Jan 18 ~ Faith is the Courage to Stay Human when the World Pressures Us Not to

Isaiah 49:1-7  

Psalm 40:1-11

1 Corinthians 1:1-9  

John 1:29-42  

Sermon by Joel Crouse

What are we looking for?

That is the question Jesus asks the two disciples who begin to follow him. It is a question that feels almost too heavy this week — because we do know what we are looking AT in the world right now: deep fear, deep division, and the creeping sense that something powerful and unaccountable has been unleashed.

We know a 37-year-old woman, Renee Nicole Good, was tragically shot and killed by an ICE agent. A video captured what happened, and yet the story told by those in power defies what our own eyes can see. The stories have continued – people being hauled out of cars, guns pointed at protestors, threats of invasions, and actual invasions of sovereign nations as if they were part of a map on a Risk gameboard. We see the resistance to this increasing random violence, the blasting whistles, and the crowds on the streets, and we wonder if it will be enough or if it is already too late. Watching from across the border, we weep for our neighbors, ourselves, and the world.

Across social media and in conversations, people express fear — fear of unchecked power, fear of militarized law enforcement, fear that no one is accountable when someone’s life is taken. This is the lingering fear of not knowing where things are going, or whether anyone can slow them down.  This week I sat with one of our elderly members who, with seasoned fear in her eyes said, “Pastor, it’s happening again”.

So, what does the gospel have to say to this kind of fear?

One of the quiet lies we sometimes believe is that faith should make us certain. Certain about outcomes. Certain about who is right. Certain that things will work out.

But the gospel doesn’t begin with certainty. It begins with people who don’t know. John says, “I myself did not know him.” The disciples don’t truly know who they are following when they decide to follow. They don’t yet know what kind of Messiah Jesus will be. They don’t know where this road leads.

They only know that something in them says: “Pay attention.” And that matters, because fear often comes from the belief that if we don’t have answers, we have failed. The gospel tells a different story: uncertainty is not the opposite of faith. Sometimes it is the beginning of it.

Jesus does not respond to uncertainty with instructions or guarantees. He responds with presence. “Come and see,” he says. “Stay with me. Walk with me. Learn with me. Pay attention to what unfolds.”

While our fear is uncomfortable, it also tells the truth about who we are.

Of course, some of the fear we are experiencing right now is for ourselves, and what it will mean for our lives. But we are also afraid because we care about human dignity.  We recognize when power goes unchecked.  And because we know, deep down, how fragile justice and freedom can be.  This kind of Fear isn’t always something to get rid of. It is a voice to heed.

In our first lesson, Isaiah gives voice to a people who feel exhausted and ineffective.  “I have labored in vain,” the servant says. That is the voice of activists who feel unheard. Of citizens who protest and vote and still feel powerless. Of people who wonder whether kindness and restraint still matter in a world that seems to reward cruelty.  And God’s response to Isaiah is not to try harder, or to chastise him for being week. God says: You are meant to be light.  

Paul, writing to the deeply imperfect church in Corinth, does something similar. He does not start by scolding them. He starts with gratitude. “I give thanks to my God always for you,” he says. Even knowing their divisions, their egos, their conflicts. He reminds them that God is faithful—that they are not lacking in any gift needed to live out the gospel in their own complicated time.

That matters, because one of the quiet temptations in times like this is despair disguised as realism. The belief that the problems are too big, the systems too entrenched, the divisions too deep—and that our small acts of faithfulness cannot possibly matter. But the gospel never asks us to save the world. It asks us to follow and do our best.

What are you looking for?” Jesus asks.  If we are honest, many of us are looking for relief. For safety. For assurance that kindness is not foolish. For proof that hope is not naïve. The answer the gospel offers is not certainty—but presence.  And our presence in the world matters.  How can we show it when we leave this place today for an uncertain world? Surely, we do not let fear make us cruel or silent or indifferent or cynical.  Instead, we might bear one another’s burdens. When we hear stories of fear — whatever that fear is for our neighbour— we do not turn away. We stay present with them.

We seek justice with humility and courage.  Advocate for transparency, accountability, and dignity for every human being. Speak truth to power, not out of anger, but the way Jesus did: listening more than shouting,  refusing language that dehumanizes other people.  Having hard conversations, rooted in compassion. 

And we may even try to live out that baptismal promise we talked about last week. “We are called to life in community…to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.” That is not a vague ideal. It is a daily practice of compassion and courage.  It requires showing up, when the path is uncertain.

Faith does not give us control; It gives us courage to stay human when the world pressures us not to be.  The gospel today does not end with certainty. It ends with relationship: One person tells another, “Come and see.”  And in following, they call others to join.

And sometimes that is how hope starts: not with power and perfect answers, but with presence and faith.  Because we are not asked to fix the world alone. We are asked to witness — to point, as John did, especially in these fearful times, toward a way of being that chooses life, dignity, and love.  Amen