Giving a Fig
based on 1 Samuel 3:1-10 [11-20], John 1:43-51
by Rev. Karen Goltz

I think a lot of times we miss out on what the Bible’s trying to tell us because our context is so different. It was written so long ago, the Word of God, yes, but also a product of its culture and environment, neither of which we share. We miss a lot of the references that would have been so obvious to the first readers and hearers of the stories. For example, what’s that business about the fig tree in today’s Gospel lesson, anyway? It seems to play an important role: it’s where Nathanael was sitting before Philip called him, and the fact that Jesus had seen him there seems to be a huge deal, causing Nathanael to recognize Jesus as the Son of God and King of Israel.

Huh? I don’t get it. So I looked it up. I read one scholar who claims that fig trees were places of contemplation, where deep thinkers went to think deep thoughts, and Jesus recognized Nathanael as being a serious scholar and learned man. I’ve heard another account that mothers in ancient times sent their children to play under fig trees, and that Jesus’ having seen Nathanael under one was an indication that Nathanael had been called since his youth. I’ve also read that the fig tree was representative of Israel as a whole, and that Jesus was being sarcastic when he called Nathanael an Israelite in whom there is no deceit. Israel himself, the patriarch Jacob, became patriarch through deceit and extortion, so an Israelite without deceit is a contradiction in terms. According to this understanding, Nathanael appreciated Jesus’ quick comeback to his own insult about nothing good coming out of Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, and that caused their relationship to grow.

Any one of these interpretations can be correct, or none of them, and whatever we choose to believe about the fig tree will color how we interpret the call of Nathanael. The original context of that exchange has been lost to us, and we may never know what was really meant by it.

The reading from first Samuel, while also a product of its culture and environment, at least begins on a note we can relate to: The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

I think it’s safe to say that the word of the Lord is rare in these days, too, and visions are definitely not widespread. At least, most people who have visions learn pretty quick not to tell other people about them, because our society doesn’t react too kindly to people who see and hear things that others can’t see and hear. Apparently it was the same in Samuel’s day.

I like this story about Samuel. Not only was the word of the Lord rare, but Samuel himself did not yet know the Lord. He was ministering to the Lord under Eli, yet he did not know him!

I have to wonder if Samuel knew that he didn’t know the Lord. He’d been given to Eli as an offering to the Lord by his mother when he was still a toddler, and had been ministering to the Lord under Eli’s tutelage ever since. But you know how it is when you’re raised to something since early childhood: you don’t think too much about it or question why you do what you do; you just do it because that’s the way you were raised. Many of us begin to question later in life, but Samuel’s not at that point yet; he’s still a boy. And he’s ministering to the Lord, though he doesn’t yet know the Lord.

To be perfectly honest, I think that description is accurate for a lot of us. Why do you come to church on Sunday? Why do you serve on committees? Does what you learn here impact what you do outside, at home, at work, with your friends, families and acquaintances? If so, why? If not, what do you come here for? We confess Christ as Lord, but do we really know Christ as Lord?

Or do we just do what we do because it’s what we’ve always done, or at least what we’ve done for a while? I don’t think there’s any shame in that, if that’s the case. It doesn’t speak ill of you as a person, or make you a less worthy Christian. It simply puts you in the same category as Samuel, who was ministering to the Lord even though he did not know him.

What really strikes me is what happens when the Lord finally does call Samuel. It’s not surprising that Samuel mistakenly thinks it’s Eli talking to him; you hear a voice calling your name, you assume it’s the only other person in the building. So Samuel’s not getting it is no surprise. What is surprising is that Eli doesn’t get it for a while, either.

Presumably, Eli did know the Lord. He was in the line of ancestral priests anointed since the days of Moses, and a few verses before the start of today’s reading, the Lord sent him a Word just for him through a man of God. Yet even though he knew the Lord, he didn’t recognize it right away when the Lord revealed himself to Samuel. I guess that’s good news for all of us. Because as I said before, some of us are like Samuel, ministering to the One we do not know. But others of us are ministering to the One we do know, and we still don’t always get it. And that’s OK, because whether we’re like Samuel or whether we’re like Eli, God will continue to call us until we do get it. He doesn’t get frustrated or give up.

This text from First Samuel is often used exactly as I just did, to affirm God’s steadfast love as he calls us by name. But it’s not that easy when you read what’s in the brackets today. It’s not that easy when you read what God had to say to Samuel after he’d called him.

Samuel is told that Eli’s sons have done evil in the sight of the Lord, and that they must die. Furthermore, God is revoking the ancestral priesthood from Eli’s family, and the good fortune they’ve enjoyed since the days of the Exodus are over. Samuel’s mission, should he choose to accept it, is to tell this to Eli, the man who has raised him and nurtured him and given him all kindness for most of his life. Samuel accepts the mission, and follows God. He follows God for the rest of his life, and it’s not an easy life. The people reject God through him and insist that an earthly king be appointed over them. God allows this to happen, and instructs Samuel to anoint Saul. Samuel is then witness to Saul’s failure as king, and, again according to God’s instruction, anoints David. Samuel doesn’t live to see the epic struggle between David and Saul, and dies wondering if he’d really accomplished anything during his priesthood.

We know the end of the story. We know that David took the throne, and ruled Israel. We know that his son Solomon inherited the throne upon his father’s death, and caused the split between the northern and southern kingdoms. We know that the northern kingdom of Israel was conquered by the Assyrians not long after, around 712 BC, and that the southern kingdom fell to the Babylonians in 586 BC. We know that a remnant of Israel returned to the Promised Land after Babylon was conquered by the Persians, who were later subdued by the Romans, who allowed Israel to exist as a part of Rome. And we know that it was into this situation that God sent his Son, the Word made flesh, to again call us by name. All these events were set into motion by Samuel’s obeying God’s call.

“Philip,” Jesus said. “Follow me.” “Nathanael,” Jesus said. “Follow me. You will see things greater than these.” And Nathanael did. He saw the ministry of Jesus; he saw the death of Jesus; he saw in the upper room that Jesus had been resurrected. He saw the Spirit of God descend on Pentecost, and he saw the early church grow, even as she struggled. And when he died, he too probably wondered if he’d accomplished anything during his discipleship. And I can tell you, the very fact that you’re sitting here today confirms that he did. He followed Christ, and others came and saw, and the Lord whom we can never fully understand or know did the rest.

And the significance of the fig tree? It doesn’t really matter. All we know is that someone said to Nathanael, “Come and see” when he asked about Jesus, and he did. And Jesus said, “Follow me,” and he did. It’s a pattern that has been repeated millions of time through the centuries, right down to us today, and it’s that same pattern that we’re called to repeat ourselves.

We’re here today because someone said, “Come and see,” and we did. And now we’re continually hearing Christ say, “Follow me,” even though we don’t know where exactly he’ll lead us on this earth, but assured that he will ultimately lead us back to himself, and that he will never forsake us along the journey no matter how difficult, and that he will never stop calling out to us if we get lost or confused along the way. And once you know that, you don’t have to give a fig about contextual details in two thousand plus year old stories. Amen.