John 3:1-17
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do the signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Jesus said to him, “Very truly I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can one be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”
Jesus said to him, “Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born of water and spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh and what is born of the spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I have said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus said, “Are you a teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?
Very truly I tell you, we speak about what we know and we testify to what we have seen and you do not receive our testimony. If I tell you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man, and just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only son that whoever believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
Holy Trinity Sunday can be kind of a chore for preachers and kind of a snore for those who show up for worship – and on a holiday weekend, no less. On Holy Trinity Sunday, preachers are invited – and expected, maybe – to do the theological gymnastics of TEACHING more than PREACHING, it seems to me, about the doctrine of God’s identity that church people call the Trinity … about the namesake of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit … about how they are three in one and one in three … about how they relate to and through one another and to you and me in a very academic sense. Like I said … a chore and a snore. There’s a place for all of that, don’t get me wrong. I’m just inclined to think it’s more meaningful in the classroom than in the sanctuary. It’s a head thing, not a heart thing, if you will. And I believe worship is a place for more of the latter.
One of the redeeming things, though, about the lectionary on a high-minded, theologically taxing day like today, is that we get to wonder about this moment between Jesus and Nicodemus as part of it all. See, I imagine Nicodemus seeks Jesus out, looking for something like a little academic instruction … some intellectual insight … some theological gymnastics of his own that he can use to either find some common ground or fight with Jesus about it all.
And Jesus surprises Nicodemus by being all “you must be born from above” … and “what is born of the flesh is flesh,” and “what is born of the spirit is spirit” … and “the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind.” And Nicodemus is like, “How can these things be?!?!”
I had a conversation not long ago, that came to mind when I read, again, about Nicodemus coming to Jesus – by night – with his questions about life and faith, flesh and spirit, signs and salvation, and the nature of God. My questioner came by night, too. We were in a bar. This young man knew what I do for a living and, like Nicodemus, had some questions. (I don’t remember them exactly, to be honest. Did I mention we were in a bar? And had been there for quite some time, if you know what I mean.)
Anyway, he wanted to know something about things like grace and forgiveness and about what it means to “be saved” or “to get into heaven,” and – in short, I think it’s fair to say – do we all make the cut? Is there a way to know for sure? Are there any limits to the grace, mercy, and love of God, that churches like ours preach, teach and talk about so much? Like so many of us do, my questioner had been hearing competing versions of the story.
Like Nicodemus, he was surprised and skeptical about what I tried to say. “How can these things be!?!”
I had another conversation a week or so ago (this time over the phone, not at the bar) with a mother – not from here – whose daughter, away at school, was being forced out of a Christian organization she helped bring to her college campus, because she refused to sign a document or make a profession of faith that denounced and excluded and otherwise deemed LGBTQ+ people to be sinners in need of repentance in order to be worthy of God’s love.
Like Nicodemus, this wise, faithful, grace-centered, love-your-neighbor-as-yourself kind of young woman was asking, incredulously, “How can these things be!?!”
In both of these conversations – and the many others like them that I have fairly often – my go-to Bible verses include this one from John, chapter 3. It’s one most people have seen or heard before. But, as some of you know, I prefer verse 17 to verse 16 – or at least I don’t like so much that John 3:16 gets all the press and verse 17 never makes it onto the T-shirt or the poster board. Verse 17 says, “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” Jesus came NOT to condemn, but to SAVE. And I think it’s safe to assume that if that was God’s goal and intention, then it’s likely God can make that happen.
My other go-to is that bit from Romans where Paul is convinced – and convinces me – that nothing in all of creation – not hardship, or distress, or persecution – not famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword – not death or life, not angels or rulers, not things present or things to come, not powers, or height, or depth – not who or how you love – not the color of your skin – not your gender or your pronouns, and not even if they match the way the world thinks they should – not anything else in all creation, Paul says – nothing – no thing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
“How can these things be!?!”
I’m just getting to know – by way of his writing and speaking – a guy named Pádraig Ó Tuama. Among so many other things, he’s an Irish poet and a theologian. His book, In the Shelter, was the first thing I read when I started my Sabbatical, a year ago, and he’s been popping up in meaningful ways ever since. In Christian Century magazine recently, an interviewer said to him, “My sense is that you are not particularly interested in questions about belief. If that’s the case, what does interest you?”
Ó Tuama replied, “I mean, what is God? God’s just a sound that we make with our mouths. Whatever God is … is discovered … in the possibility of doing something surprising. That sounds like something Jesus would say. “The wind blows where it chooses … you hear it … but you don’t know where it comes from or where it’s going.”
And Ó Tuama also said this: “I don’t believe in God as character, but I do believe in God as plot.”
And I like that, because it, too, sounds like something Jesus might say. And it resists our temptation and the pretense of Holy Trinity Sunday, that we can put God in a box, labeled with a name – or even three names. “I don’t believe in God as character, but I do believe in God as plot.”
In other words, for me, at least, God is a plot that doesn’t sit still long enough to be defined in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions of even the wisest, most learned theologians – unless, maybe, that theologian is also a poet.
God is the love that lives and moves and breathes among us. God is the hope that allows us to love one another when too many others refuse to share that love. God is the peace that passes all understanding, that catches us off-guard, when we least expect or deserve it.
God is plot – in action, on the move, alive and well – not a character, with a single name, standing still, waiting to be painted and hung on a wall or captured with words and printed on a page. [Even God refused to name God’s self when they met up with Moses at the burning bush, way back in Genesis. God was “I Am,” whatever that means. And Moses, in his own way, was like, “How can these things be?!?”]
God is plot – the unfolding of a story, the development of the narrative, the movement of grace gathering us together and moving us along, too, toward one another and out into the world.
God is plot – being born, rushing like water, blowing like wind, ascending and descending, lifting up and being lifted, sending and saving – never perishing, not condemning.
My hope for Holy Trinity Sunday – and every day – is that we’ll always be on the lookout for the surprising ways of God in our midst. That we’ll communicate that with one another and out there in the world – not just by wrestling with doctrine and definitions – but by wrestling with ways to get in on the PLOT of God’s plan that we love one another, forgive one another, share grace and generosity that is undeniable, abundant, and as life-giving as the God we know in Jesus, crucified and risen – not to condemn – but to SAVE the whole wide world and God’s people in it.
Amen
