A big part of the human experience, a big part of all of your lives, is shaped by longing. It is the desire that lurks behind an unsaid confession; that something in your life is not fulfilled, not complete. George Eliot wrote, “It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are still alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them.” We long for what we do not have. We long for unfulfilled dreams we desperately desire to see realized. Our longing seems to change with the passage of time. Earlier in our days, we longed to be seen by another, to be loved, and cherished. It is the sort of longing captured in the sonnets of Shakespeare. As we grow, we may long for security and comfort, or for victory in the battles we face, whether those battles are rooted in our children or our jobs. But then comes the longing for rest, the longing for quiet and comfort in our latter days.

No matter who you are, no matter your confession of faith, your social status, your race or gender, all humanity knows and experiences longing. It is a longing for the unknown, the what-could-have-been, the deep desires of the heart. Our longing reveals the unsettled reality of our lives.

I used to visit Jan to bring her communion when she could not make it to church. To get to her home, you took a country road to another country road to a little dirt road that wound out to her patch of land in the woods of north Florida. There she lived in a double-wide that had been added onto multiple times throughout her life. Her home was not nice, but she was. It was collapsing around her, and as we later found out, it was full of dangerous mold and other hazards. I used to think Jan was old, but now that I am getting closer to her age, it was not that she was old, but just very sick. She was a wonderful person. As the dogs barked to announce my arrival, she would meet me at the door with a big smile beaming beneath the hose in her nose, connected to her oxygen tank, which she needed to live. She would always give me a great big hug as I entered her little home in the woods.

The longing in her life was palpable. She longed for better health, to be able to breathe unassisted or to simply walk around without so much pain. She longed for company. In fact, when I visited, it was never a quick trip but a long conversation that usually drifted from laughter to tears. She would recount stories of her husband, whom I had never met. He had died many years before I started visiting her. She talked about how her kids used to help her keep the house up and regularly checked in to make sure she was doing well. But now they rarely stopped by. She was proud they were off with their own families, making lives for themselves, but longed for their presence, and longed to no longer be a burden on them. And through it all, through the suffering and heartache, she longed to meet the Lord. She longed for the end of this life. She longed for the promise of eternal paradise. She longed to be made whole.

The people of God have always been filled with longing. Throughout the pages of the ancient scriptures, this longing is slowly given shape and focus. and it was given a name, Messiah. The longing was for the promised Messiah, the one anointed by God who would bring redemption and lasting victory. The Messiah became the vessel into which man poured out all his longing. Healing, security, identity, and meaning were focused on the coming of the Messiah.

So, John the Baptist makes a shocking and long-awaited cry when he points to Jesus and says, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!… I myself did not know Him, but for this purpose I came baptizing with water, that He might be revealed to Israel.” The revelation of the coming of the Messiah is the purpose for which John was baptizing. He is truly the voice crying out in the wilderness. He is the one who points to the One who will answer the longing of the people of God. Here He is, John declares, here is the One anointed by the Spirit, here is the Lamb of God.

A lamb, it is an interesting description for the coming of the Messiah. When you and I think of a lamb, we may well think of a cute and fluffy creature in need of care and protection. But when the people gathering around John heard this description, I believe they would think in entirely different terms. Perhaps, they would imagine Abraham walking up the mountain to sacrifice his son as Issac says, “Father… Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” And Abraham answers, “God will provide for Himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.”  Or they may be picturing the lambs whose blood painted the doorposts and lintels of their homes as the angel of death passed over Egypt, killing the firstborn of the land. Then again, they might have thought of the spotless lambs that were sacrificed as sin offerings in the Temple.

They would have surely seen the connection John is making, the coming of the Messiah, the hope into which they poured their longing, is a lamb of sacrifice, one who takes our place and by whose blood we find forgiveness and hope before God. In fact, when John points to Jesus and declares, “Behold, the Lamb of God,” two of his disciples begin to follow Jesus, asking Him where He is staying. Technically, they say, “Where do you abide?” And our Lord answers, “Come, and you will see.” The fulfillment of our longing is found in our Lord, to be where He is. Later, in this gospel, our Lord will make the connection clear, saying, “Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me.”

And this is what we are still doing. As we gather together as the people of God in this time and place, we come with hearts full of longing. We come with our frustrations, our hurts, our unfulfilled hopes and dreams, and we come with confusion and anxiety. And we hear the proclamation again, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.” Behold Him as He comes to this altar, as He comes to give His broken body and innocent blood for your salvation. Behold Him as He declares that you are forgiven and promises a life eternal beyond this age. Here, you abide in Him and He in you. Here is the fulfillment of your longing. So, like Andrew, we declare, “We have found the Messiah.”