Picture this: Two people are talking. One says to the other, “Hey! I know this really great guy I want to tell you about. He’s from Florida.” The other person says, “You say he’s a great guy, but he’s from Florida?! Can anything good come out of Florida?” You’d get that was a joke, right? Even if you don’t know anything about Florida, you’d probably guess by the tone and implication that the speaker doesn’t have nice things to say about Florida. (I grew up in Florida, so it’s funny to me, at any rate . . .) And wherever you’re from, I’m sure you could plug in a city, region, or area that would be just as funny to you.
That exact situation happens in today’s Gospel selection from John, only the two people talking — Philip and Nathanael — are discussing Jesus, and Nathanael is the one who comes up with the regional slam against Nazareth, Jesus’ home town. “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” asks Nathanael. It’s a huge slam against Nazareth!
So, the Gospel selection clearly opens with a joke. Now, read the rest of that passage with that somewhat humorous frame in mind. Jesus says about Nathanael, “Here is a true child of Israel. There is no duplicity in him.” I read that with the same tongue-in-cheek smile that the previous section evoked. Picture it like a television sitcom: “This guy is from [city]; what good can come from [city]?” “Ahh, I can tell you’re a quintessential representative of your people! Not a dishonest bone in your body!” “. . . Well, maybe he’s not so bad, after all.” Cue laugh track!
So, the story continues. Nathanael asks, “How do you know me?” Jesus replies, “Before Philip called you, I saw you under the fig tree.” Nathanael replies, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel.” In response, Jesus says, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than this.”
Again, that’s funny! Boil it down. “There’s this great guy. You should meet him.” “Well, he’s from Nazareth, so I don’t have high hopes, but okay.” “Ahh, it’s a quintessential honest Israelite!” “Umm . . . how do you know me?” “Well, I saw you standing under a tree.” “Wow! Then I totally believe everything about you!” “You believe just because I told you I saw you standing under a tree?! Well, hold onto your hat, because you’re going to experience greater things than this!”
And Jesus concludes this Gospel selection with a bold proclamation: “Amen, amen, I say to you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” And, of course, he was right; Nathanael is identified with St. Bartholomew, the Apostle whose Feast Day we celebrate today.
So, why have I spent nearly 500 words trying to convince you that a section of the Gospel is funny? Well, for a few reasons. First off, it’s perhaps the clearest evidence I have that Christ has a sense of humor. It’s really, really hard to come up with a joke that can survive two millennia and language translations and interpretations, but “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree?” clearly counts in my mind. Humor is part of the human experience, and — done with humility and love — can serve to bring people together, release tension, build bonds, and make others more open to your message.
Which gets to my second point: This Gospel selection is structured very similarly to how some of us writers structure our own reflections, how priests often frame their homilies, and how many of us spread the Good News of Christ in our day-to-day lives. Christ’s conclusion is irrefutable: “Amen, amen, I say to you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” And it’s important for Catholics to understand and have in mind. But without context, that statement doesn’t mean as much to a listener. We need to build to it, get closer to our audience, before we deliver the big truth.
So, often, when I’m writing these reflections or trying to spread the Gospel, my actions are similar to this very passage: I open with a joke or amusing anecdote, I try to get to know the people I’m talking to, deliver a bit of my thesis, see how my audience reacts (if talking in person), and then draw to my conclusion. Today was easy because I got to steal the opening joke from the Bible itself!
And if there’s one conclusion I can offer, it’s that I’d implore you to not discard the human element when reading the Bible or reflecting on our faith. Although fully God, Christ was also fully human, in all ways but sin. He joked. He cried. He got angry. He enjoyed spending time with his friends.
And — though divinely inspired — the Bible was written down by people who were fully human, intended for an audience that was fully human. Sometimes I worry that those who follow the Faith feel they need to deny themselves all aspects of their humanity in order to be closer to Christ. Obviously the sinful parts of humanity — those that came about because of original sin and our own hubris — need to be denied to the best of our ability. But humans themselves were made by God, and He loves us. After we were created, “God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.” (Genesis 1:31)
While we should seek to grow closer to Christ in all ways we can, we should also remember that Christ himself was fully human . . . and that included his interactions with us, and our interactions with him. We need not be joyless, humorless, or dour in living the Word. Today’s Gospel is proof that someone can make a joke about Jesus’ hometown and still become an Apostle. The smile of humor that unites many people together can also unite us with Christ.
Today’s Readings: Rev 21:9B-14; Ps 145:10-11, 12-13, 17-18; Jn 1:45-51
