"Under the Fig Tree" | The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | January 17, 2021
The Second Sunday after Epiphany, Year B
1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20) | 1 Corinthians 6:12-20 | John 1:43-51 | Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
In late spring of 1792, President George Washington wrote a letter to Representative James Madison expressing his desire to not run for a second term as President of the United States. Washington wrote of his desire to spend the rest of his days “on the banks of the Potomac, and under the shadow of my own Vine and my own Fig tree, free from the busy scenes of public life.” These words - my own Vine and my own Fig tree - were a favorite expression of George Washington, shared in other addresses and letters throughout his career, such as when George Washington, as general during the Revolutionary War, wrote home of his longings for a more peaceful life. These words - my own Vine and my own Fig tree - come from scripture, from the book of the prophet Micah. Since they are particularly powerful words, I wanted to read from Chapter 4 of Micah at length. The prophet writes:
In days to come
the mountain of the Lord’s house
shall be established as the highest of the mountains,
and shall be raised up above the hills.
Peoples shall stream to it,
and many nations shall come and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob;
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction,
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
He shall judge between many peoples,
and shall arbitrate between strong nations far away;
they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war any more;
but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees,
and no one shall make them afraid;
for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.
When George Washington penned his letter to James Madison, he envisioned retirement and a different sort of relationship to the country he helped found. However, Washington did ultimately embark on a second term as President, against his personal wishes, recognizing that his own desires had to be set aside for the sake of a nation that was grappling, at the time, with divisive political parties and an uncertain future. Washington formally retired from political life after that second term, setting an important example and precedent as a man who did not grasp for more power, but rather sought to lay down his authority and share it with others, across lines of partisan difference.
I was grateful this week to be reminded of that particular moment in history, thanks to discussions at Trinity’s House Church and in particular the contributions of Neil Olsen. This week seemed like a particularly important time to reflect on the history of the peaceful transfer of power in the United States of America, as we continue to reflect on the acts of insurrection that took place at our nation’s capital on January 6, and as we anticipate the inauguration of a new president on Wednesday, January 20 this week. Beyond our present context, this history of George Washington also feels particularly relevant in light of our lectionary reading for this week. In the Gospel of John today we hear about another fig tree - not the metaphorical fig tree of George Washington at Mt. Vernon, or the fig tree of the prophet Micah speaking to the people of Israel, but rather the fig tree of an ordinary man in Galilee, Nathanael, who was called out from under the shade to be a follower of Jesus Christ.
The gospel of John tells the story of the calling of Nathanael in this way. Jesus, having begun the process of gathering people to be his disciples, decides to go to Galilee. When he arrives Jesus finds Philip and immediately calls him saying, “Follow me.” It is then Philip who can’t resist spreading this news. He finds Nathanael to tell him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” At first, Nathanael is skeptical. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael asks, in a similar way to how we have been asking, throughout the past year, “Can anything good come out of 2020?” Philip asks Nathanael to suspend his judgment, at least momentarily, with these words of calling that are said throughout the Gospel of John: “Come and see.”
Philip brings Nathanael to Jesus, and it is Jesus who speaks first - acknowledging Nathanael. “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Jesus says. Nathanael, again, seems skeptical. “Where did you get to know me?” he asks. Jesus replies - and here is the crux of the passage! He says, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” We know that this is a turning point in the story, because Nathanael’s response is so remarkably different from everything he has said and done up to this point. He replies with enthusiasm, without skepticism, saying, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”
What was it exactly that Jesus saw under the fig tree? And why does this statement convince Nathanael so wholeheartedly? Was it simply a matter of Jesus showing his divine power, having knowledge about something that happened in the past? Maybe so. And yet it seems like such a generic observation - “I saw you under the fig tree” - in a part of the world where fig trees are not uncommon. Perhaps Jesus implies some knowledge about what Nathanael was doing there. Was it something upright, and good? Something shameful? Either way, we don’t know. But we do know that this comment somehow makes Nathanael felt seen - understood in the present moment - because Nathanael has no more qualms about whether or not Jesus truly knows him.
These are somewhat literal interpretations about the significance of the fig tree in the story of Nathanael’s calling. There is another interpretation as well - a not so literal interpretation. Some Biblical scholars have pointed towards the symbolic significance of the fig tree in the Hebrew scriptures - in passages like the one from Micah 4. They suggest that Jesus’ reference to the fig tree, in the gospel of John, is a way of acknowledging Nathanael’s own knowledge and commitment to the Hebrew scriptures, and his hopes that he would one day encounter the messiah that the prophets foretold. After all, the reality that the prophet Micah describes is not the reality of his present time, but rather a reality for the future. Micah looks forward to a time when people, “shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks;” a time when “nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees, and no one shall make them afraid.” That is certainly a future worth looking forward to. And perhaps, in this strange encounter between Jesus and Nathanael, Jesus is telling him that this time is drawing near.
Whatever the significance of the fig tree, it’s important to remember that this is, ultimately, a story about being called. In our fancy Christian terminology, we call this “vocation” - from the Latin vocare - to be called. We love call stories. We love to read about Samuel, the child acolyte, who hears his name whispered through the temple. And while his elders doubt him, and tell him to go back to sleep, Samuel is ultimately rewarded with the knowledge that it is God who has called his name. We love hearing about Nathanael, called out of his ordinary life to follow Jesus. I think we love these stories because all of us, each in our own way, are called. We are all called to be Christians - to be followers of Christ. And in the course of our lives we are called to be many other things as well - we are called to be healers, teachers, musicians, managers, academics, pastors. We are called to be brothers, sisters, parents, neighbors, friends. We are called to be good citizens. We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves, not only in our personal lives, but in our public, shared lives as well. We love call stories because we each have one of our own - or perhaps more than one. Because as long as we live God will continue to call us to better days, to greener pastures, to new things.
When I think about the calling of Nathanael from underneath the fig tree, I am reminded that there is something about calling that has to do, specifically, with knowing. Jesus knew who Nathanael had been in the past - with that glimpse of him sitting under the fig tree. Jesus knew who Nathanael was in the present - as he says those words, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” And Jesus knew who Nathanael might be in the future - as he evokes that image of the fig tree, that image that spoke so deeply to the prophets dreaming of a better future. When Jesus says “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you,” it’s as if Jesus is saying “I see you.” I see you who have been. I see who you are. And I see who you can be.
That is what it means to be called. It is a reckoning of past, present, and future. It is an honest encounter with what we have been, and what we are, and what we could be.
Too often, when we think of callings, I think we get stuck in the present and the past. For example, in my own discernment process towards becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church, I remember writing an extensive spiritual autobiography about what led me to that point in my life. And I remember talking a lot about what I was doing in the present moment to prepare for the work of a priest. But very rarely was I asked to imagine what life might look like when I was finally ordained, as if that future was too far away, or too uncertain to dream about. But if we never dream, like the prophet Micah dreamed, how will we arrive at our destination?
This same phenomenon of getting stuck in the past and present is true of other collective calls as well. I fear it is often true in the church. We are much more comfortable talking about what we have been, and what we are, than what we could be. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel and it is this: God has seen us, Trinity on the Green, under the fig tree. God has seen what we might be - what we will be - when we emerge from the pandemic, and it is good. Can we spend some time imagining, along with God, what that future might look like? Can we make peace with the idea that it may be a little different from the way things always have been?
All these insights about callings apply not only to us as individuals, and to us collectively. They apply to us as a church. And they also apply to us as a nation. To be called is to reckon with what we have been, and what we are, and what we could be. Are we ready to look at those things - past, present, and future - in the United States of America, with courage and honesty? Are we ready to admit how the beautiful ideals of freedom and equality, espoused in George Washington’s Farewell Address, were not extended equally to poor people, women, people of color, indigenous Americans, and others? Are we ready to acknowledge how freedom does not extend equally to all people, even today? Are we ready to acknowledge fragile our democracy is - to acknowledge how fearmongering and hate that have spread, like a virus, through our national values? And lastly - are we ready to imagine a different future for the United States of America - a future where we can all sit under our own vine and our own fig tree, each one of us, having shed our own self interest for the common good and peace and flourishing of our nation. Are we ready to envision a future in which there is ample shade - ample freedom, and peace, and protection - for every human being in this country?
We are, each one of us, called. We are called individually. We are called collectively. We are called to a future that is better than we could ask for or imagine. God recognizes this calling in each of us by knowing us. By seeing us - not as we would wish to be seen, but as we truly are. I pray that our eyes would be opened this week - to see as God sees. We followers of Christ, we have work to do. May the God who knows you, and loves you, strengthen you in your journey of becoming. May the God who knows Trinity, and loves Trinity, strengthen us in our journey of becoming. And may the God who knows America, and loves America nevertheless, strengthen all of us in our journey of becoming. Amen.