For the past month we have been journeying with Matthew, listening to Jesus’ teachings, seeing him transfigured on the mountain, and beginning Lent together as we saw him being tested to his limit in the wilderness. Today, the Gospel readings shift to the Gospel of John. There is a purpose to this:  John tells the story of Jesus in a way that is quite different to Matthew, Mark and Luke. There are no parables in the Gospel of John, no sermon on the mount, and no short proverbs. John takes us deeper into relationship with Jesus, and during the next four Sundays, he will do this through in-depth encounters that Jesus will have with four very different and interesting people: Nicodemus, the Pharisee who seeks a meeting with Jesus under cover of darkness; a Samaritan woman with a troubled past who comes to the well for water and is transformed by the experience; we will meet a man who has been born blind; and finally, we will witness the raising of Lazarus who has been dead for three days. 

These are identity-shaping encounters. In each story, someone meets Jesus and is changed, though not always in the same way or at the same pace. 

Themes of knowing and unknowing, light and darkness, sight and blindness, life and death run throughout these conversations, but underneath all of them is something recognizably human: the struggle to recognize what God is doing when it challenges what we thought we knew. 

Today we meet the Pharisee, Nicodemus, a Jewish leader and an educated man who has studied the scriptures all his life. He is knowledgeable and respected, and yet… he senses that there is something special about Jesus. He has been paying attention. He doesn’t know exactly what is drawing him and he approaches Jesus under cover of night lest he be criticized by his peers. He is uncertain but curious, and somewhat hesitant, and yet he is pulled, drawn towards this man, Jesus. He senses that there is something more than his already extensive knowledge of both the scripture and the law. Somehow, deep down, he is longing for relationship. 

Pharisaic tradition was not intellectually rigid. It involved vigorous debate for the purpose of faithfully pursuing the truth. So Nicodemus is not closed-minded: he is thoughtful, serious, devout. And yet… he is expected to “know” to explain this truth to others.  

He begins with certainty. “We know.” It is the kind of phrase we use when we feel something shifting underneath us. When we sense our assumptions are being challenged, when a convincing argument unsettles us. Nicodemus is curious, but he is also defending himself against his own curiosity.  

Jesus doesn’t waste the opportunity to have a dialogue with this Nicodemus’ statement. He moves the conversation from certain knowledge to radical reorientation: “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” 

Nicodemus tries to manage the conversation by asking a very literal question. “How can anyone be born after having grown old?” He is being somewhat resistant because if he hears Jesus’ statement as being about a spiritual rebirth, then that will challenge everything that he thinks he knows. He will not only be challenged but shaken to the core. 

And that is true for all of us isn’t it? Change of any kind is hard as we all know. If we must change our minds, then that must mean that our knowledge and understanding was incomplete before. We must surrender something that we have been sure about. Perhaps we didn’t have enough information, or perhaps circumstances have changed. Our natural instinct is to defend our position, to protect what we think we know. 

Nicodemus is drawn to Jesus. Something has stirred within him. But if Jesus is right, if the kingdom requires birth from above, water and Spirit, it calls him to a serious re-orientation. Nicodemus must be willing to be changed. 

That is far more destabilizing than asking a question under cover of night. And it is why Lent, as a season of repentance, is so challenging for us. Repentance is not self-improvement. It is reorientation, or as I said last week, it is re-alignment. 

Interestingly, this is not the end of Nicodemus’ story. John mentions him twice more: In chapter 7, when religious leaders want to arrest Jesus, Nicodemus speaks up, cautiously. He does not confess belief. He does not declare Jesus the Messiah, but he does insist on due process: “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing” It is a small shift but it represents growth on Nicodemus’ part. And then in chapter 19, after Jesus has been crucified, Nicodemus appears again. This time he brings spices to prepare Jesus’ body for burial. Again, he doesn’t make a declaration of faith but shows public devotion. The man who once came at night now steps into the light of public association with a crucified Messiah. 

Changing his mind did not happen in a moment. It unfolded slowly. Quietly. Incrementally. And so it is with each of us. Our growth is incremental, unfolding over times, measured by the stages of our life, the experiences that shape us, by the sacramental life of the church, and by the repeating rhythm of the liturgical year. 

To be born from above is to surrender control over how God reshapes us. It is about turning, changing, seeing in new ways. Nicodemus’ journey suggests that rebirth is not an instant thing but more like being slowly turned toward the light. 

So I invite you today to consider your relationship with Jesus. What does it mean for you at this stage of your life to turn towards the light? How is Jesus using the circumstances of your life to reshape you, to re-orient you? Nothing in our lives is incidental; everything has meaning and purpose, and the God who created us with love is using all of it to gradually transform us into the people we were created to be. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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