Co-missioners,
When I heard Pastor Candice Wassell’s sermon during the Eucharist at the most recent Crossings Conference, I immediately thought two things: (1) This is good! (2) Other people should hear this – I wish we were recording this! Thankfully, the preacher has shared her manuscript with us, so you can benefit, even if you weren’t able to be present at the time.
I am struck by how Candice’s homily is able to be simultaneously down-to-earth, scriptural, and very intentionally structured to lead us to the relief of Gospel, even in the context of the conference’s theme on “Christian behavior,” which is so often fraught by gracelessness and works-righteousness. Pastor Candice goes right to the heart of the matter when she asks: “What does discipleship look like when the tank is empty?” She goes on to illustrate through winsome stories the subtle ways in which we turn the Gospel’s gift into a demand – but also how, in the midst of our helplessness, God does empower some to be grace for us.
It’s a delight and has lightened my burden today. I hope it will do the same for you.
Peace & joy,
Co-editor Robin Lütjohann
for the Crossings Community
Homily at the Eucharist, 2026 Crossings Conference
by the Rev. Candice Wassell
Pastor Candice Wassell
Text: John 1:29-42
29 The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! 30 This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ 31 I myself did not know him, but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” 32 And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. 33 I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ 34 And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Chosen One.”
35 The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, 36 and as he watched Jesus walk by he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” 37 The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. 38 When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” 39 He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. 40 One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. 41 He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). 42 He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).
I’m not an academic. I didn’t even know what the phrase “egg head” meant until Ed Schroeder told me 20 years ago. I’m just a high school drop out who needed to know the promise of Christ crucified was good enough to redeem even me. And the academics of Crossings were kind enough to break that promise down so I could understand it. And about all I can do to show my gratitude is to tell stories. So, that’s what I’ve got for you tonight. Three stories. All of them involve children, because children have a way of showing us the truth before we have a chance to clean it up.
Story number one. We have a preschool at my church, and I do chapel time with the kids once a month. At this particular chapel time, I’m telling a class of four year olds the story of Jesus being baptized by John. I show them the baptismal font, talk about the water, and then I do what pastors do: I dip my finger in the water, trace the cross on their foreheads, saying, “May God bless you and keep you.” I get done blessing all of them and say, “Let’s end by folding our hands in prayer,” and that’s when little Helen Watson yells, “But you need to be blessed!” Before I can respond, she plunges her whole hand in the water and slaps me on the forehead. It was the most aggressive blessing I’ve ever received. And it was also the holiest. Because I realized when it was over how much joy it gave me. I didn’t know I needed that blessing until I got it. I walked away feeling hopeful, hopeful about the church, about the future, about my work. And I realized how long it had been since I’d felt that way. My tank was empty, and I didn’t know it.
Which raises a hard question, especially for a conference about Christian behavior: What does discipleship look like when the tank is empty? Not when we’re motivated, not when we’re spiritually energized. But when we are worn down, emotionally, physically, spiritually.
Our culture trains us not to notice such emptiness. Even as it is the thing increasingly wearing us down emotionally, physically, spiritually. Our culture excels at telling us to push through. Do more. Try harder. And sometimes the church unintentionally reinforces that voice, especially when discipleship gets framed primarily as doing what Jesus does.
In today’s Gospel, John declares, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.” And there have certainly been a million sermons preached on this text that say, “If Jesus forgives the whole world, surely you can forgive your spouse, your coworker, your neighbor.” And sometimes, maybe, we can. But sometimes we can’t.
Pastor Candice Wassell preaching at the 2026 Crossings Conference
Sometimes it’s not just sin that blocks us, though that’s real enough. Sometimes it’s grief. Or illness. Or exhaustion. Or fear. And when the good news gets reduced to “be more like Jesus,” it doesn’t sound like good news at all. It sounds like one more demand laid on empty hands.
Kid story number two. This one was shared with me by one of our preschool teachers, Miss Paulette. She brought in giant cardboard boxes and created a tunnel the kids could crawl through. Well, little Henry enters the tunnel, but then decides to turn around and go backward. And he runs into Dakota, who doesn’t appreciate Henry going backwards, so Dakota hauls off and punches Henry. Miss Paulette calmly says to him, “Dakota, Hands are for loving.” And Dakota bursts into tears and says, “There’s no more love left in my hands. I’m tired and I need a nap.”
That child preached the Law perfectly. Because that’s the real problem, isn’t it? Not that we don’t know what good behavior looks like. It’s that the Law keeps demanding love from hands that are already empty. And the Law doesn’t care why. It just names the failure. Which is why John’s words matter so much: “Here is the Lamb of God.” Not the example of God. Not the moral coach of God. The Lamb. The one who doesn’t just inspire better behavior, but bears the full weight of the world’s failure to love. The Lamb who absorbs the critique, the exhaustion, the sin, the collapse. The Lamb who takes away sin not by ignoring it, but by letting it fall on him.
I wonder if John the Baptist knew what it meant to be empty. By this point in the Gospel, he’s been testifying nonstop. Living in the wilderness. Eating bugs and honey. Arguing with religious authorities. Explaining himself over and over again. And when we get to today’s text, John doesn’t give a program. He doesn’t give instructions. He points. “There he is.” As if to say: I’m done. I’ve got nothing left. But he does.
This is where Crossings theology helps us name the turn. Because when the Law has done its work, when empty hands are exposed, the Gospel does not say, “Try again.” It says, “Look. Look at the one who carries what you cannot. Look at the one who stands under God’s judgment so you don’t have to. Look at the Lamb. And something happens when that finger points. John’s disciples follow Jesus. And Andrew, in turn, goes and finds his brother Simon and brings him to Jesus. Which brings me to kid story number three.
If you ask my sister, Tara, who is now in her fifties (she’s decades older than me) who her favorite teacher was, she’d go all the way back to Kindergarten and Miss Shut. Tara remembers her so fondly, just full of love and joy and safety. If you ask my mom about Miss Shut, she can’t recall that year without tears. Mom would tell you, “That was the year your dad was in an industrial accident. His legs were crushed under 4 tons of steel. The doctors told me he might never walk again. So, I looked at you three little kids, took another job and did the best I could nursing your dad back to health.”
And then my mom will tell you the story of when in the middle of all that, one morning, she walks my sister into her kindergarten classroom, and as she is handing Tara over to Miss Shut, she realizes she hasn’t even combed Tara’s hair. And it just breaks her, she starts crying to Miss Shut, pouring out everything and Miss Shut listens, and when my mom finally stops, Miss Shut says, “Just get her here. I’ll do the rest.” And on those days when getting her there was all my mom could do, Miss Shut filled in the gaps. She kept a comb, some barrettes, even a toothbrush on hand for my sister, just in case. That’s what happens in Christ for good. We find ourselves able to absorb the critique, the exhaustion, the sin, the failure.
From Canva
Christian behavior does matter, but not as a condition for belonging. It matters because the Lamb creates a community where others step in when we can’t. Discipleship is not constant output. It is trusting Christ enough to be led when we are empty, and trusting that Christ will use others to carry us. Sometimes discipleship looks like feeding the hungry and healing the sick. And sometimes it looks like pointing and saying, “There he is.” And that, too, is good. Because the Lamb of God is enough. And in him, even empty hands are held. Amen.
