Readings

Isaiah 9.1–4 – But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness — on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

Matthew 4.12–23 – Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: ‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles — the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.’
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.

Sermon

The season of Epiphany is all about light. It is about God making himself known — not hidden away, not distant, but revealed, shining out into the world as it really is. Each week of Epiphany we are invited to notice where that light falls, and what it shows us.

Today’s readings speak very clearly into that theme. Isaiah proclaims that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” And Matthew tells us that Jesus begins his public ministry in Galilee, fulfilling that ancient promise: light dawning in a place long associated with darkness, hardship, and neglect.

This is not accidental. God’s light does not first appear in the centres of power or prestige. It appears on the margins.

Isaiah is speaking to a people who know what darkness feels like. They are not imagining it. This is not poetic exaggeration. They have known invasion, loss, exile, and fear. They have walked in the shadow of death — not as a metaphor, but as lived reality. And it is precisely there that God promises light.

Notice what kind of light Isaiah describes. It is not just comfort for private sorrow. It is a light that changes reality. It brings joy like the joy of harvest. It breaks the yoke of oppression. It shatters the rod of the tyrant. This is not a gentle glow to help people cope — it is a light that transforms the world.

Hold that in mind as we turn to the gospel.

Matthew tells us that after John the Baptist is arrested, Jesus withdraws to Galilee and makes his home in Capernaum — “by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali” – quoting the prophet Isaiah. Matthew is careful, deliberate, almost scholarly here. He wants us to see that this is the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy. But more than that, he wants us to understand what kind of Messiah Jesus is going to be.

Galilee was not the obvious place for the kingdom of God to begin. It was politically unstable, economically poor, religiously suspect in the eyes of the Jerusalem elite. If you wanted to launch a movement of spiritual renewal, Galilee would not have been top of the list. And yet — this is where Jesus begins.

The light dawns where people are tired, overlooked, and uncertain.

And what does Jesus say as he begins his ministry? Not a long explanation. Not a theological lecture. Just this: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

That word “repent” can easily be misunderstood. It is not about self-loathing or fear. At heart, it means to turn — to change direction, to reorient your life because something new has arrived. Jesus is saying: God is closer than you think. Life can be different now. Turn towards it.

The kingdom of heaven is not something distant, postponed, or abstract. It has come near — near enough to touch, near enough to follow, near enough to change everything.

And immediately, Matthew gives us an example of what that looks like.

Jesus walks by the Sea of Galilee and calls Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John. Ordinary working people, busy with nets and boats and family responsibilities. And he says to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”

And they do something extraordinary. They leave their nets. They leave their boats. James and John even leave their father. And they follow him.

Now, this is not meant to shame us. This is not a test of whether we could do the same tomorrow. It is a picture of what happens when light breaks into darkness — when the kingdom comes near enough to be recognised.

These men are not responding to an idea. They are responding to a person. They are drawn by the presence of Jesus himself. In him, they glimpse a different future, a different way of being human, a different ordering of priorities. And somehow, they know it is worth everything.

That same pattern continues as Jesus goes throughout Galilee: teaching, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people. Word and action together. Truth spoken, and compassion embodied. Light not only proclaimed, but lived.

This is Epiphany faith. Not faith that stays safely inside walls, but faith that steps into real places of pain, confusion, and need. Faith that speaks hope and also does something about it.

So what does all this mean for us, here, today?

First, it reminds us that God’s light still shines in dark places. Not just “out there” in the world’s great crises, but in the quieter, more personal shadows we carry with us. Grief, anxiety, loneliness, uncertainty about the future. Isaiah does not say the people stopped walking in darkness before they saw the light. The light came while they were still walking.

If you are walking in darkness today — unsure, weary, or afraid — the gospel reading today hopefully provides you with assurance that Christ has already come near.

Secondly, this passage invites us to ask what it means to follow Jesus where we are. Most of us are not being asked to leave fishing boats behind. But we are all asked to reorient our lives — to let go of what binds us and holds us back, and to trust that God’s kingdom is more real, more lasting, than the things we cling to for security.

Following Jesus is not about having everything figured out. Peter and Andrew certainly didn’t. It is about responding to the light we have been given and taking that next faithful step.

And finally, these readings remind us that the church is called to be a sign of that light. Not the source of it — Christ is the light — but a reflection of it. A community where burdens are lifted, where healing is sought and found, where good news is spoken in word and deed.

In a world that still knows deep darkness, the message of Epiphany is not naïve optimism. It is hard-won hope. It is the conviction that God has entered fully into the mess of human life, and that nothing is beyond the reach of his redeeming love.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. That light is Jesus Christ. And he still walks by the shores of ordinary lives, still says “Follow me,” still proclaims that the kingdom of heaven has come near.

May we have eyes to see that light, hearts ready to turn towards it, and lives willing to reflect it — for the sake of the world God loves.

Amen.

Readings

Ephesians 4:1-13 – I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all. But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ’s gift. Therefore it is said, ‘When he ascended on high he made captivity itself a captive; he gave gifts to his people.’ (When it says, ‘He ascended’, what does it mean but that he had also descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things.) The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.

John 12:31-36 – Now is the judgement of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.’ He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. The crowd answered him, ‘We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains for ever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?’ Jesus said to them, ‘The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.’ After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.

Sermon

One of the great challenges of our time is learning how to live well with difference. We live in a world that often feels fragmented — divided by opinions, identities, backgrounds, and experiences. Even within families or communities, it can feel hard to stay connected when we see things differently. Against that backdrop, today’s readings speak with surprising clarity about unity — not as wishful thinking, but as something real, costly, and deeply rooted in Jesus Christ.

In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul urges Christians to “live a life worthy of the calling you have received.” That calling is not first about what we believe or what we do individually, but about who we are becoming together. From the very beginning, Christianity understood itself as a shared life — a community drawn together by God.

The qualities that are named next tell us a lot about the kind of unity being imagined: “Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” These are not abstract virtues. They are the skills needed for living closely with other people, especially people who are not the same as us. Unity, the Bible suggests, is not automatic. It requires effort, patience, and grace.

Crucially, this unity does not depend on everyone thinking alike. In fact, the passage goes on to celebrate difference. We hear about different gifts and roles, all given for a shared purpose: “to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” The image of the body makes it clear — unity is not uniformity. A body needs different parts, doing different things, if it is to be alive and healthy.

But if unity is not created by sameness, what holds it together?

This is where the reading from John’s Gospel becomes essential. Jesus speaks about what is about to happen to him — his death on the cross — and he says something remarkable: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” Notice that phrase: all people. Not people who are alike. Not people who agree on everything. All people.

For Christians, unity does not begin with us reaching out to one another, as important as that is. It begins with Jesus drawing us to himself. The cross stands at the centre of Christian unity because it is there that God’s self-giving love is revealed most fully. It is there that barriers are broken down — between God and humanity, and between people themselves.

Jesus speaks of light and darkness: “Walk while you have the light.” In John’s Gospel, light represents truth, life, and the presence of God. To walk in the light is to allow our lives to be shaped by what we see in Jesus — a love that gives itself for others. When we walk in that light, we discover that we are walking alongside others who are also being drawn towards him.

This helps us understand what the letter to the Ephesians means by unity. Unity is not something we manufacture by trying harder to get along. Nor is it something we achieve by ignoring real differences. Christian unity is something we receive, as we gather around Jesus Christ. We are united not because we are the same, but because we are held by the same love.

That is why the passage speaks of “one body and one Spirit … one Lord, one faith, one baptism.” The focus is not on us, but on God’s action. Unity is God’s gift before it is our task. Our calling is to live into that gift — to protect it, nurture it, and allow it to shape how we treat one another.

Particularly for those who are new to Christian faith, this is an important point. The church is not a gathering of people who have everything sorted out. It is a community of people who are learning, often slowly and imperfectly, what it means to live together in the light of Christ. Differences of background, personality, experience, and understanding do not disqualify us. They are part of what God brings together.

The reading from Ephesians speaks of growth — “until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God.” That word “until” reminds us that unity is not a finished achievement. It is a journey we take together, guided by Christ. Along the way, we will misunderstand one another, disagree, and sometimes fail. But unity is sustained not by our perfection, but by Christ’s faithfulness.

So what does this mean for us today?

It means that Christian unity begins by keeping Christ at the centre. When we lose sight of him, our differences easily become divisions. When we stay close to him, those same differences can become gifts.

It means that humility and patience are not optional extras, but essential expressions of unity. Bearing with one another in love is not a sign that something has gone wrong; it is a sign that we are truly living together.

And it means that unity is always something we do together. No one walks in the light alone. We are drawn, side by side, towards Jesus Christ, who gathers us into one body and calls us to grow into his likeness.

As Jesus says, “Believe in the light … so that you may become children of light.” To believe is to trust him enough to walk together — not despite our differences, but through them — held in the unity that only he can give.

May God give us grace to live that unity, for his glory and for the good of the world.

Readings

Isaiah 49.1–7 – 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 he named me. He made my mouth like a sharp sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow, in his quiver he hid me away. And he said to me, ‘You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified.’ But I said, ‘I have laboured 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.’ And now the Lord says, who formed me in the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob back to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him, for I am honoured in the sight of the Lord, and my God has become my strength— he 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.’ Thus says the Lord, the Redeemer of Israel and his 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 – The next day he saw Jesus coming towards him and declared, ‘Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, “After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.’ And John testified, ‘I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. 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.” And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.’ The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. 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?’ 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. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, ‘We have found the Messiah’ (which is translated Anointed). 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).

Sermon

Epiphany is the season of revelation. It is the time in the Church’s year when we are invited to look again, and to look more deeply, at who Jesus is, and what his presence means for the world. Not all at once, not in a single dazzling moment, but gradually, as light grows clearer day by day.

Our readings this morning are both about recognition and calling. They are about seeing who God’s servant really is, and about discovering what it means to be drawn into God’s purposes.

In the Gospel reading, John the Baptist points to Jesus and says those striking words: “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” It is a moment of revelation. John sees something in Jesus that others have not yet fully grasped. He sees not only a teacher or prophet, but one who stands at the very heart of God’s saving work.

And yet, what follows is wonderfully understated. There is no thunder, no dramatic sign from heaven. Instead, two of John’s disciples hear what he says, and they simply follow Jesus at a distance. Jesus turns and asks them a question that goes right to the heart of faith: “What are you looking for?”

It is a question worth lingering with. What are you looking for? Not just in church, not just in faith, but in life itself. Meaning? Belonging? Healing? Direction? Hope? The first disciples do not give a clear answer. Instead, they respond with another question: “Rabbi, where are you staying?”

Perhaps they are not yet sure what they are looking for. Perhaps all they know is that something about Jesus has caught their attention, and they want to spend time with him, to see for themselves.

Jesus’ response is simple and generous: “Come and see.”

Those three words echo down the centuries. Christian faith is not, at its heart, a set of abstract ideas or neat answers. It is an invitation: come and see; come and stay; come and discover.

John tells us that they stayed with Jesus that day. Nothing remarkable is recorded about what was said. But something happened, because one of them, Andrew, cannot keep it to himself. He goes and finds his brother Simon and says, “We have found the Messiah.” And he brings Simon to Jesus.

This is how faith spreads in John’s Gospel: not through grand speeches, but through personal encounter and quiet witness. One person points; another comes and sees; another is brought along. Light shared, almost casually, but powerfully.

That sense of calling and purpose takes us back to our reading from Isaiah. Isaiah 49 is one of the so-called “Servant Songs”, passages that speak of a mysterious servant called by God for the sake of the world. The servant speaks in the first person: “The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.”

These words speak of a calling that is deep, personal, and rooted in God’s intention. Before achievement, before success or failure, before even being known by others, the servant is known by God.

But this is not an easy calling. The servant goes on to say: “I have laboured in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.” There is disappointment here, a sense that the work has not gone as hoped. Faithful service does not always feel successful. Obedience does not always lead to visible results.

Yet God’s response is not to abandon the servant, but to expand the vision. “It is too light a thing,” God says, “that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob… I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”

This is Epiphany language. Light for the nations. Salvation reaching outward, beyond familiar boundaries. God’s purposes are always larger than we expect.

Christians have long heard these words echoed and fulfilled in Jesus. In John’s Gospel, when John the Baptist calls Jesus “the Lamb of God”, he is drawing together rich strands of meaning: the Passover lamb, the suffering servant, the one who bears the weight of the world’s brokenness.

And yet, Jesus does not immediately set out to conquer the world or dazzle the crowds. He gathers a few followers, asks gentle but searching questions, and invites them to stay with him.

There is something deeply reassuring in that. God’s work in the world often begins quietly. Revelation unfolds through relationship. Transformation starts with attention – with noticing, listening, staying.

For us, on this Second Sunday of Epiphany, the question is not only who is Jesus? but also what does it mean to follow him now?

Like the servant in Isaiah, we may sometimes feel that our efforts come to little. We try to be faithful – in our families, our communities, our church – and wonder whether it makes any real difference. We may feel small, overlooked, or discouraged.

But Isaiah reminds us that faithfulness is seen and held by God, even when it feels fruitless. And John’s Gospel reminds us that God works through simple acts of witness: pointing, inviting, bringing someone else along.

Andrew does not preach a sermon. He does not explain everything. He simply says, “We have found the Messiah,” and brings his brother to Jesus. That is all.

Perhaps that is our calling too: not to have all the answers, but to be people who have spent time with Jesus, and who quietly, honestly, invite others to come and see.

Epiphany is not just about recognising Christ as light for the world; it is about allowing that light to shine through us, however imperfectly. To trust that God can use our small faithfulness as part of something much larger than we can see.

So as we continue this season of Epiphany, we might hold onto Jesus’ invitation. When faith feels uncertain, when the way ahead is unclear, when we are not sure what we are looking for, he says to us still: “Come and see.”

Come and stay. Come and discover. And as we do, may we find ourselves drawn more deeply into the light of God’s love, for our own sake, and for the sake of the world God longs to heal.

Amen.