“I Saw You Under the Fig Tree”

Today, the Church celebrates the Feast of Saint Bartholomew. For me, this day carries a double weight of grace: it marks exactly 13 years since my ordination to the Catholic priesthood on August 24, 2013, in Nigeria. Reflecting on more than a decade of priestly ministry, my soul finds its anchor in today’s Gospel (John 1:45-51). The pericope presents the dynamic partnership between Saint Philip and Saint Bartholomew (traditionally identified as Nathanael), which has served as a timeless map for the priestly vocation and the Christian journey.

The Gospel opens with what I call a relational act of evangelisation: “Philip found Nathanael and told him, ‘We have found the one about whom Moses wrote…’”. Nathanael responds with heavily guarded human scepticism: “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” And without entering into a long argument, Philip simply invites him: “Come and see”.

When Jesus sees Nathanael approaching, He calls him a true child of Israel without duplicity and adds this striking phrase: “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Scriptural and theological traditions view the fig tree through three rich lenses:

A Place of Depression and Vulnerability

The dense, low-hanging leaves of the fig tree traditionally symbolise a secluded place for private weeping and hidden distress. In my 13 years of priesthood, I have known my share of dark “under the fig tree” moments, shaped by the unique, crushing burden of engaging the contemporary age as both a frail human being and a consecrated priest.

For almost my entire priesthood, I have lived the reality of a young Nigerian priest in a faraway country—between further studies and service as a chaplain to an African Anglophone community in Italy and as a pastoral collaborator in Italian parishes. This missionary life is indeed rewarding but often overwhelming. Living without close biological relatives nearby, facing the daily friction of a foreign language, braving bitter European winters, and experiencing the painful sting of being misunderstood have sometimes caused loneliness to spiral into acute depression.

Yet, it was precisely in those hidden, broken spaces where Jesus whispered to me, “I saw you.” In those situations, which I call my “under the fig tree moments”, He met me in my raw, homesick humanity. Pouring out my exhaustion before the Blessed Sacrament—crying out to Him in my native Igbo tongue when Italian or English felt too heavy—has been my solace. In such moments, Jesus heals the priest so the priest can help heal the flock.

A Place of Scriptural Study and Truth

Historically, rabbis and students sat under fig trees to study the Torah. This calls priests to remain perpetual students of the Word and challenges every Christian to deepen their intellectual and spiritual grasp of the faith through constantly engaging with the Word of God.

A Symbol of Messianic Peace and Home

Sitting under one’s fig tree can also represent prophetic peace, restoration, and structural security (Micah 4:4, Zechariah 3:10). I have also experienced those peaceful and rewarding moments in my priestly journey.

Examination of Conscience

As I enter my fourteenth year of ministry, this Gospel urges me to look back and ask myself some searching personal questions: Have I truly been a patient companion like Philip these past 13 years? When parish or chaplaincy members approached me with frustrations, doubts, or cynicism, did I lose patience? Or did I behave like Philip in gently bypassing unnecessary arguments and simply offering the loving invitation to “come and see”?

To be a priest, and indeed a Christian, is to be a bridge, patiently leading people to Jesus without letting personal exhaustion get in the way. Have I been authentic in words and deeds, without guile like Saint Bartholomew? These questions are equally valid for all Christians. We certainly have our shortcomings, but we entrust ourselves to the mercy of God through the intercession of Saint Bartholomew.

Whenever you are experiencing your “under the fig tree moment”, remember that you are not alone; Jesus sees you.

[Readings: Revelation 21:9b-14; John 1:45-51]