I was sitting in mass the other day and found myself day dreaming – not about chores, or food, or people. My thoughts were at least related to the message that the homilist was giving. Perhaps it is a poor excuse, but I already understood the Deacon’s point and after a few minutes, I found it hard to focus on his words. Instead, I began thinking about a particular phrase in the Gospel reading that kept drawing my imagination inward. The homilist was more interested in another part of the story, so I found myself going back to the same verse over and over again in my mind.
We read John 1:29-34, which is the passage about when John the Baptist testified about the divinity of Jesus. “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. He is the one of whom I said…”
John is my favorite gospel writer and I love how, throughout the narrative, he speaks of an invisible realm that is always just outside our sight. In his homily, the Deacon was focusing on John’s testimony itself – which is, after all, the main purpose behind the Gospel periscope, so I do not blame him for not keeping my attention. But my thoughts focused on a much shorter testimony that followed a little later when John says, “I did not know him…”
John repeats that phrase twice. “I did not know him, but the reason why I came baptizing with water was that he might be made known to Israel.” He talks about seeing the dove descending upon Jesus during the baptism, and again John repeats, “I did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain, he is the one…”
What struck me was the fact that John claimed not to know Jesus. And clearly he did. They they were cousins – how did he not know him?
Luke speaks of Mary spending three months with Elizabeth just before John was born. It is true that Joseph took Jesus and Mary down to Egypt for a few years after Herod’s nastiness, but the Holy Family returned to Nazareth while Jesus was still very young. Luke also speaks of Mary and Joseph travelling with their larger family group to Jerusalem every year for the Passover. John would have been counted among Jesus’ “brothers” (the term used in the Greek to describe his cousin, and those relatives of his generation). Jesus was not unknown to his own family.
John certainly knew Jesus. And yet twice, he asserts simply and strongly, “I did not know him.”
I love that line. John knew Jesus, and yet he said he did not know him – at least, not until the baptism when he saw the Holy Spirit descending on Jesus like a dove. It was only when the words the God foretold of Jesus were fulfilled that John knew him.
John was using the term “know” in a different way than we are used to. John knew Jesus as a cousin – as his brother – but he did not truly know him as the Christ and as the son of God. John did not know the unseen part of Jesus.
Not only did John finally “know” Jesus his cousin after the baptism, but he states further than his reason for baptizing with water was so that Jesus might be made “known” to Israel. They already knew him in the physical material sense, but John wanted them to know the unseen side of Jesus.
And yet, again, this seems odd. How does John not know that Jesus is the one that he had been waiting for? There were certainly enough warnings prior to the baptism. When Mary visits Elizabeth, John leaps in her womb and Elizabeth is inspired to say those words, “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb!” This line is especially famous now because it forms the first half of the “Hail Mary” prayer. The next line, though, is the testimony of Jesus when Elizabeth says, “And why is this granted me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” Surely, Elizabeth knew… or at least, she was given inspiration to utter the words of knowledge, which proclaimed that Jesus was the son of God. Would she not have told this to her son, John? Her husband Zechariah was also likewise told by an Angel that John was to “go before the Lord to prepare his ways…”, so both of John’s parents knew that he had a special mission from God. Surely, they would have known that Jesus was a part of that plan.
At the same time, though, Mary also seemed to somewhat unaware of who Jesus was. She was explicitly told by the Angel Gabriel that her child would be called, “the Son of God,” and in the fulfillment of the Angel’s words she became pregnant despite being a virgin. Joseph, too, was visited by an Angel and he was also witness to the virgin birth. Nevertheless, both Joseph and Mary “marveled” when Simeon exclaimed that he had “seen they salvation” which God had prepared for his people. The Holy Family had been specially set apart for the incarnation of Christ in the birth of Jesus. The Angels greets Mary by saying she was “full of Grace” – which meant that she was fully in communion with God, and was untarnished by the obstruction of original sin that mankind became subject to after the fall of Adam. Mary was blessed, but she still did not fully know who her son was until later. Joseph and Mary were visited by Angels and they experienced miracles firsthand, and yet they “marveled” when a holy man Simeon proclaims Jesus to be the one that Israel had been waiting for.
How can John and Joseph, and even Mary herself be surprised when they discover that Jesus is the Christ? Were they not warned about it multiple times, with multiple signs? The Gospels tell us that they were – but the Gospels also compress many years into just a few sentences. The Gospels bring together all the signs into a few short scenes, and we read them in the order that most reveals their coherent truth.
But we did not live the course of several decades with the Holy Family as they watched Jesus grow up “in wisdom and in stature.” The Gospels do not tell of the many hours, and days, and years spent in the ordinary course of routine living. Eating together, working together, and waiting together – all very ordinary acts. The Gospel jumps from one miracle to another, and often we are surprised that the people of the time did not immediately recognize the divinity of Jesus. But in truth, we have the advantage of reading all the miraculous accounts together in a beautiful narrative, removed from all the other ordinary moments that must have filled the typical course of every normal day.
I think that is what caused my mind to wander during the Deacon’s homily. The Deacon was speaking about the ultimate miracle of Jesus as Messiah – and that is fundamental to our faith. Yet, in his short little phrase, John was speaking about the Jesus that he did not see in everyday life. “I did not know him.”
John claimed he did not know Jesus until the specific signs had been fulfilled. He knew Jesus as a cousin and brother, but not as God. Again, John surely knew of Jesus’ spiritual preeminence because a week or so before his testimony about the “Lamb of God”, when Jesus came to John to be baptized, John protested and said, “I need to be baptized by you…” John obviously not only knew Jesus, but knew that he was the greater of the two. It was only after Jesus came up from the water that the Holy Spirit descended like a dove. It was only after the baptism that John saw and truly knew Jesus – at least, he saw and knew Jesus as the Messiah.
Like Joseph and Mary, John always knew that Jesus was special, but it was not until the specific prophecy was fulfilled that he accepted that Jesus was more than just a man, or a cousin, or a brother. He was divine.
The Deacon actually mentioned the point that John must have known Jesus because they were cousins… but he did not follow the thought. I remember my ears perked up and I paid closer attention to the specific words of the homily… but the Deacon just mentioned it as an aside. He did not allow his own message to be distracted in the same way that I had allowed my thoughts to wander. He went right back to the importance of John’s testimony. For my part, I kept thinking about the physical experiences of John (and Zachariah, and Elizabeth, and Joseph, and even Mary while Jesus was still young). They all knew Jesus, but they did not truly understand who Jesus really was.
John was speaking about seeing the invisible. He knew Jesus of the physical world, but he did not see the Jesus that transcended this material world. Not at first.
God works miracles around us on a daily basis, and yet we only ever see the natural course of the world. Our lives are so very “real” – there is nothing that seems to defy the laws of nature in our daily living. This is the underlying deception of our material lives, and it is both the essence and greatest stumbling block of our faith. We live within our senses, and we can train ourselves to trust only those sense and thereby miss the miraculous, even when such miracles occur before our own eyes.
It is tempting to hear stories of past saints and to imagine that they must have enjoyed a special sense of holiness that set them apart from the rest of the world. We hear accounts of miraculous events and we hear visions and encounters of when God engaged in the lives of certain saints directly – we then assume that these miraculous experiences must have been heralded with angelic voices, shimmering radiance, and a general “other worldliness” that made it very clear that they were in the presence of God.
And yet, I think those assumptions are a function of our own projections.
If we had a time machine and could go back to their era, and get to know these saints, and if we could see these miracles first hand, then I would suspect the people and the events would seem all too normal. We might even find ourselves being amazed by how unamazing they were.
I think of when Moses approached the burning bush. He was drawn to the bush because it was on fire, and yet it was not being consumed. It was unusual, and yet in some ways it was also very normal. The fire was something you would see every day. It was the fact that the fire did not blacken the wood, or create ash that was miraculous – and it surprised Moses. Only after he approached the bush did he hear the voice of God… and again, we assume that such a conversation would have been awe inspiring. In our recreations/movies about this story, we always add special effects to this scene to indicate that it was indeed supernatural. And yet, there seems to be some evidence that Moses did not think it so – at least not in the material sense.
Moses spoke with God directly, and even argued (a little) with God, and yet he seemed constantly in need of signs. While on Mount Sinai, after having served as the vehicle for the ten plagues of Egypt, and the rescue of Israelites through the Red Sea on dry land, Moses still begged to be able to see God — “I pray thee, show me thy glory”.
Moses saw the signs first hand. In most cases, he was the direct instrument for many of them coming to be. And yet he lamented that he never saw God directly.
It makes me think that the signs must have appeared on their face, even to Moses, like ordinary routine events. Just another part of the same sort of “reality” that Moses experienced every day. He picks up a staff, and it becomes a serpent – not a shimmering serpent, or a glowing serpent – just a serpent. He raises his staff before the Red Sea and the waters part. They is no mention of the water being electrified, or glowing, or otherwise magical in appearance. They simply parted. Moses was the vehicle for amazing miracles, and yet even Moses somehow wanted them to “appear” more miraculous than they were. Nor was he alone in this. The Pharaoh was unmoved until he lost his son, and even then his “awe” was discounted almost immediately after the initial grief wore away. Likewise, the Israelites also saw these signs and yet they were constantly forgetting God’s glory. In the desert they received manna from heaven every day, and yet after a few months the manna seemed commonplace to them. It just appeared like the morning dew. It seemed normal again, and the Israelites even complained about it. The manna was no longer miraculous in their eyes because it was physical and normal and almost ordinary, despite the obvious fact that there was no other explanation for its existence or presence except that God provided it for them.
It seems that Moses, too, was seeking more flash and more evidence of the supernatural. When the Israelites were thirsty and God told Moses to speak to the rock at Horeb in order to bring forth water for the Israelites – an action that was itself an obvious miracle – Moses seemed to want something more. Previously, he was told to strike the rock to bring forth the water. This time, however, God told him merely to speak to the rock. Instead of following God’s command, Moses chose to strike it. He must have done so with a flourish, because it was deemed a sin great enough to prohibit Moses from entering the Promised Land. Later, God said that Moses “did not believe in me” and that is why he was punished.
Striking the rock instead of speaking to it is almost always interpreted as a grievous sin because Moses made it appear that the miracle was a result of something that he did, rather than a miracle of God alone. And certainly that interpretation is correct. But it also seems to me that Moses was seeking more than his self-glory in that sin.
God says Moses did not believe. It was not enough that Moses could speak and water would come out of the rock. Moses wanted to see something spectacular to accompany the simple action. Water from a rock might look like a spring that comes out of a cliff face. It might look like any very ordinary occurrence of nature. I always thought that part of the sin was that Moses was ungrateful for the miracles that he was seeing. He wanted to see God – he wanted to see something that was not ordinary looking. Something that would not so easily bend into the ordinary course of nature, or the “real world” – he wanted flourish. He wanted something that was obviously “other worldly.”
On Mount Sinai Moses begged to see God’s glory and God responded, “you shall see my back, but my face shall not be seen.” God warned, “you cannot see my face; for man shall not see me and live.”
There is so much to be read in these accounts of Moses, but when I compare them to the testimony of John, and Joseph and Mary, or any of the later saints – it seems that God always hides his face. He shows us his back. He does not reveal himself explicitly.
And perhaps that is impossible to resolve while we still live in this material world.
The laws of nature rule the material world and they are what we are used to seeing. Even when God performs obvious miracles (water from a dry rock, or a virgin birth without ever knowing a man), he does so within the laws of nature. These are truly earth-shaking miracles, and yet they occur within the ordinary course of our known material world. Even at Christ’s crucifixion, which is the single greatest miracle of all history, God reveals his handiwork only through earthquakes, a solar eclipse, and other physical events that could just as easily be explained through natural causes. We do not actually see the gates of Hell being torn down, or the power of the devil to be destroyed. We see and feel an earthquake and the curtain in the temple is torn in two.
As people of faith, we know the miracles that lay behind these physical actions. But we also know that faith because the miracles are recounted to us in a compact and concise narrative. Would we have been so awe-struck if we have seen them first hand, and without the benefit of the explanatory narrative?
I wonder.
We assume that all miracles should seem “miraculous” – perhaps, even magical. We assume that had we experienced them, we would have seen the other worldliness of God and would have been shocked by the contrast to our normal lives.
And yet… it seems that few people respond in that way. The Priests and Pharisees all saw the same events of the crucifixion, and yet they were unmoved. The greatest miracle of history did not necessarily compel belief, because the miracle was clothed within the ordinary laws of our material world. By definition, the miracle defied the ordinary course of the laws of nature, and yet the miraculous always appear within the context of nature. God does not reveal his face to us – he shows us only his back. He shows us only the effects of the miracle.
If a cancer patient is miraculously cured, there are no miraculous special effects to go with it. The patient is simply healed. One moment they are sick, and the next they are healed. That is how Jesus healed so many who were sick: the lame man simply walked, the blind man simply saw. It is how we record our modern day miracles as well – someone who was sick, is suddenly not sick. The canon of saints recorded thousands of such miracles.
Perhaps it is because we live in a multimedia world in which stunning special effects are more or less expected. Perhaps we just assume that any miraculous event would be accompanied by amazing signs that scream out the obvious truth of the miracle. Or… perhaps, like Moses we just yearn to see God’s glory explicitly, and we presume that anyone else who has experienced his revelation directly must have experienced it in some sort of other-worldly way.
The prophet Samuel was laying in bed in the middle of the night and he heard his name being called. It was an ordinary voice. It was not thunderous or deep or shocking. It was just a voice. He jumped up and ran into the other room and asked his master, the prophet Eli, what it was that he wanted. To Samuel’s ear, the voice was very ordinary and could not distinguish it from Eli’s voice. And yet we know it was God speaking directly to him.
John said he did not know Jesus. But clearly he did.
What he meant was that he did not know the divinity of the ordinary man named Jesus who lived amongst them. The Pharisees, I think, were most troubled by this. They were expecting the Messiah to be a radiant King descending from the heavens in gold and glory to wipe out the Romans, cast out the sinners, and to otherwise glorify Israel with stunning radiance. But Jesus came as a humble carpenter’s son.
John said he did not know Jesus because the divinity of Jesus was not visibly outside of this world.
God works in this world continuously, but how often do we dismiss those works because they occur naturally? How often do we see the ordinary events of our lives and complain that we see nothing of God in our midst? How often do we experience the miraculous and yet attribute them to the ordinary course of the natural world? We all yearn to see the Glory of God, and yet we seem unconvinced unless that Glory transcends all that we already know.
Perhaps we miscalculate the effect of seeing such naked glory… could we see such other-worldly things and live? Can we experience phenomenon that truly transcend our senses and go beyond those vehicles by which are experiences naturally come to us? Would we even recognize that kind of glory?
As I was sitting in mass thinking about these things, I realized that not only do we often overlook God’s handiwork in our daily lives, but we are probably truly blind to any other type of expression. If God reveals himself to us, he must use the tools that we already possess. Even the miraculous is expressed in the course of our existing laws of nature. There is no other way for us to see, or hear, or feel it.
The invisible world is all around us. But it is truly invisible. God can work in the people we interact with. Like Moses, he can be working through us directly. If we not attentive, then may never see it. If we look only at the ordinary and expect to see the extraordinary, then we may be disappointed. Our senses will not reveal the glories of God that go beyond our senses. We will never “see” the face of God while we are alive in this world. At best, we can see his back – we can see what God has left after he has acted.
How did John finally come to know Jesus? It was through the assurance of his faith. When he saw the prophesy come to fulfillment. When he saw the Holy Spirit descend in the form of a dove (not… by the way… in the form of a shimmering light, or some other computer generated special effect… it descended in the form of a simple bird). John was expecting the sign, and then he saw the sign, and then he knew what it meant. And then he knew Jesus.
By faith he knew the divine.
We cannot see the invisible world that surely exists around at the time. We do not see the angels, or demons, or the love or pain. We see real people. We experience real events. We might be tempted to dismiss these things as ordinary, but God works precisely through those ordinary things. We may not be able to see the glories of God through our senses, but we can find a kind of certainty through our faith. Our faith transcends our senses. We can recognize God’s grace and his glory in the aftereffects. We can learn to identify God’s hand, even when he works through our own.
One of my favorite lines from J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, was at the end. The journey is complete and Bilbo is amazed at the stories that were being told about him and his companions and he observes that the old prophecies seemed to be coming true after all. Gandalf turns to him and says, “Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself?” He adds, “You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all.”
We always want to see God directly. But we are only small fellows in a very large world. Extraordinary things happen in our ordinary lives on a daily basis – maybe for our benefit, and maybe for others. We sorely want God to point them all out to us explicitly, and to do so with pomp and circumstance. If we see no fanfare, then we begin to doubt his works. And in my mind that seems more than a little premature.
In any case, I found myself daydreaming just a little bit during mass the other day. My only plea is that the distractions were all very much invisible… and perhaps that is the better kind of daydreaming after all.
