“But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on historical acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number of who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.” ~ George Eliot, Middlemarch
I’ve nearly finished reading Revelation again, and the symbolism of twelve (and multiples of twelve) is pervasive. The twelve apostles, the twelve tribes – they get immortalized in the city of Zion and the new heavens and new earth. Clearly, in the human line-up of important people over all time, they rank right up there.
Some of the names of these twenty-four might roll right off our tongues. How many tribes can you name? (Even without getting mixed up in the Levi-and-Joseph to Ephraim-Manasseh switcheroo.) Most could probably remember Joseph, since he gets several heroic chapters in Genesis. His little brother, Benjamin. Maybe Judah.
How about the apostles? Peter, James, and John. Easy-peasy. Andrew, okay. Thomas, Philip, Matthew. Definitely Judas. Maybe a few others, especially if they have any page-time in Acts. We have little “hooks” to identify some of them: the insider circle of Peter-James-John, fishermen all; the doubter; the tax collector; the zealot; the traitor.
But Bartholomew? What do we have? Pretty much, nothing. A name. A man who followed Jesus around for three years, witnessed miracles, sat under the teaching, and then disappeared. He gets exactly ONE mention in each synoptic gospel when Jesus makes his selection, and he’s included in the roll call of those in the upper room who were waiting for the Spirit. There is no clue whatsoever to his occupation, his relationships, his family, his questions, his deeds.
There are a few apocryphal accounts of his later years, including the possibility that he was ultimately flayed alive somewhere in Armenia. And we have an extrabiblical writing called “The Gospel of Bartholomew,” which was clearly not written by Bartholomew since it’s a 6th-7th-century document. Nothing more.
So, there you have it. An absolutely key figure in human history, hand-selected by Jesus himself, and named on one of the twelve foundations of the new Jerusalem. A “nobody” in our accounting, and yet a very big somebody in the great scheme of divine providence.
I like this. I feel like it must be intentional in some way. The nobody apostle. The apostle without heroics, without pivotal questions that drive the narrative, without miracles, without sermons, without any epistles to his name, without visions or trances or anything memorable. The chosen follower without any books, without any YouTubes, without any platform, without great leadership skills or notable acts of service or charismatic preaching. Somehow, Jesus looked at Bartholomew hanging around the crowds who were listening to his teaching, and later, praying over his choice of twelve, felt that this man was important to include. His presence with among the Twelve was a critical factor. Or maybe Jesus was just inordinately fond of Bartholomew and wanted him around. Who knows? Only God.
In this celebrity driven culture that we live in, it’s easy to feel like we’re getting lost in the shuffle. We may not all want fame, but we do all want to feel like we’re doing something important, that we are important, that we are essential to the story, somehow. We want to make a difference.
So here’s to Bartholomew, and the obscurity of discipleship – which is, after all, the reality of most. Here’s to fidelity without fame, to making a difference that no one remembers, to being lost in the winds of time, but still chosen by God.
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