The Rev. Ann R. Lougee
February 17-2008
Born Again
Genesis 12:1-4a; John 3:1-17

We've been talking about being on a journey of faith during Lent. Today's scripture gives the beginning of the story of Abraham and Sarah's journey of faith -- a journey into the unknown. Some of this story is obviously mythological, but some of it is apparently historically-based.

Archeologists and anthropologists tell us that 1900 years before the birth of Jesus, many Middle Eastern tribes were on the move, crisscrossing the fertile crescent where Israel would someday be, looking for new places to settle. According to the Bible, Terah, father of Abraham, had moved his clan away from their traditional lands near the prosperous Babylonian city of Ur.

They had settled for a time in Haran, a center of moon god worship, and there Old Terah died. But Abraham and his wife, Sarah, felt a call to move on to yet another land.

So, taking with them their nephew, Lot, this elderly, childless couple ventured into the unknown territory beyond, trusting in God's promise that somehow they would be the progenitors of a new people. Abraham and Sarah's decision required a huge leap of faith, especially at their age, but they trusted God to provide land, descendants, and protection.

With the story of Abraham and Sarah's departure from all that was familiar and secure to them begins the chronicle of a people who seek the fulfillment of God's promises -- who seek, in other words, the kingdom of God. Some nineteen centuries later, Jesus tells Nicodemus that to get there you must being the journey.

"Begin the journey?" asks Nicodemus incredulously. "Why, I've been traveling this road for many years. I am a teacher of religion. I'm almost there."

"No," says Jesus. "You are confused about where you have come from, so you cannot know where you are going. You must be born from above. Then you will have your bearings."

"Be born? Begin again, when I'm almost there? You must be out of your mind!"

"Ah, Nicodemus, you speak of God as though you were speaking of algebra. But God is not like algebra. God is like wind. To speak of God is to speak of the mysteries of where we have come from and where we are going. I urge you to set out toward God, so that you may arrive."

Whereas Abraham and Sarah had set out knowing that they didn't know what lay ahead, Nicodemus wants to know everything before he makes any moves. He is a clear, logical thinker. He is a man used to living by rules, and he knows them all.

He is, after all, a Pharisee, a teacher and interpreter of Jewish Law. Furthermore, he is one of the 71-member Sanhedrin, the supreme court with jurisdiction over all the Jews. He is a man used to a certain prestige. He is a man used to being in control, to having things his way.

The way the Evangelist tells the story, Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night, under cover of darkness, implying that his is afraid of losing his credibility if he were seen talking to this officially-unauthorized man whom some were calling the Messiah. In his clear, logical way, he asserts that Jesus must be sent by God because otherwise he couldn't perform the miracles he does.

He wants to know what this all means, but poor Nicodemus loses control right at the outset, for he is unable to follow the symbolism in Jesus' reply. Confronted at every stage of his inquiry by ambiguous metaphors, he is too literal in his thinking, too specific, too precise, so he fails to grasp the significance of who Jesus is or what Jesus offers.

Jesus frustrates his initial claims to knowledge and belief, a fact which the author emphasizes by placing the encounter in the darkness of night, indicating that all of the learning and knowledge of Nicodemus is inadequate for enlightenment. This literary device, of having Nicodemus not comprehend, the author can have Jesus speak more and more, so that the reader understands more than Nicodemus does.

As Jesus speaks we, the readers, are in the privileged position of being instructed by Jesus on a series of topics. After all, we have been told by the author from the start of this gospel that Jesus is the Word of God, the Son of God. We have an advantage over Nicodemus.

Nicodemus' well-trained mind balks at Jesus' abrupt comment about who can enter the kingdom of God. There is a little word play going on here that doesn't come across in our translations.

The Greek word anothen can be translated either as "from above" or as "anew" or "again." That's where the phrase "born again" comes from.

Translators into English are forced to choose one of these meanings as dominant while relegating the other to a footnote. But to the original readers, the double meaning, the play on words, would have been obvious. The author thus sets up an irony for the readers, having Nicodemus hear only the born "again or anew" meaning of anothen, confusing a literal notion of rebirth with what is meant spiritually in the phrase "from above."

To complicate matters even further, just as the Greek anothen has a double meaning that cannot be simultaneously expressed in English, so also the Greek word pneuma, which can be translated "breath" and from which we get our words pneumonia and pneumatic, can also be translated as either "wind" or "spirit." The clear implication of this word play is the unfathomable, uncontrollable nature of pneuma, both wind and spirit.

Part of Jesus' message is that God's movement in the world may at times appear bizarre and capricious. You can see how unsatisfactory such a statement would be to one as literal-minded as Nicodemus seems to be.

Even Jesus' reference to water is misunderstood by Nicodemus, who understands baptism only as a ceremonial cleansing of contamination from external sources. Jesus seems astounded that he isn't catching on. "You are a great teacher in Israel and you don't know this?"

Jesus seems to doubt that he can make Nicodemus understand spiritual realities, saying "You do not believe me when I tell you about the things of this world; how will you ever believe me when I tell you about the things of heaven?" But then, by recalling the image of Moses with the healing serpent, Jesus portrays a God who chooses to act in ways we might not understand but ways which are always on our behalf.

Nicodemus is an orthodox thinker, one who has accepted rigid human standards as God's truth. It is too hard for Nicodemus to believe that God's forgiving spirit touches whom it will, as the wind blows where it will. This kind of grace represents to him an erosion of standards, traditions and values.

In his view, God's forgiveness and love come only as a result of obedience to the law which he knows, chapter and verse. This new way of knowing God seems too liberal, too risky. So Nicodemus departs, still "in the dark."

The story of Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus is placed in this gospel between the story of Jesus' encounter with Satan, which we read last week, and Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well, which is one of the lectionary texts for next week. This series of encounters seems meant to illustrate good discipleship.

Last week, Satan, of course, symbolized the opposite of faithful discipleship. Next week, the woman at the well will represent a faithful disciple. Today, Nicodemus is stuck in the middle of the continuum, drawn to Jesus, but not willing or able to commit himself to following.

The lectionary schedules today's Old Testament and New Testament readings on the same day, I'm sure, so that the faithfulness, the trust, modeled by Abraham and Sarah is contrasted with the doubtfulness, the skepticism, of Nicodemus.

Abraham and Sarah show what it's like to move forward in faith, even when the destination is unknown, whereas Nicodemus epitomizes one who can't seem to let go of old ways of thinking, can't grasp the movement of faith.

Perceiving that intent of the lectionary may feel a little distressing to us, since we tend to be rationalists, for whom it's really easier to identify with Nicodemus than with Abraham and Sarah. The blind faith and commitment which Abraham and Sarah depict seems too simple and good to be realistic -- at least it certainly doesn't come naturally to me, as I suspect it may not to you either.

Like Nicodemus, I like to know things -- knowledge is power, my value system says. Like Nicodemus, I like some certainty about what's expected of me. Like Nicodemus, I like to have a sense of being in control of what's going on in my life.

Like Nicodemus, I'm inclined to take what people say too literally. Like Nicodemus, I'm likely to be skeptical of anything that seems too good to be true, especially if I don't understand how it works.

If you, too, feel more like Nicodemus than like Abraham or Sarah, I have a word of hope for us. While it's true that Nicodemus doesn't commit himself in this story to be a disciple of Jesus, we get brief glimpses of him twice more in John's gospel.

John's gospel goes on to tell us that as Jesus gained popularity, the chief priests and Pharisees felt more and more threatened, so they sent guards to arrest Jesus. But the guards came back empty-handed and in awe of Jesus' words. The Pharisees were annoyed and accused the guards of being fooled. But Nicodemus stood up for Jesus, saying that the Law prohibited them from condemning a man without hearing him.

Nicodemus was really sticking his neck out to do this, and the Pharisees mockingly asked, "Well, are you also from Galilee? Study the Scriptures and you will learn that no prophet ever comes from Galilee." But Nicodemus stood up for Jesus.

Later, in chapter 19, we read that after Jesus died on the cross a secret follower of Jesus named Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body. Pilate agreed, and Joseph laid Jesus to rest, assisted by a helper who brought a hundred pounds of embalming spices. Together they wrapped the body with linen cloths and the spices, according to Jewish custom, then buried Jesus in a new tomb. Joseph's helper was none other than Nicodemus, in broad daylight.

So maybe Nicodemus eventually "got it." Maybe "it" was like a fresh breeze, blowing away his dusty thinking and too-certain knowledge. Maybe it became clear to him that Jesus was talking about a baptism of real change, an inner change of the heart, not just a cleaning up on the outside.

Maybe he came to understand that a baptism of repentance meant turning away from one's own self-centered wants and wishes, and turning toward God's for the whole world. Maybe he finally understood that God's spirit of love and forgiveness could come to anyone whether or not other people think them deserving.

Maybe he understood that God has the power to bestow forgiveness even on those whom a human scorekeeping mentality does not forgive. Maybe his desire to control every aspect of life was transformed into a brand new understanding that God is in charge of the universe, not us.

If Nicodemus could undergo such a change, there's hope for me and you. Lent is our opportunity to make a journey -- not necessarily like Abraham and Sarah into some unexplored land beyond our own but like Nicodemus on a spiritual journey through the interior "valley of choice" that leads to God.

It's often been pointed out that God never calls people back into the past but always ahead into the future. Lent is our time to set aside quiet time to reflect and pray and listen for the guidance of our Still-speaking God.

You often hear people talk about giving up some personal indulgence like ice cream for Lent. But what we are really supposed to give up for Lent is whatever old ways of thinking or behaving are keeping us from hearing God's call into the future, whatever is keeping us from hearing God's call into the fullness of life that Jesus talked so much about, whatever is keeping us from throwing open the windows of our souls to the fresh breeze of God's Spirit so that our lives can become new again. May it be so. Amen.