Can Anything Good …?

Nathanael had an unusual response to learning about Jesus:  “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  This week, I reflect about the ways in which we ask that same question in modern form …

Can Anything Good …?

Psalm 139: 1-6, 13-18 John 1:43-51 

Nathanael was skeptical, at best. His friend Philip had made an extravagant claim: “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” [John 1:45] What surprises us is the source of his skepticism: Nathanael didn’t question the claim about Moses and the prophets; his question was “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” [John 1:46]

The author of this fourth gospel doesn’t give us any clues about Nathanael’s question. Did Nazareth have a reputation of being irreligious or corrupt? There is no mention of this village anywhere in the Hebrew Scriptures, so perhaps Nazareth was simply remote, small, and unknown. In any event, Philip doesn’t argue with him, just offers the same invitation that Jesus had made to Andrew and Simon Peter: “Come and see.”

We might expect that someone whose first reaction was skeptical would have been hard to convince that Jesus was truly the Messiah. Nathanael, however, changes his mind very quickly – all it took was one sentence from Jesus.

I have tried, without success, to imagine what one sentence from Jesus would have convinced me that he was the Son of God. And though I cannot tell you what that sentence would be, I can tell you one that it would not be: “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” [John 1:47] That’s what Jesus said to Nathanael. All Nathanael asked in return was “Where did you get to know me?” And all he heard as an answer was “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” [John 1:48]

The account of this conversation is so brief that it seems odd for Nathanael to have come to his confession of faith so quickly. There is no preaching in this story, no instruction in the faith. There are no miracles and no acts of healing. There are no prayers, no temple sacrifices, no reading of scripture. Nathanael’s conversion apparently did not depend upon any of those things. What it did depend upon were his own skepticism, Philip’s invitation to “come and see,” and words from Jesus that made him feel deeply and personally known.

We are not inclined to use the word “conversion” very often in our congregation. Most of the people who find their way to our church have some experience with Christian faith (though often in a style quite different from ours). So we speak of “deepening our faith,” or “continuing on our spiritual journey,” as though the process were relatively minor and benign. “Conversion” sounds substantially more weighty and serious.

I remember my surprise, for example, when my pastor in Seattle described me to someone as an “adult convert” to the faith. At first I was a little annoyed – after all, I had gone to Sunday school as a child, attended chapel in college, and been married in a church (though it was not a church I actually attended). But of course, Phil was correct. My childhood faith had been converted into an adult version. The change was particularly visible, I suppose, because there had been a long gap in my religious participation from age 15 to 35 or so. And it happened in a way very similar to the way it happened to Nathanael.

I began, as he did, with a certain amount of skepticism. I went back to church after all those years during a time of upset in my personal life (as many people do, by the way). But it was skepticism rooted in a deep spiritual longing – a longing that I imagine Nathanael having, too. Like him, I heard the simple invitation: come and see. The pastor, Phil Eisenhauer, actually described his preaching in that way. He said that his job was not to tell us what to believe, but to lead us to a window, push aside the curtain, and invite us to look out. And like Nathanael, I came to have a sense of being profoundly known: known by my friends in the church, known by the pastor, and finally known by God.

There is probably no more beautiful or profound expression of that sense of being known by God than the verses we heard this morning from Psalm 139: “O Lord, you have searched me and known me.” [Psalm 139:1] Like the ancient poet who wrote these words, we are moved to praise and gratitude by God’s attention to our every thought and every word and every action.

What the poet does not say, but that we confess, is that we are also overwhelmed and anxious about being known that deeply and completely. If God discerns all of my thoughts, then God knows the times when those thoughts are selfish, angry, or resentful. If God searches out my path, then God is with me when I choose to turn away from love and justice and towards hatred and injustice. If God hems me in behind and before, then God is keenly aware when I push against those boundaries or ignore them all together. If God formed me, then I harm God as well as myself when I do not care for my own body and soul and spirit, or worse, when I squander them.

One of the great paradoxes of Christian faith is that to become genuinely receptive to God’s mercy and grace we must also consent to this awesome intimacy. If we are to accept God’s forgiveness for our shortcomings, follies, and sins, we must also accept that God knows all about those shortcomings, follies, and sins. We offer a prayer of confession each week in worship, not because we are going to tell God something that God doesn’t know, but to acknowledge that we know the ways in which we have fallen short of God’s hopes for us.

Our confession brings us to a crucial moment – a moment in which we can choose to rest in the assurance of God’s mercy, or a moment in which we can once again join Nathanael in that skeptical question: Can anything good come from this? Do we really believe that God can transform our lives, can make us strong where we have been weak, honest where we have dissembled, clean where we have been soiled, fresh where we have been weary, hopeful where we have been discouraged, joyful where we have been sad? Do we really believe in the transformative power of God?

Sometimes I think that we do not ask or expect enough from God. We accept as “givens” the harsh realities of our own lives and of the lives around us. We hope for things to get better, but we do not really expect a fundamental change. We offer modest prayers, not because we are modest about what we need or yearn for, but because we are modest in our expectations of what God will really do. We ache to have our souls be fully known, but we hesitate to imagine that God really cares that deeply and specifically about us.

Remember the invitation from Jesus and echoed from Philip: come and see. This is the invitation to discipleship; it is not about doctrines or creeds or even about church membership. This is the invitation that answers Nathanael’s question and answers our questions: Can anything good come out of …? Can anything good come out of our inconsistent and sometimes hypocritical faith? Come and see. Can anything good come out of a flawed and idiosyncratic institution like the church? Come and see. Can anything good come out of our efforts to do justice and build peace? Come and see. Can anything good come from our efforts to heal and reconcile? Come and see. Can anything good come . from me? Come and see.

Prayer for January 18, 2009

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of all things seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, we offer our prayers this morning for the New Year.

We pray that this year we will pay less attention to what we want to have for ourselves and more attention to what you want us to do for others.

We pray that this year we will spend less energy making resolutions to change ourselves, and more energy receiving the transformations that you make in our lives.

We pray that this year we will spend less time on activities that are careless and meaningless, and more time doing what we truly and deeply value.

We pray that this year we may be passionate workers for justice.

We pray that this year we may be effective advocates for peace.

We pray that this year we may care more for reconciliation and healing than for we do for victory.

And we pray that this year we may be more faithful disciples of your holy way.

All these things we ask in the name of the one whose birth brought the light than the darkness cannot overcome, even Jesus the Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us …