Sunday Musings

Come and see

Today is the second Sunday after Epiphany (Epiphany was January 6). Epiphany is the church season in which God’s light is revealed in the world, when glory is made manifest. The spiritual flow of these winter seasons are awaiting light in the darkness (Advent); Light overcoming darkness (Christmas); and following the light to its glorious source (Epiphany). The story moves from flickering candle light, to the Light of the Cradle, to seekers welcomed into the widening circle of light.

---

---

John 1:43-51

Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Philip said to him, “Come and see.”

When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

---

---

---

As a church season, Epiphany can easily be forgotten, squeezed as it is between Christmas and Lent. After we put away the Christmas decorations and the wise men, we switch back to “ordinary time” of green stoles until Ash Wednesday. Business-as-usual church waiting for the big run-up to Easter Sunday a few months hence.

But Epiphany is anything but ordinary. “Epiphany” is a glorious word. Appearance, manifestation, insight, revelation; an illuminating discovery, intuitive understanding. This is the church’s season of light, and the traditional readings for the first weeks of Epiphany make that point by taking us through the first chapter of John:

The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it . . . And the Word became flesh and lived among us and we have seen his glory.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we lit candles, one at a time, through Advent. Then, on Christmas Eve, we lit each other’s candles singing “Silent Night” and lit the Christ candle. The star blazed over the stable, and the first followers made their appearance — those Wise Men. Each week, more and more light. We have seen his glory! The Word is among us. The Light shines in the darkness.

There are more than two dozen references to light, awakening, seeing, looking, and revelation in John’s first chapter. The verses read today are the final verses of that chapter of light, the last act of the Christmas story.

And today’s verses are also the first act of the church’s story. This is the start of the story of discipleship, the calling of the friends of Jesus to follow him, how we might live in the light.

Where is that light cast? What are followers of Jesus called to? The Protestants of my childhood, the Protestants among whom I have spent my life and ministry, think of calling as something to do. A Catholic friend once remarked to me that she didn’t really understand Protestants. “They love meetings. They love conferences. They love doing things. Protestants are so busy.”

I thought, “Well, why not?” After all, Jesus told us to “go and do likewise.” And so we do stuff. Busy Protestants. Busy, busy, busy. It is holy work. We follow that we might “go and do.”

But that’s not the Gospel of John. “Go and do” is absent from this call to discipleship. Indeed, the first call is very different: Come and see.

Come and see is the call of discipleship.

The light beckons us, lures us, woos us, invites us to see. In particular, it calls us to see three things in brighter, truer, hues — God, ourselves, and the world. Let the light shine on these three. See them anew. Seeing is following.

God

Of course, the entirety of scripture tells stories of seeing God: the burning bush, the back of glory passing by. But the general sense of the Hebrew scriptures is that no one could look upon God and live. God was hidden, disguised, or mediated (even to the people of Israel). And that’s one of the unexpected aspects of the Christmas story: The Word became flesh and lived among us and we have seen his glory. God With Us, we can see God, gaze upon the sacred presence. A babe in the manger, the teacher on the hill, healing hands reaching toward us, a suffering man dying on a cross.  As John the Baptist cried out, “Behold the Lamb of God.”  Behold! Not believe. Just “behold.” 

Come and see.

Ourselves

Almost thirty years ago, I found myself in an extremely difficult personal dilemma.  I went out to dinner with a friend, hoping for advice, and spent much of the meal crying and complaining. I had choices to make, painful decisions ahead. I felt stuck. What should I do?  What path should I take? 

Instead of answering my question, he said the oddest thing: “You don’t see yourself very well.  You really need to look in the mirror more often. You need to see yourself more clearly. Then you’ll know what to do.”  

Do we really want to see ourselves? Unless you are Narcissus, most of us don’t gaze too deeply at ourselves. We aren’t really afraid of falling in love with ourselves; instead, we are afraid of what we might see. In a sense, we carry the memory of Genesis — the shame of Adam and Eve — with us, and its shadows haunt us in every mirror. Will we really be naked if we stare too long? We might not be notorious sinners. But we know the secrets, even if we try to ignore them. And thus, having done that which we ought not to have done, we avert our gaze, we hide from ourselves, not even wanting to be truly seen by our intimate partner. 

But God searches us out. In what might be the best question in the whole Bible, God calls out: “Adam, where are you?” (Excuse me, but why does God need to ask?) Adam, cowering in the bushes, replies that he is naked and afraid — exposed and guilty. He doesn’t want God to see him. He doesn’t want to see himself. 

But today’s reading frees us from the shame of being seen and seeing. The story of Nathanael reverses Genesis. Nathanael scoffs at the possibility of Jesus of Nazareth being the Messiah, seemingly rejecting the promise of God. 

Yet, when Jesus sees Nathanael, he says, “Here is an Israelite without deceit!” 

Nathanael replies, “How do you know this?” 

Jesus says, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you!”

This is far more than a Jesus magic trick. This is a story laden with the symbolism of Genesis. Nathanael, like Adam before him, is under a tree. We do not know what was on his heart, maybe skipping work, maybe daydreaming, maybe the simple pleasure of being under a fig tree in the heat. In it, we hear the echoes of the garden. A fig tree? The fig tree is the third tree mentioned in the Bible — the first being the Tree of Life; the Second the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; the third, the fig tree from which Adam and Eve sew garments to cover their nakedness after they break God’s command.

Jesus sees Nathanael under a fig tree, under the covering of shame. Yet Jesus sees a good man, a person of pure heart. When he said to Nathanael, “I saw you under the fig tree,” he was saying, “I see YOU – beyond your shame, beyond whatever you seek to hide, beyond every bad choice you have ever made. And I see you for who you really are: without deceit.” There is no judgment, no condemnation; instead, there is an invitation to come into the light.

If God sees us thus, we should be able to see ourselves in the same way. We should not fear looking at ourselves, deeply and reflectively. Not as a fixation like Narcissus. But with honesty and acceptance and insight and forgiveness and grace. 

Discipleship doesn’t begin by seeing ourselves as sinners. Anyone can do that. That’s why we hide. Discipleship begins by seeing ourselves as Jesus sees us. To see ourselves clearly — as Nathanael did — without deceit — through the loving eyes of Christ — that is the beginning of discipleship. 

The World

Perhaps the most amazing line in this story is: “You will see greater things than these.”

What? You will see greater things than the glory of God? Greater things than your truest self?

You will see others. You will see the world. 

Right now, we think it is hard to look at the world. It is difficult to watch the news, open social media, read a newspaper. All that division and anger and confusion and suffering and fear and pain. Authoritarianism, injustice, mass murder, starvation, war, genocide. . . .every single day I fear what I may see.

But if being a follower invites us to be Christ’s hands and feet, are we not also Christ’s eyes? 

What does God see when God looks at the world?

Certainly, God sees sorrow, the shame, the pity, the terror, and the sheer horror of it all. The pathos of the world. 

But isn’t that what Jesus saw with Nathanael?

In the same way Jesus saw past the shade of the fig tree to see Nathanael, God sees past the darkness that surrounds the human race.

God sees beyond, through, past the covering of the fig leaves. God sees creation “without deceit.” God beholds the world as it really is, a beloved community, a feast of abundance, sparkling in the light and glory of love. 

And God invites us to see that with our own eyes.   

There are some among us who see the world — those prophets, saints, and heroes we admire — the visionaries in history and the rare ones in our midst. People like Martin Luther King, Jr., a follower, a dreamer, a man with vision.

When they ask us to come and see, many respond. And then we go and do. Come and see. Go and do likewise.

But seeing isn’t only for special visionaries. Every person called to follow is called, first and foremost, to come and see. The Light dwells with all of us, opening our eyes. The Light widens the circle of welcome. We are all seers. The Light beckons: Come and see.

What do you see today?

---

---

INSPIRATION

A man went forth with gifts.

He was a prose poem.
He was a tragic grace.
He was a warm music.

He tried to heal the vivid volcanoes.
His ashes are
reading the world.

His Dream still wishes to anoint
the barricades of faith and of control.

His word still burns the center of the sun
above the thousands and the
hundred thousands.

The word was Justice. It was spoken.

So it shall be spoken.
So it shall be done.
— Gwendolyn Brooks, “Martin Luther King, Jr.”

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
                  Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
                  From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                  If I lack'd anything.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
                  Love said, You shall be he.
I, the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,
                  I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                  Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame
                  Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
                  My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
                  So I did sit and eat.
— George Herbert, “Love (III)”

---

---

If we can learn to see humanity in ourselves and in one another,
we can mitigate so much of the self-inflicted pain we feel daily.

― Simran Jeet Singh

---

Thanks to all the Cottage subscribers who came to Southern Lights. Wow! What a rich, full weekend. Richard and I loved meeting many of you and hearing your stories — and were so grateful (even a bit overwhelmed at times) by your enthusiasm, energy, and support the Cottage. I’ll share a bit more about the experience with everyone in coming days. If you wanted to come Saint Simon’s Island but couldn’t, we missed you!

---