I was intrigued. And now I am convinced. Nicodemus is us. The story of his relationship with Jesus is the story of those of us who see Jesus, who are drawn to him, and who want to know more. This is a lifelong path. And, like every path, it begins with birth. And birth, while a natural process, isn’t always an easy one.
Context is everything. Let’s begin by noticing how very close to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry we still are. This is John’s gospel, for the next several weeks, so Jesus has already performed his first sign—water to wine at the wedding in Cana—and also had his first truly controversial public moment—driving the money-changers and the sellers-of-livestock out of the Temple, snapping a whip and spitting out an angry quote from scripture.
This morning’s passage is the very next thing that John’s gospel tells us. Nicodemus, a well-educated, well-respected man, a religious leader among his and Jesus’ people, goes to speak to Jesus. He goes at night. John’s gospel makes a big deal out of darkness and light, which is to say, daytime, and nighttime (this has nothing to do with skin color). Is a night-time visit a sign of Nicodemus’ discomfort with Jesus? Is it about fear of what others will think? Is it a sign he will never, truly, commit to the life of faith?
He arrives and begins with words of respect and affirmation.
“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.”
So, Nicodemus has heard about the sign of water-into-wine, and maybe other signs of God’s power working through Jesus—maybe a healing, or the casting out of a demon. And he hasn’t asked a question, exactly. He is saying what he sees, or knows.
Jesus replies with a sentence that causes some confusion:
“Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above” (or, being born anew, or, being born again—the same word in Greek means all these things).
I think Jesus is giving Nicodemus words of respect and affirmation. He is telling Nicodemus, you see it. You see the kingdom, which means you have been born anew, because here you are, asking questions. You are engaged. You want to know more. Your birth—your rebirth—has already begun.
But when Nicodemus responds, he sounds as if he has taken Jesus’ words to mean something very specific, and very literal: that Jesus wants us somehow to return to the womb, and then re-emerge into the world. He says, We can’t do that!
You know what? I’m not buying it. I’m not buying that Nicodemus attaches immediately to the most absurd possible interpretation of what Jesus just said. He knows better than that. He has studied the scriptures his entire life. He knows that truth can be spoken through history and law and logic, of course, but also through poetry and song and metaphor.
I don’t think Nicodemus is challenging Jesus. I think he is trying to get him to say more. His answer might even be playful, humorous. Nicodemus is a Pharisee. He is all about conversation that leads to learning, to growth. He is trying to get a conversation going.
And this is the point. Jesus, in every gospel, spreads the kingdom first, with words. And in every gospel, people ask him questions. For some people the questions are truly about wanting to know more; for others not so much. The questions of Nicodemus the Pharisee and the questions of the fishermen who follow Jesus around are equally important, equally an intricate part of how Jesus shares the good news. The point isn’t being smart. The point is being interested.
And a conversation is born. Jesus goes on to tell Nicodemus: In order to become a part of the kingdom, you must be born of water and the Spirit. And the winds of the Spirit blow where they choose: you may hear the wind blowing, but no one knows where it comes from, and no one knows where it goes.
In once sense, Jesus is describing the utter freedom of God from our pre-conceived notions of how God acts. The Holy Spirit is like the wind… you can’t know about God’s ways of working any more than you can know the secret mind of the breeze that suddenly becomes a gale. And the water? Jesus knows that Nicodemus is already keyed into to that. By this point in the gospel, Jesus’ connection to John, who baptizes with water, is well-known. So, too, are the waters of the womb—the waters of birth, and the waters of rebirth.
How can these things be? Nicodemus asks. And the question hangs in the air, Nicodemus’ last words in this conversation in which Jesus, eventually tells him: It’s all about love.
The next time Nic and Jesus cross paths, they are in the Temple, near the end of the festival of Sukkot, a harvest festival that also commemorates the 40 years when God’s people were wandering in the wilderness. Jesus stands there, and cries out:
“Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’” Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive… ~ John 7:37-39
There were lots of different reactions to Jesus’ mini sermon.
When they heard these words, some in the crowd said, “This is really the prophet.” Others said, “This is the Messiah.” But some asked, “Surely the Messiah does not come from Galilee, does he?” ~John 7:40-41
Some people wanted to arrest him, but the Temple police went to consult with the Pharisees before making any moves. Some were all for arrest, but Nicodemus spoke up. “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?” (7:50).
Nicodemus is certainly a voice for due process, but once again, he is also all about the conversation. Let’s ask questions, he says. Let’s hear the answers. Does it really make sense to leap to judgment? Is that really how we want to do things, we people who all claim to be seeking God’s will?
One of the ongoing challenges of faith is to not be afraid of the conversations, not to fear the questions. Scripture scholar Karoline Lewis writes:
We tend to talk about "our faith" or "having faith," assuming that it is a done deal, that believing is as simple as acquiring faith. But the Gospel of John never refers to faith as a noun. Faith is not a possession, not something that one gets, not something that one has--it is something that one does. Believing for the characters in the Fourth Gospel is a verb. And as a verb, believing is subject to all of the ambiguity, the uncertainty, and the indecisiveness of being human. We need to ask more often than we are willing to admit, "how can these things be?" [ii]
The final place we see Nicodemus in the gospel is in chapter 19, following the crucifixion and death of Jesus. Joseph of Arimathea, who is described as a “secret” follower of Jesus, asks Pontius Pilate to release the body for burial. Joseph and Nicodemus take possession of it, and prepare it for the tomb. Nicodemus brings a mixture of myrrh and aloes for the preparation, weighing about 100 lbs, an extravagant, almost comical amount. It is hard to imagine his having any motive for this other than real grief and reverence for the Rabbi he interrogated at the outset of his ministry. “How can these things be?” Here, those words echo with a completely different meaning. How can Jesus, whose purpose was to show the love of God for the whole world, be still, silent, ready for the spices and the shroud of burial?
Nicodemus was one of a small handful of disciples who stayed with Jesus to the end, and even beyond, as he performed the heartbreaking task of anointing the broken body. He and Joseph place Jesus’ body in the garden tomb, where the weekend will serve as a kind of gestation for another, glorious re-birth. The next person to see Jesus will mistake him for a gardener.
Nicodemus is us. We see the trajectory of a life in faith—not faith as a noun, settled, closed, like a book you’ve read and are done with; rather, faith as a verb. Faith as a question that leads to another question, and then, to yet another. Faith as a willingness to ask questions even in the face of difficulty, or challenge. Faith as one ready to love extravagantly, even to a puzzling place where not knowing is one with the pain of loss, and yet, so tantalizingly close to birth, and re-birth.
The story of Nicodemus is the story of those of us who see Jesus, who are drawn to him, and who want to know more. Each of us walks a lifelong path of questions and conversations, in which we ask again and again, “How can these things be?” Each of us experiences cycles of confusion and renewal, like death and re-birth. Each of us is a part of a beautiful, lifelong conversation with the one who loves our questions, and delights in them, and longs for us to ask more.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Image: Night, Raube. c. 2020
[i] Phil Ruge-Jones, Early Sermon Seeds Facebook Group, 3-1-2020
[ii] Karoline Lewis, “Commentary on John 3:1-17,” Working Preacher, February 17, 2008, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=43.