Many of us spent the last week of 2025 making resolutions. We promised ourselves we’d finally organize that closet, start that exercise routine, or learn to cook something beyond frozen pizza. By now, four days into 2026, some of those resolutions are already feeling… optimistic. There’s something both hopeful and humbling about fresh starts—we genuinely believe this time will be different, even as experience whispers that change is harder than we expect.
But here’s what I’ve noticed about lasting change: it rarely happens when we just decide to try harder. The changes that stick usually come when someone invites us into something bigger than our own willpower. You don’t just decide to run a marathon—someone invites you to join their training group. You don’t transform your eating habits alone—a friend invites you to cook together, and the journey becomes shared rather than solitary.
This pattern of invitation and community isn’t just true for New Year’s resolutions. It’s how faith actually works. We don’t typically argue people into following Jesus. Faith spreads through personal invitation, one relationship at a time, in the most ordinary moments imaginable.
Today we begin our “Come and See” series by witnessing how Jesus’ first followers came to him—not through dramatic religious experiences but through simple, personal invitations. Over these three Sundays in January, we’re exploring how Jesus meets us in new beginnings. Today we witness faith spreading through personal invitation. Next week at the wedding in Cana, we’ll discover how Jesus transforms ordinary moments into divine abundance. Then we’ll confront Jesus cleansing the temple, asking what needs clearing away to make room for what truly matters. Each week builds toward the same question: How will you respond to Jesus’ invitation in this new year?
I’ve heard variations of this story from churches across the annual conference. Someone at work mentions feeling disconnected after relocating for a new job—weekends that feel long and lonely, scrolling through their phone rather than building real relationships. A Christian coworker wants to invite them to church but hesitates. “Come to my church” sounds too pushy, too religious, too… much.
But then the coworker takes a different approach: “A group of us grab breakfast before church on Sundays—nothing formal, just good food and conversation. You’d fit right in.” The invitation isn’t to an institution. It’s to community, to connection, to a table where there’s already a place set.
Often that’s how it works. The person comes for breakfast, stays for worship, and six months later realizes they’ve found something they didn’t even know they were looking for. Not because someone convinced them to be religious, but because someone invited them to belong before they believed.
This mirrors exactly what happened by the Jordan River around four o’clock one afternoon. Two disciples heard John the Baptist identify Jesus as “the Lamb of God”—a phrase loaded with meaning about sacrifice and liberation—and started following this intriguing rabbi. When Jesus noticed them, he didn’t launch into theological explanations. He asked a simple question: “What are you looking for?”
Their response is telling. They didn’t ask about Jesus’ credentials or theology. They asked, “Where are you staying?” In first-century Jewish culture, this question carried profound significance. It wasn’t about getting an address—it was a request for hospitality, for relationship, for permission to enter someone’s life. Asking where a rabbi stayed was asking to become part of their household, their community, their way of living. And Jesus gave them exactly that: “Come and see.”
What follows is a cascade of personal invitations. Andrew spends time with Jesus, then immediately finds his brother Simon. He doesn’t argue theology or present evidence. He simply declares his discovery: “We have found the Messiah.” Philip receives a direct invitation from Jesus—“Follow me”—and immediately extends that same invitation to Nathanael.
Notice Nathanael’s skepticism: “Can anything from Nazareth be good?” Philip doesn’t debate Nazareth’s cultural significance. He doesn’t defend Jesus’ hometown or provide a list of reasons why Nathanael should change his mind. He simply repeats Jesus’ invitation: “Come and see.”
When Jesus sees Nathanael approaching, he says something remarkable: “I saw you under the fig tree.” This detail matters more than it might seem. In Jewish tradition, studying Torah under a fig tree was a posture of sincere spiritual seeking—a place of meditation and prayer. Jesus was saying, “I know your heart. I saw you searching. Your skepticism comes from genuine longing, not cynicism.” Nathanael’s response transforms instantly from doubt to declaration: “Rabbi, you are God’s Son. You are the king of Israel.”
This passage reveals that faith spreads organically through personal relationships and simple invitations. It’s not about having perfect answers or overcoming every objection. It’s about inviting people to experience for themselves what you’ve discovered—and trusting that Jesus will meet them personally, just as he met Nathanael with intimate knowledge of his searching heart.
I know something about how this text works because it’s the passage that called me to ministry.
When I was a senior at Pittsburg State majoring in biology, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my degree. The previous summer, I’d done molecular biology research at a government lab in Albany, New York—what I thought I wanted. But somewhere along the way, I got the feeling: this isn’t it. I was good at it. I just couldn’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life.
I came back to school uncertain about the future. Seminary was something I’d thought about growing up—my dad was a United Methodist pastor—but never too seriously. He’d been careful never to pressure me. If ministry was going to be my path, it needed to be my own calling.
That fall, I went on a campus ministry retreat. During the final worship service, I found myself reading through the stories of Jesus calling the disciples, wondering: how did Jesus call people to follow him?
When I got to John’s gospel, I read the passage we heard today. And I felt like God was speaking to me. I had been asking, “What would seminary be like?” And Jesus’ response was simply: come and see.
It wasn’t the only moment that fall, but it was the clearest one—God’s invitation adding up alongside other small clues. I didn’t tell anyone that day. But by the end of that semester, I had applied to seminary. The following spring, I was accepted to Wesley Theological Seminary. I didn’t know then that I’d end up in the local church. That clarity came later. But “come and see” was the invitation I needed to take the next step—not a complete roadmap, just enough light for the next step forward.
John Wesley understood this relational pattern of faith deeply. His field preaching brought the gospel beyond church walls to mining villages and marketplaces, meeting people exactly where they were. Wesley taught that every Christian is called to witness—not just clergy or specially gifted evangelists, but every person who’s experienced God’s grace.
Wesley insisted that there’s no such thing as solitary Christianity. Faith is meant to be shared, lived in community, and passed along through personal testimony. The early Methodist class meetings became both formation spaces for believers and natural entry points for seekers—communities small enough that personal invitation could happen organically. Experiencing grace creates desire to share grace. When we encounter Christ’s transforming presence, Andrew’s instinct becomes ours—we find our Simon, our Nathanael, and extend that same gracious invitation.
Think about the people you interact with regularly—neighbors, coworkers, parents at school events. Research consistently shows that most people who come to church do so because someone they already know invited them. Not a postcard. Not a Facebook ad. A personal invitation from someone they trust.
Certain seasons create natural openness. When someone mentions they’re new to McPherson, that’s an invitation moment. After the holidays, when New Year’s resolutions include “getting back to church,” people are more receptive. Life transitions create windows where people reconsider spiritual questions they’ve set aside.
And our daily witness creates the foundation. The invitation works because someone’s coworker already knew them as a person who was genuine, kind, and centered. Faith becomes attractive not through arguments but through the quality of life we live and the genuine community we invite people to experience.
The good news is that we get to share good news. We’re not selling a product nobody wants. We’re simply inviting people to experience what’s already transforming us. The pressure is completely off—the Holy Spirit does the converting work, and we just extend invitations.
Every invitation matters, even when someone says “not yet.” Nathanael was skeptical, but Philip’s invitation opened a door that Jesus walked through with perfect personal knowledge. God was already working in Nathanael before Philip arrived. That’s prevenient grace—God goes ahead of us, preparing hearts before we ever speak. Our job is faithfulness in inviting, not success in converting. Some seeds we plant will bloom immediately. Others take years. Some won’t sprout in soil we’ll never see. But each invitation is an act of love.
As United Methodists, we make five promises when we join the church: to support the church with our prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness. This week, we focus on witness—sharing faith by inviting others into what we’ve experienced.
Identify one person who might be waiting for your invitation. Invite them to something specific: worship next Sunday, breakfast before worship, Youth Group, or Kid’s Zone. Practice sharing how God is working in your life in one honest sentence. Live your faith out loud through daily kindness that creates curiosity about what grounds you.
That’s how faith has always spread—through personal relationships where we notice what people need and invite them toward community where Jesus meets those needs. Today, Christ extends the same invitation: Come and see. And having come and seen, we discover that we’re now the ones with invitations to extend. Who is waiting for yours?
Will you pray with me?
Inviting God, give us courage to share the grace we’ve experienced. Help us notice who’s waiting for our invitation and respond with love. Amen.
AI tools assisted with drafting and research for this sermon, working within a theological framework I developed for preaching at McPherson First UMC. Scripture selection, theological direction, and final content remain my pastoral responsibility.
Rev. Andrew Conard 