Homily - Sunday - Second Weekend of Ordinary Time Year A January 18, 2026 - "Sacrifice like a Lamb"

Homily - Sunday - Second Weekend of Ordinary Time Year A
January 18, 2026 - "Sacrifice like a Lamb"
John 1:29–34 (Readings) "Behold the Lamb of God.”
Deacon David Lewis
Saint Charles Catholic Church, Imperial Beach / San Diego, CA

Homily on John 1:29–34

“Behold the Lamb of God” — The Name That Reveals the Heart of God

My friends, today’s Gospel gives us one of the most familiar and profound titles for Jesus in all of Scripture. John the Baptist looks up, sees Jesus approaching, and proclaims: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.”

We say those words at every Mass. We hear them so often that they can almost wash over us. But if we pause — if we let them sink in — we discover that this title, Lamb of God, is not just poetic. It is not just symbolic. It is a window into the very heart of God, and it is a mirror held up to our own lives.

Today I want to explore two things:

1. Why Jesus is called the Lamb of God, and
2. How that title speaks to the sacrifices we make every day — especially the hidden, quiet, exhausting sacrifices that look nothing like the world’s idea of holiness, but everything like God’s idea of holiness.

So why a Lamb? Why this name?

To the Jewish people, the word “lamb” was not sentimental. It was not cute. It was not a decoration for a nursery wall. A lamb meant sacrifice.

A lamb meant Passover. The lamb’s blood on the doorposts saved Israel from death. The lamb was the price of freedom. When John calls Jesus “the Lamb of God,” he is saying:
Here is the One whose sacrifice will free you from slavery — not to Pharaoh, but to sin and death.

A lamb also meant daily offering. In the Temple, lambs were offered every morning and every evening. Day after day, year after year, the people were reminded:
We belong to God. Our lives are meant to be given back to Him.

And, a lamb meant innocence. A lamb does not fight back. A lamb does not defend itself. A lamb is gentle, vulnerable, and offered in silence.
Isaiah foretold the Messiah as “a lamb led to the slaughter, who opened not his mouth.”

So when John the Baptist points to Jesus and says, “Behold the Lamb of God,” he is saying something breathtaking:

This is the One who will give Himself completely.
This is the One who will pour out His life so that you may live.
This is the One whose love is stronger than sin, stronger than death, stronger than every darkness.

The Lamb of God is not a title of weakness.
It is a title of self-giving love — love that holds nothing back.

 The title “Lamb of God” reveals the pattern of true love

If Jesus is the Lamb of God, then the Cross is not an accident.
It is not a tragedy.
It is not a failure.

It is the shape of love.

Love is not proven by feelings.
Love is not proven by words.
Love is proven by sacrifice — by the willingness to give yourself for the good of another.

And that is where this Gospel meets our lives.

Because while none of us will be nailed to a cross, every one of us is invited — daily — to live the Lamb’s way of love.

3. The many “names” we carry — and the sacrifices that come with them

“Lamb of God” is just one of Jesus’ names, but doesn’t every one of us have names that carry sacrifice.

Some of those names are beautiful:
Mother. Father. Husband. Wife. Kuya. Friend. Caregiver. Teacher. Boss, Disciple.

Some of those names are heavy:
Widow. Single parent. Survivor. Patient. Caretaker of aging parents. Worker who holds two jobs. Parish volunteer who shows up when no one else does.

And each name carries a cross.
Each name asks us to give something of ourselves.
Each name calls us to give ourselves in love.

Last week, I served at the 8:30 Mass and the sacrifices of one group in particular caught my eye, parents in the cry rooms and the vestibule.

You know who you are.

You are the ones who spend the entire Mass pacing back and forth, bouncing a baby, chasing a toddler, whispering “shhh,” picking up Cheerios, rescuing a child from splashing their hands in the holy water font, and praying — not for world peace — but simply that your child won’t scream during the Consecration.

You are the ones who sometimes wonder:
“Why do I even come? I don’t hear the readings. I don’t catch the homily. I don’t get a moment to pray. I’m not getting anything out of this.”

Let me say something clearly, from the heart of the Church:

You are living the sacrifice of the Lamb.
You are offering your body, your time, your energy, your peace of mind — for love.
And God sees it.
God delights in it.
God receives it as worship.

You may feel like you are missing Mass.
But you are living Mass.

Because Mass is not about what we get.
Mass is about what we offer.

And you, dear parents, are offering everything.

The Lamb of God teaches us that sacrifice is holy — even when it feels small

We often imagine holiness as something dramatic — the martyrdoms of the early Church, the heroic acts of the saints.

But most holiness is hidden.
Most holiness is quiet.
Most holiness looks like ordinary love lived with extraordinary faithfulness.

Jesus did not save the world by preaching the Sermon on the Mount.
He saved the world by giving Himself — body and blood, soul and divinity — on the Cross.

And so the sacrifices that look most like Jesus are not always the glamorous ones.
They are the ones that cost us something.

The parent who misses every homily for five years.

The spouse who forgives again.

The adult child who visits a parent with dementia even after they have forgotten their name.

The worker who stays honest in a dishonest environment.

The parishioner who serves quietly without applause.

These are lamb-like sacrifices.
These are Christ-shaped offerings.
These are the places where the Lamb of God is being formed in us.

The Lamb of God takes away the sin of the world — but He also takes away the lie that sacrifice is meaningless

We live in a culture that avoids sacrifice.
A culture that says:
“Do what makes you happy.”
“Protect your comfort.”
“Don’t let anyone inconvenience you.”

But the Gospel says something radically different:

“Love one another as I have loved you.”

And how did He love us, How did the Lamb of God love us?
By giving Himself completely.

So when you give yourself — even in small ways — you are participating in the very love that saves the world.

Your sacrifices matter.

Your sacrifices are seen.
Your sacrifices are holy.

The Lamb of God does not erase sacrifice.
He transforms it.
He fills it with meaning.
He makes it redemptive.

 

What does sacrifice look like for us today?

Let me offer three invitations.

A. See your sacrifices through the eyes of God

Don’t measure your holiness by how peaceful your prayer time is.
Measure it by how much love you pour into the people God has entrusted to you.

If your prayer is interrupted by a child, that interruption is your prayer.

If your Mass is spent in the vestibule, that vestibule is your altar.

If your life feels poured out, remember:
So was His.

B. See the sacrifices of others with compassion

When you see a parent struggling with a child at Mass, don’t roll your eyes.
Don’t judge.
Don’t sigh.

Smile.
Encourage.
Offer help.
Make room.

Because that parent is living the Gospel more deeply than they know.

C. Let the Lamb of God shape your own heart

Ask yourself:
Where is God inviting me to give myself more fully?
Where is He calling me to be gentler, more patient, more forgiving?
Where is He asking me to love in a way that costs me something?

Holiness is not about doing more.
It is about loving more.

So, behold the Lamb — and become like Him

When John the Baptist says, “Behold the Lamb of God,” he is not just pointing to Jesus.
He is pointing to the way of life that Jesus reveals.

A life of self-giving love.
A life of sacrifice that is not empty, but fruitful.
A life that transforms the world not through power, but through tenderness.

So today, as we come to the altar, we echo John’s words:

“Behold the Lamb of God.”

But we also hear Jesus whisper back to us:

“Behold the love I have for you.
Behold the sacrifice I make for you.
And now — go and do likewise.”

May every parent in the cry room, every caregiver, every quiet servant, every weary disciple know this truth:

Your sacrifices are not unnoticed.
They are not wasted.
They are not small.
They are the very love of Christ alive in the world.

Amen.