Formed for Others' Sake

We live in an age that prizes visibility: metrics, platforms, results. Yet under the pressure to prove ourselves, a deeper question often breaks through the noise: What am I for? The Scriptures for this Sunday answer with surprising boldness. They reveal a vocation that is both intimate and vast, personal and for the whole world. They teach a way beyond performance and into communion, beyond self-assertion and into witness. They invite consent to a will not our own; and promise that in surrender we discover who we are.

Formed for More Than Ourselves

In Isaiah’s Servant Song, God speaks to one who is “formed from the womb” and then stretches the horizon: it is too little to restore only Israel; the Servant will be “a light to the nations.” There is both tenderness and daring here. Tenderness: you are known and fashioned before you can perform or brand yourself. Daring: your life is given not merely for your private restoration or your nearest circle, but for the healing of many.

That divine “too little” can sound like holy dissatisfaction in our hearts. It bothers the conscience when we settle for smallness; when faith is reduced to a private comfort, when compassion ends at the edge of our convenience, when our horizon is no larger than our tribe. God’s dream for us is larger and kinder than our plans. He gives not just tasks but strength: “my God is now my strength.” Vocation is not a burden to be carried alone but a partnership in which God supplies what we lack.

In a world often narrowed by fear, polarization, or fatigue, the Servant’s vocation reopens the windows. Light to the nations looks like concrete mercy: attention to the unseen coworker, patience with the difficult family member, advocacy for those whose voices are ignored, generosity toward migrants and the poor, integrity in the gray zones of work, and a digital presence that sheds warmth rather than heat. The call is large, yes; but it is lived locally, in the next faithful step.

“Here I Am”: Obedience Over Optics

Psalm 40 reframes religion away from optics and toward obedience: “Sacrifice or offering you wished not, but ears open to obedience you gave me.” The psalmist delights to do God’s will, not as grim duty but as freedom. Obedience here is not subservience; it is attunement; a listening so deep that the heart and God’s law become one.

This challenges a culture that confuses visibility with value. We can do many religious things and still avoid God: serving others for recognition, posting virtue rather than practicing it, hiding behind busyness to dodge the harder surrender of the will. The psalm points to a different path: receive an open ear, then say, “Here I am.” The fruit is a “new song”; not a slogan, but a changed life that quietly announces God’s justice.

Simple practices train the ear to listen: a brief morning offering; “Here I am, Lord”; before checking a phone; a mid-day pause to ask, “What is your will in this meeting, this reply, this commute?” a night examen to notice where obedience was life-giving and where self-will closed the heart. Over time, obedience ceases to feel like loss. It feels like alignment.

Beholding the Lamb, Becoming Witnesses

John the Baptist’s witness centers the Gospel: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” John refuses to be the center. He points. He decreases so that Another may increase. He listens to what was revealed to him; watch for the One on whom the Spirit remains; and then he testifies: “Now I have seen and testified that he is the Son of God.”

Two graces stand out. First, the title “Lamb of God.” It evokes the Passover lamb, whose blood marked liberation; the Suffering Servant who bears the iniquity of many; the daily temple offerings that acknowledged dependence on God. Jesus gathers all these threads into himself. He does not merely manage sins; he goes to the root; the sin of the world, that deep, tangled web of pride, violence, and fear that runs through structures and hearts. He undoes it not with counter-violence but with self-giving love, poured out on the Cross and given in the Eucharist. Every time we hear “Behold the Lamb of God,” we are invited not only to look but to let ourselves be looked at by Love and changed.

Second, the Spirit “remains” on Jesus, and he will “baptize with the Holy Spirit.” To be Christian is not simply to admire Christ but to receive his own life. The Spirit who remains desires to remain in us; steadying, purifying, sending. That indwelling becomes visible in patience under pressure, truth told kindly, courage to repair a relationship, resilience in service, joy that is not naïve but rooted in hope. Charisms and gifts vary, but the signature is the same: we begin to point beyond ourselves, like John, to the One who is the source.

Sanctified and Sent; Together

Paul greets the Corinthians as “sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be holy,” and then widens the circle: with all everywhere who call upon the name of the Lord. Corinth was a complicated community; divisions, moral confusion, spiritual pride. Yet Paul starts with identity, not with failure: you are sanctified, you are called, grace and peace to you.

This is bracingly contemporary. We, too, inhabit communities marked by disagreement and frailty; parishes, friendships, families, online forums. The temptation is to define one another by our worst day or our latest post. Paul’s greeting offers another lens: begin from grace. Remember that the other also calls on the Lord who is “their Lord and ours.” From that shared center, correction can be honest without contempt, and unity can hold together truth and love.

“Grace to you and peace” can become a mission statement for daily encounters. Ask: what would it mean for my presence at home, work, or online to be a channel of grace and peace today? Sometimes it will mean speaking up; sometimes it will mean staying silent. Always it will mean staying rooted in the One on whom the Spirit remains.

Practicing the Call This Week

• Begin each day with availability: “Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will.” Name one concrete situation where this prayer will be tested.
• Make space to behold the Lamb. Even five quiet minutes before a crucifix or in stillness can re-center the heart on the love that takes away the world’s sin.
• Choose witness over self-promotion. In one conversation or post, point away from yourself toward what is true, good, and beautiful; and let it be enough.
• Stretch the horizon of love. Identify one person or group outside your usual circle to serve this week: a neighbor, a colleague on the margins, a local charity.
• Practice discernment and review. In the evening, ask where you sensed the Spirit’s nudge to remain in Christ; and where you slipped into self-reliance. Offer both to God.

The God who formed you from the womb entrusts you with more than survival or self-improvement. He gives you his own strength, places a new song in your mouth, and sends you as light for others. It may feel “too little” to live only for what is safe and known. That holy restlessness is a gift. It is the Spirit’s way of widening your heart to the measure of Christ, the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world and gives himself as your peace. Grace to you; and peace.