[ p. 42 ]
HIS PUBLIC MANIFESTATION
Jo. i. 19-ii. 11.
Meanwhile much had been happening at Bethabara. The religious authorities at Jerusalem were watching the progress of the Baptist’s ministry; and as the enthusiasm increased, they were troubled. Who, they wondered, could he be ? Several possibilities occurred to them. He might actually be the Messiah ; or, if this were beyond belief, he might still, according to the common expectation, be Elijah or some other of the ancient prophets returned to herald the Messiah’s advent. It were well to ascertain the truth ; and so they despatched a deputation to interview him.
On their arrival at Bethabara he told them plainly that he was neither the Messiah nor Elijah nor any other of the prophets. Yet he wsis the Messiah’s herald is commissioned, in the prophet’s phrase, to “make straight the way of the Lord.” (Is. xl. 3) And he further told them that not merely was His advent imminent but, though they did not recognise Him, He was already in their midst.
Next day Jesus reappeared; and when the Baptist saw .Him approaching, he paused, in his discourse and pointed to Him. The Passover—that ancient and solemn feast at once commemorative of the deliverance from Egypt and prophetic of the grander deliverance which the Messiah should achieve—was now drawing nigh; and it may be that he had been discoursing of [ p. 43 ] the offering of the Paschal Lamb and its imminent fulfilment. “See !” he cried, “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. Yonder is the Messiah whose advent I have been announcing to you.”
It was an amazing declaration, and it would be received by the multitude with incredulity and indeed with derision. The Messiah whom they were expecting was a King of David’s lineage, and they styled Him now “the Son of David” and now, in precisely the same sense, “the Son of God.” No wonder that when the Baptist pointed to Jesus and proclaimed Him the Messiah, they were amazed. For what was Jesus in their eyes ? A simple peasant from despised Galilee, one of the common folk. And the Hebrew for “the common folk” was “the sons of man” (b‘ne ’ adam )— a phrase which occurs repeatedly in the Book of Psalms and is rendered in our Version now “the low” and again “men of low degree.” (Pss. xlix. 2, lxii. 9) “This the Messiah !” they would exclaim. “This is no ‘Son of David,’ no ‘Son of God,’ but one of us borrel folk, us ‘sons of man.’”
He heard the sneer, and He caught up the contemptuous phrase. Yes, that would be His designation. Thenceforth He called Himself “the Son of Man.” Others styled Him “the Son of David” and “the Son of God,” and He accepted the ascription since He was indeed the King of Israel, though in a deeper sense than they conceived; but He never so styled Himself. “The Son of Man” was His chosen designation, proclaiming His fellowship with the humble and despised.
Evidently it was now late, and that day nothing further happened; but next day the Baptist was [ p. 44 ] abroad with two of the disciples whom, after the manner of the ancient prophets, he had attached to himself. One of these was Andrew, a fisherman from the Lake of Galilee. The second is unnamed, but he was surely that other Galilean fisherman, John the son of Zebedee, afterwards the Evangelist who tells the story; for it was ever the wont of the sacred writers to conceal themselves, and largely as he figured on the scene, St. John never once mentions his own name in his Gospel, referring to himself, where he must, as “another disciple” or “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” Presently they espied Jesus meditatively pacing to and fro. “See !” said the Baptist, “the Lamb of God” ; and the two with eager curiosity followed Him. Turning suddenly. He confronted them and inquired: " What are you seeking ?” They supposed that He resented their intrusion, and stammered out a lame excuse. “Rabbi,” said they, as though hospitably solicitous for His accommodation in the crowded village, “where are you lodging ?” “Come,” He answered, “and you will see.” His lodging was doubtless some hillside retreat where, as He was wont during His homeless ministry, He passed the serene nights in the open, wrapped in His mantle.
It was a memorable crisis in their experience, and when the Evangelist wrote the story at Ephesus some seventy years later, he recalled the very hour. “It was,” he says, “about the tenth hour,” which signifies not, according to the common reckoning, 4 o’clock in the afternoon but, according to that which obtained in the Province of Asia, 10 o’clock in the forenoon. All that day they spent with Jesus, and His poor lodging proved for them “none other than the House [ p. 45 ] of God and the gate of Heaven.” For He communed with them there and revealed His grace to their souls.
It was late when they left Him, too late to tell the discovery which they had made; but Andrew was astir by daybreak [1] and, seeking out his brother Simon, who like himself was a Galilean fisherman and had travelled south to hear the Baptist, he greeted him with the tidings : “We have found the Messiah !” No doubt Simon had heard the Baptist’s announcement the other evening and shared the general incredulity. Had he known who was meant, he might have demurred ; but Andrew did not stay to explain. He was sure that, if only his brother saw that wonderful face, his doubts would vanish as his own had done. And so it came to pass. What was it that won his faith ? There was no miracle, no argument. “Jesus,” it is written, “looked upon him, and said: “You are Simon, the son of John : you shall be called Cephas .’” (Cf. Jo. i. 42 R.V.) Only a look of “those eyes of far perception” and a kindly promise. What did the promise mean ? Of old, when a man achieved some memorable exploit, he got a new name commemorative thereof. “Seldom,” says the Arabian poet, “hast thou seen a person honoured with a surname but thou wilt find, if thou search, that his character is expressed by it.” As yet Simon was merely a rude fisherman, warm-hearted and impulsive, but Jesus read his soul and perceived what grace would yet make of him—a strong, stedfast, devoted man. He was then merely Simon, but he would one day be Cephas, which signified in the Jewish vernacular “The Rock” or in Greek [ p. 46 ] Peter. And Jesus gave him his new name ere he had earned it, that it might serve as a continual challenge to his manhood. It was a generous recognition of the ideal which was stirring in the rude fisherman’s breast. It showed him that here was One who understood him and believed in his latent possibilities; and the look which accompanied it won his heart.
On the morrow Jesus took His departure for Galilee, being engaged to attend a wedding at the village of Cana on the next day but one. It was a three days’ journey, and since Jewish weddings were celebrated after nightfall, by setting out early He would arrive in time (Cf. Mt. xxv. 1-13). It happened that John and Andrew and Simon were also bidden ; and so were two other Galileans whom the fame of the Baptist’s preaching had brought south. One of these was Nathanael, who, since he belonged to Cana, was doubtless a friend of the bride’s family. The other was Philip, and since he belonged to Bethsaida or “Fisher-ton,” the fisher-folk’s quarter of Capernaum, he too was a fisherman (Cf. Jo. xxi. 2). His heart had been moved by his experience at Bethabara, and he would fain have followed the example of his three fellow-townsmen ; but his natural diffidence restrained him. Jesus had been observing him ; and it is written that ere starting on the journey “Jesus finds Philip.” It was no chance encounter. He “found Philip” even as Andrew the previous morning had “found his own brother Simon.” He knew what was in his heart—his yearning and his fearfulness. “Follow Me” He said, and Philip gladly obeyed; and the Master and His four disciples set forward on their journey.
Nathanael had taken the road before them. Like [ p. 47 ] Philip he was deeply impressed, but his attitude was different from Philip’s. He was, as Jesus presently describes him, “truly an Israelite, one in whom there was no guile.” And what does this mean ? “Guile” is the same word as St. Paul employs when he speaks of “handling the Word of God deceitfully” ; and it precisely defines Nathanael’s attitude. (2 Cor. iv. 2) He had heard the Baptist’s testimony, and he would gladly have accepted it and hailed Jesus as the Messiah ; but something gave him pause. As a true Israelite he knew the Scriptures, and their testimony was that the Messiah would be born in holy Bethlehem (Cf. Mt. ii. 4-6). Jesus had indeed been born there, but Nathanael knew Him only as a Nazarene; and Nazareth was a town of evil repute in those days. Its folk were turbulent and lawless, and it was a common proverb that “nothing good could come out of Nazareth.” (Cf. Lk. iv. 26-30) How then could Jesus be the Messiah ? That was the problem which was vexing Nathanael. He would fain have accepted Jesus, but the testimony of Scripture seemed clear, and he would not “handle the Word of God deceitfully.”
Early that morning he had set out from Bethabara, and in the heat of the day he seated himself in the shade of a fig-tree by the wayside. As he sat, Jesus and His company approached, and Philip, recognising his acquaintance in the distance, sped forward and breathlessly jerked out the tidings : “Him that Moses wrote of in the Law—and the Prophets—we have found—Jesus the son of Joseph—him from Nazareth !” Such confidence regarding the question which was so perplexing himself provoked Nathanael, and he [ p. 48 ] retorted impatiently with the proverb: “Out of Nazareth can there be anything good ?” Philip attempted no argument. Indeed he had no opportunity ; for Jesus and the others were now close at hand. “Come and see” said he, and conducted Nathanael toward Him.
“See !” said Jesus to His companions, “truly an Israelite, one in whom there is no guile” ; and so accurate a definition of his mood surprised Nathanael. “Whence,” he exclaimed, “your understanding of me ?” He fancied that this was his first introduction to Jesus, never dreaming that those sympathetic eyes had been observing him at Bethabara and reading his troubled soul. No introduction was needed. “When you were under the fig-tree, ere Philip hailed you, I saw you.” It was a revelation to Nathanael of a love which had been seeking him amid his perplexity; and more compelling than the words of those gracious lips was the look of that blessed face. It won his heart as it had won Simon’s, and he bowed before it. His doubt vanished. Surely this was the Messiah. “Rabbi,” he cried, “you are ‘the Son of God,’ you are ‘the King of Israel’ !”
His confession gladdened Jesus. It was a premonition of the ever larger faith which fuller experience would inspire in His disciples. “Because I said, ‘I saw you beneath the fig-tree,’ you believe ? Greater thing s than these you will see.” Then, tinning to the others, He addressed them all: “Verily, verily I tell you, you will see ‘the heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending ’ on the Son of Man.” (Cf. Gen. xxviii. 12) There was a glory in the [ p. 49 ] lowly Son of Man beyond the Jewish dream of the Messiah as the Son of God, the King of Israel; for He was the Divine Word Incarnate, and their fellowship with Him in the coming days would be like the patriarch’s vision of “a ladder set up on the earth and the top of it reaching to heaven, and the angels of God ascending and descending on it.”
Pursuing their journey, they reached Cana in time for the wedding-feast, which was celebrated in the bride’s home at the bridegroom’s expense. Mary and the rest of her family were among the guests; (Cf. Jud. xiv. 10) and since she superintended the entertainment, she was probably a relative of the bridegroom. Plainly they were humble folk, since the feast was but scantily furnished and in the course of it the wine ran done. Solicitous for the host’s credit, Mary turned to Jesus. It was natural that she should ; for He had been her counsellor and stay all the years of her widowhood. But evidently she now appealed to Him with a peculiar expectancy. And no wonder ; for not only had she cherished in her heart the mystery of His birth and the prophecies of His childhood, but tidings of the recent happenings at Bethabara must have reached her : would she not hear (Cf. Lk. ii. 19,33,51). the story from the five disciples who had arrived in His company, full of wonder and reverence ? He had been proclaimed the Messiah, and would He not help in this strait ?
She did not ask Him to intervene; she merely told Him of the need: “They have no wine.” She addressed Him with the old confidence, and His answer must have surprised and pained her. “What,” said [ p. 50 ] He, “have I to do with you, woman ?” So at least our English Version has it; but this is hardly what He said. His question is a phrase of the Hebrew scriptures, and there it signifies “Why do you trouble me ?” What then did He mean ? Observe how He styles her “Woman.” It was indeed a courteous address, much like our “Madam” ; yet it was strange on the lips of one who had been more than a son to her all those years. It was an intimation to her that their old relation was gone, and henceforth (Cf. Jud. xi. 12; 2 Sam. xvi. 10, xix. 22; I Ki. xvii. 18). He acknowledged no earthly kinship. Her appeal was an alien intrusion (Cf. Mt. xii. 47-50); for He had now entered upon His redemptive ministry, the work which His Father had given Him to do, and His Father’s will was His only guide (Cf. Jo. iv. 34, xvii. 4). And when she accosted Him, He was pondering what that will might be. Even as to the prophets of old, so was it granted to Him in the days of His flesh to work miracles “by the finger of God” in attestation of His Messianic mission (Lk. xi. 20); and here again as in the wilderness He was debating whether a fitting occasion had arisen for the exercise of this high prerogative. There He had refused to convert a stone into bread for the relief of His own hunger; and the question now was whether it were befitting that He should create wine for the pleasure of the wedding company. Mary’s appeal was an interruption of his anxious thought. “Why are you troubling Me, woman ? Not yet has My hour come.”
It was not an absolute refusal, and Mary, discomfited but still confident of His intervention, charged the attendants to do whatever He might require. And [ p. 51 ] presently her hope was fulfilled. Ranged by the doorway were six capacious water-jars, each holding two or three firkins, for the use of ceremonial ablution. They were empty now that they had provided for the double office of the washing of the guests’ dusty feet on their arrival and the washing of their hands ere they took their places at table (Cf. Lk. vii. 44; Mk. vii. 2,3); and Jesus directed the attendants to replenish them. Mindful of Mary’s admonition, they “filled them up to the brim.” Then He bade them supply thence their empty flagons. It was water that was in the jars, but it was wine in the flagons, and wine of excellent quality. Only the attendants knew of its origin, but when it was served to the guests, they remarked its superiority; and their approbation was voiced by the Master of the Feast—a guest who, according to the ancient fashion, had been chosen by lot to preside. He hailed the bridegroom and merrily bantered him on his departure from general usage. A host’s way was to serve his best wine first, and then, when his guests’ palates were dulled by much drinking, the inferior stuff. “You,” said the Master, “have reserved the good wine until now.”
Such was the miracle which after much perplexity Jesus deemed a fitting inauguration of His miraculous ministry. See wherein it differed from the suggestion in the wilderness that He should convert a stone into bread. First of all, it was a work of compassion : it was wrought for others, not for His own ease. Then it was a true miracle, exhibiting the characteristic which, as we have seen, distinguishes miracle from magic—that, while transcending the normal operation of the laws of nature, it was in line with these. It [ p. 52 ] was, as the early teachers from St. Irenaeus onward observe, a work of the Creator, no subversion of the natural order but merely an acceleration by creative intervention of its accustomed operations. And finally, it served the supreme purpose designed by every miracle which Jesus ever wrought: it “manifested His glory/’ Had He in the solitude of the wilderness turned a stone into bread for the relief of His own necessity, no eye save His own would have witnessed the marvel; but the turning of the water into wine was witnessed by all the wedding-company, especially His newly won disciples ; and by attesting His divine commission it confirmed their faith that He was indeed the Messiah.
In Jo. i. 41 for “first” read, on ancient authority, “early in the morning.” ↩︎