February 17, 2008

John 3:1-17

Grace in the Dark

by Leslie Kennard

Nicodemus was a Pharisee, one of the strict Jewish sects. He was a leader among the Jews. He was a member of the Sanhedrin—a sort of religious Supreme Court. He was well educated and highly respected. He was sincere and thoughtful about his faith. In short, Nicodemus was at the top of the food chain. He had money, education, power, and privilege.

Nicodemus and Jesus have a relationship that goes all the way back to Jesus' teenage years. Remember in the Gospel of Luke (2:41) all the Jews had come to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover at the Temple. Mary and Joseph brought Jesus every year. Only that particular year when they packed up and started home, Jesus was so engrossed in a discussion with the teachers at the Temple that he forgot to go with his parents back to Nazareth. They found him several days later, still at the temple, still deep in conversation. Luke tells us, "All who heard him were amazed at his understanding." Nicodemus was almost certainly one of the teachers gathered there talking with Jesus.

Every year, year after year, Jesus returned to Jerusalem for Passover. He always went to the temple, and Nicodemus and the others would set aside time to be with Jesus and they would discuss the scripture they all loved so deeply.

During the past year or so, Nicodemus had heard some interesting things about Jesus. He had heard about the miracle in Cana, when Jesus changed water into wine at a wedding. And Nicodemus himself had been there on several occasions when Jesus healed someone.

Today Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the darkness. At night. He had something personal to discuss, and he wanted some privacy, away from the crowds that followed Jesus everywhere. Nicodemus needed some...space. There was a darkness in his life. We don't know if he was weighed down by grief over the loss of a loved one—his wife? A child? Maybe his marriage has lost its romance, or his wife has eyes for another man. Maybe old age is slowing him down and his thoughts are increasingly on his own mortality. Maybe he's overcome by the occupation of the Romans in his beloved city, worried to death that the temple and the Holy City Jerusalem will be overrun and turned to rubble and the chosen people once again sent into exile or slavery.

Nicodemus has been following Jesus and watching him, of course. What an incredible power Jesus has. He's so full of life. Jesus knows the scripture cold, but he brings a burning light to those old, old words. Maybe, after all these years of study and worship, Nicodemus realizes that as much as he loves scripture, he feels as if he's missing....well, he's not sure exactly what he's missing, but he feels a great emptiness.

His thoughts rumble around in his head and suddenly he's at Jesus' door. His heart is pounding. It's been a long time since he bared his soul to anyone. Can he really talk to Jesus? He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, knocks on the door. Jesus himself opens the door and when he sees Nicodemus his face lights up; relief washes over Nicodemus. Jesus swings the door wide open. "Come in! Come in!" He wraps Nicodemus in a holy hug. At first Nicodemus recoils—NOBODY EVER hugs Nicodemus! He's on the Sanhedrin! But then Jesus' love pours over him like a warm shower on a cold day, and he finds himself putting his own arms around Jesus, returning a hug for the first time since he himself was a kid. Jesus is delighted to have Nicodemus visit him. "Sit down. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Some wine or fresh water?" Jesus eye's sparkle. He pulls up a chair and sits close to Nicodemus. The crackling flames in the fireplace make the shadows dance. They sit silently as Nicodemus figures out how to start.

He decides to talk to Jesus rabbi to rabbi. Teacher to teacher. Scholar to scholar. Believer to believer. Yes, that's the best way. He can keep his dignity. "We" (we...) "know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do" (NRSV) "all these God-revealing acts you do" (MSG) "if God were not with him" (NIV). Nicodemus stops. Looks down at his feet. His voice drops almost to a whisper. "Jesus, I have everything anyone could ever want. I live right here in Jerusalem, the Holy City. I worship at the temple every day. I study scripture. I believe." He looks up at Jesus, and his voice is pleading. "I believe with all my being. But Jesus, I feel like I'm in the dark. Despite all I know, I can't dig myself out of the darkness.

Jesus waits patiently as Nicodemus pours out his pain and his fears. Finally Nicodemus stops. Tears trickle down his cheeks into his gray beard. "Nicodemus," Jesus says. "Nicodemus, unless a person is born again," (NRSV) "it is not possible to see what I am pointing to." (MSG) Well, that's what Nicodemus heard, but it's not quite what Jesus said, because in Greek the word anothen has two meanings, one of which is again. Nicodemus thinks Jesus is talking Greek.

"How can anyone who has been born and is already grown up be born again?" (MSG) He's annoyed, confused, and upset by Jesus' gibberish. He has poured out his heart to Jesus, and Jesus answers with a riddle. Can you feel Nicodemus' anguish?

Jesus is patient. (Jesus is always patient with us when we suffer, isn't he?) He chooses his images carefully. "Let me say it another way. You must born into God's creation—'the wind-hovering-over-the-water-creation, the invisible-moving-the-visible' [MSG] creation," the creation of all things new, including each and every one of us. "When you look at a baby, it's just that: a baby you can look at and touch. But the person who takes shape within is formed by something you can't see and touch: the Spirit—and that baby becomes himself or herself a living spirit." (MSG)

Jesus says some more things, but a gust a warm wind sweeps though the house and Nicodemus is blown away by the wind and the spirit.

Do you remember the incredible wind we had here last Monday? Wind that rattled loose windows and howled through the trees and shook their branches until they clacked and cracked. The wind lifted piles of dead leaves into flight, until the leaves whirled in circles, first this way, and then that way, a wild and capricious rhapsody. We can't see the wind itself, but we can surely see where the wind is at any given moment. We can feel the wind—a soft caress on a summer's day, a refreshing cooling breeze after a workout, a bitter sharp biting gust on a freezing winter morning, a wild howling accompaniment to blinding swirling snowfall. A scalding blast that blows beach sand into your clothes and eyes and ears.

The Spirit is like the wind, Jesus says. No one knows where it comes from. No one knows where it is headed next. Even as Jesus talked, Nicodemus feels the breeze of the Spirit whispering across his face, stirring in his heart, nudging loose the frozen fear and rigid resentments he'd had forever. Melting the coldness he felt in his heart toward a bitter old codger on the Sanhedrin. Releasing him from the bonds of stress and tension and giving him a better perspective. He could feel the warmth of the Spirit ease the pain in his arthritic leg, too.

Nicodemus felt the Spirit sandblasting the grime of a lifetime from his soul. The Spirit shines a light on him and he realizes being born from above isn't being born again. Being born from above is on-going, like the wind—wild gusts that clear away the clutter, gentle breezes that calm the restless heart, moments so still one can even hear God whisper. Once in a great while, the Spirit whips up a tornado, completely rearranging our inner landscape. That doesn't happen to most of us, but there are a few people here this morning who can attest to the beauty of God's reconstruction projects.

The Spirit of God. The Spirit is right here in this sanctuary this morning. Moving among the pews. Bringing healing. Bringing newness. Bringing peace. A tender gentle caress to wounded souls. Fanning a spark of inspiration into a flame of caring service. Pushing and guiding reluctant souls to reach farther and higher. Strengthening the faithful in their resolve to love when loving is not only hard but bitterly painful. Blowing into every dark corner, bring light and love and life. Can you feel it?

AMEN