Come and See

At church today I heard a familiar reading from John 1, in which Jesus meets Nathaniel. Nathaniel starts by questioning Jesus, and whether anything good can come out of Naxareth. Jesus’ reply is simple: come and see.

The passage ends with a reference to angels ‘ascending and descending upon the Son of Man’. This, of course, is a reference to Jacob’s ladder, which appears when Jacob is resting at night on the way to Haran. (Also, Nathaniel regarding Jesus as an ‘Israelite’ is surely a further reference to Jacob). A couple of things are to be noted here:

• Haran, wherever it was, was not in Israel
• Jacob names the placed ‘Bethel’ (ie, ‘house of God’)

I wonder if Jesus’ reference to the angels going up and down might have another thematic connection to the Genesis text.

Firstly both Haran, as somewhere outside of Israel, and Nazareth are regarded as inappropriate places for good, godly, things to come from, such that both offer a surprise when something positive is to be regarded.

Secondly, both Jacob and Nathaniel respond to this with a recognition that God may indeed be found in surprising places: Jacob notes that ‘surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it’; Nathaniel with a rousing ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are thee King of Israel’ after his initial doubt.

So drawing these together, an unsuspected location for divine appearance, coupled with initial scepticism, is met with surprise when a positive result ensues. As a result, these original views are changed.

What really fascinates me in this story, though, is what Philip (who first met Nathaniel) says in order to instigate Nathaniel’s engagement with Christ: ‘Come and see’. That is, come and see whether anything good can come out of Nazareth. Not ‘here is a good argument about why something good might come from Nazareth’; not ‘how silly of you to ask such a question’; not anything other than a simple call – go and have a look for yourself.

Experience and reason are critical in the way I regard Theology. I shouldn’t have to believe something that every ounce of good sense that I have tells me is incorrect, and shouldn’t regard life as a competition between religious and secular explanations f everything. Also, particularly on the grounds of ethics, I think we can learn a huge amount from experience first hand. I wish fewer people would decide that abortion, homosexuality, women bishops and the like without talking to people who live with these issues every day, without listening to the experiences of someone who has had an abortion or a civil partnership. Sometimes it is only when we go and see things for ourselves that we see God in them.

Sad News

I got some bad news today. A wonderful woman, who was out cleaner for many years, died in a car crash last week. She was from Newcastle, and moved to Buxton to move in with her partner, who subsequently got rid of her. She has two grown-up children and a grandchild who she would talk about a great deal.

I didn’t know much about Janice’s life history, but I suspect that it was a rather familiar story of a working-class girl from the north growing up, having children early, and never losing both her passion for life, and her desire to make the best she could of her life. One of the many tragedies of this story is that learning to drive was a key turning-point for her, which gave her independence and empowered her. She had passed her test only a few months earlier, and I remember her enthusiastically telling me about her driving lessons – she lent me her driving theory DVD to encourage me to learn.

Life is a fragile thing, and can be gone in an instant. At least twice a day I (and most who live in London) stand feet away from an electrical line that would kill us instantly, and that has little by way of protection. I find this thought rather difficult, and also quite empowering – through the death of others we may learn the joy of simply being alive, of meeting people, and having thoughts, hopes and loves. Sometimes it takes this to get out of our emotional inertia of doing things all the time, without taking stock of life’s joys – and sorrows – that make out existence such an incredible thing.

I have never lost anyone that I was really close to, and don’t look forward to the day when it will arrive. I think one must meet death with two things: firstly, acceptance that death is part of life’s rich circle and is nothing personal – no God decided your number was up, or could have prevented death if only someone had prayed harder; and secondly, almost uncritical optimism and affirmation of life with all of its high and low points – experiencing the death of someone may encourage us towards a reflexive sensitivity, that affirms and seeks to enhance all that works for life, and to challenge that which diminishes it. The fact of simply being is hard to talk about, but I think it’s something that the death of someone might be able to enhance. Perhaps this, then, is life after death – that the gusto with which Janice lived life, the aspirations she had, the faith she had in the goodness of people may perpetually exist in those that know her through memory, and the grief felt by those in mourning be brought together into the unified oneness of being, whatever being is.

So Janice, rest in peace. And may your kinds words, thoughtful acts, generous spirit and hope for the future continue to inspire us all.