1. The last time that we hear the voice of Philip is the most memorable of all. It was in the Upper Room in Jerusalem. Our Lord was seeking to comfort His disciples at His approaching departure. Thomas asked for fuller information when the Master spoke about going somewhere, which He calls the Father's House. Part of Christ's reply was that to know Himself was to know the Father also. “And from henceforth,” He added, “ye know him and have seen him.” Philip's request shows that he did not understand the inference of these words; for he interrupted with the prayer, “Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us.”
Now in that prayer Philip expressed a longing that is not only legitimate, but really irresistible, in every quickened soul. It is simply the desire to get at the fountain-head of the Divine life. In the ministry of Jesus Philip saw the clearest tokens of the presence of God; but like the ardent explorer who looks at the lower reaches of a stream and wishes that he could ascend to the great lake amidst the mountains where it takes its rise, Philip longs to have some nearer, fuller manifestation of the holy and blessed Father, in whom Jesus, His Son, lived and spoke and wrought.
Someone told Tennyson that his chief desire was to leave the world a little better than he found it. Tennyson replied, “My chief desire is to have a new vision of God.”
A touch divine-
And the scaled eyeball owns the mystic rod;
Visibly through his garden walketh God.1 [Note: Browning, Sordello, bk. i. 1. 502.]
2. It was a devout and sincere wish, but in a disciple of Jesus it was a very disappointing one; for it put the emphasis on the wrong thing. It asked for some startling outward revelation that would convince every observer, without thinking how little such a revelation was worth. The revelation that Jesus was making was one of God's nature and character and essential being, not an outside attestation of His existence, which from the point of view of religion meant nothing. It was not unbelief that prompted Philip's difficulty. It was slowness of understanding, defective spiritual apprehension, obtuseness, ignorance.
The answer of Jesus was not a refusal, but it was a suggestive rebuke: “Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me, Philip?” Philip had not understood the difference between the revelation of the Lord and the revelation of the Father. God, as the Lord, was made known by the thunders and lightnings and trumpet-blast of Sinai. God, as the Lord, spoke by the mouth of a human prophet, whom the vision of His glory might strengthen for the accomplishment of his high mission. God, as the Father, was made known by the human life of His Son, which was to carry home to the hearts of men the sense of their own share in that sonship. The revelation of Jesus was not a renewal of the former revelation of the “Lord of the whole earth,” but was an extension of that revelation: “God with us.” The request of Philip was not merely an unauthorized tempting of God, not merely a demand that something should be done specially for his own individual satisfaction; it involved a contradiction of all that Jesus had come to declare. The glory of the Lord, the power of the Lord, the majesty of the Lord-these might be made known by the sign which Philip sought. But the love of the Father could not be made known by any awful or commanding vision. It had been made known already by the life of Jesus; it was to be further manifested by His death. Jesus was preparing His disciples for His approaching departure, was summing up the meaning of all that He had done and said: “From henceforth ye know the Father, and have seen him.” Philip's request showed that his mind was travelling along a mistaken road. He had failed to grasp the meaning which underlay the whole message of Jesus: “Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me, Philip?”
The love of God is the love of Christ. How can I love Nature? Yet-look at an open wild-rose.1 [Note: Mark Rutherford, Last Pages from a Journal, 301.]
I read of a boy who found himself alone during a nutting expedition. It was at a spot where no one had been before him. Not a branch was broken; the nuts hung in great clusters. He sat down and tried to enjoy the pleasures of anticipation. Overhead, the branches were so closely intertwined that no sky was to be seen. He heard the ripple of the little burn. He could not see it. But he cared not; he just kept thinking for a minute or two what a “ripping” time he was going to have. Then he rose, tore down the hazel branches, roughly spoiled them of their nuts, ate, and pocketed. He was rich beyond the wealth of kings. But when at last he sat down, he looked up to see the broken branches. The clear blue sky looked down upon him. The world was bigger than he thought. It was God's world.2 [Note: The Expository Times, October 1915, p. 18.]
With thoughts too lovely to be true,
With thousand, thousand dreams I strew
The path that you must come. And you
Will find but dew.
I set an image in the grass,
A shape to smile on you. Alas!
It is a shadow in a glass,
And so will pass.
I break my heart here, love, to dower
With all its inmost sweet your bower.
What scent will greet you in an hour?
The gorse in flower.1 [Note: The Collected Poems of Margaret L. Woods, 142.]
3. Here, then, is the place to review the character of Philip. We have seen him on four occasions, all interesting and revealing, but the last occasion is the most revealing of all. We notice three characteristics.
(1) Philip was plainly an inquirer. The patient inquirer comes out in the description of Jesus he gives to Nathanael. “We have found him,” says Philip, “of whom Moses in the law and the prophets did write.” Andrew and John followed Christ on the testimony of the Baptist and at the bidding of their own hearts. But Philip accepted Him, and followed because he found that Christ satisfied the descriptions given in the Old Testament. Yes, Philip brought out Moses and the prophets and tested Christ by them and accepted Him because he saw that what they had written was fulfilled in Him. The same habit of patient and accurate examination and inquiry comes out in the incident of the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus, at a certain point in the day's proceedings, turned to Philip with the question, “Whence are we to buy bread, that these may eat?” And this He said to prove him. Jesus knew His disciple; He knew his inquiring mind. He knew that Philip would have been making his computations. And so he had. “Two hundred pennyworth of bread,” answered Philip promptly, “is not sufficient for them, that every one may take a little.” Philip had been working it all out in his head, and was ready with his answer. It was for his inquiring and candid mind, probably, that the Greeks chose him out of all the Apostles as the one to whom they would make their request to see Jesus. “Their turning to him,” says Lange, “depended upon a law of kindly attraction.” His own inquiring spirit would naturally put him in sympathy with these inquiring Greeks. And the same inquiring temper comes out in that memorable request which Philip made in the Upper Room on the night in which He was betrayed: “Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us.” That, then, is the Philip of the Gospels-a man of inquiring and interrogative mind, a man intent upon proving and testing everything.
An inquiring spirit-properly so called-is of the utmost importance in every department of human activity and achievement. It is those who have been in the habit of asking questions of Nature, and pressing for answers to them, that have been chiefly instrumental in extending the boundaries of knowledge. Others have been satisfied with what was already ascertained. They have been content to be hemmed in by that circle of darkness which surrounded them, and have made no attempt to explore its mysteries, or to widen the circumference within which the light of science is enjoyed. But inquisitive and reflecting minds, by the unceasing questions which they put, have laboured to add something to the amount of man's knowledge, and have thus, at times, been led by the simplest incidents to a discovery of some of the most dominant and comprehensive laws of the universe. It is those who follow up science to her most advanced outpost, and who, while standing there, inquire if it be not possible to take yet a further step, and to bring something more of earth and heaven within the domain of human cognizance, that are the real contributors to the advancement and elevation of our race. Others may conserve, but they, as it were, create. Others may be silent and receptive, but they are inquiring and communicative. And although many of their inquiries may not be answered by themselves, or in their own day, yet, by instituting them, they have given an impulse and direction to the human mind, which will, in all probability, hereafter lead to the desired success. Again and again has this proved to be the case. All those marvellous discoveries and equally marvellous applications of science, as also all those social improvements, those deliverances from long-prevalent errors and superstitions, which our own day has so largely witnessed, have flowed from the efforts of men who were bold enough to put some question which others had never asked, or to follow out to their proper results inquiries which had been suggested by their predecessors.
Now this spirit of reflection and inquiry, so valuable in other departments, is also of great importance within the province of religion. It is melancholy to think of the multitudes who hold what faith they have in the gospel simply as a matter of tradition. They have shown none of the spirit of Philip in examining into the grounds on which their belief rests; and hence they have not attained an intelligent and established faith. The evil consequence is twofold. On the one hand, many of the class referred to cling to their traditional beliefs with an obstinacy which takes no account of reason, and which is fatal to all progressive spiritual enlightenment. On the other hand, numbers who have taken no pains to be able to “give a reason of the hope that is in them” are apt to be carried away by any wind of doctrine which happens, for the time, to prevail-by any sort of heresy or scepticism which enjoys a temporary power and popularity. Nothing, then, is more important than to cherish a spirit of earnest and sustained inquiry with respect to all that falls within the domain of religion. There should be a sincere desire for “light,” and for “more light.”
In nature we see no bounds to our inquiries. One discovery always gives hints of many more, and brings us into a wider field of speculation. Now, why should not this be, in some measure, the case with respect to knowledge of a moral and religious kind. Is the compass of religious knowledge so small, as that any person, however imperfectly educated, may comprehend the whole, and without much trouble? This may be the notion of such as read or think but little on the subject; but of what value can such an opinion be?
If we look back into ecclesiastical history, we shall see that every age, and almost every year, has had its peculiar subjects of inquiry. As one controversy has been determined, or sufficiently agitated, others have always arisen; and I will venture to say there never was a time in which there were more, or more interesting, objects of discussion before us than there are at present. And it is in vain to flatter ourselves with the prospect of seeing an end to our labours, and of having nothing to do but to sit down in the pleasing contemplation of all religious truth, and reviewing the intricate mazes through which we have happily traced the progress of every error.1 [Note: Dr. Joseph Priestley, Theological and Miscellaneous Works, xv. 72.]
(2) But secondly, Philip was a practical, straightforward, common-sense man. This emerges without its limitations in his interview with Nathanael. Nathanael was a dreamer, a fine and beautiful soul, but lacking activity. Philip shows his common sense in declining to argue with him. Nathanael could have proved to his own satisfaction that it was utterly impossible for the Messiah to come from a place like Nazareth; and since he had a far better knowledge of the Scriptures than Philip, Philip would have been confounded if he had entered into that argument. He knew what type of man Nathanael was, and he knew it was not very safe to enter into an argument with him. He positively refuses to argue with the theoretical man, the mystical man, the dreamer. He lays rough hands upon him and says, “Come and see!” There you have the practical attitude, and that practical attitude of a man like Philip, who knows a fact, who has realized the truth in Jesus, is entirely admirable.
We see Philip's common sense again in the feeding of the multitudes. There are five thousand people. Now, what would a church treasurer be likely to say if there were five thousand people to feed, with five loaves and two small fishes? Have you ever known a church treasurer who would say anything but “Impossible!” He would do precisely what Philip did. Philip made a quick, probably accurate, common-sense calculation of the material resources at hand. It would cost two hundred pence to feed that multitude, and they had not two hundred pence. It simply could not be done.
His character is again revealed in the interview with the Greeks. It is the attitude of a man who could be depended upon for carrying out instructions exactly, that he should be doubtful about bringing these Greeks to Jesus. What Jesus had said had seemed so definite, so plain, so clear. He came to seek the lost sheep of the house of Israel. The Greeks were eager to get to Jesus, but Philip was very doubtful how they should be treated.
And finally, in the Upper Room, we see precisely the same explicit temper. He is a man who wants to handle and feel and see. He wants something tangible. The impalpable, shadowy things are so difficult to grasp, so difficult for him to interpret and explain; let the whole thing be put into a revelation of the Father, let him see with his own eyes, handle with his own hands, and then it will be sufficient for him.
How little of that which makes up life is visible or tangible! We habitually speak and act as if there were certain realities with which we are in such immediate contact that we constantly see and touch them; they exist beyond all question because their existence is evident to the senses. The man who is willing to accept nothing of the being and nature of which he has not ocular or tangible proof accepts these things as realities; all the rest he dismisses as dreams, or rejects as incapable of demonstration. And he does this, in many cases, because he believes that this is the only course open to one who means to preserve absolute integrity of intellect and to be entirely honest with himself and with life. A man of this temper is ready to believe only that which he thinks he knows by absolute contact; there is much else he would like to believe, but he will not permit himself a consolation or comfort based on a hope which the imagination, or the heart or the mind working without regard for certain laws of evidence, which he arbitrarily makes, has turned into a reality. Many honest men go through life and will not see God because they have bolted all the doors through which God can enter and reveal Himself.
Dr. Bushnell, in a moment of insight, once pictured to a friend with whom he was talking the making of man. And after man was made in His own image God said, “He is complete”; and then He added: “No; there is no way in which I can approach him. I will open the great door of the Imagination in his soul, so that I may have access to him.” And this great door, which opens outward upon the whole sweep and splendour of the universe, some men bolt and bar as if it were an unlawful and illicit entrance to the soul!1 [Note: H. W. Mabie, The Life of the Spirit, 222.]
(3) Now the inquiring, straightforward, practical mind is excellent in its way, but it has limits of its own creation which prevent it from discerning the deeper truths of man's spiritual life.
There are always men and women who are like Philip in their practical enlightenment. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less, and the gospel of Christ would suffice them. There are sincere, serious, thoughtful souls, who claim to have thought things out for themselves. All fits together, and points clearly in one direction; the last remaining conclusion only needs to be clearly stated, and all will be well. The Christian system will then be in accordance with the needs of the highest minds, and will be unassailable. There is always a cry for this step to be taken, this compromise made. There is always the honest, heartfelt plea, “One further admission, and it sufficeth us.” We have need to recall the words of Jesus: “Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me?” We can give no other account of Jesus than St. Paul gave-to some a stumbling-block, to others foolishness, but to those who receive Him, the power of God and the wisdom of God. The Church rests on a definite foundation, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the one revelation of the Father. Those who demand some modification of this basis urge the needs of their individual satisfaction. It has been well said, “They confound the right of the individual, which is to be free, with the duty of an institution, which is to be something.” Philip thought that he was justified in making a small demand for the satisfaction of his own honest, upright, conscientious soul. He did not see that his demand involved a contradiction of all that Jesus had come to declare. With all his reasonableness, he had taken only an outside view of the matter. He needed some glow of enthusiasm, some spark of emotion, some touch of his spiritual being to raise him to a higher level, to make him capable of a larger view. Then he could understand that Jesus had not come to satisfy the outworn traditions of his early training, the problems of society or politics among which he lived, the questionings which outward circumstances suggested. He had come to raise him to newness of life, to carry him into a higher world than the world of sense, where, moving in a larger sphere, he might feel and know that “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.” So it is still, and so it must ever be. There are limits to the sensible, practical spirit as applied to religion. It deals admirably with outlying points of doctrine or of organization. When it reaches the centre it is powerless, and the answer to its earnest and well-meant demands must ever be the same: “Lift up your hearts.”
It was a spiritual density and obtuseness on Philip's part, a want of insight; but when we make this charge against Philip, are we not made to pause by the thought of our own obtuseness? May not the charge be made against us, with less excuse in our case than in Philip's, “Have I been so long time with you, and dost thou not know me?” To the Church as well as to the world may the Baptist's words be often said in sorrow and in surprise, “There standeth one among you whom ye know not.”
To those who are worth most there comes home early in life the conviction that, in the absence of a firm hold on what is abiding, life becomes a poorer and poorer affair the longer it lasts. And the only foundation of what is abiding is the sense of the reality of what is spiritual-the constant presence of the God who is not far away in the skies, but is here within our minds and hearts1 [Note: Lord Haldane, The Conduct of Life, 15.] .
We are just as much in the presence of the Lord here to-day, this hour, as we shall ever be, except that as one grows more spiritual and less material, as his perceptions are opened to spiritual things and his temperament becomes more responsive to spiritual influences he is, of course, more in the presence of the Lord than when he was steeped and stifled in the material life. The man who can see possesses the sunshine more than the man who cannot see, although the sunshine is the same all the time. We are spirits now, or we are nothing. We are dwelling in the body as an instrument through which the spirit must work in order to work in a physical world. We are spirits, but spirits embodied. Does not this realization invest this part of our life with a new dignity, as well as a new responsibility? This world, so far as it is anything, is a spiritual world now, though in a cruder and lower state of development than that which the spirit enters after leaving the body. But the forces that govern it are of spirit; for there is no force but spirit.2 [Note: Lilian Whiting, The World Beautiful, 187.]
Why of hidden things dispute,
Mind unwise, howe'er astute,
Making that thy task
Where the Judge will, at the last,
When disputing all is past,
Not a question ask?
Folly great it is to brood
Over neither bad nor good,
Eyes and ears unheedful!
Ears and eyes, ah, open wide
For what may be heard or spied
Of the one thing needful!3 [Note: George MacDonald, Poetical Works, i. 438.]
