Nathanael's Dark Night
Nathanael sat in a lonely room, bending over his parchment to make out the tiny characters written there. How many times the last three years had he sent messages to Yacob about these very texts? Now his host, an old friend, was snoring from the shadows of the small house. After what happened today, how could one sleep? Indeed, each time his own eyes closed with the heaviness of his grief and exhaustion the darkness came alive, revealing itself in the memorized faces of evil incarnate. “Crucify him!” they yelled.
He drew his hand across his brow, finding there beads of sweat. Wiping his hand on his sash, the young scribe tried to return to studying. Some faces were too familiar. Old friends. Men who were in training to be scribes as he had been… before. Some had been his teachers. After hearing Yeshua teach, how could one apply that title to anyone else? He had the words of life. Yeshua had become Nathanael’s life. Now He was dead.
As young Israelites hoping to distinguish themselves as scribes, Yacob and Nathanael had apprenticed themselves to those religious leaders who were willing to teach. They studied Scripture, carefully copying out entire passages in their notes. Poor students made the most of their parchment by writing in very small print. The two friends had found early in their course of study that the Messianic passages were their favorites. With politics as they were in Israel, who wasn’t thinking about the Messiah? Each verse was studied and puzzled over. They consulted the rabbinical commentaries.
Still there were anomalies. Rabbis debated whether some passages were truly about the awaited Messiah. One would read along, get caught up in the glorious conquering mission of God’s Anointed Prophet, in whom His Name dwells. Next would be a verse about suffering, or being despised of the people. The wave-like emotions of the text brought to mind the ups and downs of the walk with Yeshua the past months.
From Galilee to Jerusalem, Yeshua and His growing company of followers had steadily made their way to the city for the feast. As in the beginning, nearly three years prior, still Yeshua performed miracles. He healed the sick, multiplied food, commanded storms to cease, and cast out demons. Some whispered rumor said He could raise the dead.
“Raise the dead? All of Israel had heard of Lazarus. Dead four days. Then Yeshua tells him to come out of the tomb, so he does. We ate with him in Bethany this week,” pondered Nathanael. “No wonder the people thronged to worship Him when He entered the city for Passover. So how could one with such power let Himself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter?”
This made him mindful of a prophecy of Isaiah. He searched the sheaf of papers. Rabbis said it was about Messiah, but how could that be? Words like wounded, cut off, smitten by God were only painful reminders of the death of his hope. How firmly they had all believed!
Pharisees fast. Saducees tithe. Scribes study. Rabbis teach. The people of the land pray. Yes, they ask for their needs. And the Eternal provides. At the beginning of his journey, Nathanael too was praying. He had been studying, but there was so much he didn’t understand. Following Solomon’s example, he went to pray for wisdom. Like Daniel, he confessed his sins and the sins of his people. Then he sighed beneath the fig tree in the morning. How he yearned for the kingdom of God to come! Turning with his thoughts, he prayed for Messiah to come quickly.
For the first decade in hundreds of years, this had become a prayer the educated could truly hope to see answered. Daniel’s prophecy of weeks should be fulfilled soon. Scholars debated over the decree which set the calendar in motion. Either way, time was running short.
Some eager fools ran to the wilderness, chasing any rumors of a Messiah. Most were rebels, hoping for power or glory like Judas Maccabee had won. Others were good teachers, who denied they were the Promised One. Hopeful peasants would not be deterred.
The priests and Sanhedrin took a different view. When Messiah descended on the Temple Mount to establish His dominion, they would not be caught following some dusty peasant rebel. No, they would be dressed their finest, talking the loudest, presenting the largest sacrifice.
Nathanael would probably be doing what he was today: praying. More and more the burden of knowing the law and the prophets drove him to pray. Then he read the Psalms for expression and comfort.
“I looked for comforters, but found none.” A Psalm brought him away from his memories. He knew it wasn’t written on any of the papers in Yacob’s collection. No one thought that was a Messianic prophecy. Most of his thoughts drew from Scripture in one way or another. His mind was saturated with it. That was one thing that drew him to Yeshua: though He didn’t commentate on the Law, He constantly alluded to Moses, David, Isaiah, and the others.
In a time when most teachers were trying to separate themselves by saying something new, Yeshua drew crowds by making practical sense of what was written before. Sometimes Nathanael could almost finish His sentences. Other times the things Yeshua said were so shocking that only days later, in the contemplative silence of walking the countryside, would he recognize that the Teacher had been drawing a truth from some overlooked passage of an oft-ignored prophet.
The day they met was still a puzzle. Nathanael was praying. His friend Phillip found him in a place where they had often debated the meaning of prophecy. That was long ago. Phillip had fallen in love, gotten serious about working to provide for a family. Nathanael had continued his own work.
As kids they were part of a sect that was discreetly referred to as “those waiting for the kingdom of God.” Their parents paid careful attention to news that might give them clues as to when Messiah was coming. They were on the watch. Nathanael couldn’t count how many times he had heard the story of Widow Anna, the prophetess, who before he was born brought news to them of a baby Messiah dedicated at the Temple. And this coincided a few years later with Herod’s decree to murder all infant boys in Bethlehem, whence Messiah would come. What Herod had heard (if anything), no one dared ask. The king had been notoriously suspicious and half mad.
That day three years ago was reminiscent of the old stories. Phillip ran to the tree, and held his knees to catch his breath. “We have found Him,” he didn’t wait to pant out. Adding details his friend would understand, he continued, “of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote.” Phillips eyes were bright from running, but something else also seemed to light them.
Nathanael had long known Phillip’s enthusiasm about John the Baptizer. Surely he wouldn’t run all this way just to remind him? “Jesus of Nazareth,” Phillip finished.
Nathanael’s heart stirred. The branches above his head rustled. There was something in the way Phillip spoke. His words were honest and sober. Nathanael knew his friend, and trusted him. But he frantically ran over verses in his mind searching for some reference to Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he wondered aloud.
“Come and see.”
“You mean He’s close?” he thought. The two men left the fig tree standing alone in the deserted field.
Yeshua saw Nathanael approach. His greeting excited curiosity in Nathanael to this day, unless… “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”
Unable to think of anything else to say, and rather stunned at the recognition in the Rabbi’s voice, Nathanael said, “How do you know me?” Phillip would have asked if his friend had not. Though he was beaming, though he said he believed Yeshua was Messiah, he didn’t yet know what that meant. None of them did. Would they ever?
“Before Phillip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Yeshua looked at him with a piercing glance now dearly missed, and a familiar hint of a smile.
Who hears the prayers of the heart but God? No one had been near the fig tree. Nathanael liked to pray in private so no one would see his tears or hear his confessions. Yeshua’s eyes glistened, almost weeping for the passion of this Israelite. In the years that followed, Nathanael had seen others’ emotional outbursts affect Him the same way.
In that moment of beginning everything had come together. Years of waiting. Pages of text. John the Baptizer. Phillip’s testimony. And this. By words whose significance was lost on all others, Yeshua confessed his identity.
“Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”
That day Nathanael left his watching and his parchments. He observed the Word come alive. His confession settled once for all his faith and his willingness to follow. But something else happened that Nathanael did not expect. He would have served his Master in any way, gone into battle for Him. But his Master became his friend, one he loved to follow not only because He was worthy, but because He was beloved. Many of His followers felt it. They dared not discuss it lest they be thought impertinent.
Nathanael shaped some warm wax between his thumb and finger. Only a few days ago Yeshua had made his heart rejoice by calling them friends. He felt that way, too! “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend,” Yeshua once said. Perhaps they were not His friends. Not one stood by Him when He was on trial. All had fled.
In the darkness Nathanael had stumbled and tripped through the outskirts of Jerusalem, following phantom lights his eyes thought he saw. Finally he got his bearings and came to Yacob’s house. There he had remained, frightened, until a servant brought the news: Yeshua had been sentenced to crucifixion and was already dead. The sky was dark the first time Nathanael looked out, though the sun had not set. All mourned for Yeshua.
For hours Nathanael sobbed, ignoring the customs of the holy feast he should have been observing. Occasional reports increased his understanding of how the impossible had happened. Yeshua was often associated with the impossible. The thought was bitter. Yacob delivered the news and left him alone.
At last Nathanael arose. An idea had struck him. Three years he had not been forced to search the Scriptures himself for comfort. Yet that is what he had done before. It might help again. Understanding and answers might give him peace.
Yacob obligingly brought his notes out of storage. When it grew too dark to read, he brought candles. As of yet Nathanael could not speak. No, he could not even pray. How does one pray when the Son of God is dead? “Son of God” is what he had said, right? And for three years he lived proof. But now everything was in doubt. Who else could Yeshua have been?
Over and over again Nathanael read the verses. Many words and prophecies he’d never associated with the Messiah perfectly described what he was going through. If he could just put them all together, maybe they would make sense.
The sun rose, a bright Sabbath morning. Yacob the bachelor scribe invited Nathanael to worship with him. Finding comfort in ritual, in stubbornly affirming things which seemed senseless to believe, Nathanael went through the day. If it weren’t Sabbath, he would have taken a long walk. He thought that the sons of Zebedee, sons of thunder, would have hammered something (or someone) to release their frustration. It sounded tempting.
Instead he spoke. He poured out his heart to Yacob. They sat under the broad open window at the front of the house. Nathanael was silent when anyone drew near, for fear of the Jews. Yacob urged him to go on, getting excited about the details, the fulfilled prophecy his friend reported. “But it can’t be! He’s dead. He isn’t the one,” Nathanael reminded.
With a more patient heart Yacob answered, “How could so many things be right – and nothing wrong – except this?” His eyes hesitated, showing by their vibration his debate between two options. He spoke again. “Almost I would ask if our Enemy has not cast some mighty unforeseen stroke. If the Evil One cut off the Messiah… But that would be blasphemy.”
“Messiah is not just a man. He is the Son of God. If… if Yeshua is Messiah, this is a heavy stroke indeed. It is not possible – is it – that the Adversary could win?”
“If so we are the most miserable of all souls.”
Nathanael sighed. “The last meal, Thursday night, we all said we would die for Him.” The weight of his failure buried him again. After a few moments he looked up, resolved. His eyes were grey, miserable, and without hope; but they were fierce. “He was my King and my Friend and my Rabbi. The Sanhedrin, if reports be true, has claimed Caesar as their king. They have befriended the god of this world. Whether He wins or loses, I will stand with the God of Israel. I don’t understand. All I can do is what I know is right.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Yacob hoped to sit this fey mood out. “What about the others? What do they think?”
“I haven’t seen them. John would be with his brother, Yacob. Phillip is probably with Andrew, and Simon with them. We all scattered from Gethsemane.” Thinking of his friends reminded him that three years of itinerant ministry had yielded him more than just one friendship. He and Phillip were closer than ever. “I should find them, see if I can help: I don’t know, comfort or make plans.”
“Tomorrow, my friend.”
To God be all glory.
He drew his hand across his brow, finding there beads of sweat. Wiping his hand on his sash, the young scribe tried to return to studying. Some faces were too familiar. Old friends. Men who were in training to be scribes as he had been… before. Some had been his teachers. After hearing Yeshua teach, how could one apply that title to anyone else? He had the words of life. Yeshua had become Nathanael’s life. Now He was dead.
As young Israelites hoping to distinguish themselves as scribes, Yacob and Nathanael had apprenticed themselves to those religious leaders who were willing to teach. They studied Scripture, carefully copying out entire passages in their notes. Poor students made the most of their parchment by writing in very small print. The two friends had found early in their course of study that the Messianic passages were their favorites. With politics as they were in Israel, who wasn’t thinking about the Messiah? Each verse was studied and puzzled over. They consulted the rabbinical commentaries.
Still there were anomalies. Rabbis debated whether some passages were truly about the awaited Messiah. One would read along, get caught up in the glorious conquering mission of God’s Anointed Prophet, in whom His Name dwells. Next would be a verse about suffering, or being despised of the people. The wave-like emotions of the text brought to mind the ups and downs of the walk with Yeshua the past months.
From Galilee to Jerusalem, Yeshua and His growing company of followers had steadily made their way to the city for the feast. As in the beginning, nearly three years prior, still Yeshua performed miracles. He healed the sick, multiplied food, commanded storms to cease, and cast out demons. Some whispered rumor said He could raise the dead.
“Raise the dead? All of Israel had heard of Lazarus. Dead four days. Then Yeshua tells him to come out of the tomb, so he does. We ate with him in Bethany this week,” pondered Nathanael. “No wonder the people thronged to worship Him when He entered the city for Passover. So how could one with such power let Himself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter?”
This made him mindful of a prophecy of Isaiah. He searched the sheaf of papers. Rabbis said it was about Messiah, but how could that be? Words like wounded, cut off, smitten by God were only painful reminders of the death of his hope. How firmly they had all believed!
Pharisees fast. Saducees tithe. Scribes study. Rabbis teach. The people of the land pray. Yes, they ask for their needs. And the Eternal provides. At the beginning of his journey, Nathanael too was praying. He had been studying, but there was so much he didn’t understand. Following Solomon’s example, he went to pray for wisdom. Like Daniel, he confessed his sins and the sins of his people. Then he sighed beneath the fig tree in the morning. How he yearned for the kingdom of God to come! Turning with his thoughts, he prayed for Messiah to come quickly.
For the first decade in hundreds of years, this had become a prayer the educated could truly hope to see answered. Daniel’s prophecy of weeks should be fulfilled soon. Scholars debated over the decree which set the calendar in motion. Either way, time was running short.
Some eager fools ran to the wilderness, chasing any rumors of a Messiah. Most were rebels, hoping for power or glory like Judas Maccabee had won. Others were good teachers, who denied they were the Promised One. Hopeful peasants would not be deterred.
The priests and Sanhedrin took a different view. When Messiah descended on the Temple Mount to establish His dominion, they would not be caught following some dusty peasant rebel. No, they would be dressed their finest, talking the loudest, presenting the largest sacrifice.
Nathanael would probably be doing what he was today: praying. More and more the burden of knowing the law and the prophets drove him to pray. Then he read the Psalms for expression and comfort.
“I looked for comforters, but found none.” A Psalm brought him away from his memories. He knew it wasn’t written on any of the papers in Yacob’s collection. No one thought that was a Messianic prophecy. Most of his thoughts drew from Scripture in one way or another. His mind was saturated with it. That was one thing that drew him to Yeshua: though He didn’t commentate on the Law, He constantly alluded to Moses, David, Isaiah, and the others.
In a time when most teachers were trying to separate themselves by saying something new, Yeshua drew crowds by making practical sense of what was written before. Sometimes Nathanael could almost finish His sentences. Other times the things Yeshua said were so shocking that only days later, in the contemplative silence of walking the countryside, would he recognize that the Teacher had been drawing a truth from some overlooked passage of an oft-ignored prophet.
The day they met was still a puzzle. Nathanael was praying. His friend Phillip found him in a place where they had often debated the meaning of prophecy. That was long ago. Phillip had fallen in love, gotten serious about working to provide for a family. Nathanael had continued his own work.
As kids they were part of a sect that was discreetly referred to as “those waiting for the kingdom of God.” Their parents paid careful attention to news that might give them clues as to when Messiah was coming. They were on the watch. Nathanael couldn’t count how many times he had heard the story of Widow Anna, the prophetess, who before he was born brought news to them of a baby Messiah dedicated at the Temple. And this coincided a few years later with Herod’s decree to murder all infant boys in Bethlehem, whence Messiah would come. What Herod had heard (if anything), no one dared ask. The king had been notoriously suspicious and half mad.
That day three years ago was reminiscent of the old stories. Phillip ran to the tree, and held his knees to catch his breath. “We have found Him,” he didn’t wait to pant out. Adding details his friend would understand, he continued, “of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote.” Phillips eyes were bright from running, but something else also seemed to light them.
Nathanael had long known Phillip’s enthusiasm about John the Baptizer. Surely he wouldn’t run all this way just to remind him? “Jesus of Nazareth,” Phillip finished.
Nathanael’s heart stirred. The branches above his head rustled. There was something in the way Phillip spoke. His words were honest and sober. Nathanael knew his friend, and trusted him. But he frantically ran over verses in his mind searching for some reference to Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he wondered aloud.
“Come and see.”
“You mean He’s close?” he thought. The two men left the fig tree standing alone in the deserted field.
Yeshua saw Nathanael approach. His greeting excited curiosity in Nathanael to this day, unless… “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”
Unable to think of anything else to say, and rather stunned at the recognition in the Rabbi’s voice, Nathanael said, “How do you know me?” Phillip would have asked if his friend had not. Though he was beaming, though he said he believed Yeshua was Messiah, he didn’t yet know what that meant. None of them did. Would they ever?
“Before Phillip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Yeshua looked at him with a piercing glance now dearly missed, and a familiar hint of a smile.
Who hears the prayers of the heart but God? No one had been near the fig tree. Nathanael liked to pray in private so no one would see his tears or hear his confessions. Yeshua’s eyes glistened, almost weeping for the passion of this Israelite. In the years that followed, Nathanael had seen others’ emotional outbursts affect Him the same way.
In that moment of beginning everything had come together. Years of waiting. Pages of text. John the Baptizer. Phillip’s testimony. And this. By words whose significance was lost on all others, Yeshua confessed his identity.
“Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”
That day Nathanael left his watching and his parchments. He observed the Word come alive. His confession settled once for all his faith and his willingness to follow. But something else happened that Nathanael did not expect. He would have served his Master in any way, gone into battle for Him. But his Master became his friend, one he loved to follow not only because He was worthy, but because He was beloved. Many of His followers felt it. They dared not discuss it lest they be thought impertinent.
Nathanael shaped some warm wax between his thumb and finger. Only a few days ago Yeshua had made his heart rejoice by calling them friends. He felt that way, too! “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend,” Yeshua once said. Perhaps they were not His friends. Not one stood by Him when He was on trial. All had fled.
In the darkness Nathanael had stumbled and tripped through the outskirts of Jerusalem, following phantom lights his eyes thought he saw. Finally he got his bearings and came to Yacob’s house. There he had remained, frightened, until a servant brought the news: Yeshua had been sentenced to crucifixion and was already dead. The sky was dark the first time Nathanael looked out, though the sun had not set. All mourned for Yeshua.
For hours Nathanael sobbed, ignoring the customs of the holy feast he should have been observing. Occasional reports increased his understanding of how the impossible had happened. Yeshua was often associated with the impossible. The thought was bitter. Yacob delivered the news and left him alone.
At last Nathanael arose. An idea had struck him. Three years he had not been forced to search the Scriptures himself for comfort. Yet that is what he had done before. It might help again. Understanding and answers might give him peace.
Yacob obligingly brought his notes out of storage. When it grew too dark to read, he brought candles. As of yet Nathanael could not speak. No, he could not even pray. How does one pray when the Son of God is dead? “Son of God” is what he had said, right? And for three years he lived proof. But now everything was in doubt. Who else could Yeshua have been?
Over and over again Nathanael read the verses. Many words and prophecies he’d never associated with the Messiah perfectly described what he was going through. If he could just put them all together, maybe they would make sense.
The sun rose, a bright Sabbath morning. Yacob the bachelor scribe invited Nathanael to worship with him. Finding comfort in ritual, in stubbornly affirming things which seemed senseless to believe, Nathanael went through the day. If it weren’t Sabbath, he would have taken a long walk. He thought that the sons of Zebedee, sons of thunder, would have hammered something (or someone) to release their frustration. It sounded tempting.
Instead he spoke. He poured out his heart to Yacob. They sat under the broad open window at the front of the house. Nathanael was silent when anyone drew near, for fear of the Jews. Yacob urged him to go on, getting excited about the details, the fulfilled prophecy his friend reported. “But it can’t be! He’s dead. He isn’t the one,” Nathanael reminded.
With a more patient heart Yacob answered, “How could so many things be right – and nothing wrong – except this?” His eyes hesitated, showing by their vibration his debate between two options. He spoke again. “Almost I would ask if our Enemy has not cast some mighty unforeseen stroke. If the Evil One cut off the Messiah… But that would be blasphemy.”
“Messiah is not just a man. He is the Son of God. If… if Yeshua is Messiah, this is a heavy stroke indeed. It is not possible – is it – that the Adversary could win?”
“If so we are the most miserable of all souls.”
Nathanael sighed. “The last meal, Thursday night, we all said we would die for Him.” The weight of his failure buried him again. After a few moments he looked up, resolved. His eyes were grey, miserable, and without hope; but they were fierce. “He was my King and my Friend and my Rabbi. The Sanhedrin, if reports be true, has claimed Caesar as their king. They have befriended the god of this world. Whether He wins or loses, I will stand with the God of Israel. I don’t understand. All I can do is what I know is right.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Yacob hoped to sit this fey mood out. “What about the others? What do they think?”
“I haven’t seen them. John would be with his brother, Yacob. Phillip is probably with Andrew, and Simon with them. We all scattered from Gethsemane.” Thinking of his friends reminded him that three years of itinerant ministry had yielded him more than just one friendship. He and Phillip were closer than ever. “I should find them, see if I can help: I don’t know, comfort or make plans.”
“Tomorrow, my friend.”
To God be all glory.
Thanks to Snapshots of Joy for the graphics!
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