February 17, 2008
2 Lent, John 3:1-17
This past Monday night we started up our Exploring Prayer series by walking our labyrinth. Usually when I walk it I get sucked into the metaphor of the labyrinth as a journey toward God. Our life as a path with God at the center, whether or not we recognize it or aim for it. And our path has some long straight parts where things seem fairly smooth. But then we’ll find ourselves confronted with some twists and turns, places where it might seem as if we’re heading the wrong direction, like God is no where in sight. Sometimes we might get distracted by something or accidentally veer off the path a bit or even encounter someone else and step aside for a minute. But then we can step back on the path, and it really doesn’t matter where. Walking the labyrinth in here by candlelight mimics the shadow and light of our lives. And the substance of the labyrinth – painter’s tape and a concrete floor – assure us that a path to God can be made from whatever materials we have to work with. Whatever happens, God is always there at the center, waiting, inviting, welcoming; and sending us back out into the world somehow transformed.
That is my usual experience of the labyrinth. For me, what I get out of prayer is never a “sure thing”, but the labyrinth has been very reliable – somehow managing to turn my distraction and my reluctance into wonderful deep musings about God.
So I was really looking forward to Monday night. After eating some delicious soup and corn bread, we came in here and John proceeded to give us a brief overview of the history and use of the labyrinth. And then he shared a bunch of ideas for walking it. We could just start and see what happened. We could walk it with a special sacred word in mind or a piece of a psalm. Or we could walk with some sort of intention – asking for help with a certain question, or seeking healing for a relationship, or, thrown in there for my benefit, looking for ideas for an upcoming sermon. Aha! I thought – that’s what I’ll do. I had a lot of random thoughts in my head about the readings for this week, but no idea of what to preach about. So I’d walk the labyrinth and God would lead me to a sermon idea.
Probably needless to say, God didn’t write my sermon for me on the labyrinth on Monday. Or at least, I didn’t see any quick and miraculous outline appear at the time. Frankly, it left me a little frustrated – where is God when you need Him afterall?
Just call me Nicodemus. Poor Nicodemus, whose story shows up only in John’s Gospel. Nicodemus visits Jesus and quite politely tells Jesus that he is there because of the signs Jesus has done. In our reading for this morning we hear that Nicodemus is a Pharisee, one of the rulers of the Jews. Which means that he is wealthy and respected, something of an aristocrat for his time. But the context for Nicodemus’ story is actually left out of our reading for this morning. Just two verses before where we came in, the Gospel tells us that at that time “many believed in [Jesus’] name when they saw the signs which he did, but Jesus did not trust himself to them” because he knew their faith was shallow.
Enter Nicodemus, attracted to Jesus by the signs he did. This gospel provides Nicodemus as something of a type, an example of a way of responding to Jesus. So Nicodemus’ interaction with Jesus becomes an entry point for us to consider how we respond to Jesus.
In Nicodemus we can see all the ways that we too, knowingly or unknowingly, expect God to act a certain way, to prove Himself worthy of our belief. Nicodemus represents our tendency to be fair weather Christians – to believe when things go our way and doubt when they don’t.
There’s an English spiritual writer named Anthony Bloom who writes:
We complain that God does not make himself present to us for the few minutes we reserve for him, but what about the 23 ½ hours during which God may be knocking at our door and we answer, “I am busy. I am sorry.” Or when we do not answer at all because we do not even hear the knock at the door of our heart, of our mind, of our conscience, of our life.
I had a good friend in college who once in the midst of a deep conversation admitted that he wasn’t ready to think too much about God. He was afraid that he’d either find out he didn’t believe in God at all, or discover that if he gave God the time of day he might have to change how he lived. And either result scared him.
Call him Nicodemus too. Poor Nicodemus who comes at night to see Jesus. And when the writer of this incredibly symbolic and metaphorical gospel includes this detail of Nicodemus coming at night, it is much more than a literal fact. Nicodemus is a public figure, but he doesn’t approach Jesus publicly. Maybe he is fearful of being put out of the synagogue if any of his peers know he’s here. He seems sincere enough, but awfully cautious. Like he has an unsatisfied hunger for God, but is afraid of how his life might change if he really goes all in.
For us, as for Nicodemus, the idea of turning our true selves over to God is scary. We probably all have pieces of our lives – relationships, work situations, personal habits – that we’d rather not examine too closely. No question, there is a risk to letting down our guard. It’s much simpler to be in control, to have it all figured out. To have God all figured out. To be sure that we know who Jesus is and what He wants from us. And to the extent what we “know” about Jesus differs sharply from what others “know,” it only makes us more sure that we must be right and they must be wrong. We’re sure that God would agree with us in our political affiliations – the bumper stickers tell it all: “Jesus rode a donkey” and “On the 8th day God created the GOP”. Certainly God is on our side, whatever the dispute of the day, be it war, health care, gay marriage, or the death penalty. Our cause is God’s cause.
Maybe we are all Nicodemus. Poor Nicodemus says he “knows” Jesus is a teacher who has come from God, yet completely misses the life-giving relationship that Jesus offers. Nicodemus may have the proper religious credentials, but his God is too small.
And, very likely, ours is too. When what we “know” about Jesus makes him seem safe and benign and unchallenging, chances are good that we’re missing something. And not just missing something about Jesus, but missing out on the breadth and depth of what he offers us. I love the banner Christ Church has out right now for the season of Lent. It says, “Give it up: Unlearning our way back to God.” Because what’s important isn’t what we “know”, but how we are transformed.
Which means that there’s a real danger of us ending up just shaking our head and wondering what it’s all about. There’s a significant likelihood that we’ll wind up feeling like we have no idea what we’re supposed to believe or what we’re supposed to do.
Again, enter Nicodemus. Poor Nicodemus, whose assumption of wisdom regresses into total confusion. He ends up sounding pretty defeated after listening to Jesus for a while. His last words are: “How can these things be?” And, frankly, Jesus’ talk about being born from above, and being born of water and the Spirit, and the wind blowing where it chooses are fairly incomprehensible. And while it’s clear from the story that none of Nicodemus’ answers to Jesus were the right ones, we have no more idea than Nicodemus did what the right response would have been. So we can empathize with Nicodemus’ befuddlement, with his frustration. And then Nicodemus says no more and disappears from the story. His encounter with Jesus does not seem very promising.
And yet, Nicodemus’ story is far from over. In his confusion, he has finally begun to realize that maybe he is a bit in the dark about God. By admitting that maybe he doesn’t know as much as he thought he did, he has become just a little more open to Jesus than he was at the start. And, as it turns out, that is not such a bad place to begin.
It isn’t so long before we encounter Nicodemus again. This time he is gathered with the chief priests and Pharisees in the Council of the Sanhedrin when they begin to condemn Jesus. Suddenly, Nicodemus risks the anger of his peers by speaking up: “Does our law judge a man without first giving him a hearing and learning what he does?” Nicodemus is still not quite ready to announce, “Hey, I believe in Jesus!” But he’s getting there. He’s growing, expanding, risking, transforming. Perhaps starting to recognize in Jesus not just someone who performs signs, but some deeper spiritual connection.
Toward the end of the gospel we meet Nicodemus again, after Jesus has been hung on the cross. This time he comes forward publicly with Joseph of Arimathea to claim Jesus’ body and give him a proper Jewish burial. Nicodemus brings with him 100 pounds of myrrh and aloes -- enough spices to bury a king.
Nicodemus started out just being attracted by the signs Jesus performed, but he ends up believing even when Jesus was dead and, seemingly at least, could no longer perform signs. He started out by coming to Jesus under cover of night, but he ends up risking everything to come forward for Jesus’ body publicly. And he started out certain of his knowledge, but ends up a disciple.
I pray that, along with Nicodemus, our journeys, with their twists and turns and distractions, will also lead us into relationship with God.
Amen.
ER