“Week Two” was such an abundant week—thanks for bearing with the length! This will be the last journal entry from that week.
Come and See
As Week Two continued, the invitation to be led by the Spirit became an invitation to follow Jesus more closely. In contemplating the calling of the disciples, one phrase kept returning to me: “Come and see.” Jesus did not begin by explaining where they were going or what their lives would become. He simply invited them to come closer, to see, and eventually to follow. He knew them, saw them, and heard them—and then He called them.
I found myself wondering how Jesus had called me. My calling was not as sudden or dramatic as that of Peter, Andrew, James, John, or Matthew. Instead, it has been a gradual invitation: “Come walk with Me and work with Me.” Looking back—from the Prayer of Jabez in 2001, to my first student internship in 2002, my first full-time ministry in 2005, my leave of absence due to burnout in 2017, and God leading me to Stouffville Grace in 2018 following a season of renewal—I begin to see not isolated decisions, but a continuous journey of God’s invitation and my response.
Perhaps that is what “come and see” has meant for me: learning to take the next step without seeing the whole path. To see before making assumptions. To pray before saying no, and also before saying yes. To allow God to broaden my perspective, my horizon, and my understanding of what He may be doing. Calling is not always about knowing exactly where I am going. Sometimes it is simply trusting the One who says, “Come.”
I thought particularly about Nathanael, whom Jesus saw before Nathanael fully understood who Jesus was. Jesus promised that he would see greater things. That promise stayed with me as I reflected on our church building project. I prayed that one day our new building might become like Bethel (Hebrew for “house of God”)—a place where people grow in faith and friendship with Jesus and one another, where what happens inside flows into everyday life, and where God’s love overflows to the community and to all nations. May we truly “see greater things”: lives transformed by God’s power, love, grace, mercy, and justice. “Every knee shall bow at the name of Jesus, and every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”
The following day, I revisited the theme of calling and encountered another invitation: renewal. It is not enough to have once said yes to God. I need to keep asking, “How am I living out that yes today?” The Spiritual Exercises reminded me that following Christ involves an ongoing surrender of my own self-love, will, and interests. My calling is not simply something I received in the past; it is something I continue to live into.
Then came Peter walking on the water. Jesus simply said, “Come.” Peter stepped out in faith, but fear soon became louder than Jesus’ voice. That night, I walked the labyrinth and found myself entering that scene in a small way. The path was difficult to see. The grooves were deeper, unfamiliar sounds emerged from the darkness, and I could not see very far ahead. I found myself praying, “I’ll follow You. Just don’t go too fast.” Perhaps faith is sometimes exactly that—not seeing the whole path, but trusting the One who leads, like a sheep following its Shepherd.
Along that path, Jesus kept showing me what it means to follow Him. In the Sermon on the Mount, I lingered over His “upside-down Kingdom”: humility instead of self-promotion, mercy instead of judgment, purity instead of manipulation, meekness instead of power. Jesus did not merely teach this Kingdom; He embodied it. I found myself asking whether I truly want to live according to this Kingdom, especially when its values run counter to the instincts of my own heart.
Then came Martha and Mary, and I saw both of them in myself. There is a Martha in me who wants to serve, accomplish, prepare, and make sure everything is done. But there is also a Mary who simply wants to sit at Jesus’ feet and listen—to simply be with Jesus (my top love language is indeed quality time!). Martha was not wrong to serve; she had simply become distracted and scattered. Jesus reminded her that only one thing was necessary. I wrote in my journal: Serve like Martha, sit like Mary. Perhaps maturity is not choosing one over the other, but learning to serve with a Mary heart.
And so, in the midst of all this reflection on calling, service, obedience, and mission, I found myself unexpectedly moved during Holy Communion. In the quietness of receiving the Eucharist, I simply thanked Jesus: Thank You for dying for me. Thank You for cleansing my sins. Before I work for Him, I receive from Him. Before I labour, I am loved.
Then the path led upward—to the Transfiguration. Peter, James, and John saw His glory on the mountain and wanted to remain there. But the voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!” When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.
We may experience moments of extraordinary closeness to God, but we cannot remain on the mountain. We have to come down and continue following Jesus. The glory does not remove the suffering ahead. Jesus knew the road before Him, yet He continued faithfully toward His mission.
At Bethany, I was struck by the woman who anointed Jesus. The disciples saw waste; she saw worth. They measured the cost of the perfume; she understood the worth of Jesus. I wondered how often I measure my time, energy, resources, or even my time with Jesus by usefulness. Perhaps what looks like “waste” to the world is pure love in His eyes.
And then Jesus entered Jerusalem as King—not on a warhorse with military power, but gently and humbly riding on a donkey. The same Jesus who taught the upside-down Kingdom embodied it completely. The crowds shouted “Hosanna,” yet He knew the road ahead led to rejection, suffering, and the cross. As I prayed through that scene, I wondered what was happening inside Jesus. He knew what was coming—the rejection, betrayal, and cross—yet He continued to walk forward.
Perhaps this is what calling ultimately means: not simply hearing Jesus say, “Come and see,” but continuing to follow when what we see is no longer what we expected. To trust when the path is dark. To remain faithful when there is no applause. To serve without needing to be understood. To sit at His feet when doing feels more natural. To pour ourselves out because He is worthy.
The path may not always be clear. I may not know where the next step will lead. But the invitation remains wonderfully simple:
Come and see.
Come and follow.
Come and trust.
Lord, let my response be:
Come what may.