There are moments in Scripture when someone hears their calling spoken aloud — sometimes before they’re ready, sometimes before they fully understand what it means.
John the Baptist has one of those moments in the Gospel of John. He sees Jesus approaching and says something he has never said before:
“Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”
Until that moment, John had been preparing, baptizing, calling people to repentance. But now, clarity breaks through. In recognizing who Jesus is, John also understands who he is.
That pattern shows up again and again in Scripture:
we discover who we are by noticing what God is doing in someone else.
And on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, that pattern feels especially close to the surface.
Called Before We Feel Ready
The prophet Isaiah speaks to a people in exile — displaced, exhausted, unsure if their efforts matter anymore. Into that reality, Isaiah dares to say that God calls the servant before the work is visible, before success is obvious, before hope feels secure.
“I have labored in vain,” the servant says — and still, God insists the work matters.
That tension between exhaustion and calling is familiar. It’s the space where many of us live. Trying to love faithfully. Trying to do justice. Wondering if anything we’re doing is making a difference.
John the Baptist knows that space too. He is clear about who he is not. He is not the Messiah. He is not the center of the story. And because of that clarity, he is free to point.
“Behold.”
Witness, at its core, is not about having all the answers. It’s about telling the truth of what we’ve seen.
The Courage to Witness
A theologian once wrote that a witness is someone who tells what they have seen — not what they fully understand.
That feels important on MLK Day.
The civil rights movement did not begin with certainty or consensus. It began with witnesses. People who said, “This is what I have seen. This is what must change.” People who trusted that naming the truth was itself an act of faith.
John’s witness sets everything else in motion. His words ripple outward. Disciples begin to follow. A community begins to form.
Witness always costs something — but it also creates something.
“What Are You Seeking?”
When Jesus first speaks in John’s Gospel, he doesn’t ask about belief or readiness. He asks a question that reaches much deeper:
“What are you seeking?”
It’s a question that opens space instead of closing it. A question that honors longing instead of dismissing it. A question that meets people exactly where they are.
The first disciples don’t have a polished answer. They ask Jesus another question instead: “Where are you staying?”
In other words:
Where can we be close to you? Where does your life take root?
Jesus answers with the simplest invitation:
“Come and see.”
This is how discipleship begins — not with certainty, but with curiosity. Not with perfection, but with presence.
Beloved Community Begins Here
Dr. King spoke often about the Beloved Community — not as a sentimental dream, but as God’s vision for the world made real through justice, dignity, reconciliation, and love.
The Beloved Community is not built by perfect people.
It’s built by witnesses.
By people willing to take one step toward truth.
By people who invite others along the way.
When Jesus says “Come and see,” a community begins to form around him — gathered, imperfect, learning, transformed.
That is the same pattern King named decades ago. God gathers the scattered. God restores the weary. God forms communities shaped not by fear, but by love made visible through justice.
An Invitation for Today
Some of us feel tired.
Some of us feel uncertain.
Some of us are still trying to find words for what we’ve seen and experienced.
And still, the invitation remains.
Come and see.
Come and see what God is healing.
Come and see what God is restoring.
Come and see how beloved community begins — again and again — through ordinary people choosing faithfulness.
On this MLK Day, may we remember that our callings are rarely glamorous, often costly, and always bigger than we imagine.
And may we become people who turn toward our neighbors, our communities, our world — and say, with courage and hope:
Come and see.