Before looking at this verse as a whole, I would briefly point out the distinctive force of three Greek prepositions, meaning “from” in a general way, and occurring frequently in this Gospel in connection with statements by our Lord Himself as to His divine glory before the incarnation. Such statements are found in chaps. 8, 16 and 17. The Greek words referred to are ἀπὸ, ἐχ and παρά. The first means “away from,” the second “out of,” and the third, “from beside.” Also the first implies separation or distance, the second points to Christ’s identity of essence with the Father, while the third puts in strong relief the temporary break in His session by the side of the Father in heaven. Of course the Lord never ceased to be “the Son of man which is in heaven” (John 3:1313And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven. (John 3:13)). Both statements are divinely true. It is only when they are superficially or unspiritually viewed that there may seem to be antagonism in the various aspects of divine truth. Moreover, all the colored rays; to put it figuratively, blend in one complete beam of white light. But we shall now see which of the three prepositions are used in the verse before us.
I follow the text approved by Bishop Westcott, whose remarks in loco are as instructive as they are luminous. In the previous verse (27) the Lord had said that He came forth from (παρὰ) God or the Father, as Westcott gives the text. In ver. 28 Christ adds, “I came out from (ἐχ) the Father.” If this reading be correct, the force undoubtedly is that not only did our Lord, in becoming flesh, temporarily vacate His seat of coequal honor by the Father’s side, but would impress on the disciples the fact that in essence He Was identical with the Father. It would almost seem that the disciples, though expressing themselves as grateful for the plainness of their Master’s speech, hardly rose to any realization of the heights from which He had descended. This is perhaps indicated by their use of the word ἀπὸ in verse 30, which, as we have said, looks simply at the separation involved in the incarnation, and might be used, one may venture to say, in regard to a merely angelic visitant to this earth.
But, whether indicated by the preposition ἀπὸ or not, we know that not till after the resurrection had the apostles a due conception of the incomparable dignity of the One who had tarried with them. Then at length they knew likewise that “he that descended was the same also that ascended far above all heavens that he might fill all things” (Eph. 4:1010He that descended is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.) (Ephesians 4:10)). But now they simply say, “We believe that thou camest forth from (ἀπὸ) God.” Thus all three little words are used, if not in the text, at any rate in the context. Truly such diversity is not without design. The Evangelist was not a mere lover of varying phrase like our King James 1. This must suffice for what I hope may not be considered too microscopic a scrutiny for the ordinary reader. Now for the verse itself.
Truly nothing more majestic can be found even in this Gospel than the words we are seeking to consider. They are, as one has said, a complete summary of our Lord’s mission. Note how the Savior’s declaration is bounded by the words “the Father.” They are the poles on which it is not fanciful to say the entire statement turns. We may read it a thousand times, and yet merely touch the fringe of its profound significance. Yet will it become growingly luminous as the Holy Spirit takes of the things of Jesus and shows them unto us. To such verses as these it is said that devout souls have been known to shut themselves up, closing their ears for a time to all other sayings of the Bible, even of the Lord Himself, if so be they might more adequately drink in something of their inexhaustible fullness. And whatever may be thought of such exclusive heed, when listening so attentively to the Master’s voice, the discordant words of men, aye, sometimes of saints, will be less audible. Moreover, to return to a figure used above, the cloven rays are inseparable, if momentarily divided in short, all the truth hangs together, and one aspect calls up another.
The disciples then thank the Lord for the plainness of His declaration, and that He no longer spoke in parables. In fact, the Lord spoke as they could bear it, as He still speaks to us through His word. But by way of contrast with the clearness of revealed truth I would quote the language of an illustrious poet of the Victorian period—and I quote it because the words came to my mind the other day in reading our verse—who, in describing the passing of his mythical hero, says, “From the great deep to the great deep he goes” —words not deficient in majesty, but, spite of their large impressiveness, vague and indefinite. Probably they are intentionally so; for high poetry loves the element of mystery and universality. Often indeed such language conveys a sense of immensity and infinity, not would it be fair to pin down the poet to a denial of the faith because of this line in the Arthurian idyll. Yet it is by way of contrast I quote the line, as said above, and to mark how its shadowy vagueness differs from the lucid words, like clear shining after rain, of the inspired page. There is definiteness, needless to say, in all Scripture, for it is the Holy Ghost who speaks; and what He says about the Son must be definite indeed. And so, as the Lord came forth from the Father, He goes to the Father. The circle is complete.
But it is not only the prepositions that are noteworthy in this verse; the verbs are equally striking. “I leave,” “I am come,” “I go.” Note the difference of tense. The force is this. Though the Lord was about to leave the world and go to the Father, yet the words, “I am come” imply that the world could not be, after the advent, the same as it was before. The statement, “I am come” implies abiding consequences; indeed it is only one word in the original Greek, the tense used being that which invariably and most emphatically, and in a way beyond the powers of English, signifies present and perpetual result. It undoubtedly points to responsibility on the part of men for what they had seen and heard; also, too often but superficially, when there was not hatred and antagonism. Again, the word “I leave” (ἀφίημι) has the undoubted force of “leaving a thing to itself, of withdrawing a controlling power, exercised before” (Westcott), and is seen strikingly in the fourth chapter of this Gospel, where we read, in ver. 3, “Jesus left (ἀφῆχε) Juda.” I do not say how far we should press this latent meaning in the Greek term, but it is discernible by every scholar, and felt to be just by every spiritual mind conversant with the story. Lastly, the word for “I go” (πορεύομαι) carries with it the sense of proceeding solemnly, deliberately, and steadfastly to a destined goal.
I have spoken of the definiteness of Scripture in contrast with the vagueness of man’s surmises as to things beyond the natural sphere. Here human ideas must be vague; nay, they are not seldom of that character even in human science when men attempt to pierce behind phenomena into the causes that produce them. But it may be granted that science in other respects is often marvelously definite, and admirable for the affairs of this life. Nay, so definite is it, that a distinguished English R.C. has very forcibly pointed out the difference between the definiteness loved by scientific men and the haziness which they, and alas! not a few so-called theologians affect when speaking of the Bible. But I had better give, as a penultimate paragraph, Faber’s thoughts in his own eloquent words—
“In our own times it is the fashion of men to develop, as they phrase it, the human features in Christ. They talk, in the empty, pedantic grandiloquence of the day, of exhibiting and producing the human element in Jesus. Thus to an unbelieving people religion has neither facts nor doctrine in the strict sense of those words, but only symbols and views. In astronomy men delight in making the dubious nebula resolve itself into the lucid separateness of individual stars; but in theology they reverse this process. Thus they are fain to superinduce vagueness over what has once been clear, so as to make theology a shapeless nebular light, about which they can theorize and conjecture as they please, finding in its huge spiral convolutions or the lineaments of its rugged edges such fantastic likenesses as made the men of old give their names to the constellations. Now whence this love of vagueness in the matter of religion, joined with a craving for definiteness in all other departments of human knowledge, but from a desire to evade the yoke of faith without the inconvenient boldness of publicly rejecting it.”
Such is the remarkable language of a distinguished divine, who, I believe, left the Church of England for that of Rome, and extracted from a work called “Bethlehem.” But it is not so much his righteous denunciation that one desires to be uppermost in the mind as these words of our Lord Himself in the 28th verse of St. John’s Gospel—words full of sublimity, and uttered with serene calm just before He suffered.
R. B.