John 1: 43-51

The American journalist Herbert Agar once said that a snob was someone who acted as though they had begotten their own ancestors.  In a similar vein, the poet Berton Braley declared that snobbery was the conceit of those who were unsure of their own position.   Both these aphorisms put their finger on the essence of snobbery: that it is an attempt to compensate for perceived or actual inadequacies by assuming airs and graces, usually in connection with the very issue about which the snob feels insecure.  Ultimately, the snob is the very acme of someone who has something to hide. Afterall, more than one dynasty of noble aristocrats began with a robber baron who was little more than a bloody-handed tyrant.  And more than one corporate dynasty was founded by a ruthless operator who was essentially a tax cheat and a loan shark.  And there is, of course, the well-known phenomenon of the “two-bob” snob: the person who has come into a little money or a little power and who regards themselves as being a cut above ordinary sinners as a result.  All these are examples of snobbery as a means of compensation: in the first two instances, of “respectable” lineages founded by less than respectable means; and in the third instance, of the poseur who is neither as rich nor as powerful as they would like to be.

They remind me of a story about that time in Australia’s recent past when it was the height of fashion to have an ancestor who was transported as a convict on the First Fleet.  Apparently, there was a wealthy society matron in Sydney who was delighted to discover that she had just such an ancestor – only for her delight to turn to dismay when she discovered that the aforesaid ancestor had been transported for molesting sheep.  But the real irony of the story lies in the fact that the society matron was so focused on superficialities that she failed to realise that, in 18^th century parlance, “molesting” probably meant nothing more than “stealing” or “poaching” – and did not carry the dubious connotations which modern usage ascribes to the word.

In other words, snobbery is not just about insecurity and compensation, it’s also about the inability to see the wood for the trees.  The snob is so pre-occupied with shoring up their reputation and creating a certain image about themselves, they fail to see all the wonderful things in life that are actually worth celebrating.  For just as a Puritan is a person tormented by the thought that somewhere, someone is enjoying themselves, so a snob is tormented by the thought that somewhere, someone is looking down their nose at them.  And so the snob spends their life pre-emptively looking down their nose at everyone else, missing out on all the relationships that make life so potentially rich and fulfilling.

Sadly, this is an attitude that manifests itself as much in the life of faith as it does in life generally.  In many different times and places, Christians have been guilty of assuming airs and graces, of imagining themselves to be members of some sort of sanctified elect, some sort of community of the righteous with direct access to God.  And this attitude is usually buttressed by some misquoted or misunderstood passage from Scripture, such as certain texts from the Book of Revelation which speak of “the Elect”, or of those who are to be saved.  But it seems to me that if we are to take seriously Jesus’ declaration that he came for the sake of sinners and not the righteous, then we must understand the Church, not as a community of saints, but as a society of sinners.

Which is to say that Christians, far from being righteous and pure, are as broken and incomplete as any other person.  In which case, the point of faith is to acknowledge this brokenness and, from the depths of our incompleteness, turn to God in the understanding that it is in and through God that we are made whole – and not through our own virtues or merits.     Which does not mean that we are required to grovel in self-loathing submission before God; rather, that we come humbly and openly before God, knowing that in God’s unconditional love we will be accepted and made welcome.

Unfortunately, one of the tragedies of religious snobbery is that this message of God’s loving grace gets lost amid the demands we make on others that they conform to our standards, that they become like us, that they, in effect, stop being who they are and transmute into clones of who we think we are.  Fortunately, the authors of Scripture were aware of this potential; and in today’s reading from John’s Gospel, we have a singular warning against snobbery of this sort.

The first thing that needs to be said is that, aside from Jesus, the central characters are two of Jesus’ disciples, Phillip, and Nathanael.  Now, Phillip is a name which comes from Greek; whereas Nathanael is solidly Jewish.  And the significance of this is that, culturally speaking, Phillip represents an “outsider”, whereas Nathanael represents the “insiders”.  Nathanael has, as it were, remained pure, untainted by the influence of Greek culture, which at this time dominated the societies of the eastern Mediterranean.  Phillip, by contrast, in and through his name, is emblematic of the very influence of that culture in Jewish life.  So in Phillip and Nathanael you have two representative figures: the “pure” insider and the “tainted” outsider.

And isn’t it a curious thing that it is the “outsider” who draws the “insider’s” attention, not just to Jesus, but to his identity as the one about whom Moses and the prophets spoke?   It is to Phillip whom Jesus says, “Follow me!”  And it is Phillip who, in turn, goes to Nathanael and invites him to likewise follow Jesus.  In other words, we have here an episode that is emblematic of Jesus’ own ministry: the outsider, the hayseed from provincial Galilee, who will not only dare to correct the leaders of the Temple in Jerusalem, but who will declare himself to be the Messiah, the One who will fulfil God’s promise contained in the Law.  And in a sense, Nathanael’s sneering response to Phillip is emblematic of the outrage and contempt which Jesus will provoke from the religious authorities: “can anything good come from Nazareth?” mirrors the outraged “how dare he!” with which the Pharisees and Sadducees and others will respond to Jesus.

But there is also irony at play here, an irony that both shows up Nathanael’s snobbery and the absurd blindness of snobbery itself.  Phillip, we are told, is from Bethsaida; and so, presumably, is Nathanael.  Now, Bethsaida was one of a number of prosperous little cities which sprang up during this period along the shores of the Sea of Galilee; cities in which there was a good deal of construction of public buildings which displayed the civic pride of these communities.  And to carry out these works, significant numbers of craftsmen and labourers from the inland villages of Galilee and were recruited; but, as with other times and places, the people doing the work were despised and ridiculed by the people for whom they worked.  So Nathanael saying “can anything good come from Nazareth?” is a put-down associated with this kind of snobbery: Jesus is not from Bethsaida, he’s not “one of us” – how could he possibly have anything of value to offer?

The irony being of course that Nathanael is too blind to see the sheer effrontery of Jesus approaching a half-Greek Jew like Phillip, instead of first coming to him, one of the local cultural and economic elites.  He cannot see the implicit message that the Kingdom of God belongs to all, not merely to those who imagine themselves to be its true inheritors.  Like Nicodemus the Pharisee, Nathanael cannot “see”, he cannot understand who Jesus is and what he portends; whereas Phillip, the lesser light by virtue of his “outsider” heritage, immediately grasps who Jesus is and what he is about.   So it is with irony added to irony that the “outsider” goes to the “insider”, to help him understand what is before his very eyes.

And, perhaps curious, perhaps amused, Nathanael goes with Phillip.  And as he approaches, Jesus pays him an apparent compliment: “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!”  But in the context of Nathanael’s response to Phillip, the compliment is decidedly backhanded: Nathanael is not “deceitful” in the sense that he wears his snobbery on his sleeve; it’s there for all to see, not hidden behind a display of courtesy or good manners.   Moreover, in identifying Nathanael is a “true Israelite”, Jesus names the basis of Nathanael’s snobbery: his pride in his “untainted” cultural background.  It’s almost as though – to use Herbert Agar’s phrase – Nathanael had begotten his own ancestors!

But the “backhanded” nature of this compliment is also revealed by the fact that Nathanael’s openness is, in fact, his saving grace: being of an open disposition means that he is likewise open to new understanding: like Nicodemus the Pharisee, his “blindness” is not total, there remains the possibility of insight.  And this is an insight which Jesus subsequently provides; not in response to Nathanael’s rather formulaic declaration that Jesus is the Son of God and King of Israel – which, as an aside, is John’s ironic premonition of the words which will be nailed to Jesus’ cross – but in the promise of greater things to come.

But this is not “greater” as in “more spectacular” or “more impressive”.  Such a promise would merely be a repetition of the materialist and cultural paradigm out of which Nathanael’s snobbery operates.  Rather, the “greater” which Jesus promises is a statement about what will happen to Jesus himself, a statement expressed through an image that recollects Jacob’s dream at Haran. For in the Incarnation, the Heavens have indeed opened up; and in the person of Jesus, God has descended to earth and entered into human life.  And in his death, Jesus will descend further, into the fullness of human death.  But in his Resurrection, Jesus will ascend once more to Heaven; and in so doing, will enable the earthly life of humanity to ascend into the eternal life of God’s Kingdom.  The “greater” will be the inclusion of the whole of creation in God’s scheme of salvation, contrary to the expectations of the elites.  The “greater” is the width and unconditional nature of God’s love, which rebukes Nathanael’s snobbery and its assumptions about who is “in” and who is “out”.

And which, correspondingly, rebukes our own snobbery, our own assumptions.  Because there are times when we act with conceit and label it righteousness; when we compensate for our insecurities and call it respectability.  But the truth is, none of our confessions of faith, none of our activities as a congregation, mean anything unless they declare that our discipleship to Christ is centred on making known the love of God, through and in a community that makes available life and love to the world.  All else is affectation and pretence; it is snobbery and elitism, pure and simple.  And we are called, not to be snobs, but to follow the One who entered our humanity for the sake of us all.

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