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The Gospel of John chapter 1 begins with John the Baptist, the famous and prophesied forerunner of Christ. He grew up in the mountains of Judah, in the wilderness south of Jerusalem, between there and the Dead Sea. Then suddenly he came into public view, clad like an ancient prophet with clothes made of camel's hair and a leather belt, and he began to preach and to call the nation to repentance.
The result was dramatic and amazing. Enormous crowds turned out from Judea, Galilee, the capital Jerusalem, and every other place to hear him. He took it upon himself, or so it seemed, to baptise the entire nation in a baptism of repentance, dipping them in the Jordan, and the people queued for miles to secure this baptism.
John was astonishingly popular. Unlike the Lord himself, he worked no miracle and did nothing outwardly dramatic, and yet they crowded to hear him. He announced the soon coming of Messiah, declaring that the nation had to be purified, ready, and open.
Onto the scene comes Christ the Lord, for it is the beginning of his ministry. He will work miracles because he is the Son of God, and they begin in the very next chapter. The crowds would gradually switch from John to Christ — which is exactly what John wanted and expected, and what he warned his followers about.
Of course, the scribes, Pharisees, and chief priests in Jerusalem were completely against him. This was challenging their dominance. The clergy of those days were far from walking in any meaningful relationship with their God, so they sent an investigatory panel to question John.
"Who do you think you are?" they said. "Do you think you're Elijah? Elisha? Are you Messiah?" No, no, no — he was none of those things. He was, as prophesied, the voice of one crying in the wilderness, and he pointed out Christ:
Behold, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.
He is the one who was going personally to be the great sacrifice and offering for the sin of those who will be saved and redeemed.
John points Christ out to two of his own disciples. One gets his brother, Simon — Cephas — who was to become the Apostle Peter. Then they go looking elsewhere, and Christ calls Nathanael.
In verse 46, they tell Nathanael, "We've found the Messiah." And Nathanael says:
Can there any good thing come out of Nazareth?
Now, that's not a jibe. It's true that Nazareth was pretty well a nothing place, and a poor one. You could read these words as contempt — could anyone noble, effective, intelligent, or powerful enough to be Messiah come out of such a place? But that's not what he meant at all.
Nathanael was an earnest Israelite who expected the coming of Messiah, and he was clearly very interested in John the Baptist's preaching. "Can it be?" he thought. But when he looked into it, he found this Jesus was of Nazareth. The prophecies didn't say Messiah would come from Nazareth — they said Bethlehem. Was there any prediction about Nazareth? He'd never heard of one.
So he isn't being contemptuous — he's disappointed. He hoped this would be Messiah, but how could it be?
Philip doesn't know how to answer that yet. In time they would learn the answer — that Christ was born in Bethlehem in accordance with the ancient prophecies, but grew up at Nazareth. But for now, Philip simply says:
Come and see.
If you just meet this man, just talk to him, you would see what we mean. You've never spoken to anybody like this.
Jesus saw Nathanael coming and said of him:
Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.
That means someone earnestly looking for the expectation of Israel, the coming of a Messiah — not a pretended, phoney hope, but a serious man.
Nathanael asks, "Whence knowest thou me?" His first thought may have been that Philip had told Jesus about him. But no — there had been no prior discussion. Then Christ says something that deeply impresses him:
Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee.
Nathanael was evidently at home. In those parts, everybody had their homestead and small holding, and it was not uncommon to have a fig tree as a delightful centrepiece of the garden. The fig tree was where they would sit, and Nathanael apparently made a habit of meditating there. Christ said, "I've seen you." I think he probably said much more than this, to impress Nathanael so deeply.
What happened to Nathanael was this: "He knows where I've been, what my habits are, that I meditate and read the Scriptures. He's seen that. He must be divine." But he thought even more than that. Listen to his response:
Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel.
What made him use such successive language — Son of God, King of Israel? Not simply that Christ knew where he'd been sitting, but that Nathanael realised Christ knew him through and through.
"He knows not only where I sit and what I read and how I conduct myself. He reads my heart. He knows my thoughts. He knows what I've done. He knows the selfishness and the wretchedness, the badness as well as the few good bits. He knows it all." Nathanael realised this is the one before whom he will one day stand in judgement — the one who deals with his soul, who has seen him through and through.
We know this because of what Christ later said, in verse 51:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.
Nathanael felt totally exposed in Christ's presence, because Christ takes him back to the famous dream of Jacob in the book of Genesis — a dream every Jew knew.
Jacob was alone, spending the night in the open air, using stones for a pillow. As he slept, he dreamed of a great ladder or staircase reaching to heaven, with the angels of God ascending and descending upon it.
What did it mean? That there was going to be a way of union made for man with God — two-way traffic. We would be able to pray, call upon him, reach out to him, and one day go to him; and he would reach down to us, to save us, change our lives, and deal with us. It is a dream about coming to God and finding him and knowing him personally. That's why Jacob said:
This is an awesome place... this is the house of God, and the gate of heaven.
It is about reconciliation and union with Almighty God. It is significant that Christ quotes this to Nathanael, in effect saying: "I am that ladder. I am the one who joins people with Almighty God the Father. I offered up myself, suffered and died, paid the punishment of sin for all who would come to me, and I bring down new life and blessing to them."
You find the same thing happening a little later to the Apostle Peter. The disciples had fished all night and caught nothing. Christ told them to cast the net over the side of the vessel. Peter said wearily, "Master, we've toiled all the night and caught nothing. But at your request, I'll do it."
They enclosed such a great catch of fish that the net broke and the boat almost capsized. Peter, seeing this miraculous catch, was cut to pieces and fell on his knees, completely overcome. And what did he say?
Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man.
Like Nathanael, he realised Christ knew all about him and could see him through and through — that Christ, the eternal second person of the Godhead, knew everything.
This is the beginning of finding the Lord. Anybody who finds God and begins to seek him has an experience along these lines: they come to a point where they feel deeply guilty and feel the burden of their sinfulness.
To think of Christ and to seek him means you realise, "But he knows me. He sees me. If I die like this, he'll condemn me everlastingly — all that's wrong with me, all I do and think and say — and he knows it." That is just the beginning of real seeking: a burden and a need to be forgiven, to be washed clean, and to trust in what Christ has done to bear the punishment on our behalf.
Nathanael had a big doubt — his was rather technical: he'd never heard that Messiah would come from Nazareth. But when he met Christ and realised Christ knew all about him, not just his outward movements but his inner self, that made all the difference. He needed forgiveness — which is why he was given a message about Calvary, and the fulfilment of Jacob's symbolic dream of a ladder between earth and heaven.
Now you may have doubts. They may not be technical ones.
One of the most common doubts people don't readily admit, but which looms large in their minds, is this: "If I became a Christian, I would lose my liberty." I can tell you from decades of helping people, this is very big.
"I will lose my self-determination — my right to decide everything I do, the way I do it, how I behave, how I think, what I go for. I'd certainly lose my moral determination; I'd have to follow the code of Christ — what the Bible and God say is moral and immoral. And anyway, I've already formed my goals for life. You preachers don't understand. I've worked out how I'm going to make money, get famous, what sort of home and life I want. To come to Christ would take all that away, because I'd have to bring everything to him in prayer, and if it's not right, it goes. I can't do that."
Be honest with yourself: are these your problems? "I'd have to give up too much."
But you don't have to give up anything to follow Christ — only sin and self-worship. That's all.
Once you draw near to Christ and begin to pray, "Lord, draw me closer, help me," you begin to realise he knows you, that you're under condemnation, and yet he has done everything to help you and can change you, and you desperately need him. And all those goals and self-determination — they are actually a prison house around you. You're a captive; they're like chains on you.
"Oh no, I can't give them up — they're my freedom!" They're not freedom. They're slave drivers. The quest for earthly satisfaction, the fulfilment of pride, fame, fortune, sensations, lusts — they grip you, wear you down, and take over your life completely.
It's significant that when Charles Wesley was converted, he wrote:
Long my imprisoned spirit lay, Fast bound in sin and nature's night; Thine eye diffused a quickening ray — I woke, the dungeon flamed with light; My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed thee.
Conversion to Christ is a liberation from materialism — from being shut into a tiny materialistic life of sin and self-worship. That's the reality. We need Christ, and the more near we get to him, the more we realise he knows us, and we feel our need of his forgiveness.
People have said to me, "If I became a Christian, I would have to give up pride." You won't readily admit it, but some do, and it's a big thing. Your biggest friend becomes one of your enemies.
People have an obsession with themselves and exaggerated views of themselves. They've got to be flattered, appreciated, top-dog. They've got to have power and control, possessions that make them feel better, constant flattery.
Think of the showbiz people, the celebrities. About forty years ago, I found myself on an aircraft sitting next to a man who told me he wrote for chat shows. I was interested — do chat shows have writers? Oh yes. It's all done discreetly, by recommendation. Celebrities who want to get somewhere on the chat show circuit have to have a good writer to invent the marvellous stories they tell about themselves. Most never happened, or were exaggerated from something not worth telling into something of enormous significance. So millions gawp at the television, drinking in these wonderful stories — and there are people who write this stuff. That was the most interesting aircraft conversation I've ever had.
Pride is a terrible thing. It rules. It lies to us about ourselves, giving us completely distorted views about what we can accomplish and even how we appear. It's got to be satisfied. It starts most wars and most fights in families.
You say, "I might have to give up pride — but I like being flattered, being somebody special, being number one." Here, you come to Christ, you repent of that, and you ask him to make you different, to change you entirely. People around you will much prefer you the way Christ makes you — outgoing, sensitive, interested in others, helpful, humble. Some people would not come to Christ if it cost them their pride — and I think most politicians I've spoken to are in that category too.
There's covetousness — must have more, must have this, must have that. And there's lust. How many here, even tonight, are ruled by lust — unclean thoughts, images, desires, acts, betrayals?
As soon as you start drawing near to Christ: "Oh, he knows me. I'm lost. I'm a hopeless, helpless sinner. I'm foul in his sight." And yet he came to earth to suffer and die for creatures like us, that he might save us, change us, draw us to himself, and set us free from the rule of sin and death — giving us true happiness and lasting union with himself, opening our minds to understand the great things of God, and helping us understand our world and ourselves. Oh, to have the help of God and of Christ — your guide, your comforter, your friend in every situation in life! There's nothing to be compared with the Christian walk.
Nathanael had a great doubt, and the resolution came when he found himself in the presence of Christ and realised that Christ knew him. He was convicted of his need and his sin, and he said, "Thou art the Son of God and the King of Israel." With that came repentance of his sin, a seeking after Christ, and the handing over of his life and its rule to the Saviour.
Conversion is a wonderful experience — and it's just the beginning of a life with Christ. These are the doubts that give way to a great discovery: Christ as Saviour.
I close with verse 51:
Verily, verily, I say unto you, hereafter ye shall see heaven open.
What does this mean? Do you think Nathanael actually saw Christ dying on Calvary? We know the Apostle John saw him, with his mother and the women, while the other disciples forsook him and fled, then gently came back. But I rather wonder whether Nathanael, with courage in both hands, crept to the edge of the vast crowd so that these words were fulfilled literally for him — that he saw heaven opened and Christ dying on Calvary, and realised what it was all about: that this was the ladder for him to heaven. Christ had offered up his righteousness on Nathanael's behalf and borne away his sin, so that he could go to heaven, pray to God, and know union with God.
Certainly every Christian has this experience in spirit. Hereafter, once you're converted, you shall see heaven open. You'll grasp what Christ did on Calvary more clearly than ever before — the blessings of God that come down to you, and the prayers that ascend to him. Oh, you need to find him, to know his touch and his transformation of your life.
Let's pray together.
Oh God, our gracious heavenly Father, look upon each one of us, move in every heart, draw us to thyself, we pray. Grant repentance unto life, and faith in Christ. Grant, O God, that there may be a new experience opened up to many in this place, even tonight and in the days ahead, by the power of the Spirit. Come and help us. We ask it in our dear Saviour's name, for his sake. Amen.
