrew found him and went for Simon. Philip encountered him and sought Nathanael. And Nathanael, despite his skepticism—” Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”—received one of the simplest and most enduring invitations in the Christian Scriptures. “Come and see.”
As our routines return this fall, may we return deliberately to the practices that root us more deeply in Christ. And as God places people within our circles who are seeking, questioning, wondering, or simply watching, may we have the courage to offer the same invitation.
Come and see what Christ is doing. And may our life together make that invitation believable.
Sources:
Maddox, Randy L. Responsible Grace: John Wesley’s Practical Theology. Nashville: Kingswood Books, 1994.
Wesley, John. “The Means of Grace.” In The Works of John Wesley. Vol. 1, Sermons I: 1–33. Edited by Albert C. Outler, 378–97. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984.