← Contents John 1:19–51 ←→

John 1:19–51

NOW THIS WAS John’s testimony when the Jews of Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. 20He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Christ.”

21They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?”

He said, “I am not.”

“Are you the Prophet?”

He answered, “No.”

22Finally they said, “Who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”

23John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the desert, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’ ”

24Now some Pharisees who had been sent 25questioned him, “Why then do you baptize if you are not the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?”

26“I baptize with water,” John replied, “but among you stands one you do not know. 27He is the one who comes after me, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.”

28This all happened at Bethany on the other side of the Jordan, where John was baptizing.

29The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! 30This is the one I meant when I said, ‘A man who comes after me has surpassed me because he was before me.’ 31I myself did not know him, but the reason I came baptizing with water was that he might be revealed to Israel.”

32Then John gave this testimony: “I saw the Spirit come down from heaven as a dove and remain on him. 33I would not have known him, except that the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘The man on whom you see the Spirit come down and remain is he who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.’ 34I have seen and I testify that this is the Son of God.”

35The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. 36When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”

37When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. 38Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”

They said, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are you staying?”

39“Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”

So they went and saw where he was staying, and spent that day with him. It was about the tenth hour.

40Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. 41The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). 42And he brought him to Jesus.

Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You will be called Cephas” (which, when translated, is Peter).

43The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.”

44Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. 45Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

46“Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.

“Come and see,” said Philip.

47When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here is a true Israelite, in whom there is nothing false.”

48“How do you know me?” Nathanael asked.

Jesus answered, “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you.”

49Then Nathanael declared, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel.”

50Jesus said, “You believe because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You shall see greater things than that.” 51He then added, “I tell you the truth, you shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”

Original Meaning

John the Baptist’s Self-Denial (1:19–28)

THE AUTHOR IS not narrating the events of John the Baptist and Jesus. He is telling someone else’s story. This entire account is the “testimony” of John the Baptist (“this was John’s testimony,” v. 19), as if we were in a judicial setting and the evidence for and against Jesus was being set before us as readers.2 The story reads as if the Baptist were telling this in retrospect and John the author is letting the Baptist now have the spotlight.

John’s baptizing activity at the Jordan River attracted a great deal of attention, leading many people from Jerusalem and the surrounding regions of Judea to come out to him either to be baptized or to inquire about his work (Matt. 3:5). One such delegation was sent by “the Jews” to interrogate the Baptist (John 1:19). The term the Jews (Gk. Ioudaios) appears seventy-one times in this Gospel and generally represents the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem (particularly the temple) who are hostile to Jesus. Some have even argued that Ioudaios refers to “Judeans” who are hostile to Jesus and his Galilean movement. It clearly cannot refer to all Judaism, for in chapter 9 the parents of the man born blind are Jewish, and we read that they “were afraid of the Jews” (9:22). “The Jews” in this Gospel has a specialized usage stemming from John’s own world, a world in which synagogue and church were struggling (see the Introduction).3

The delegation coming to John consists of “priests and Levites,” so that what we have here is an interrogation by emissaries from “official Judaism,” from the temple and its interests. John the Baptist was an odd phenomenon and needed investigating. Three names are at stake and together each of them probe John’s intentions vis-à-vis Israel: Does John see himself as an eschatological figure in some way calling Israel to justice? Is he putting the nation on notice because God is about to intervene?

(1) John first denies that he is “the Christ.” “Christ” is a Greek translation of the Hebrew word for “Messiah.” Throughout the late Old Testament period and especially in intertestamental Judaism hope in a coming Messiah was widespread. This would be “the Lord’s anointed,” someone filled with God’s power and Spirit who would work some saving miracle on behalf of God’s people. Judaism frequently thought about Moses as perhaps the ideal messianic model. Not only did he give the people spiritual leadership, but he also provided political redemption from Egypt. It is no accident that in the days of Greek and Roman oppression (a period of over three hundred years), the term Messiah (or Christ) was filled with political connotations. John the Baptist declares firmly he is not the Messiah.

(2) Malachi 4:5 taught that the Old Testament prophet Elijah would precede the coming Messiah. If John were not the Messiah, perhaps then he was Elijah. Because Elijah had been taken from the earth without dying (2 Kings 2:11), Jewish speculation proposed that he was mysteriously alive and would return at the end of time (cf. Mark 8:28). John says clearly he is not Elijah (John 1:21). One difficulty with this message is that in Matthew 11:14 Jesus says that John is “Elijah who was to come.” The solution is that John was fulfilling the forerunner’s role of Elijah, as Luke explains: “He will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah” (Luke 1:17). John, on the other hand, denies that he is Elijah who has returned to the earth.4

(3) “The Prophet” is likely a reference to Deuteronomy 18:15–19, where a prophet “like Moses” would return to Israel sometime in the future. This led to enormous Jewish speculation concerning who this prophet would be and in some cases led to a conflation with the image of the Messiah. Other Jews distinguished the Messiah and the Prophet (see John 7:40; 1 Macc. 4:46; T. Ben. 9:2) and understood that he would be simply a forerunner. Qumran, for instance, looked for an eschatological “prophet” who would accompany the Messiah (1QS 9). John’s answer is succinct: No.

Following this series of denials John now identifies who he is. He is “a voice” and quotes Isaiah 40:3 in order to identify his role in Jesus’ mission. He does not elevate himself as having a stature of importance and never identifies his own name. He is a tool in God’s hand, pointing to Another on the horizon. It is interesting that Isaiah 40:3 was also used by the Dead Sea Community (Qumran) as one of their chief passages to identify who they were. They were building a community, preparing a place in the desert, for the arrival of the Messiah. John’s message said that the dawn of the messianic era was at hand and virtually no waiting was needed.5

Judaism knew about ritual washings for ceremonial cleansing. But baptism was generally reserved for Gentiles who had converted to Judaism. It was a total cleansing that marked a threshold crossed. John, however, was calling Jews to be baptized (1:26), and of course this prompted the question, “What is the threshold? What is the new order that would change us as Jews?” The promise on the horizon is not a new religion but a person (1:26–27). John describes him as so great that by comparison, he (though a prophet) will be less than a slave. Untying a sandal thong was a chore never done by disciples for their teacher. Rather, it was a chore reserved for slaves. John says he is unworthy even to do the work of a slave for this One who is coming. This is the measure of Jesus’ greatness.

The location of Bethany “on the other side of the Jordan” has always been a puzzle. This is not the village just east of Jerusalem (home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha, cf. John 11). The patristic father Origen visited the area in the third century looking for the site and identified it as the village “Betharaba,” which inspired numerous manuscript variants. But this is surely wrong. This Bethany is in Perea, the region east of the Jordan River, but its location is now lost.

Bridging Contexts

IT WOULD BE EASY with a section like this to become overwhelmed with the numerous details of history and theology that the passage presents. There is the interrogation of John the Baptist with its many questions about formal Jewish titles. There is the baptism of Jesus and its theological meaning. There are also the four men—Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael—and the key that their stories hold as we unlock the meaning of the passage.

A testimony on two levels. Foremost in my thinking, however, is that this passage is offered to us as a testimony: “This was John’s testimony [martyria] . . .” (1:19). It will not do to immediately open the Synoptic Gospels and try to harmonize the conversion of the earliest followers of Jesus found there. John is painting a portrait—his own portrait—and it must be read in its own terms. This is a story offered to us in order to persuade and teach about the nature of conversion and discipleship. In fact, these episodes encapsulate what John is doing throughout his Gospel, providing a compelling story that weaves characters in and out who will convince and persuade. Thus as a story, it is not constructed in a haphazard fashion. This story has been honed by the evangelist in order for us to see its unifying themes.

We watch John the Baptist enter the stage and deliver his lines about Jesus (1:19–34); then four disciples have the same opportunity, first in Judea and then in Galilee (1:35–51). This is not to deny that there is an historical element in these narratives. It is simply to say that history is being used in the service of literature and theology. John has selectively built his Gospel from materials in the early church’s record in order to provide us with a portrait of Jesus and discipleship. In this manner it would not be entirely wrong to see the sudden shift to plural verbs in 1:51 as directed to us: “You shall see heaven open. . . .” We as readers will see the wonder of the Son of God if we continue with the story that John is about to unfold.

John is therefore writing on two levels. Historically, he is trying to describe the pivotal events of the life of Jesus Christ so that through this record, we will have an accurate reconstruction of what transpired. But in addition, he is writing fully conscious that he has a readership. The story promotes interactions not simply among its characters but also between its script and its readers. John is aware that we are reading him, and he crafts his story so that we as readers will find a progression of ideas unfolding before our eyes. John occasionally lets us know that we understand more than his characters do, giving us ironic humor or a sense of impending doom. We are given insights that sometimes the characters do not even have, and this gives us a point of view inaccessible to John’s historical characters.

Names of Jesus. As a testimony, two concepts stand out as compelling, timeless features of the story. John wants us to have an experience similar to that portrayed by these five men. He wants us to become disciples whose growth in knowledge and devotion is inspired by these stories. John is claiming that discipleship has two essential elements: Disciples must know who Jesus is, and they must have a personal experience that completely reorients who they are.

One of the striking features of this story is that people who become disciples of Jesus know what to call him. Within the story there is a litany of titles that could almost serve as an index to the New Testament list of names for Jesus:

• Messiah (vv. 20, 41)

• the Prophet (v. 21)

• Jesus (v. 29)

• Lamb of God (v. 29, 36)

• one who baptizes with the Spirit (v. 33)

• chosen [Son] of God (v. 34)

• rabbi/teacher (vv. 38, 49)

• Christ/anointed one (v. 41)

• son of Joseph (v. 45)

• Nazarene (v. 45)

• Son of God (v. 49)

• King of Israel (v. 49)

• Son of Man (v. 51)

No other chapter in the New Testament provides a comprehensive list like this. On the historical level it is surprising that here, this early in Jesus’ ministry, followers have an accurate appraisal of who he is. I expect they did not understand the full implications of what they were saying since Jesus had not yet worked any of his signs. John makes this clear in the next chapter, “After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken” (2:22). It was not until after Easter that the full implications of Jesus came rushing home to his followers.

But the more important thing to see here is the literary effect this has on us as readers. Here in the first dramatic scene we have been exposed to the Christological content of discipleship. As we read the story, we are witnessing what inquirers need to know in order to become true disciples. Being a follower of Jesus does not mean thoughtlessly following a person named Jesus. It does not mean having an experience that is void of theological content. Discipleship is a necessary commitment to content as well as conversion; it is a form of persuasion that includes both the heart and the mind. Thus, when John the Baptist completes his series of self-denials on Day One (vv. 19–28), his second scene on Day Two finds him identifying Jesus accurately for his disciples and the world.

Furthermore, we must realize that Jesus is not merely the sum total of the titles given here. These descriptors unveil something of Jesus’ activity among us and his identity with the Father. The baptismal narrative is trying to tell us something Christological: Jesus is uniquely filled with the Holy Spirit, and this is a feature of his messianic identity. He is the one to whom we must look for our own baptism in the Spirit (1:33). Jesus as “Lamb” means that he will be a sacrifice offered to the Father for the sins of the world. He is the one to whom we must look for redemption and forgiveness. Jesus as “King” refers to his rulership, his dominance over Israel as Messiah. John will use this title sixteen times in the ongoing story to underscore the majesty of Jesus’ role.

These names add an anticipatory element to our reading. We are eager to watch them unfold as the story unfolds, as they are picked up again and again and their meaning is enriched. Like the table of contents in a book, this list of names forces us to look ahead at how this remarkable person named Jesus will be explained in the following twenty chapters.

The characters and discipleship. The second dramatic feature of the story turns on the characters themselves. We are told little about them. There is no detailed history about families or homes. We are not even told about their occupations or how it happened that Peter and Andrew were working for John the Baptist. The central focus of the story is about their contact with Jesus.

Initially John the Baptist becomes a template for conversion and discipleship as he offers a sustained series of denials about who he is. No doubt on a historical level, this is an attempt to speak to followers of John the Baptist in the first century who need to recognize that their devotion to the Baptist now needs to shift to Jesus.18 But more broadly, John becomes a template for Christian discipleship generally. Affirmation of contact with Jesus leads to self-denial.

The most important imagery comes with the two stories that follow. In Judea Jesus meets Andrew, who follows Jesus personally. In Galilee Jesus meets Philip, who, like Andrew, follows him. Then Andrew goes to Peter—and Philip goes to Nathanael—and makes the same challenge: “Come and see” (1:39, 46). Peter and Nathanael will not know the truth about Jesus until they have had their own personal experience. In fact, Nathanael is cynical until his encounter takes place. This is a conversion template for John. Throughout the Gospel many people will be challenged to “come and see.” Conversion is not about knowledge alone; it is about coming yourself and appropriating a relationship with Jesus personally.

In each case the experience of discipleship carries one more dimension. John the Baptist, Andrew, and Philip each bring others to Jesus quite intentionally. Converts make new converts. They speak what they know about Jesus and they bring other people along so that they too will “come and see.”

Finally, John is aware that the process of discipleship and conversion are not matters left in human hands. Nathanael must “come and see,” but Jesus has “seen” him already. “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you” (1:48). These are remarkable words that point to Jesus’ supernatural knowledge, but also to God’s sovereign awareness of those who will accept the light. God sees us before we see him. God will “come and see” before we ever think about discipleship. God makes his overture before we consider making our own. This too is a central Johannine theme and is the anchor of the disciple’s assurance.

Contemporary Significance

LOVE FOR GOD and knowledge about God. I once asked a youth minister about the goal of his ministry. “When my students graduate,” he commented, “they will learn to love God.” What he was saying is that in the end, a heartfelt piety was the aim of his ministry, and I could tell that his efforts working among high school students made this goal evident. Ministry was centered on activities that would bind the youth together into a community of personal prayer and support. The students that graduated from this ministry did love God.

Wheaton College (where I teach) enjoys a student body that is passionately committed to God. There is no doubt that they “love God” and have come from evangelical churches whose ministries are similar to the one I just described. And yet in recent years we have been experimenting with an interesting test to determine the depth of these students’ knowledge about what they believe concerning the Bible, theological thought, and the history of the church.

We have been shocked at what we learned. Students from strong, conservative churches were sending us some of their best Christian eighteen-year-old students who did not know who came first, Abraham or Moses. They were not sure if Barnabas was in the Old Testament or the New Testament. When asked to put a list of major biblical books in proper order (such as Exodus, Psalms, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans), they failed miserably. When asked if Paul believed in the resurrection of the body, most said “No.” Here were young Christians for whom personal piety ran deep, but for whom a coherent, intelligent grasp of the Bible was beyond their reach. Recently one of my students told me that she was sure Jesus was baptized in the Dead Sea of Israel. Another thought that Paul was one of the twelve apostles. These were not weak students; rather, these were excellent students with an articulate and passionate commitment to Christ.19

When the test moved to matters of theology and church history, it became clear that these students were not sure what to do with names like Augustine, Luther, or Wesley. Keep in mind that we were not testing arcane matters of historical theology. We were seeing if the gigantic heroes of the faith were even recognized. We wondered whether some of the most important decisions about life and belief were a part of their theological equipment. Could they explain Christian belief from the ground up—beginning with our commitment to one God (monotheism) and leading on to an orthodox Christology? We looked at fundamental matters of Christology, salvation, the doctrine of Scripture; in most cases, students seemed singularly incapable of formulating a coherent doctrinal basis for their identity as Christians. Nevertheless they did “love God.”

This discovery sobered many of us and renewed our commitment to curricular goals that go far beyond mere piety. Students are coming to us who understand the “Christian walk,” but who do not understand “Christian thought.” Their lives have been baptized, but seemingly, their minds have not. They have devoted their hearts to following the Lord, but they have not mastered the bare essentials of Christian history and theology, much less Biblical theology and history.

Many mainline denominations have been wrestling for some time with the question of the ordination of homosexuals. Recently I attended a major discussion in my own denomination led by some of our elected ordained leaders.20 I was amazed as I watched the presentation unfold. The foremost virtue, we were told, was loving God and loving our neighbor, and since homosexuals were our neighbors, we should not only love them but ordain them to the ministry. Of course, love is a virtue—but so is a well-reasoned theological anthropology and a well-reasoned use of the Scriptures. Here is my point: Piety without theology was winning the day. Loving God became a spiritual mantra while there was no room for obeying him or listening for the more complex nuances of his expectations in the human enterprise. In other words, there was no compelling theological framework from which our leadership could answer the question: Should I ordain the homosexual? The point here is not homosexuality, but that the theological toolshed of these leaders’ ministerial vocation was empty.

John’s theology in this chapter stands against such emptiness. On the one hand, we are called to be like John the Baptist, Andrew, Peter, Nathanael, and Philip—people who have a personal experience of Christ, who “come and see,” who do not simply have a scholastic understanding of the Christian faith, but who remain where he is and are transformed by being with him. In other words, these are people who have an experiential dimension to faith, whose heart is engaged, and who “love God” and enjoy a depth of piety and devotion.

But more is called for. John the Baptist is not only experiencing personal self-effacement and an overwhelming desire to glorify Jesus, he can also give a correct theological explanation of who Jesus is. There is a theological substratum beneath his commitment. The same is true of the four men who follow in the story.

John 1:19–51 is a theological model for what it means to follow Christ. It forms a secondary, subsidiary introduction to the entire Gospel (following the prologue [1:1–14]). As a model, it urges that personal piety (“loving God”) must be wed to theological sophistication (“knowing God”). Christian faith is not merely commitment but content as well. Interrogators can come and press their questions with force and power, but like John the Baptist, the disciple must give unflinching answers. When asked, “Who are you?” (1:19), the disciple knows exactly what to say. Men and women can come and meet Jesus, but in the end, they acquire an increasingly informed understanding of who Jesus is (e.g., Jesus, Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God). And when they have wed their piety with theological insight, they go to others and evangelize them. They challenge others to have an experience and to understand the truth.

This twin emphasis on personal piety and theological sophistication is desperately needed in the church today. Like the students in our college test sample, our pews are filled with men and women whose love for God is strong and yet whose understanding of the content of the faith is diminishing. They cannot explain it, and when intellectually challenged, they struggle to defend it. I once asked a mature adult believer why Jesus was called the “Lamb of God” and was told, “Because Jesus is gentle and nice.” How enthralled he was when I explained the sacrificial connotations of the term.

What is the explanation for this? Is it generous assumptions about the abilities of our laity? Is it the lack of academic stamina among our pastoral leadership? Is it preaching that promotes personal experience and well-being instead of hard-won exegetical insights? Is it the therapeutic intellectual environment of our day that validates only those things anchored to the inner life? Honed theological expertise is as valuable as personal spiritual experience. It is the anchor that will keep Philip and Andrew committed with their minds as well as their hearts.

Original Meaning

John the Baptist Bears Witness to Jesus (1:29–34)

THE EPISODE ON “the next day” is a continuation of John the Baptist’s testimony to Jesus (see 1:34). While previously John could only hint at the coming of Christ, now he identifies Christ plainly. Note how confidently the Baptist can speak of his knowledge of Jesus (1:33). The point here is that John can be compared with the questioners from Jerusalem who do not know about God and likely will not understand the things of Jesus. Borchert is correct when he says that “John’s knowledge of the coming one was not innate knowledge (1:31–33). It was knowledge that had come to him through revelation—when the Spirit descended on Jesus” (1:32).6 This is John’s theology of revelation at work. True knowledge of God is beyond human reach: It is a gift of divine disclosure. John has a number of opportunities to speak directly of the identity and purpose of Jesus.

(1) Jesus is identified as “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (v. 29). Every interpreter finds this phrase to be difficult because the words “Lamb of God,” while commonplace in Christian vocabulary, do not appear elsewhere in the New Testament except here and 1:36. The crux is understanding what “Lamb” (Gk. amnos) means. Some suggest that it refers to the Passover sacrifice, which could be a lamb (although this was not necessary). However, this animal was not termed amnos in Greek-speaking Judaism but rather “the pascha.” Since John is keenly interested in seeing Jesus as a Passover victim (see 19:31–36), it would not be unnatural for him to use this concept and language for Jesus.7

Other suggestions include the sacrificial lamb of Isaiah 53:7 or even the lamb of Genesis 22:8 (provided to Abraham in order to preserve Isaac). John may have been thinking of the triumphant eschatological Lamb of Revelation 5. Another possibility is that John is thinking about the daily temple sacrifices, in which a lamb was offered both morning and evening (Ex. 29:38–46). But this is uncertain. It is at least clear that for the Palestinian Jew, all lamb sacrifices were memorials of deliverance (esp. Isaac’s deliverance), forgiveness of sin, and messianic salvation.8 It would not be impossible for John to have the Passover lamb in mind in the present context.

The chief thing to keep in mind is that here we see Jesus as a gift provided by God to take away sin. As a lamb he becomes a sacrificial animal whose death “carries away” a condition that is prohibited in the presence of God. Since this Gospel highlights the festivals of Judaism, and in particular the Passover, it is not unreasonable to see Passover imagery here as well.

In 1:30 John describes Jesus as one who was “before [him].” This statement repeats an almost identical phrase in 1:15, which declares the importance of Jesus to be not in what he does but in who he is. This is one of many Christological affirmations in the Gospel that associate Jesus clearly with God.

(2) John’s second testimony on this day occurs in 1:32–33. Rather than narrating the story of Jesus’ baptism (as in the Synoptics), the Fourth Gospel simply invites John the Baptist to describe what he witnessed that day in the Jordan. Here his testimony is remarkable. John does not emphasize the voice from heaven or the baptism in the river, as do the Synoptics. Instead, three times he refers to the coming of the Spirit on Christ. The Old Testament expected the messianic era to be a day of renewal when the Spirit would not only transform Israel (Isa. 32:15; Ezek. 36:26–27; 37:14; Jub. 1:23) but would rest mightily on the Messiah himself (Isa. 11:2; 42:1; T. Jud. 24:1–3).

The appearance of the Spirit was common in the Old Testament, but it appeared mainly among designated leaders (such as a king, judge, or prophet) and remained only for the duration of their God-appointed work. John the Baptist’s comment is telling: The Spirit descended and remained on him. This is a permanent anointing; this is an anointing unlike anything witnessed before in Judaism; this is the messianic anointing. Moreover, this Jesus is not merely anointed himself with the Spirit at his baptism, but he will baptize others in the Holy Spirit as well. Indeed, John has witnessed the dawning of the messianic era.

(3) The final testimony given by John the Baptist in this day appears in 1:34: “I have seen and I testify that this is the Son of God.” Important ancient manuscripts, however, replace “Son of God” (NIV, NRSV) with “chosen of God” (NEB).9 I am convinced that “chosen of God” is correct. John will affirm Jesus’ title as Son later in 1:49. But here “chosen” is a more difficult reading, which scribes likely changed to the more familiar “Son.” Further, “chosen” likely comes from Isaiah 42:1, which emphasizes the Spirit-anointing of the Messiah and uses this title for him: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him, and he will bring justice to the nations.” This goes to the heart of John’s testimony about Jesus: This Messiah is known by his unique anointing, his unparalleled identity in the Spirit of God.

John the Baptist has completed his personal witness. In humility he has deflected glory and interest away from himself and drawn attention to Jesus, describing powerfully who he is and what he will do. It is not in this Gospel’s interest to record Jesus’ temptations as we have them in Matthew 4 and Luke 4. This chapter is about testimonies, about men who meet Jesus, who recognize they will be changed forever, and who discover the true identity of Jesus.

Bridging Contexts

IT WOULD BE EASY with a section like this to become overwhelmed with the numerous details of history and theology that the passage presents. There is the interrogation of John the Baptist with its many questions about formal Jewish titles. There is the baptism of Jesus and its theological meaning. There are also the four men—Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael—and the key that their stories hold as we unlock the meaning of the passage.

A testimony on two levels. Foremost in my thinking, however, is that this passage is offered to us as a testimony: “This was John’s testimony [martyria] . . .” (1:19). It will not do to immediately open the Synoptic Gospels and try to harmonize the conversion of the earliest followers of Jesus found there. John is painting a portrait—his own portrait—and it must be read in its own terms. This is a story offered to us in order to persuade and teach about the nature of conversion and discipleship. In fact, these episodes encapsulate what John is doing throughout his Gospel, providing a compelling story that weaves characters in and out who will convince and persuade. Thus as a story, it is not constructed in a haphazard fashion. This story has been honed by the evangelist in order for us to see its unifying themes.

We watch John the Baptist enter the stage and deliver his lines about Jesus (1:19–34); then four disciples have the same opportunity, first in Judea and then in Galilee (1:35–51). This is not to deny that there is an historical element in these narratives. It is simply to say that history is being used in the service of literature and theology. John has selectively built his Gospel from materials in the early church’s record in order to provide us with a portrait of Jesus and discipleship. In this manner it would not be entirely wrong to see the sudden shift to plural verbs in 1:51 as directed to us: “You shall see heaven open. . . .” We as readers will see the wonder of the Son of God if we continue with the story that John is about to unfold.

John is therefore writing on two levels. Historically, he is trying to describe the pivotal events of the life of Jesus Christ so that through this record, we will have an accurate reconstruction of what transpired. But in addition, he is writing fully conscious that he has a readership. The story promotes interactions not simply among its characters but also between its script and its readers. John is aware that we are reading him, and he crafts his story so that we as readers will find a progression of ideas unfolding before our eyes. John occasionally lets us know that we understand more than his characters do, giving us ironic humor or a sense of impending doom. We are given insights that sometimes the characters do not even have, and this gives us a point of view inaccessible to John’s historical characters.

Names of Jesus. As a testimony, two concepts stand out as compelling, timeless features of the story. John wants us to have an experience similar to that portrayed by these five men. He wants us to become disciples whose growth in knowledge and devotion is inspired by these stories. John is claiming that discipleship has two essential elements: Disciples must know who Jesus is, and they must have a personal experience that completely reorients who they are.

One of the striking features of this story is that people who become disciples of Jesus know what to call him. Within the story there is a litany of titles that could almost serve as an index to the New Testament list of names for Jesus:

• Messiah (vv. 20, 41)

• the Prophet (v. 21)

• Jesus (v. 29)

• Lamb of God (v. 29, 36)

• one who baptizes with the Spirit (v. 33)

• chosen [Son] of God (v. 34)

• rabbi/teacher (vv. 38, 49)

• Christ/anointed one (v. 41)

• son of Joseph (v. 45)

• Nazarene (v. 45)

• Son of God (v. 49)

• King of Israel (v. 49)

• Son of Man (v. 51)

No other chapter in the New Testament provides a comprehensive list like this. On the historical level it is surprising that here, this early in Jesus’ ministry, followers have an accurate appraisal of who he is. I expect they did not understand the full implications of what they were saying since Jesus had not yet worked any of his signs. John makes this clear in the next chapter, “After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken” (2:22). It was not until after Easter that the full implications of Jesus came rushing home to his followers.

But the more important thing to see here is the literary effect this has on us as readers. Here in the first dramatic scene we have been exposed to the Christological content of discipleship. As we read the story, we are witnessing what inquirers need to know in order to become true disciples. Being a follower of Jesus does not mean thoughtlessly following a person named Jesus. It does not mean having an experience that is void of theological content. Discipleship is a necessary commitment to content as well as conversion; it is a form of persuasion that includes both the heart and the mind. Thus, when John the Baptist completes his series of self-denials on Day One (vv. 19–28), his second scene on Day Two finds him identifying Jesus accurately for his disciples and the world.

Furthermore, we must realize that Jesus is not merely the sum total of the titles given here. These descriptors unveil something of Jesus’ activity among us and his identity with the Father. The baptismal narrative is trying to tell us something Christological: Jesus is uniquely filled with the Holy Spirit, and this is a feature of his messianic identity. He is the one to whom we must look for our own baptism in the Spirit (1:33). Jesus as “Lamb” means that he will be a sacrifice offered to the Father for the sins of the world. He is the one to whom we must look for redemption and forgiveness. Jesus as “King” refers to his rulership, his dominance over Israel as Messiah. John will use this title sixteen times in the ongoing story to underscore the majesty of Jesus’ role.

These names add an anticipatory element to our reading. We are eager to watch them unfold as the story unfolds, as they are picked up again and again and their meaning is enriched. Like the table of contents in a book, this list of names forces us to look ahead at how this remarkable person named Jesus will be explained in the following twenty chapters.

The characters and discipleship. The second dramatic feature of the story turns on the characters themselves. We are told little about them. There is no detailed history about families or homes. We are not even told about their occupations or how it happened that Peter and Andrew were working for John the Baptist. The central focus of the story is about their contact with Jesus.

Initially John the Baptist becomes a template for conversion and discipleship as he offers a sustained series of denials about who he is. No doubt on a historical level, this is an attempt to speak to followers of John the Baptist in the first century who need to recognize that their devotion to the Baptist now needs to shift to Jesus.18 But more broadly, John becomes a template for Christian discipleship generally. Affirmation of contact with Jesus leads to self-denial.

The most important imagery comes with the two stories that follow. In Judea Jesus meets Andrew, who follows Jesus personally. In Galilee Jesus meets Philip, who, like Andrew, follows him. Then Andrew goes to Peter—and Philip goes to Nathanael—and makes the same challenge: “Come and see” (1:39, 46). Peter and Nathanael will not know the truth about Jesus until they have had their own personal experience. In fact, Nathanael is cynical until his encounter takes place. This is a conversion template for John. Throughout the Gospel many people will be challenged to “come and see.” Conversion is not about knowledge alone; it is about coming yourself and appropriating a relationship with Jesus personally.

In each case the experience of discipleship carries one more dimension. John the Baptist, Andrew, and Philip each bring others to Jesus quite intentionally. Converts make new converts. They speak what they know about Jesus and they bring other people along so that they too will “come and see.”

Finally, John is aware that the process of discipleship and conversion are not matters left in human hands. Nathanael must “come and see,” but Jesus has “seen” him already. “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you” (1:48). These are remarkable words that point to Jesus’ supernatural knowledge, but also to God’s sovereign awareness of those who will accept the light. God sees us before we see him. God will “come and see” before we ever think about discipleship. God makes his overture before we consider making our own. This too is a central Johannine theme and is the anchor of the disciple’s assurance.

Contemporary Significance

LOVE FOR GOD and knowledge about God. I once asked a youth minister about the goal of his ministry. “When my students graduate,” he commented, “they will learn to love God.” What he was saying is that in the end, a heartfelt piety was the aim of his ministry, and I could tell that his efforts working among high school students made this goal evident. Ministry was centered on activities that would bind the youth together into a community of personal prayer and support. The students that graduated from this ministry did love God.

Wheaton College (where I teach) enjoys a student body that is passionately committed to God. There is no doubt that they “love God” and have come from evangelical churches whose ministries are similar to the one I just described. And yet in recent years we have been experimenting with an interesting test to determine the depth of these students’ knowledge about what they believe concerning the Bible, theological thought, and the history of the church.

We have been shocked at what we learned. Students from strong, conservative churches were sending us some of their best Christian eighteen-year-old students who did not know who came first, Abraham or Moses. They were not sure if Barnabas was in the Old Testament or the New Testament. When asked to put a list of major biblical books in proper order (such as Exodus, Psalms, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans), they failed miserably. When asked if Paul believed in the resurrection of the body, most said “No.” Here were young Christians for whom personal piety ran deep, but for whom a coherent, intelligent grasp of the Bible was beyond their reach. Recently one of my students told me that she was sure Jesus was baptized in the Dead Sea of Israel. Another thought that Paul was one of the twelve apostles. These were not weak students; rather, these were excellent students with an articulate and passionate commitment to Christ.19

When the test moved to matters of theology and church history, it became clear that these students were not sure what to do with names like Augustine, Luther, or Wesley. Keep in mind that we were not testing arcane matters of historical theology. We were seeing if the gigantic heroes of the faith were even recognized. We wondered whether some of the most important decisions about life and belief were a part of their theological equipment. Could they explain Christian belief from the ground up—beginning with our commitment to one God (monotheism) and leading on to an orthodox Christology? We looked at fundamental matters of Christology, salvation, the doctrine of Scripture; in most cases, students seemed singularly incapable of formulating a coherent doctrinal basis for their identity as Christians. Nevertheless they did “love God.”

This discovery sobered many of us and renewed our commitment to curricular goals that go far beyond mere piety. Students are coming to us who understand the “Christian walk,” but who do not understand “Christian thought.” Their lives have been baptized, but seemingly, their minds have not. They have devoted their hearts to following the Lord, but they have not mastered the bare essentials of Christian history and theology, much less Biblical theology and history.

Many mainline denominations have been wrestling for some time with the question of the ordination of homosexuals. Recently I attended a major discussion in my own denomination led by some of our elected ordained leaders.20 I was amazed as I watched the presentation unfold. The foremost virtue, we were told, was loving God and loving our neighbor, and since homosexuals were our neighbors, we should not only love them but ordain them to the ministry. Of course, love is a virtue—but so is a well-reasoned theological anthropology and a well-reasoned use of the Scriptures. Here is my point: Piety without theology was winning the day. Loving God became a spiritual mantra while there was no room for obeying him or listening for the more complex nuances of his expectations in the human enterprise. In other words, there was no compelling theological framework from which our leadership could answer the question: Should I ordain the homosexual? The point here is not homosexuality, but that the theological toolshed of these leaders’ ministerial vocation was empty.

John’s theology in this chapter stands against such emptiness. On the one hand, we are called to be like John the Baptist, Andrew, Peter, Nathanael, and Philip—people who have a personal experience of Christ, who “come and see,” who do not simply have a scholastic understanding of the Christian faith, but who remain where he is and are transformed by being with him. In other words, these are people who have an experiential dimension to faith, whose heart is engaged, and who “love God” and enjoy a depth of piety and devotion.

But more is called for. John the Baptist is not only experiencing personal self-effacement and an overwhelming desire to glorify Jesus, he can also give a correct theological explanation of who Jesus is. There is a theological substratum beneath his commitment. The same is true of the four men who follow in the story.

John 1:19–51 is a theological model for what it means to follow Christ. It forms a secondary, subsidiary introduction to the entire Gospel (following the prologue [1:1–14]). As a model, it urges that personal piety (“loving God”) must be wed to theological sophistication (“knowing God”). Christian faith is not merely commitment but content as well. Interrogators can come and press their questions with force and power, but like John the Baptist, the disciple must give unflinching answers. When asked, “Who are you?” (1:19), the disciple knows exactly what to say. Men and women can come and meet Jesus, but in the end, they acquire an increasingly informed understanding of who Jesus is (e.g., Jesus, Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God). And when they have wed their piety with theological insight, they go to others and evangelize them. They challenge others to have an experience and to understand the truth.

This twin emphasis on personal piety and theological sophistication is desperately needed in the church today. Like the students in our college test sample, our pews are filled with men and women whose love for God is strong and yet whose understanding of the content of the faith is diminishing. They cannot explain it, and when intellectually challenged, they struggle to defend it. I once asked a mature adult believer why Jesus was called the “Lamb of God” and was told, “Because Jesus is gentle and nice.” How enthralled he was when I explained the sacrificial connotations of the term.

What is the explanation for this? Is it generous assumptions about the abilities of our laity? Is it the lack of academic stamina among our pastoral leadership? Is it preaching that promotes personal experience and well-being instead of hard-won exegetical insights? Is it the therapeutic intellectual environment of our day that validates only those things anchored to the inner life? Honed theological expertise is as valuable as personal spiritual experience. It is the anchor that will keep Philip and Andrew committed with their minds as well as their hearts.

Original Meaning

Peter and Andrew in Judea (1:35–42)

JOHN THE BAPTIST continues his role as witness by speaking to yet another audience. On the third day of this sequence he speaks to his own followers, directing them to follow Jesus instead of himself. On one level, the story serves to show that disciples who followed the Baptist must shift their allegiance to Jesus. On another level, the story provides a template for discipleship generally—now in Judea (1:35–42), later in Galilee (1:43–51).

In verse 37 we learn that two disciples hear John testify to Jesus. One is Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother (v. 43). Andrew finds his brother and brings him to Jesus. But that leaves unanswered the identity of the other disciple in verse 37. In the Synoptic Gospels the earliest converts to Jesus are Andrew, Peter, James, and John (cf. Mark 1:16–20). It is no accident that this unnamed disciple in verse 37 may be our first hidden reference to the apostle John, likely the person behind the mysterious title “Beloved Disciple” used elsewhere in the Gospel. But note the close connection between the followers of the Baptist and the followers of Jesus: Many who later become Jesus’ disciples originally worked in the Baptist’s ministry.

The language of 1:38 is explicit language of discipleship. These two disciples follow Jesus, and when asked about their interests by him (“What do you want?”) they ask where he is staying (or remaining). “Come . . . and you will see,” he replies. This language is consciously designed to describe discipleship: to “follow” (Gk. akoulotheo), to “come and see,” and to “stay, remain” (Gk. meno) each describe aspects of discipleship. It is interesting to see that the same pattern of discipleship is played out with Philip and Nathanael in the following section.10 As we explore the wider meaning of this discipleship (see Bridging Contexts section), we will examine these words with some care.

We are told that these events occur “about the tenth hour,” probably about 4:00 P.M. today.11 This is not only one more indication that John is providing an eyewitness account (cf. 4:6, 52; 18:28; 19:14), but it signals something of Jesus’ intention. This is the end of the day and may refer to the fact that here Jesus has invited them to spend the entire day with him. This visit becomes a teaching session, in which Jesus discloses not only his messianic identity, but likewise his mastery over these new followers.

Each time we meet Andrew in the Gospel he is bringing someone to Jesus (6:8; 12:22).12 When Andrew finds his brother, Peter, and brings him to Jesus, Peter’s name is changed to “Cephas.”13 Cephas comes from the Aramaic word Kephas, which means “rock.” Peter likewise means “rock” (Gk. petros), and John is the only Gospel writer to tell us about Jesus’ original Aramaic play on words. Neither Petros in Greek nor Kephas in Aramaic are usual names but are actually nicknames (like the American “Rocky”), which often point to some feature of a person’s character.

In Jewish culture naming is a significant event.14 Names unveil something of the character of the person (e.g., Jacob means “he clutches” [his brother’s heel], Gen. 25:26), and renaming indicates something of the authority of one person over another (as God renames Abram, Gen. 17:5). Jesus is here asserting his authority over Peter and telling him that he is a different man, a man who is about to acquire the character of his true name, a name he has likely forgotten. It is striking that “rock” is not the image that comes through the portrait of Peter. Peter is impulsive and in the end will deny Jesus. But despite Peter’s frailty, this name signals Jesus’ vision for what Peter will become.

Bridging Contexts

IT WOULD BE EASY with a section like this to become overwhelmed with the numerous details of history and theology that the passage presents. There is the interrogation of John the Baptist with its many questions about formal Jewish titles. There is the baptism of Jesus and its theological meaning. There are also the four men—Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael—and the key that their stories hold as we unlock the meaning of the passage.

A testimony on two levels. Foremost in my thinking, however, is that this passage is offered to us as a testimony: “This was John’s testimony [martyria] . . .” (1:19). It will not do to immediately open the Synoptic Gospels and try to harmonize the conversion of the earliest followers of Jesus found there. John is painting a portrait—his own portrait—and it must be read in its own terms. This is a story offered to us in order to persuade and teach about the nature of conversion and discipleship. In fact, these episodes encapsulate what John is doing throughout his Gospel, providing a compelling story that weaves characters in and out who will convince and persuade. Thus as a story, it is not constructed in a haphazard fashion. This story has been honed by the evangelist in order for us to see its unifying themes.

We watch John the Baptist enter the stage and deliver his lines about Jesus (1:19–34); then four disciples have the same opportunity, first in Judea and then in Galilee (1:35–51). This is not to deny that there is an historical element in these narratives. It is simply to say that history is being used in the service of literature and theology. John has selectively built his Gospel from materials in the early church’s record in order to provide us with a portrait of Jesus and discipleship. In this manner it would not be entirely wrong to see the sudden shift to plural verbs in 1:51 as directed to us: “You shall see heaven open. . . .” We as readers will see the wonder of the Son of God if we continue with the story that John is about to unfold.

John is therefore writing on two levels. Historically, he is trying to describe the pivotal events of the life of Jesus Christ so that through this record, we will have an accurate reconstruction of what transpired. But in addition, he is writing fully conscious that he has a readership. The story promotes interactions not simply among its characters but also between its script and its readers. John is aware that we are reading him, and he crafts his story so that we as readers will find a progression of ideas unfolding before our eyes. John occasionally lets us know that we understand more than his characters do, giving us ironic humor or a sense of impending doom. We are given insights that sometimes the characters do not even have, and this gives us a point of view inaccessible to John’s historical characters.

Names of Jesus. As a testimony, two concepts stand out as compelling, timeless features of the story. John wants us to have an experience similar to that portrayed by these five men. He wants us to become disciples whose growth in knowledge and devotion is inspired by these stories. John is claiming that discipleship has two essential elements: Disciples must know who Jesus is, and they must have a personal experience that completely reorients who they are.

One of the striking features of this story is that people who become disciples of Jesus know what to call him. Within the story there is a litany of titles that could almost serve as an index to the New Testament list of names for Jesus:

• Messiah (vv. 20, 41)

• the Prophet (v. 21)

• Jesus (v. 29)

• Lamb of God (v. 29, 36)

• one who baptizes with the Spirit (v. 33)

• chosen [Son] of God (v. 34)

• rabbi/teacher (vv. 38, 49)

• Christ/anointed one (v. 41)

• son of Joseph (v. 45)

• Nazarene (v. 45)

• Son of God (v. 49)

• King of Israel (v. 49)

• Son of Man (v. 51)

No other chapter in the New Testament provides a comprehensive list like this. On the historical level it is surprising that here, this early in Jesus’ ministry, followers have an accurate appraisal of who he is. I expect they did not understand the full implications of what they were saying since Jesus had not yet worked any of his signs. John makes this clear in the next chapter, “After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken” (2:22). It was not until after Easter that the full implications of Jesus came rushing home to his followers.

But the more important thing to see here is the literary effect this has on us as readers. Here in the first dramatic scene we have been exposed to the Christological content of discipleship. As we read the story, we are witnessing what inquirers need to know in order to become true disciples. Being a follower of Jesus does not mean thoughtlessly following a person named Jesus. It does not mean having an experience that is void of theological content. Discipleship is a necessary commitment to content as well as conversion; it is a form of persuasion that includes both the heart and the mind. Thus, when John the Baptist completes his series of self-denials on Day One (vv. 19–28), his second scene on Day Two finds him identifying Jesus accurately for his disciples and the world.

Furthermore, we must realize that Jesus is not merely the sum total of the titles given here. These descriptors unveil something of Jesus’ activity among us and his identity with the Father. The baptismal narrative is trying to tell us something Christological: Jesus is uniquely filled with the Holy Spirit, and this is a feature of his messianic identity. He is the one to whom we must look for our own baptism in the Spirit (1:33). Jesus as “Lamb” means that he will be a sacrifice offered to the Father for the sins of the world. He is the one to whom we must look for redemption and forgiveness. Jesus as “King” refers to his rulership, his dominance over Israel as Messiah. John will use this title sixteen times in the ongoing story to underscore the majesty of Jesus’ role.

These names add an anticipatory element to our reading. We are eager to watch them unfold as the story unfolds, as they are picked up again and again and their meaning is enriched. Like the table of contents in a book, this list of names forces us to look ahead at how this remarkable person named Jesus will be explained in the following twenty chapters.

The characters and discipleship. The second dramatic feature of the story turns on the characters themselves. We are told little about them. There is no detailed history about families or homes. We are not even told about their occupations or how it happened that Peter and Andrew were working for John the Baptist. The central focus of the story is about their contact with Jesus.

Initially John the Baptist becomes a template for conversion and discipleship as he offers a sustained series of denials about who he is. No doubt on a historical level, this is an attempt to speak to followers of John the Baptist in the first century who need to recognize that their devotion to the Baptist now needs to shift to Jesus.18 But more broadly, John becomes a template for Christian discipleship generally. Affirmation of contact with Jesus leads to self-denial.

The most important imagery comes with the two stories that follow. In Judea Jesus meets Andrew, who follows Jesus personally. In Galilee Jesus meets Philip, who, like Andrew, follows him. Then Andrew goes to Peter—and Philip goes to Nathanael—and makes the same challenge: “Come and see” (1:39, 46). Peter and Nathanael will not know the truth about Jesus until they have had their own personal experience. In fact, Nathanael is cynical until his encounter takes place. This is a conversion template for John. Throughout the Gospel many people will be challenged to “come and see.” Conversion is not about knowledge alone; it is about coming yourself and appropriating a relationship with Jesus personally.

In each case the experience of discipleship carries one more dimension. John the Baptist, Andrew, and Philip each bring others to Jesus quite intentionally. Converts make new converts. They speak what they know about Jesus and they bring other people along so that they too will “come and see.”

Finally, John is aware that the process of discipleship and conversion are not matters left in human hands. Nathanael must “come and see,” but Jesus has “seen” him already. “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you” (1:48). These are remarkable words that point to Jesus’ supernatural knowledge, but also to God’s sovereign awareness of those who will accept the light. God sees us before we see him. God will “come and see” before we ever think about discipleship. God makes his overture before we consider making our own. This too is a central Johannine theme and is the anchor of the disciple’s assurance.

Contemporary Significance

LOVE FOR GOD and knowledge about God. I once asked a youth minister about the goal of his ministry. “When my students graduate,” he commented, “they will learn to love God.” What he was saying is that in the end, a heartfelt piety was the aim of his ministry, and I could tell that his efforts working among high school students made this goal evident. Ministry was centered on activities that would bind the youth together into a community of personal prayer and support. The students that graduated from this ministry did love God.

Wheaton College (where I teach) enjoys a student body that is passionately committed to God. There is no doubt that they “love God” and have come from evangelical churches whose ministries are similar to the one I just described. And yet in recent years we have been experimenting with an interesting test to determine the depth of these students’ knowledge about what they believe concerning the Bible, theological thought, and the history of the church.

We have been shocked at what we learned. Students from strong, conservative churches were sending us some of their best Christian eighteen-year-old students who did not know who came first, Abraham or Moses. They were not sure if Barnabas was in the Old Testament or the New Testament. When asked to put a list of major biblical books in proper order (such as Exodus, Psalms, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans), they failed miserably. When asked if Paul believed in the resurrection of the body, most said “No.” Here were young Christians for whom personal piety ran deep, but for whom a coherent, intelligent grasp of the Bible was beyond their reach. Recently one of my students told me that she was sure Jesus was baptized in the Dead Sea of Israel. Another thought that Paul was one of the twelve apostles. These were not weak students; rather, these were excellent students with an articulate and passionate commitment to Christ.19

When the test moved to matters of theology and church history, it became clear that these students were not sure what to do with names like Augustine, Luther, or Wesley. Keep in mind that we were not testing arcane matters of historical theology. We were seeing if the gigantic heroes of the faith were even recognized. We wondered whether some of the most important decisions about life and belief were a part of their theological equipment. Could they explain Christian belief from the ground up—beginning with our commitment to one God (monotheism) and leading on to an orthodox Christology? We looked at fundamental matters of Christology, salvation, the doctrine of Scripture; in most cases, students seemed singularly incapable of formulating a coherent doctrinal basis for their identity as Christians. Nevertheless they did “love God.”

This discovery sobered many of us and renewed our commitment to curricular goals that go far beyond mere piety. Students are coming to us who understand the “Christian walk,” but who do not understand “Christian thought.” Their lives have been baptized, but seemingly, their minds have not. They have devoted their hearts to following the Lord, but they have not mastered the bare essentials of Christian history and theology, much less Biblical theology and history.

Many mainline denominations have been wrestling for some time with the question of the ordination of homosexuals. Recently I attended a major discussion in my own denomination led by some of our elected ordained leaders.20 I was amazed as I watched the presentation unfold. The foremost virtue, we were told, was loving God and loving our neighbor, and since homosexuals were our neighbors, we should not only love them but ordain them to the ministry. Of course, love is a virtue—but so is a well-reasoned theological anthropology and a well-reasoned use of the Scriptures. Here is my point: Piety without theology was winning the day. Loving God became a spiritual mantra while there was no room for obeying him or listening for the more complex nuances of his expectations in the human enterprise. In other words, there was no compelling theological framework from which our leadership could answer the question: Should I ordain the homosexual? The point here is not homosexuality, but that the theological toolshed of these leaders’ ministerial vocation was empty.

John’s theology in this chapter stands against such emptiness. On the one hand, we are called to be like John the Baptist, Andrew, Peter, Nathanael, and Philip—people who have a personal experience of Christ, who “come and see,” who do not simply have a scholastic understanding of the Christian faith, but who remain where he is and are transformed by being with him. In other words, these are people who have an experiential dimension to faith, whose heart is engaged, and who “love God” and enjoy a depth of piety and devotion.

But more is called for. John the Baptist is not only experiencing personal self-effacement and an overwhelming desire to glorify Jesus, he can also give a correct theological explanation of who Jesus is. There is a theological substratum beneath his commitment. The same is true of the four men who follow in the story.

John 1:19–51 is a theological model for what it means to follow Christ. It forms a secondary, subsidiary introduction to the entire Gospel (following the prologue [1:1–14]). As a model, it urges that personal piety (“loving God”) must be wed to theological sophistication (“knowing God”). Christian faith is not merely commitment but content as well. Interrogators can come and press their questions with force and power, but like John the Baptist, the disciple must give unflinching answers. When asked, “Who are you?” (1:19), the disciple knows exactly what to say. Men and women can come and meet Jesus, but in the end, they acquire an increasingly informed understanding of who Jesus is (e.g., Jesus, Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God). And when they have wed their piety with theological insight, they go to others and evangelize them. They challenge others to have an experience and to understand the truth.

This twin emphasis on personal piety and theological sophistication is desperately needed in the church today. Like the students in our college test sample, our pews are filled with men and women whose love for God is strong and yet whose understanding of the content of the faith is diminishing. They cannot explain it, and when intellectually challenged, they struggle to defend it. I once asked a mature adult believer why Jesus was called the “Lamb of God” and was told, “Because Jesus is gentle and nice.” How enthralled he was when I explained the sacrificial connotations of the term.

What is the explanation for this? Is it generous assumptions about the abilities of our laity? Is it the lack of academic stamina among our pastoral leadership? Is it preaching that promotes personal experience and well-being instead of hard-won exegetical insights? Is it the therapeutic intellectual environment of our day that validates only those things anchored to the inner life? Honed theological expertise is as valuable as personal spiritual experience. It is the anchor that will keep Philip and Andrew committed with their minds as well as their hearts.

Original Meaning

Philip and Nathanael in Galilee (1:43–51)

JESUS’ DECISION TO move to Galilee (about a hundred miles north) was not as abrupt as the story suggests. John is building the theater for his Gospel and is eager to bring out representative characters. We are moving from one snapshot to the next, from one frame to another, meeting now more characters on John’s stage.

The north shore of the Sea of Galilee hosted a number of fishing villages (Bethsaida means “house of fishing”), and Jesus based his Galilean ministry among them. Bethsaida (likely Bethsaida Junias) was east of the Jordan River’s northern inlet into the sea and was nearby Capernaum (found just west of the Jordan’s inlet). Peter and Andrew were from Bethsaida (1:44) but had moved to Capernaum (Mark 1:21, 29). The Gospels indicate that Jesus did numerous miracles in these villages and because of their failure to respond, they would suffer terrible judgment (Matt. 11:20–24). Nevertheless they were important places because they resided on the main highway (the Via Maris or Way of the Sea) that brought traffic from the coastal hills of Judea to the northern regions of the country.

Philip and Nathanael were from Bethsaida. Philip had a Greek name (meaning “horse lover”) that was popular in Hellenistic Judaism. His brother’s Hebrew name (Nathanael, meaning “gift from God”) shows the mingling of cultures that must have been common in this area. Philip appears only rarely in the Gospels: He is in the Synoptic list of apostles (Mark 3:18; Acts 1:13), and in the Fourth Gospel he expresses concern at the miraculous feeding (John 6:7) and is later approached by Greeks in Jerusalem who want to see Jesus (12:21–22). It is also Philip who tells Jesus in the final evening with him that he should just show them the Father and they will be happy (14:8–9). Nathanael is not listed among the apostles; this has led to speculation that perhaps he should be identified as Matthew or even Bartholomew. In all three Synoptic stories Batholomew is listed with Philip (Matt. 10:3).15 But we cannot be sure. Jesus had many other disciples—seventy in Luke 10—who worked alongside the Twelve; Nathanael may have been one of them.

In any case, when Nathanael hears about Jesus as a man who fulfills the messianic predictions of Moses, his response is curious: “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” (1:46). Nathanael was from Cana, another village north of Nazareth (21:2), and it is likely that his comment tells us something about the rivalry of the regional Galilean villages. Nazareth did not have a bad reputation in Jesus’ day, but neither did it have a famous reputation. It was a small south Galilee mountain village, a fraction of the size of the modern Arab Christian city. Nathanael is expressing the cynicism of a man who has not met the compelling evidence that will win his life. Besides, Galilee had already seen a number of men come forward who had made some claim to messiahship. Nathanael will have none of it.16 Philip’s challenge is appropriate: evidence becomes convincing when it is appropriated personally. “Come and see” is the refrain heard the previous day in Judea (1:39) and now becomes Nathanael’s challenge.

Jesus describes Nathanael as “a true Israelite, in whom there is nothing false [dolos: no guile, RSV; no deceit, NRSV].” This word occurs eleven times in the New Testament and conveys the meaning of trickery or cunning. This is the concept behind the description of Jacob when he steals his brother’s birthright (Gen. 27:35). Jesus sees in Nathanael a good man, an honest man. And much to Nathanael’s surprise, Jesus refers to seeing him “under the fig tree” at an earlier time. Was this a time of prayer and meditation? Study?17 Fig trees with their ample shade were used thus in antiquity. But the main point is that Nathanael knows exactly what Jesus is talking about; Jesus has a capacity for knowing that which is more than human. That is, he knows Nathanael before Nathanael knows him. Nathanael has witnessed a miracle, and from it decides to make a remarkable step of faith.

At once Nathanael, who now has experienced Jesus for himself, addresses him with a litany of titles: “Rabbi! . . . Son of God . . . King of Israel.” “Rabbi” is a title of respect for a Jewish teacher (1:38). “Son of God” is an unexpected recognition of Jesus’ deity that was used with tremendous reserve in the Old Testament. “King of Israel” is used elsewhere at the triumphal entry (12:13) and when Jesus is on the cross (Matt. 27:42); here it is no doubt an expression of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah. Together these three names complete the portrait of John that has been building throughout this chapter. Nathanael is the perfect Israelite, the man in whom God finds favor, the man who recognizes the things of God instinctively and immediately. It is such a man who recognizes the true identity of Jesus.

Throughout the description of Nathanael we have heard echoes of Jacob, a man who was deceitful and yet who became the instrument of God’s redemptive efforts in history. Indeed, Jacob became the great patriarch of Israel, whose sons formed Israel’s twelve tribes. And his name changes so that Jacob is called “Israel.” Nathanael is as unlike the old Jacob-deceit as he is like the ideal Israel that God envisions.

Yet this chapter has one more surprise. John 1:51 introduces Jesus’ first use of the “amen, amen” formula (obscured in the NIV’s “I tell you the truth”). Literally Jesus says, “Truly [amen], truly [amen] I say to you. . . .” In the Synoptic Gospels amen occurs only once when the expression is used, but it is characteristically doubled throughout the Fourth Gospel (used twenty-five times). The word is a Hebrew or Aramaic idiom that implies certainty or confirmation and generally was appended to corporate prayers (1 Cor. 14:16; cf. Ps. 41:13). Jesus uses it to introduce sayings that for him are solemn or significant; no genuine parallels from Judaism have been found. This is Jesus’ unique Aramaic teaching style, embedded in the Greek Gospel story.

While one might think that Jesus is still talking with Nathanael in 1:51, the verb changes from the singular to the plural, “You will see. . . .” Jesus is making a pronouncement to all of his disciples—and to his readers too—that culminates all that has been revealed about him these four days. Drawing again on the Jacob imagery, Jesus describes angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man as the heavens open. This image springs from Jacob’s life. In Genesis 28 when Jacob is en route from Beersheba to Haran, he stops in Bethel and sleeps. “He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it” (28:12). The dream is so overpowering that Jacob is awed (28:16–19):

When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, “Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it.” He was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven.” . . . He called that place Bethel.

In Hebrew, Bethel means “house of God,” and Jesus is indicating that this is precisely who he is. The vision of Jacob described the locus of revelation, the point of connection between heaven and earth. Jesus is this place. Jesus incarnates the dream of Jacob, and Nathanael is going to see it himself. It is interesting that Nathanael is from Cana; immediately following this promise Jesus moves to Cana and works his first sign (John 2:1–11).

John 1:51 also introduces us for the first time to the curious phrase “Son of Man.” This phrase was used as a literal translation of the Aramaic and was not commonly used in Greek. It is curious because Jesus employs it frequently in the Gospels as his preferred self-description. The Fourth Gospel records its use thirteen times, while the Synoptics use it sixty-nine times. It is absent in Paul and only appears on the lips of Stephen in Acts 7:56.

While “Son of Man” is likely a Hebrew self-ascription meaning “I,” it must have carried other connotations. In Daniel 7:13–14 it appears as the title of a heavenly personage who is given ultimate authority by God. Jesus likely picks up this term and uses it extensively in order to avoid titles such as Messiah, Son of David, and King of Israel, which were loaded with political ideas. With it he can forge his own identity that is sufficiently ambiguous (to avoid the fantasies of Judaism messianic hopes) and which conveys overtones of divinity and authority.

Bridging Contexts

IT WOULD BE EASY with a section like this to become overwhelmed with the numerous details of history and theology that the passage presents. There is the interrogation of John the Baptist with its many questions about formal Jewish titles. There is the baptism of Jesus and its theological meaning. There are also the four men—Andrew and Peter, Philip and Nathanael—and the key that their stories hold as we unlock the meaning of the passage.

A testimony on two levels. Foremost in my thinking, however, is that this passage is offered to us as a testimony: “This was John’s testimony [martyria] . . .” (1:19). It will not do to immediately open the Synoptic Gospels and try to harmonize the conversion of the earliest followers of Jesus found there. John is painting a portrait—his own portrait—and it must be read in its own terms. This is a story offered to us in order to persuade and teach about the nature of conversion and discipleship. In fact, these episodes encapsulate what John is doing throughout his Gospel, providing a compelling story that weaves characters in and out who will convince and persuade. Thus as a story, it is not constructed in a haphazard fashion. This story has been honed by the evangelist in order for us to see its unifying themes.

We watch John the Baptist enter the stage and deliver his lines about Jesus (1:19–34); then four disciples have the same opportunity, first in Judea and then in Galilee (1:35–51). This is not to deny that there is an historical element in these narratives. It is simply to say that history is being used in the service of literature and theology. John has selectively built his Gospel from materials in the early church’s record in order to provide us with a portrait of Jesus and discipleship. In this manner it would not be entirely wrong to see the sudden shift to plural verbs in 1:51 as directed to us: “You shall see heaven open. . . .” We as readers will see the wonder of the Son of God if we continue with the story that John is about to unfold.

John is therefore writing on two levels. Historically, he is trying to describe the pivotal events of the life of Jesus Christ so that through this record, we will have an accurate reconstruction of what transpired. But in addition, he is writing fully conscious that he has a readership. The story promotes interactions not simply among its characters but also between its script and its readers. John is aware that we are reading him, and he crafts his story so that we as readers will find a progression of ideas unfolding before our eyes. John occasionally lets us know that we understand more than his characters do, giving us ironic humor or a sense of impending doom. We are given insights that sometimes the characters do not even have, and this gives us a point of view inaccessible to John’s historical characters.

Names of Jesus. As a testimony, two concepts stand out as compelling, timeless features of the story. John wants us to have an experience similar to that portrayed by these five men. He wants us to become disciples whose growth in knowledge and devotion is inspired by these stories. John is claiming that discipleship has two essential elements: Disciples must know who Jesus is, and they must have a personal experience that completely reorients who they are.

One of the striking features of this story is that people who become disciples of Jesus know what to call him. Within the story there is a litany of titles that could almost serve as an index to the New Testament list of names for Jesus:

• Messiah (vv. 20, 41)

• the Prophet (v. 21)

• Jesus (v. 29)

• Lamb of God (v. 29, 36)

• one who baptizes with the Spirit (v. 33)

• chosen [Son] of God (v. 34)

• rabbi/teacher (vv. 38, 49)

• Christ/anointed one (v. 41)

• son of Joseph (v. 45)

• Nazarene (v. 45)

• Son of God (v. 49)

• King of Israel (v. 49)

• Son of Man (v. 51)

No other chapter in the New Testament provides a comprehensive list like this. On the historical level it is surprising that here, this early in Jesus’ ministry, followers have an accurate appraisal of who he is. I expect they did not understand the full implications of what they were saying since Jesus had not yet worked any of his signs. John makes this clear in the next chapter, “After he was raised from the dead, his disciples recalled what he had said. Then they believed the Scripture and the words that Jesus had spoken” (2:22). It was not until after Easter that the full implications of Jesus came rushing home to his followers.

But the more important thing to see here is the literary effect this has on us as readers. Here in the first dramatic scene we have been exposed to the Christological content of discipleship. As we read the story, we are witnessing what inquirers need to know in order to become true disciples. Being a follower of Jesus does not mean thoughtlessly following a person named Jesus. It does not mean having an experience that is void of theological content. Discipleship is a necessary commitment to content as well as conversion; it is a form of persuasion that includes both the heart and the mind. Thus, when John the Baptist completes his series of self-denials on Day One (vv. 19–28), his second scene on Day Two finds him identifying Jesus accurately for his disciples and the world.

Furthermore, we must realize that Jesus is not merely the sum total of the titles given here. These descriptors unveil something of Jesus’ activity among us and his identity with the Father. The baptismal narrative is trying to tell us something Christological: Jesus is uniquely filled with the Holy Spirit, and this is a feature of his messianic identity. He is the one to whom we must look for our own baptism in the Spirit (1:33). Jesus as “Lamb” means that he will be a sacrifice offered to the Father for the sins of the world. He is the one to whom we must look for redemption and forgiveness. Jesus as “King” refers to his rulership, his dominance over Israel as Messiah. John will use this title sixteen times in the ongoing story to underscore the majesty of Jesus’ role.

These names add an anticipatory element to our reading. We are eager to watch them unfold as the story unfolds, as they are picked up again and again and their meaning is enriched. Like the table of contents in a book, this list of names forces us to look ahead at how this remarkable person named Jesus will be explained in the following twenty chapters.

The characters and discipleship. The second dramatic feature of the story turns on the characters themselves. We are told little about them. There is no detailed history about families or homes. We are not even told about their occupations or how it happened that Peter and Andrew were working for John the Baptist. The central focus of the story is about their contact with Jesus.

Initially John the Baptist becomes a template for conversion and discipleship as he offers a sustained series of denials about who he is. No doubt on a historical level, this is an attempt to speak to followers of John the Baptist in the first century who need to recognize that their devotion to the Baptist now needs to shift to Jesus.18 But more broadly, John becomes a template for Christian discipleship generally. Affirmation of contact with Jesus leads to self-denial.

The most important imagery comes with the two stories that follow. In Judea Jesus meets Andrew, who follows Jesus personally. In Galilee Jesus meets Philip, who, like Andrew, follows him. Then Andrew goes to Peter—and Philip goes to Nathanael—and makes the same challenge: “Come and see” (1:39, 46). Peter and Nathanael will not know the truth about Jesus until they have had their own personal experience. In fact, Nathanael is cynical until his encounter takes place. This is a conversion template for John. Throughout the Gospel many people will be challenged to “come and see.” Conversion is not about knowledge alone; it is about coming yourself and appropriating a relationship with Jesus personally.

In each case the experience of discipleship carries one more dimension. John the Baptist, Andrew, and Philip each bring others to Jesus quite intentionally. Converts make new converts. They speak what they know about Jesus and they bring other people along so that they too will “come and see.”

Finally, John is aware that the process of discipleship and conversion are not matters left in human hands. Nathanael must “come and see,” but Jesus has “seen” him already. “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you” (1:48). These are remarkable words that point to Jesus’ supernatural knowledge, but also to God’s sovereign awareness of those who will accept the light. God sees us before we see him. God will “come and see” before we ever think about discipleship. God makes his overture before we consider making our own. This too is a central Johannine theme and is the anchor of the disciple’s assurance.

Contemporary Significance

LOVE FOR GOD and knowledge about God. I once asked a youth minister about the goal of his ministry. “When my students graduate,” he commented, “they will learn to love God.” What he was saying is that in the end, a heartfelt piety was the aim of his ministry, and I could tell that his efforts working among high school students made this goal evident. Ministry was centered on activities that would bind the youth together into a community of personal prayer and support. The students that graduated from this ministry did love God.

Wheaton College (where I teach) enjoys a student body that is passionately committed to God. There is no doubt that they “love God” and have come from evangelical churches whose ministries are similar to the one I just described. And yet in recent years we have been experimenting with an interesting test to determine the depth of these students’ knowledge about what they believe concerning the Bible, theological thought, and the history of the church.

We have been shocked at what we learned. Students from strong, conservative churches were sending us some of their best Christian eighteen-year-old students who did not know who came first, Abraham or Moses. They were not sure if Barnabas was in the Old Testament or the New Testament. When asked to put a list of major biblical books in proper order (such as Exodus, Psalms, Isaiah, Matthew, Romans), they failed miserably. When asked if Paul believed in the resurrection of the body, most said “No.” Here were young Christians for whom personal piety ran deep, but for whom a coherent, intelligent grasp of the Bible was beyond their reach. Recently one of my students told me that she was sure Jesus was baptized in the Dead Sea of Israel. Another thought that Paul was one of the twelve apostles. These were not weak students; rather, these were excellent students with an articulate and passionate commitment to Christ.19

When the test moved to matters of theology and church history, it became clear that these students were not sure what to do with names like Augustine, Luther, or Wesley. Keep in mind that we were not testing arcane matters of historical theology. We were seeing if the gigantic heroes of the faith were even recognized. We wondered whether some of the most important decisions about life and belief were a part of their theological equipment. Could they explain Christian belief from the ground up—beginning with our commitment to one God (monotheism) and leading on to an orthodox Christology? We looked at fundamental matters of Christology, salvation, the doctrine of Scripture; in most cases, students seemed singularly incapable of formulating a coherent doctrinal basis for their identity as Christians. Nevertheless they did “love God.”

This discovery sobered many of us and renewed our commitment to curricular goals that go far beyond mere piety. Students are coming to us who understand the “Christian walk,” but who do not understand “Christian thought.” Their lives have been baptized, but seemingly, their minds have not. They have devoted their hearts to following the Lord, but they have not mastered the bare essentials of Christian history and theology, much less Biblical theology and history.

Many mainline denominations have been wrestling for some time with the question of the ordination of homosexuals. Recently I attended a major discussion in my own denomination led by some of our elected ordained leaders.20 I was amazed as I watched the presentation unfold. The foremost virtue, we were told, was loving God and loving our neighbor, and since homosexuals were our neighbors, we should not only love them but ordain them to the ministry. Of course, love is a virtue—but so is a well-reasoned theological anthropology and a well-reasoned use of the Scriptures. Here is my point: Piety without theology was winning the day. Loving God became a spiritual mantra while there was no room for obeying him or listening for the more complex nuances of his expectations in the human enterprise. In other words, there was no compelling theological framework from which our leadership could answer the question: Should I ordain the homosexual? The point here is not homosexuality, but that the theological toolshed of these leaders’ ministerial vocation was empty.

John’s theology in this chapter stands against such emptiness. On the one hand, we are called to be like John the Baptist, Andrew, Peter, Nathanael, and Philip—people who have a personal experience of Christ, who “come and see,” who do not simply have a scholastic understanding of the Christian faith, but who remain where he is and are transformed by being with him. In other words, these are people who have an experiential dimension to faith, whose heart is engaged, and who “love God” and enjoy a depth of piety and devotion.

But more is called for. John the Baptist is not only experiencing personal self-effacement and an overwhelming desire to glorify Jesus, he can also give a correct theological explanation of who Jesus is. There is a theological substratum beneath his commitment. The same is true of the four men who follow in the story.

John 1:19–51 is a theological model for what it means to follow Christ. It forms a secondary, subsidiary introduction to the entire Gospel (following the prologue [1:1–14]). As a model, it urges that personal piety (“loving God”) must be wed to theological sophistication (“knowing God”). Christian faith is not merely commitment but content as well. Interrogators can come and press their questions with force and power, but like John the Baptist, the disciple must give unflinching answers. When asked, “Who are you?” (1:19), the disciple knows exactly what to say. Men and women can come and meet Jesus, but in the end, they acquire an increasingly informed understanding of who Jesus is (e.g., Jesus, Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God). And when they have wed their piety with theological insight, they go to others and evangelize them. They challenge others to have an experience and to understand the truth.

This twin emphasis on personal piety and theological sophistication is desperately needed in the church today. Like the students in our college test sample, our pews are filled with men and women whose love for God is strong and yet whose understanding of the content of the faith is diminishing. They cannot explain it, and when intellectually challenged, they struggle to defend it. I once asked a mature adult believer why Jesus was called the “Lamb of God” and was told, “Because Jesus is gentle and nice.” How enthralled he was when I explained the sacrificial connotations of the term.

What is the explanation for this? Is it generous assumptions about the abilities of our laity? Is it the lack of academic stamina among our pastoral leadership? Is it preaching that promotes personal experience and well-being instead of hard-won exegetical insights? Is it the therapeutic intellectual environment of our day that validates only those things anchored to the inner life? Honed theological expertise is as valuable as personal spiritual experience. It is the anchor that will keep Philip and Andrew committed with their minds as well as their hearts.