John 3:1-17 (Isaiah 6:1-8)
May 26, 2024
Some people use the phrase, “sounds
like Greek to me,” to show that they don’t understand something that is being
said. But I don’t say that for a couple of reasons. The first is that I’ve
studied ancient Greek and a little bit of modern Greek, and while it is a challenging language, there is a logic
to it so it kind of makes sense – sort-of. And two, because if I’m going to use
an expression that indicates that something makes absolutely no sense to me,
I’m going to say, “that sounds like math.” If I say that something sounds like
math, that means that I have no clue whatsoever. I don’t understand what’s
being talked about or explained to me because it’s all over my head. That
sounds like math.
Math makes me anxious; really,
really anxious. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve gone to a teacher for
help with math, understood it – or thought I did – while I was one-on-one with
the teacher, studied on my own, then got to the test and fell apart. It
happened with long division. It happened with algebra. As far as geometry, no
amount of extra help made that stuff make sense. I even had a tutor for a
while. I got through math because I had to, but when something makes absolutely
no sense, I say to myself, “that sounds like math.” Then I close my eyes, take
deep breaths to release my anxiety, and hope that my head doesn’t explode.
The reason I share this with you is
because when I read this story about Nicodemus, a learned Pharisee and leader
of his people, I feel for him. We generally spend a lot of time focusing on
Jesus in this story. And we always zoom into verse 16 because it’s so
well-known and so beloved. But what about Nicodemus?
As I said, I feel for him because I
suspect he was as lost and confused about what Jesus was trying to tell him as
I am when someone tells me something that seems like math.
Nicodemus came to Jesus by night,
probably afraid that his visit to this radical rabbi would put him into hot
water with his fellow pharisees. So, he uses darkness as a shield to cover him,
and goes to Jesus with questions. Clearly, something about Jesus compels
Nicodemus, calls to Nicodemus. He tells him,
“Rabbi, we know that you are a
teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart
from the presence of God.”
Nicodemus makes it clear that he
understands that Jesus is from God. Whether he believes that he is the Messiah
or God himself, we don’t know. But he recognizes the divine in Jesus and wants
to know more.
But Jesus does not seem to give him
a straight answer. He doesn’t say, “Yes, you are correct, Nicodemus. I am from
God.” Jesus instead replies,
“Very truly, I tell you, no one can
see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”
And this is where the real confusion
for Nicodemus and controversy for generations of believers to come begins.
Nicodemus must have been stunned by Jesus’ words, and clearly confounded by
them. You must be born from above?! What are you talking about, Jesus? Can a
person return to his or her mother’s womb and be born all over again? This
makes no sense! Then Jesus goes on to tell him that no one can enter 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.”
Again, Jesus is giving Nicodemus metaphorical
and layered meaning answers to his questions. But Nicodemus is trying to
understand Jesus’ answers literally. And this is where I say the controversy
over this passage comes from. Our evangelical brothers and sisters speak of
being “born again,” and it comes from these verses. You must be born from
above. You must be born of the Spirit. And this more literal interpretation of
Jesus’ words has translated over the generations to requiring an experience, a
date and a time, when you have been born again, accepted Jesus into your heart,
and allowed your life to be transformed.
Now I am not trying in this sermon
to refute that claim or dismiss that claim. It is not the claim I make about
this passage, but if our siblings in Christ believe it this way, that’s their
choice.
However, the way that I falteringly
interpret this passage is that Jesus is trying to tell Nicodemus that the
kingdom of God is more than just geography and that entering that kingdom is a
spiritual enterprise. And he tells Nicodemus that the leaders don’t understand
what he is saying when he talks about physical things, earthly things, so why
should they understand when he is talking about heavenly and spiritual things?
But none of this seems to alleviate
Nicodemus’ confusion. Because he asks Jesus, “How can these things be?”
How can these things be? Today is
Trinity Sunday, the day when emphasize God the Three in One, God in
relationship, God in community. But I guarantee you that any explanation I
could offer about the Trinity would probably leave us all more confused, and
asking the same question that Nicodemus asked, “How can these things be?”
I suspect that this passage from
John’s gospel was chosen for this day because Jesus talks about the Spirit,
about how it blows where it will. You cannot see the Spirit, but you can hear
it. You do not know where it comes from or where it goes, but you can recognize
the transformation it leaves in its wake. The Spirit that Jesus speaks of is
the Spirit of God that blew creation into existence. The Spirit that Jesus
speaks of is the Spirit of Pentecost that we celebrated last Sunday. It is the
Spirit that transforms and renews and creates.
But the Spirit is part of the Trinity.
It is not separate from God the Father and Jesus the Son. It is not on a lower
level in some divine hierarchy. The Spirit is the presence of God, just as
Jesus was the incarnation of God. And God is God.
That sounds like math to me. The
Trinity that we celebrate and put our faith in is a difficult concept to say
the least. When I try to contemplate the Trinity, I feel like Nicodemus, trying
to wrap around something so big and mysterious and using my literal brain to do
so. It doesn’t work. Even though my Church History professor told us not to
explain the Trinity to people by saying, “It’s a mystery,” the truth is that is
exactly what it is.
In our passage from Isaiah, we read
about a God who is big that just the hem of his robe fills the temple where
Isaiah stood. We read about a God who is so other that his attendants are
seraphs. The literal translation of the word seraph, according to Working
Preacher, is “the burning ones.” And seraphs were not like the little cherubs
that we might imagine. They were snakes. With wings. They were burning, fiery,
snakes with wings. And when we read that they were calling to one another, this
was no serene, “Hey neighbor! What’s up?”
They were screaming and screeching,
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of
hosts!”
These were the attendants of God the
Father. This God is so big that we cannot see more than the hem of his robe.
And that hem fills every space around us, every space that is visible.
And yet, and yet, God draws near.
This big, enormous, mighty, unseeable God draws near to us. God draws near to
us by becoming us in Jesus. Jesus, who was God incarnate. Jesus, who was human
just like us, fully human, not just divine cloaked in a human shell. And when
Jesus, God incarnate, died on the cross, the Spirit descended to keep God near
because God draws near.
That should sound like math to me,
because it is confusing and confounding and more than my small brain can take
in. We do not have the language to understand or describe it. But for some
reason, as confusing as all this is, it does not cause me the anxiety that math
does. Like Nicodemus, my ongoing question is, “How can these things be?” And I
don’t have the answer. I cannot unravel this mystery, for you or for myself.
But I do know that at the heart of
this mystery of our God, Three in One, is love. That’s what is being said in
verse 16 of the third chapter of John’s gospel. It’s about love. It was through
love that God called the universe into being. It was because of love that God
called the universe into being, and breathed life into creation. It was love
that was incarnate when Jesus was born and lived and died and rose again. It was
love that blew in with the Spirit to open minds and hearts, to reach beyond our
narrow boundaries of who is in and who is out. It is about love.
And because it is about love.
Because it is about God drawing near in these different ways, through these
different aspects, that I can embrace this mystery. I don’t have to understand
it all. I don’t have to know how these things can be. It is enough to know that
God draws near, and to live within the love that God gives and is and do all
that I can to respond in kind, to share that love with others. Maybe “how can
these things be” is not a question but a statement. These things are because
God draws near in love and calls us to love in response. Thanks be to God.
Let all God’s children say,
“Alleluia.”
Amen.
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