The line is disarmingly simple: “Come and see.” No pamphlet. No speech. Just an invitation. Two curious men trail Jesus down by the Jordan. He turns and asks, “What are you seeking?” They dodge with, “Where are you staying?” He answers, “Come and see.” They go, they see, and they stay. John even notes the time—about four in the afternoon—as if to insist that faith has a postcode and a clock.
John’s Gospel trades in small words with big rooms inside them: come, see, stay. It suggests that truth is not only argued; it is encountered. Before the disciples preach, they share a room. Before they perform, they keep company. The first discipline is not noise but presence.
There’s a quiet wisdom here for a noisy age. Many of us are searching—meaning, belonging, a way to be good in a complicated world. The story says that honest curiosity is a fine place to start. Ask your questions. But accept the method: step into a living space and look around. Seeking Jesus is a nudge towards testing claims in real life—tables laid, time given, neighbours noticed work for the common good.
Set one protected hour—quiet reading, a slow walk, or prayer. Put the phone away. Keep the appointment. Offer one invitation: “Come and see.” Not a debate; a meal, a visit, a hand with a task. Presence before persuasion. Make a corner hospitable—a chair, a kettle, a small room for unhurried talk. Homes shape hearts more than slogans do.
Do these three, and the street begins to soften. We become good neighbours, and that speaks a better word: humanity has a future. Not megaphones, but habitats of welcome. Tables where stories can breathe. Rooms where questions don’t have to dress up. And if you’re seeking? The door is open. Bring your questions. Come and see. God welcomes all, serves all, so should we.
