We’ve just read of the first appearance of Jesus in St. John’s Gospel. I wonder if you’ve noticed how wonderfully crafted St. John’s narrative here is? The Fathers of the Church called St. John "The Theologian". We see why especially in his opening lines, where, beyond all other New Testament writers, he seems to gaze directly into the heart of God. John speaks there of the Logos, the Word who was with God, and who was God. Through this Word all things were made. Yet also: this Word became flesh. In his Prologue John speaks of divine life, and light, and glory, and power. But woven through these sublime words, we are presented with the figure of St. John the Baptist. John the Baptist is the final and greatest witness to the One who came into the world, to the One who is God Incarnate, Christ Jesus our Lord.
So after the Prologue, John’s Gospel focusses on the Baptist: typically, in the manner of a drama. With perfect clarity, the Baptist declares, in face of hostile enquiry, who he is, and who he is not, and what is his mission. Then in verse 29, where our passage today begins, for the first time Jesus appears. Our lectionary misses off the first words “the next day”. That’s a pity, because John’s Gospel begins with a series of days. If you count, you will find that there are seven: culminating in the Wedding at Cana. John’s Passion Week also has the same structure. These then are days of revelation, unfolding in a gradual crescendo. Implicitly they evoke the days of creation in Genesis; therefore already hinting at the new Creation we have in Christ.
Jesus in this scene says nothing whatever. In fact in this Gospel Jesus never exchanges a single word with John. And when Jesus appears here, it is, as it were, only in the background, and seen from a distance. Then he disappears again. Yet already, and immediately, John declares his identity. He points to Jesus as the one who fulfils in himself all prophecy; all God’s promises; all Israel’s expectation. Jesus is singled out also as the one towards whom the whole of John’s own mission is directed. How does John know? How do we know? There is no terrific lightning flash; no display of miracles; no persuasive oratory. But there is certainty. John, the inspired Prophet, has reached inner conviction, through the working of the Holy Spirit; through divine revelation. At first this happens in silence. Later it will be confirmed by exterior signs.
John sees Jesus. Externally, he sees a man, who we know is also his cousin, and whom he has recently baptised. But now, more profoundly, or interiorly, with divinely enlightened understanding, John directs his contemplative gaze towards Jesus. And so, for the first time, John sees the truth about Jesus, and is able finally to bear his decisive witness. What does he say? Remarkably, he speaks at once of the sacrificial death of Jesus. Jesus is the one who will bear our sins: who will be slain as an innocent victim. Behold the Lamb of God! John cries. Behold - you too - direct your own contemplative gaze - see with your own inner eye divinely enlightened - see the One will save you from your sin, and from death. See the One who will die at Passover, symbol of Israel’s liberation from slavery. This will take place, in St. John’s chronology, at the very moment the lambs for the Passover are being slaughtered in the Temple. See then also the One whose flesh we will eat, sign and instrument of our fellowship with God, and with all the redeemed.
The Baptist then repeats words he has already spoken in the Prologue: One is coming after me who ranks before me, because he existed before me. John is older than Jesus, and has been a public figure while Jesus remained in obscurity. So clearly John already knows of the eternal begetting of the Son from the Father: of the divine status of Jesus. But twice in this passage he says: I did not know him. That is: I did not previously understand, or did not fully understand, who Jesus is, what is his true identity, what will be his mission. Now I do.
How? I saw, says John. Again, he refers not to ordinary sight, but to divinely enlightened seeing. I saw what cannot be seen. By the grace of the Holy Spirit I saw the Spirit descend upon Jesus. Then I understood. This is a man like no other. He possesses the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is conferred on him, and pours out from him. He is God’s Son, who abides always in his Father. He comes in order that we might share his Sonship, his union with his Father, and his possession of the Holy Spirit.
At Mass, before Holy Communion, the Priest holds up the consecrated Host and repeats the words of the Baptist: Ecce Agnus Dei. So: what applies to the sacred humanity of Jesus applies also to the Holy Eucharist. What you see with the outward eye is the appearance only. And this is the Sacramental or Incarnational principle. What is seen conveys what cannot be seen. The humanity of Jesus conveys his divinity. His flesh conveys the Spirit. So look now; see, gaze. Understand with the eyes of faith. Here is Jesus; here is divine love; here is a gift of infinite worth being offered to you: for here God is giving Himself, in order to raise you up to Himself.
We Christians already possess the Holy Spirit by our Baptism and confirmation. So we already know this truth, this limitlessly profound mystery. But it must penetrate our hearts and lives ever more deeply. We have to let it open up before us, as it does in the Gospel, with ever deeper insight, ever fuller revelation. How do we do that? With John the Baptist, we are simply to look at Jesus; to gaze at him; in silence, and in faith, to contemplate his beauty, his majesty, his humility, his love, his glory. Then we can receive, ever more fully, all he wants to give us; we can receive himself; and enter into final union with him.
Allow me to say now incidentally that the Catholic Church also is a mystery, analogous to the mystery of Christ’s humanity, or of the Holy Eucharist. She is the immaculate Bride and Spouse of Christ; already united with him. She is for us the bearer of divine life, the vehicle of grace and of salvation. Yet in her often we see only the Body of Christ, as it were, as in his Passion: all wounded and torn, humiliated and degraded. Sometimes, alas, what we see are scandals, divisions, infidelities, conflicts, heresies; hypocrisy, bad example; lack of love.
The recently departed Pope Benedict suffered much from all this: but he never lost his faith. Like St. John the Baptist, he never took his gaze away from Jesus, or ceased to point towards Jesus. So he would often say: Christianity is about Jesus Christ. To be a Christian is to encounter Jesus; to see him as he really is; to decide for him; to let him change our life; to follow him, to live in him. And this is wisdom. For Jesus is our Saviour, and our hope. Indeed he is our only Saviour, and our only hope. In him we have everything. Apart from him, really: just nothing, nothing, nothing.