Readings (click here for full text of the readings):
   Genesis 12:1-8; Psalm 33:12-22; Romans 4:1-5(6-12)13-17; John 3:1-17

After living exclusively with Matthew for the last couple of months, today we hear from the gospel of John.  And not just any part of John, but probably the most famous part. Part of today’s reading is John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”  I’ll bet many of know that verse by heart. Perhaps we came to faith – at least in part – because of it. And if you like to watch professional football games on Sunday afternoons, you’ve probably noticed the guy with the rainbow-colored wig at the back of the end zone who’s always holding up a sign that says, “John 3:16.” I’ll bet a bunch of people looked up that verse just out of curiosity, which is probably what that guy wanted all along.

Also in today’s reading is Jesus’ reference to being “born again,” or “born from above,” which became a catch-word in the 1970’s, a way of describing really believing in God.  Saying that you were “born again” meant that you didn’t just go to church or try lead a good life, but that Jesus was the center of your life. That way you could separate yourself from casual, nominal Christians.  Since then it’s fallen out of favor a little bit – maybe become overused – and now other words have taken its place, like “evangelical.”  Personally, I think it’s a little sad when the word “Christian” isn’t strong or radical enough anymore.

Since today’s gospel reading has a couple of very familiar verses in it, we might not think there’s much new there for us, but we would be wrong.  Because more often than not, the most familiar passages are the most surprising, because they don’t mean what we think they mean.  Also, John, unlike Matthew, is a true author. Whereas Matthew wants to get the facts out there and prove his point, John spins a tale.  He employs techniques that the other gospel writers don’t, like weaving in rich imagery to illustrate his argument.  He uses ironic references to point to the truth. And like all great writers, John is always speaking on more than one level, so that whatever he says has multiple meanings.  His descriptions, his timing, his precise choice of words: they all contribute to a gathering sense of meaning and momentum, as he brings the reader in and never lets go.

John starts off by saying that a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, came to Jesus by night.  That makes perfect sense, because the Jewish authorities were enemies of Jesus, so it makes sense that Nicodemus would only dare approach Jesus under cover of darkness.  But John is also trying to tell us that Nicodemus was literally “in the dark.”  Throughout his gospel John repeatedly talks about light and darkness.  In the very first chapter he says, referring to Jesus, that “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”  So when a Jewish leader comes to Jesus by night, John’s telling us that he’s a member of the enemy group who doesn’t know the truth yet.

Then John resorts to irony.  He has Nicodemus say, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one else can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”  The irony here is that the first words out of Nicodemus’s mouth are, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God,” when, in fact, Nicodemus doesn’t know very much at all. He’s living in the darkness. He’s consorting with the enemy.  And even the one thing he says he knows is wrong, because Jesus hasn’t just come from God, he is God. 

Then Jesus answers him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”  In Greek, the same adverb can mean “from above” and “again,” and so some translations read “born again” here. And the next sentence, where Nicodemus wonders how someone can enter a second time into their mother’s womb and be born, makes “born again” a pretty reasonable translation.  But Jesus’ emphasis here – the point He’s trying to get across – is better conveyed by “born from above.” Because the thing that’s really throwing Nicodemus – a leader of the Jews – is Jesus saying that some heavenly birth is really what matters most.

Now that might not seem that revolutionary to our modern ears, but it certainly would have to Nicodemus. Because the historic teaching of Judaism was that to be born a Jew was to be God’s child. This morning’s Old Testament reading reminds us of the covenant that God made with Abraham and all of Abraham’s descendants: the Jewish people.  So when Jesus says that in order to be a part of the kingdom of God you have to be born “from above,” or born “again,” but not necessarily born “a Jew,” this was radical stuff to Nicodemus. 

Then Jesus goes on to talk about how what is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit.  John continually returns to this theme, more than any of the other gospel writers.  It’s one of the reasons why some people accuse John of being a Gnostic, because the Gnostic cult believed that nothing tangible, material could be good. Only ethereal things like heaven and spirit could be good, so the Gnostics denied themselves everything human in order to try to ascend to the divine. But, obviously, John is not a Gnostic, because Jesus was fully human, and He was good. John just likes imagery – like light and dark, spirit and flesh – and he’s using both of those images here to prove his point.

Nicodemus is obviously confused. He came there thinking he knew who Jesus was, but he didn’t.  He thought that being a Jew was enough to get into heaven, but now Jesus tells him it isn’t. And in the meantime Jesus has gone on and on about how we have to be born again, or from above, or of the spirit – which Nicodemus doesn’t understand, let alone know how to accomplish.  No wonder the only other thing Nicodemus says in the whole conversation is, “How can these things be?”

The rest of the passage is just Jesus speaking, and it’s full of irony, heavenly visions, and too-good-to-true promises. He starts off by putting Nicodemus in his place: “Are you a teacher of Israel,” Jesus asks, “and yet you do not understand these things?”  Then comes the irony: “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen.”  Nicodemus started off the conversation by mentioning what he thought he knew – even though he didn’t know much at all – so Jesus is going to end the conversation by talking about the stuff that everybody else knows, because they’ve actually seen it.

And after a little digression into heavenly things – there’s John’s love of the spiritual world coming out again – and a reference to Moses in the wilderness – which was probably Jesus reaching out to Nicodemus with a familiar Jewish symbol – we get to the most famous verse of all: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” That might have been the first verse in the Bible that I learned, because once I became a Christian, I was advised to read the gospel of John because the person who was advising me thought it was the best summary of Christianity.  And if you had to distill down the whole gospel into one verse, he told me, this would be the verse.  This is what being Christian is all about – eternal life – and this is who made it possible for us – the Son of God.

Somehow, though, in the two thousand years since John recorded those words of Jesus, we’ve gotten them all mixed up.  Where there should be promise for others, we see judgment.  And where there should be caution for us, we see only comfort and reassurance. In the end, I think we’re a whole lot more like Nicodemus than we’d like to think we are – and not just the kindly, timid Nicodemus we might have thought we knew; but the real Nicodemus, the one who lives in darkness and thinks he knows everything, whereas in reality he doesn’t know much at all.

Let’s read the verse again: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.”  Now it’s pretty clear from that the purpose of that verse in particular – and the gospel of John as a whole, and the Bible in general – that the purpose of all those things is for people not to perish.  God loved the world that much. God’s Son died for that very purpose.  Eternal life has been offered to us, and God wants nothing more than for us to grab hold of it.

Yet, somehow, John 3:16 has come to be as much about condemnation as it is about salvation.  When some folks say “everyone who believes in Jesus will not perish but have eternal life,” more often than not what they’re really saying is, “See what’ll happen if you don’t believe?  You’ll perish. It’s right there in black and white.”  The emphasis is on what God doesn’t want, and even if someone comes to faith as a result, they’ve got a gun to their head the whole way. That isn’t the way that a God who loves the world so much to be willing to give up His only son wants us to come to faith. It’s as if those folks don’t read on to the end of this passage, where Jesus lays out His intentions for all to see: “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

God wants us to come to Him because we need Him. Because there’s something in our lives that missing when He’s not there.  Because we see how much He loves us, and we want to be a part of that love. Those are the reasons that we should come to God – promises, not threats. Longing for salvation, not fear of damnation.  That’s what John’s getting at.

And we’re also pretty mixed up about what those verses mean for us.  I’d guess that most of us read this passage and we sort of laugh at Nicodemus.  “How could he be so dense?” we ask ourselves. “Couldn’t he see what was going on?” We’re the in-crowd, and we laugh at the outsider who’s so ignorant.  We know what Jesus is going to say before He says it, and when He gets to John 3:16, we recite it with Him, because we know it by heart.

Actually, though, I think we’re a whole lot like Nicodemus.  He was viewed as a religious leader, a pillar of his faith. Those of us here are a lot like that – we go to church, we make time for God, we might even share our faith with others, at least once in a while. And, like Nicodemus, we probably think we know what it means to be godly.  He thought it meant being born a Jew, and we have our own ideas: maybe it means going to church. Maybe it means being a nice person. Maybe – and if you think this, you’re getting warmer – it means believing in God, just like John 3:16 says. 

Whatever it is, we think we know what it takes to be saved.  More than that, we think that God has to save us because we’ve done whatever we think we needed to do.  And that’s where we go wrong. God doesn’t have to do anything. This isn’t some kind of legal contract that’s binding on God. God’s the creator of the world, after all – He can do whatever He wants. And the whole point of this passage in John – the whole point of the Gospel of Jesus Christ – is that God wants to do far more than we would have Him required to do. 

God wants to save the whole world, which is why He sent His son to die for us. God wants all of us to believe in Him, trust in Him, rest in Him.  God wants to teach us the truth, especially those of us (like Nicodemus) who are so thick-headed that we’re sure we’re right when really we’re tragically wrong.  Salvation is a gift from God, and gifts can’t be earned or coerced or required.  We can’t stand before God and say, “You have to let me into the kingdom of heaven,” because I’m a Jew or because I believe. Belief isn’t a ticket to heaven – belief is the trust that we don’t need a ticket. That God will take care of us. That our getting into heaven has way more to do with who God is than who we are. 

Today, rather than laughing at Nicodemus’s lack of understanding, and instead of reciting John 3:16 from memory and seeing it as nothing new, instead I invite you to see yourself as Nicodemus. As a seeker coming to Jesus by night, in the darkness, seeking wisdom. And let the words of John’s gospel speak to you, enlighten you, highlight your misunderstandings, especially when it comes to the miraculous promises of God.  This is the Gospel, after all: the Good News. And our greatest error, just like Nicodemus, is not realizing just how good the news is.

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