What are you looking for? What are you seeking?

In the Gospel of John Jesus asks the disciples a probing and introspective question. I wonder how they perceived it. Did they think about how they wished Israel could overthrow the Roman occupation? Did they imagine Jesus leading the charge? Did they want Israel’s greatness to be undeniable, and to take Rome’s place as the hegemon of the known world? Did they want to be greater than Egypt or Babylon or Greece ever was? Did they want comfort and respect for themselves, positions of influence, and the trappings that come with leading a political regime – like a nice house and servants and a trophy wife?

Or did they realize even then that those external conditions – the geopolitical security, the cultural domination, the power, the pleasure, and the avoidance of discomfort – would never satisfy their souls? Did they have the presence of mind to understand that life is found not in the absence of pain but in its acceptance, in its inevitability? Our lives are measured by what we make of all of its ups and the downs, not just how well we distance ourselves from trouble or tribulation or tragedy.

What are you seeking?

It’s worth asking ourselves the same question periodically – each day, each week, or each year. This January, maybe you’ve made some resolution for the new year. And maybe you’ve already walked it back a little bit. That’s what I did. I wanted to stop looking at my phone so much when I’m at home. I have access to the internet, to movies and tv shows, and even video games, all in my pocket. Before Christmas, I told myself I’d delete from my device the applications, which convey the world’s media to me much too easily.

And, I think, it was January 5th when I reinstalled them. I was bored early in the mornings when I woke up to make coffee and drink from my mug in silence. I wanted something to read or watch. Never mind that I have a stack of books I’m looking forward to opening! Never mind that we have a TV in the family room which can display all the same shows as my phone can. I backed away from my self-discipline in less than a week, and it took me almost two weeks to recommit myself.

What brought me back was Jesus’ question for this Sunday: What are you seeking? What I want for my family life is to be present with my two children and my spouse. I want to let them know they matter to me. I want to be attuned to their emotions. I don’t want to be too preoccupied to play with them, I want to be engaged in their conversations – even if it’s just about their favorite TV shows. I want them to know what it feels like to be cared about, not to have to lobby for my attention. I want them to know and believe they are worthy of my affection and regard. I want their memories of our family life to be overwhelmingly supportive and warm, rather than disconnected moments of togetherness amidst a general atmosphere of isolation.

What are you seeking? Maybe you want to make the world a better place this year. Lately, I’ve been dismayed to learn more how some of our neighbors view their neighbors. It’s a sin for us to look at people who bear the image of God uniquely and irreplaceably, to be willfully blind to the presence of God at work in them, and to hate them so much that we call them slurs and beat them, we terrorize them and kill them. It is a sin to act the way we’ve seen people acting in the news. Not just in Minnesota but around the country, agents working for ICE have acted violently and indiscriminately with impunity and often anonymity. Did you know that in just the first nine months of 2025, of the over 6,000 people who were detained and placed in camps, almost 85% were found to be of “no ICE threat level?” Almost 85% weren’t felons or offenders. What are you seeking for the world? I don’t think this is what you want.

But so many of our neighbors think this is exactly what God wants. Recently, the Department of Homeland Security released a video, which featured declassified footage of American soldiers conducting special ops, commandeering ships from other countries, executing nighttime raids, busting down doors in suburban neighborhoods, and employing flash bang grenades. The clip displayed the words of Jesus: “Blessed are the peacemakers … For they shall be called sons of God” (Matthew 5:9).

As a pastor, I have to say “violent public displays intended to intimidate and terrorize” the opposition are not what constitute peacemaking. I’m not sure anyone can argue that DHS sees themselves as attempting to create peace while outside enemies try to take over the world, because the Secretary of DHS reports directly to our country’s commander-in-chief, who is currently trying to take over Greenland. What are you seeking for the world? I don’t think this is what you want.

To Jesus, a peacemaker is someone who engages in peace in order to bring it about, rather than conduct a war to engender submission. That’s why Jesus didn’t just take charge of the leadership of Israel and challenge Rome militarily. There would be nothing remarkable about him. He would have no claim to a kingdom that is not of this world. He would never be called the Son of God if he did that. Instead, the good news is that “through [Jesus Christ] God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth of in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20). It wasn’t by punishing the world that God declared peace to us. It was Christ’s act of grace and love, in refusing to seek vengeance upon us for the violence we committed against the Lord.

This is the Jesus I’m seeking. This is the one I’m looking for. But he’s not the only Jesus you’ll hear about. Other Americans worship a different Jesus. One man named “‘Jim’ Joseph Rodden—an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) assistant chief counsel who acts as a prosecutor for ICE in immigration court in Dallas—operates a white supremacist [Twitter] account” in his spare time. He posted recently a portrait and a quote from 1928 that he admired: “We tolerate no one in our ranks who attack the ideas of Christianity. Our movement is Christian,” declared Adolph Hitler. Even the worst of us can claim to worship Jesus Christ. Even the worst of our actions can be construed as righteous and holy.  

But I don’t think this is what you want. So, what are you seeking?

Maybe you know and love people who have done their own research, who insist they are not a sheep. Maybe you’ve heard them proclaim how much God loves America. Maybe they need to hear from you that God loves the rest of the world, too – “for God so loved the world” (John 3:16).

Maybe you need to show them what to look for. Maybe they need you to invite them to come and see. To see God, you first have to venture out of your own self-constructed perspective, to risk learning something new, to risk losing something you have come to depend on.

Come and see.

My sons want to see everything in the house. They pull open the curtains to look outside, to observe and name the birds on the bare branches of the trees in the backyard – a cardinal, a blue jay, a sparrow, a mourning dove, a crow. They climb on a stool to peer at the family of three deer which have made their home in our backyard for three years now. When they were little, they would even climb on the couch to see the things we’d put on the table. The younger one still commands me to pick him up and to hoist him high, so that he can know exactly what to anticipate is on its way. My sons want to see everything. And they make an effort so that they can see.

Come and see.

You and I want to see everything, too. We want to know the way ahead of us when we’re driving. At night, or in the fog, we can find ourselves distressed because we’re limited. We’re unable to see what we’re accustomed to. We drive more slowly when the rain pours heavily.

Though we want to see, we do not always want to make the effort. We do not, as my son does, push stools and climb couches, ask for help and a lift up, just a boost to be able to observe the glory of the world around us. That’s a shame, because to see spiritually, to see the world in God’s light, is to see beauty and to experience wonder. And not striving to see the miracles around us risks missing the joy of life – condemning ourselves to dreary sadness.

Won’t you come and see?

The disciples ask Jesus: “Where do you abide?” We ask the same when we cry out, “Where are you, God?” And Jesus answers the disciples what he would say to us: Come and see. There is no roadmap, no destination to navigate toward, no certainty when we’ve finally encountered God or experienced the Holy Spirit. There is only an invitation: Come and see – every day, in every interaction with a neighbor, in every choice you and I make, in every moment we spend mindfully present, in every aspect of our life we are invited to approach God, to seek out the Lord, and to behold the one who is the light of the world.

What do you see? Do you see the light of blessings all around you? Or do you wish you could stop dwelling in darkness and dourness? Are there days when you’ve preferred to stay gloomy and glum? Are there relationships which remain mired in disappointment, grief, and fear, when maybe they could be sources of encouragement and inspiration to you and to others?

Do you, like Nathaniel, think that nothing good can come from the Nazareths of your daily life? Or do you hold out hope for what you do not yet see but still dream of? Come and see.

Do you dread the cold of winter? Do you hate the rains of spring? Do you avoid the winds of fall? Do you hide from the heat of summer? Or do you see beauty all around you in every season, no matter the external conditions? Do you shut yourself in your prison of despair? Or do you go outside, to see and hear what God has sent your way? Do you see what Mary Oliver sees?

In winter
    all the singing is in
         the tops of the trees
             where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
    shoves and pushes
         among the branches.
             Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
    but he’s restless—
         he has an idea,
             and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
    as long as he stays awake.
         But his big, round music,
after all, is too breathy to last.

So, it’s over.
    In the pine-crown
         he makes his nest,
             he’s done all he can.

I don’t know the name of this bird,
    I only imagine his glittering beak
         tucked in a white wing
             while the clouds—

which he has summoned
    from the north—
         which he has taught
             to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall
    into the world below
         like stars, or the feathers
               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
    that is asleep now, and silent—
         that has turned itself
             into snow.

What are you seeking? Abandon your worst impulses and hope for something not of this world. Come and see. Pull open the curtains. Step outside. Breathe in the brisk, new air; feel the warmth of the morning sun; see the new day rise; count the blessings from God all around you.

Won’t you? I pray you will. Amen.