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 heaven 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 of the spirit.’ 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.
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.”
Let me start by saying that I’ve always really liked Nicodemus. Every sermon I’ve ever preached about him has expressed as much. He’s always been a figure of faith and courage for me … someone who took some risks to show up to Jesus – which was hard for someone like him, being a Pharisee and all – one of those Jewish believers and religious leaders who were so often at odds with what Jesus was trying to do and say and teach and bring into the world.
So, I’ve always been inclined to love his honest curiosity. His hard questions. His rebellious willingness to approach Jesus under cover of darkness – probably risking his reputation, maybe even risking his life by consorting with the enemy, which is likely how he’d been convinced to understand Jesus. After all, what would all of his buddies, his fellow Pharisees say, if they knew where he was that night, hanging out with that heretic from Nazareth?
And I always saw it as an admirable sign of surprising deference and humility – a reverent kind of respect – that Nicodemus called Jesus “Rabbi,” and “Teacher,” before approaching him with his questions the evening they met … in secret … “by night” as the story goes.
So bear with me … because this time I wondered, for a change, if Nicodemus’ motives weren’t purely innocent when he showed up at Jesus’ door or window or whatever, under cover of that darkness? What if he was B.S.-ing Jesus? What if he was faking all of that deference, humility and curiosity? What if, as happened more than a few times throughout the course of Jesus’ ministry, Nicodemus was just another religious leader trying to trap Jesus with some trick questions?
(Before I go on, it’s important to say, in these times when anti-Semitism is rearing its sinful head in ever-prolific ways, that when I make note of the flaws of the Pharisees in Scripture, I do that, not because they’re Jewish – as too many misguided souls believe – but because they look and smell and act too much like religious people of all kinds in the world as we know it. They are meant to be more like reflections in our mirror, than like targets of our derision and judgment.)
Because there was that one time we’re told some other Pharisees plotted to entrap Jesus … so they sent their disciples to him…saying, “Teacher,” …Tell us what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?”
And another time, not long after that, we know some Pharisees heard about how Jesus had silenced the Sadducees and one of them, another Pharisee who was also a lawyer, asked Jesus a question deliberately to test him. “Teacher,” that Pharisee wanted to know, “which commandment in the law is the greatest?”
There was that other time, too, when a different lawyer stood up, again, specifically to test Jesus, we’re told, and asks him “Teacher … what must I do to inherit eternal life?” That little inquisition leads to one of the greatest stories ever told – by Jesus or anyone, for that matter – the story of the Good Samaritan.
And finally, later on in John’s Gospel, which we just heard, the scribes and Pharisees bring a woman before Jesus who had been caught in adultery and, we’re told … again … in order merely to test Jesus so that they might have some charge to bring against him, they say, “Teacher … in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women…what do you say?”
Teacher… Teacher… Teacher… Teacher…
Test… Test… Test… Test…
In each and every one of these stories – appearing in some way, shape or form, in each and every one of the Gospels – the inquisitor – a Pharisee of some sort – calls Jesus “Teacher” before testing him or trying to trap and trick him into some sort of trouble. So, as much as I’ve always been inclined to want to like good ol’ Nicodemus … this time around, for the first time ever, I started to wonder if he just might be up to some similarly sinister shenanigans.
And this only matters, because of the state of our world these days and because of how things pan out for Jesus, for Nicodemus, and for the Good News we stand to gain from it all.
See, if we’re allowed to imagine that Nicodemus had ulterior motives that were less than pure … if not downright dangerous and deadly for Jesus … then what if his friends were waiting outside? What if there were others waiting for a word or a whistle or a warning from inside the house so they could finally catch Jesus in the act of blasphemy or heresy or whatever it was they thought they could use to justify his arrest or worse?
Because it feels like that’s how we live in the world these days … like everything is a trick or a trap; like there’s a single right or wrong answer to everything depending on your political party or religious affiliation or race or station in society or according to any other of the various and sundry labels and measuring sticks we use to identify ourselves and judge each other at any given moment on any particular topic.
And the consequences of that are closed minds and what we’ve come to call “cancel culture.” The effects of this way of life are resistance to honest reflection and a disdain for curious inquiry. The results of this phenomenon are banned books and culled curriculum and conspiracy theories; racism and religious fanaticism and dying churches; echo chambers and siloes of exclusive, similarly-minded souls; and fear and suspicion and hatred, even, of “the other” and of the outsider and of anyone who doesn’t think or believe or behave like we do.
And none of it is Christ-like – which is what Jesus shows Nicodemus and the rest of us, that night we read about in this morning’s Gospel. Because if we imagine that what I proposed about Nicodemus and his motives is true … it is Jesus who was brave and vulnerable, humble, full of faith, and gracious – as always. If Nicodemus was just like every other religious leader who had approached him before, Jesus had to be suspicious – if not downright afraid – of this stranger at the door … in the night … and whatever he had up his sleeve, that might be hiding behind and beneath his questions.
But Jesus welcomes him and his questions and his curiosity, anyway. He responds to Nicodemus without a lot of hard and fast, black and white certainty – “the wind blows where it chooses,” he says … you hear it … but who knows where it comes from or where it’s going? (What in the world does that even mean?)
Jesus offers Nicodemus honesty and patience and his own kind of curiosity – “If I speak to you about earthly things and you do not believe, how will you believe if I speak to you about heavenly things…?”
Jesus speaks from his own experience, nothing more and nothing less – “we speak about what we know” … “we testify to what we have seen…”
And he gives Nicodemus something to think about, extending to him simple grace and good news – the Gospel in miniature, as Martin Luther calls it: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son … God did not send the Son to condemn the world, but in order that the world would be saved through him.”
And something about all of that honesty, patience, lived experience, grace and good news reaches Nicodemus. And, if what I imagined about his motives this time around is true, it changed something for Nicodemus – and changed him big time. If he didn’t mean it when he called Jesus “Rabbi” and “teacher” at the start of it all, he seems to have learned a thing or two from Jesus, in the end.
Because we know Nicodemus hung with Jesus after that night. He defended Jesus in front of his accusers later on in John’s Gospel, and it was Nicodemus who showed up, after his crucifixion and death to tend to Jesus’ body, along with Joseph of Arimathea.
All of this, for me, means that if the Church and its followers want to live like Jesus and encourage others – our kids, our neighbors, our supposed enemies, and anyone/everyone who could be blessed by the grace we proclaim – if we want them to join us for this journey of faith we share, we’re called to be brave in times like these. We’re being called to be patient, curious, and open to hard questions and different points of view. We’re being called to testify to what we’ve seen and experienced about God’s grace in our lives. And we’re being called to remind each other and whoever will listen – especially those who aren’t sure about any of this – that God’s grace and goodness belong to them, and to the whole wide world, just the same;
that God showed up in Jesus – humble, brave and vulnerable, too;
willing to be condemned, not to condemn;
but to save – all of it – at all costs;
even when that meant his very life, in the end.
Amen
