The first part of today’s gospel narrates a scene after the conclusion of John the Baptist’s mission. Jesus moved from Nazareth to Capernaum. Capernaum was a village of fishermen and farmers that stretched for about three hundred meters along the western shore of Lake Gennesaret (Galilee). Galilee was inhabited by Israelites regarded by all as semi-pagans because they were born from the intermingling of different peoples. They were considered as people living in darkness and ignorance.
It became the center of his activities for nearly three years. The change of residence—a very trivial fact—has been read by Matthew in its theological significance as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy: “The people who lived in darkness have seen a great light: on those who live in the land of the shadow of death a light has shone” (v. 16). With this choice, Jesus indicates who are the first recipients of his light, not the pure Jews but the excluded, the distant.
In the second part of the passage, the calling of the first four disciples is narrated. It is more a piece of catechesis than a call narrative. The evangelist wants the disciple to understand what it means to say “yes” to Christ’s invitation to follow. It is an example, an illustration of what it means to be converted.
Matthew shows Jesus in constant movement. The one who is called must realize that he will not be granted any rest and there will not be any stop along the way. Jesus wants to be followed day and night and throughout life. There are no moments of exemption from commitments taken.
The answer, then, must be prompt and generous as that of Peter, Andrew, James and John who “immediately left their nets, their boat and their father, and followed him” (vv. 20, 22). The abandonment of one’s own father should not be misunderstood. It does not mean that anyone who becomes a Christian (or chooses the religious and consecrated life) must ignore one’s own parents. Among the Jewish people, the father was the symbol of the link with the ancestors and of attachment to tradition. And it is this dependence on the past that must be broken when it constitutes an impediment to welcome the novelty of the gospel. The history, the traditions, the culture of every people must be respected and valued. However, we know that not all the habits, customs, ways of life handed down are compatible with the message of Christ.
The demand of Jesus relates to the dramatic choice that the early Christians were called to do: choosing to become disciples they were rejected by the family, misunderstood by parents, expelled from the synagogues, and excluded from their people. For all, leaving the father implies the abandonment of everything that is incompatible with the gospel.
To the invitation to follow him, Jesus adds the charge: “I will make you fish for people” (v. 19). The image is taken from the work done by the first apostles. In biblical symbolism, the sea was the abode of the devil, of diseases and everything that opposed life. It was deep, dark, dangerous, mysterious, and terrible. In the sea, the monsters lived, and in it, even the most skilled sailors did not feel safe.
Fishing people means to get them out of the condition of death where they are. It means to pull them out from the forces of evil that, like the raging waters, dominate, engulf and overwhelm them.
The disciple of Christ does not fear the waves and courageously faces them, even when they are raging. He does not give up hope to save a sister or a brother, even when s/he is in a humanly desperate situation: a slave of drugs and alcohol, unbridled passion, irascible, aggressive and intractable character. In whatever situation he is he will be saved by the disciple of Christ.
Indebted to Fr. Armellini SCJ for textual analysis
There is a moment in today’s Gospel that always moves me—not first in the grand declaration, but in the quiet, almost hidden humanity of John the Baptist. He says: “I did not know him.” Think of that. Here is the voice crying in the wilderness, the prophet filled with fire and purpose, the one chosen to prepare the way—and yet, he confesses, I did not know him.
John had been preaching, calling people to repentance, pointing to one greater. He had a mission, a certainty of direction—but not yet a face to put to the promise. Isn’t that so often our own story? We sense a call. We feel a longing. We work, we pray, we prepare the way in our own hearts—yet the Lord remains, in a sense, unknown. We are pointing toward a mystery we have not yet fully seen.
And then comes the tender revelation: “The one who sent me to baptize with water told me…” God had whispered a secret to John: Look for the Spirit. Watch for the sign. And when Jesus came, that inner promise was fulfilled. The Spirit descended like a dove and remained. Not a flash, not a spectacle, but an abiding presence. And in that moment, John knew. Not by his own cleverness, not by external proofs, but because God unveiled the truth to a heart that was waiting, watching, and obedient.
John’s mission did not change, but now it had a name. He still baptized with water, still called people to repentance—but now his finger could point to a living Person: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” His entire life’s purpose found its focus in Jesus. From a general preparedness, he moved to a personal encounter. From a truth understood in words, to the Truth standing before him in flesh.
This is the pattern of every vocation. God first stirs our hearts. He gives us a sense of purpose, a holy restlessness. We may not understand fully; we may even feel we are preparing the way for someone or something we do not yet know. But if we remain faithful to the duty of the present moment—like John, baptizing, preaching, doing what he was given to do—God will, in His time, reveal the face of the One we serve.
The Lamb of God comes quietly, gently. The Spirit descends not with roar and wind, but like a dove, in peace, and remains. Our call is to be people who stay where we are planted, do what we are given, keep our inner eyes open—and trust that God will show us Him. He does not reveal concepts; He reveals a Person. And when we see Him, our testimony becomes not a doctrine, but a witness: “I have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.”
So today, if you feel you are in a season of “not knowing”—if your call feels unclear, your purpose still hidden—take courage from John. Stay faithful to the light you have. Keep preparing the way in your own heart and in your little corner of the desert. Watch for the dove. Listen for the whisper. God who calls you will, in His perfect moment, show you the Face you are longing for—and you, too, will be able to say, with awe and certainty: Behold, the Lamb.
In today’s gospel, seeing Jesus coming towards him, John exclaims: “Behold the lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sin of the world” (v. 29). Why does he define him with so singular an image? There was never a person in the Old Testament called “lamb of God.” The expression marks the culmination of his long and arduous spiritual journey. It started, in fact, from complete ignorance. “I did not know him,” he exclaims twice (vv. 31, 33).
Educated probably among the Essene monks of Qumran, John had assimilated the spirituality of his people. He knew the history and was familiar with the Scriptures. His allusion to the paschal lamb whose blood, placed on the doorposts of the houses in Egypt, had saved their forebears from the slaughter of the exterminating Angel foreshadows the fate of Jesus. One day he would be sacrificed like a lamb. John the Evangelist has certainly wanted to draw this same symbolism: It was, in fact, the hour in which, in the temple, the priest began to sacrifice the lambs.
There is a second reference to the lamb of God in the book of Isaiah, and every Israelite knew it very well—the Servant of the Lord, also mentioned in today’s first reading. Here’s how the prophet describes his move towards death: “He was led like a lamb to the slaughter…he bore the sin of many and made intercession for the transgressors” (Is 53:7, 12). John applies the imagery to Jesus.
The Baptist has in mind a third biblical call: the lamb is also associated with the sacrifice of Abraham. Isaac, while walking alongside his father to Mount Moriah, asks: “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the sacrifice?” Abraham replies: “God himself will provide the lamb” (Gen 22:7-8).
“Behold the Lamb of God!” the Baptist now answers. It is Jesus, given by God to the world to be sacrificed instead of the sinful man deserving punishment. Like Isaac, he is the only son, the beloved, the one who brings the wood to the place of sacrifice. Jesus, like Isaac, also freely gave his life for love.
At this point, one wonders if indeed the Baptist had in mind all these biblical references when on two occasions, turning to Jesus, he declared: “Behold the Lamb of God” (Jn 1:29, 36). Perhaps not, but certainly, John the Evangelist had them in mind. He wanted to offer a catechesis to the Christians of his communities and to us.
In the second part of the passage (vv. 32-34), the testimony of John the Baptist is presented. He recognizes as “Son of God” the one on whom he saw the Spirit descended and remained. The reference is to the baptism scene narrated by the synoptic Gospels (Mk 1:9-11). John introduces, however, a significant detail: the Spirit is not just seen descending upon Jesus but remaining in him.
Through Jesus, the Spirit came into the world. No opposing force will drive or overcome him and from him, the Spirit will be poured out on each person. It is the baptism “in the Holy Spirit” announced by John the Baptist (v. 33).
It is this message of hope and joy that through the Baptist, John, from the very first page of his gospel, wants to announce to the disciples. Despite the apparent overwhelming power of evil in the world, what awaits humanity is the communion of life “with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ.” These things—John says—I write “so that our joy may be complete” (1 Jn 1:3-4).
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