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The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus the son of Joseph from Nazareth.”

When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!”

Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” He said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

I don’t know about you, but if someone, anyone, much less someone I didn’t know, walked up to me and told me to follow them, I can’t say for sure how I would respond. I might begin by acting like I didn’t hear them. I might be busy. The text doesn’t say, but Philip could have been plenty busy. He might have been taking a nap, sure, but he might also been involved in an important conversation, making a business deal, playing with his children. How would you respond if you were at work, or maybe leaning against the lockers at school, and some guy you didn’t know came up and told you to drop your stuff and follow? Would you just do it? Philip did.

Not only does John not tell us why, he doesn’t tell us much of who Phillip is. In the other three gospels, Philip is mentioned only in lists of the disciples. In John he gets more of a role, gets to be the first disciple Jesus really calls. Later on, in chapter six, Jesus turns to Philip with the problem of how to feed a crowd of five thousand. Greeks who come to see Jesus come first to Philip, asking him to introduce them. At the last supper Philip is the one who says to Jesus, “Show us the Father,” setting the stage for one of Jesus’ final speeches to his disciples.[1] John has Philip show up in many important places in his gospel, but we still don’t know why he chooses to follow.

I want to know what went through his head as he stood there, looking at Him, maybe squinting a bit in the sunlight. I want to know his exact thought process – how he decided who Jesus was, what factors he took into account, what put him over the edge, made him drop whatever he was doing and go and follow this Jesus. How did he know he could trust Him? When someone asks me the smallest question, something as simple as whether I will be at one particular meeting or not, I end up going through an elaborate process about what is being asked of me, about why whatever that is is being asked of me, and how much it will cost me – in money, time, in effort. I might have been more like Nathanael. Nathanael is skeptical. He wonders what good could come from Nazareth – small, backwards town that it was. Nathanael asks some questions of Jesus, sizes Him up, before he jumps on board. But not Philip. Jesus was asking Philip to give up his entire life, and Philip stood up, brushed himself off, and followed.

The thing is, John doesn’t bother to tell us any of those things. Frankly, it annoys me. But, often, you can learn as much from what texts don’t say as what they do say. John is encouraging us not to get caught up in the kinds of questions we get caught up in. John is, I believe making a clear point about the centrality of community in the life of faith. I think that because of the one detail he does include. John tells us that these first disciples came because someone else, someone they trusted and knew, bore witness to them about this guy, this Jesus. Just before today’s text, earlier in chapter 1, we are told of two disciples of John the Baptist. One of them was named Andrew. After he heard Jesus speak, Andrew went and got his brother, Simon Peter. That was how it started. John led these two disciples to Jesus and they, liking what they found there, offered testimony for someone else. Jesus may have found Philip in Galilee, John says, but Philip was from Bethsaida, the same place Andrew and Peter were from. This is the one detail John includes – Philip and Andrew and Peter share hometown roots. These two disciples stood beside Jesus, already a part of His work, and their presence was enough to summon Philip, to make him willing to turn everything upside down to follow the Messiah, Christ the Lord. Their presence, their invitation, changed everything for him.

Who first issued that invitation to you? Who taught you about the life of faith? Was it parents, dragging you to Sunday School despite your protestations, grandparents who you saw reading their bibles, who spoke to you, in whispered tones, about these most important things. I grew up in the church, but discipleship took root in me because of Sunday School teachers like Tommie and Ed, a retired couple who showed up every Sunday, even when I was the only kid there, and made clear to me that I was more than enough for them. Discipleship took root because of David, a counselor during a few summers in Montreat who took extra time with me. It was because of John, a pastor who took me on hikes to get away during the tumultuous times of adolescence. It was because of a few key friends who, often late at night, asked me hard questions, struggled with me, brought more out of me than I could ever imagine I had. Who did that for you? Who introduced you to Jesus?

Regardless of how it starts, discipleship takes root in specific communities. How did you end up here? Who introduced you, invited you, told you about something interesting happening? And, once you got in, what made you stay? Was it the preschool, the Christmas pageant, a trip to the Gulf Coast doing disaster relief? Was it the soaring music, someone who brought you a meal, or the way this congregation is deeply committed to ministry beyond these walls, not just money, but with hands and feet and time on committees and boards? I am here in large part because of the witness of the members of the PNC, who were serious and faithful about their discernment, and whose love of this place was contagious. Who got you here? Why did you stay? These are things we must know, because once we claim them, we are better equipped to turn around and issue that invitation to someone else.

Because, ultimately, what Philip did, immediately after he decided to follow Jesus, was to go and get somebody else. “We have found Him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus the son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Philip knew something was different, that this Jesus, this One, was changing everything. And he couldn’t help but tell someone…

I heard a colleague tell a story recently about two men on the golf course who played together every Friday afternoon. After the round one week, one said to another, “It’s always fun to take your money. Let’s play again. I have a tee time Sunday morning at 10:00. Come join me.”

The first gentleman said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ve got to go to church. We don’t have a golfers’ service on Saturday night like First Church, but I’ll see you next Friday.” Next Friday, the same routine, wagers settled and again, one says to the other, “I have another tee time Sunday morning at 10:00. How about this week?” “I’d love to but I can’t. Church. I’ll see you next Friday.” Next Friday rolls around and the scenario repeats itself, only this time when the golf invitation comes and he again declines, the first man, Jim, looks at his playing partner and says, “I have to ask you something. Is there something wrong with your church? Here I’ve invited you to play golf with me three weeks in a row, and you’ve not once invited me to come to your church.”[2]

In the end, I believe this is a text about evangelism. Evangelism is a word that gets a bad rap, for it often calls to mind street preachers thumping their bibles, or awkward gatherings at which people ask if you are saved. Too often, historically, evangelism has been about power, about putting someone else in a corner, labeling someone else as ‘in’ your Jesus club or ‘out’ of it. It has been code language for imperialism, about traveling to foreign lands under the guise of progress, handing out bibles with guns behind our backs. But, at its core, evangelism is about telling our story, issuing His remarkable invitation. The word comes from the Greek for good news. That’s what we are, good news tellers, about how, in an anxious time, when people are worried about the economy and power and war and how they are going to raise their children, that we, here, have encountered the One who has changed everything for us, who gives us meaning, gives us the best reason in the world to hope. We have found, here, the One who tells us that more and more bombs will not, ultimately, bring peace; that gathering things to ourselves is not the key – that in life you find by giving yourself away; that by suffering, by making oneself vulnerable, that in those places is where we find the power of the One who rules the world.

One of you recently sent me a poem I want to share with you. It is called “Christmas,” by Howard Thurman, and it captures well our call.

Andrew and Peter stood beside Jesus, encouraging, by their very presence, their friend Philip to follow this One about whom Moses and the prophets spoke. Then Philip, immediately, turned around and invited Nathanael to be a part. Issuing that invitation, bringing a friend along, being a good-news teller, and liver, is one of the most fundamental ways we express our faith. If Jesus Christ, working through this community, has, in fact, changed your life, with whom will you share that good news?

[1] Lamar Williamson Jr. “Preaching the Gospel of John” (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2004), 18.

[2] I heard the Rev. Bob Henderson, now at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, tell this at a gathering when we were both in Greensboro.

[3] I am grateful to Jane Green, who sent me this poem via email a few weeks ago.