The Waiting Room

My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
(Psalm 130:6)

I do not like to sit in waiting rooms,
At doctors’ offices,
Or the dentist’s.
There I fidget with my fingers,
Worrying about my blood pressure,
Or a cavity.
I thumb through magazines from the fall.
And, fight the urge to pull out my phone.
Today, the entire world is a waiting room.

As I sit in it,
I wonder not about my body’s health, But my soul’s.
If I could see my soul’s refection
In a mirror of sorts,
Or, if I could take it in to see a specialist,
What would I see?
Mortality?
My soul makes not a peep.

“All are from women,
Have few days and are full of turmoil,” Job says.
Like a flower, we wither.
In the impurity of this life,
Death slowly soils our existence.
Then, we fade
Like the afternoon sun.

“I wish you would hide me in the underworld,”
I plead alongside Job.
If people die, will they live again?
That’s what I think of in the waiting room
Along with my soul.
Silently, we wait for God’s reply,
More than watchmen for the morning,
More than watchmen for the morning.

Others point to mercy here,
But in the obscurity of death,
Fear approaches.
It shrivels me up.
I feel like a parched riverbed.
The weatherman said,
“No rain today.”
Still I wait and I watch,
Together with my soul.
If people die will they live again?

How did Joseph and Nicodemus respond?
They did not wait.
They acted!
With care and without hope.
Certainly sorrowful.
No mirth.
Dutifully though with oils and linen.
Like, washing someone’s feet,
Lovingly, extravagantly, but without expectation.

The women though, They waited.
Out of sight,
They waited.
Almost silently,
They waited.
Quietly crying,
They waited.
Like watchmen,
They waited.
Like Job,
They waited.
Like my soul,
They waited.
They waited
Wondering...

If people die will they live again?
Will he live again?
A human dies and the body remains.
A person expires but,
Where is he?
One is chopped down,
And hauled away.
Why then, are we waiting?

Something remains.
Nothing, really...
Save for a delicately wrapped body.

As Joseph and his companion leave,
I tarry...
With the women and my soul.
“Jesus died, will he live again?”
I sit in the waiting room wondering.

And, at that moment,
Of all the times,
My soul dares say something.
What?
I listen carefully.

“All the days of my service, I would wait
Until restoration took place.

“Wait
With me
For him.”

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The Last Supper

This is the carved, wooden replica of Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper, which hangs in our home.

This sermon was preached at St. John's Church, Decatur, AL on Maundy Thursday. The following text inspired the message:

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Psalm 116:1, 10-17

There’s a carved wooden replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, which hangs in our home. It like the real one depicts Jesus’ last meal with his disciples. Kim got this copy on a family trip to Mexico. I didn’t even know she had it when we got married. It was one of the joyful surprises that our first year of marriage brought. But, when we moved into our current home we opened a box and there it was. We just had to find a place to put it so, onto our dining room wall it went last January.

Several months went by. During that time, Kim and I prepared for the impending arrival of our son. Each night when we got home we ate together and Jesus and his disciples looked on. Each night that carving on our wall reminded us that Jesus and his friends were sharing a meal across time and space with us. It was quite lovely. Then, on August 7th, 2017 all of that changed.

John Theodore Olson arrived last summer and threw everything in our lives for a loop. The 234 days since have been wild! They have been awesome, but they have been wild. Days filled with both fantastic and challenging moments—moments that have shown me new depth and breadth to the emotions I felt possible. While there have been so many highs, like his first smile and his baptism here at St. John’s, I recently observed a disturbing low. Or, rather a trend that has been pointing in an unhealthy direction. And, it has everything to do with our Last Supper carving.

By no fault of Teddy or his mother—that is to say, by my own fault and no one else’s—Kim and I have slowly stopped eating dinner together at our dining room table. Now, we don’t have a fancy dining room, it is the best place for us to sit and eat together. But, instead of sitting down, asking a blessing, and eating together we have been crashing on the couch, as we try to adjust to being parents. Often what we eat is lukewarm. Sometimes it has been microwaved. And, every so often—when Teddy fights going to bed—we even struggle to eat at the same time. As I notice this upsetting development, I miss not only eating with Kim, but also with the disciples and with Jesus.

At the very core of seemingly every society lay the sacredness of sharing a meal together. Perhaps you noticed that in our readings for this evening. They all have the setting of a meal or they point to the sacredness of one. The universality of breaking bread together means that these readings connect with every single one of us—no matter who we are or where we are from. And yet, like my tendency to eat alone, it appears many are losing touch with the sacredness of eating together.

One news release about this subject reads: “Families today are finding it more difficult to eat dinner together, and when they come to the table, it's often the TV [or smartphone] that's doing the talking. A recent survey…found that 40 percent of American families eat dinner together only three or fewer times a week, with 10 percent never eating dinner together at all. However, 88 percent of families would like to increase the time spent…at the dinner table.”[1] Oddly this was not from a social interest group or even a family first initiative, these results were from a big food conglomerate. While some families never eat together and many only eat together sparingly, almost all want to spend more time together around the table.

How about you? Do you want to share more meals together with those closest to you? What about with others? What about with God? Do you want to share a meal with Him?

One of the first questions I remember Evan asking at Theology on Tap has stuck with me. During that Thursday night gathering at the Brick for food, beverage, and conversation, he asked something like, “If you were an inmate on death row, what would your last meal be?” The question has stuck with me, not because I like thinking about that scenario, but because in some ways that is what the Last Supper was like for Jesus. Jesus was not on death row, but he knew that it would be the last meal he ate before he died—his last meal before death. “What would your last meal be?” is a good question, but I might add to it, “Who would you want to be there with you when you ate it?” For that also had to be a consideration for Jesus. Who did he want to share that meal with?

On this night long ago, during supper Jesus took bread, gave thanks to God, broke it and said, “‘This is my body, which is foryou; do this to remember me.’ He did the same thing with the cup, after theyhad eaten, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Every time youdrink it, do this to remember me.’” Jesus shared this holy meal, his Last Supper, with his followers, his disciples, those closest to him. What would it be like for us to gather there around the table with Jesus? Not just beside a wood-carved image of The Last Supper, but truly there next to him, mystically sharing a meal, as one of his followers. What is that like?

The way John tells the sacred story there is no taking, blessing, breaking, saying, and giving. Still there is a meal. And, in whatever account of the Good News of Christ Jesus we read, we know another thing: one of his own followers betrayed Jesus. Who would you want to be with you at your last meal? If you ask me, I would have a hard time eating my last meal with someone who would betray me.

Jesus not only dined with his betrayer, but he also served him. In John’s story, Jesus got up, took off his robes, picked up a linen towel, tied it around his waist, poured water into a basin, then washed and dried his disciples’ feet—including Judas’. We have no exact parallel today for the intimate way Jesus served his friends. It is an act of love locked in time. Still, Jesus, the teacher, bending to serve his students so starkly stands out—especially when he gets to Judas. While we tend to focus in on one disciple’s failing, I do not believe he was alone.

John claims that the other disciples were clean. It was only the betrayer who was defiled. This seems false to me. For in the shadow of this night, all leave Jesus, all abandon him. Yet, even as Jesus knew this impending truth, even as he saw the darkness of Gethsemane ahead, he still ate with and knelt before all of them. If we stay long enough around this table with Jesus, we experience this too.

As were gather with him, we might be tempted to think that we wouldn’t do that. We would never hurt him, we would never leave him. And yet, we do. We betray and abandon Christ in word and deed, in thought and action, in things done and left undone. Still, he is here. Still, he is with us. The Eternal Word of God, the One through whom all things were made, kneels down to wash the feet of us modern day betrayers and traitors.

When he finishes he invites us to do likewise. Serving others sounds so nice when it is our friends, but what about others? Jesus knew that he was serving friends who were at the same time backstabbers. Would we be able to share our last meal with false friends? Would we bend to serve them? Well, if we are still around this table with Jesus, then I believe we must.

God’s love through Christ extends even to us defectors. God’s love through Christ even reaches those whom we despise. The vast majority of my being cannot comprehend this. My mind cannot understand or accept it. And I wonder: Could I wash the feet of a turncoat friend, someone who made fun of me, or one who broke my heart? What about a terrorist, a child predator, or a school shooter? Could I let one of them wash my feet? I cannot convince myself that I could. Not on my own. And yet, gathered here at his Last Supper, I see Jesus break bread, share the cup, and kneel down to wash my deserting feet. And, I hear him saying:

“Just as I have done, you must do.”

I give you a new commandment: Love. Just as I have loved, so you must love. This is how everyone will know that you are my disciples, love.

---

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[1] "National Survey Reveals Nearly Half Of American Families Eat Dinner Together Fewer Than Three Times A Week Or Not At All." ConAgra Brands. 05 30, 2003. http://www.conagrabrands.com/news-room/news-national-survey-reveals-nearly-half-of-american-families-eat-dinner-together-fewer-than-three-times-a-week-or-not-at-all-1008335 (accessed 03 28, 2018).

Glory

What does glory mean to you?

This sermon was inspired by John 13:21-32 (CEB) and preached at St. John's, Decatur, AL on the Wednesday of Holy Week.

Attaining high honor in this world comes in many forms. Locally, it might look like receiving a platinum Christmas Tour award or being elected Mardi Gras King or Queen. Globally, we recognize magnificence in a Nobel Peace Prize recipient or an Olympic Gold medalist. Almost all of us yearn for a prize of one sort or another. Something hardwired within each of us propels us to seek glory, but why?

During the early stages of discerning if God was calling me to ordained ministry, I spoke with the priest at the church of my childhood. His name is Marc Burnette. And, in the midst of one conversation he dispensed a helpful truth about our nature—and why it is we might seek glory. In the dialogue he asked what was drawing me deeper into this discernment process. I responded by talking about how important Christian community is to me. He asked me why I thought this was so relevant. I answered with what I thought—as a naïve 20 year-old—what I thought was a very insightful realization. “Community is important to me because of how it shapes us and can inspire us to be better,” I said. In a very kind way, Fr. Marc steered the discussion to deeper waters.

“Community emanates not only from our human desires, but from the source of all life,” he said. Fr. Marc then highlighted the relationship that God has within the Trinity itself. Even before anything was created community was present in the life of the Father, the Son, and the Spirit. Thus, our pursuit for dwelling together in community comes from God who created all things. Fr. Marc’s words not only illuminated our desire for community, but also our desire to seek glory within a community. I believe we want to achieve some high honor, so that we might connect more deeply with others. The trouble is this is not what usually happens.

At the purest level, we may seek glory because we are yearning consciously or otherwise to unite with others. We think if others see this thing we have done or been awarded, then we will be accepted. The desire here is not bad—we want to dwell more fully with others—however, what sort of connection gets made when people only like us for our status? What credit is it to us when we simply like someone for their prizes or medals on her shelf? Yes, everyone likes a winner, but what about God? What does glory look like to God?

As a runner, I have always been drawn to Hebrews 12:1-3. But, running like so many other of life’s endeavors has this tricky sort of amnesia about it. Sure, right now I want to run a marathon, but in the middle of tough training and certainly at mile 23 I will think, “I am never doing this again.” In the middle of a race when everything is falling apart glory is the furthest thing from a runner’s mind. Simply continuing through to the end, finishing the race is what leads a runner home. Oddly this journey through suffering and pain that runners endure, gives us a glimpse into the glory of God—a glory that God reveals not through runners, but through the Human One who endures to the end.

Today, we find ourselves sitting with the Human One—Jesus—and his disciples on the night before Jesus’ betrayal, crucifixion, and death. During this last supper Jesus’ betrayer emerges not from some alien place, but from within this group of friends. After Jesus washed his disciples’ feet and before he gave his commandment to love one another, Jesus chose Judas to hand him over. The starkness of Judas’ exit leads to the detail within this story that it was night. This moment seems far from the brightness we associate with glory, and yet, Jesus’ own words point to the splendor of God even in this dark time.

“Now the Human One has been glorified and God has been glorified in him.” What a strange instant to speak of God’s glory. God is honored not in what the world says is successful, noteworthy, or high-achieving. Instead, God is glorified in a time of betrayal. But, is it really the betrayal that leads to glory?

More than Judas’ actions on that night long ago, what stands out as glorious even to this day is God’s continuing love. God through Christ Jesus unrelentingly loved the disciples, including Judas. Christ Jesus loved them even as they all scattered, quit, and hid. What about us who follow Jesus today? All of us scatter, quit, and hid. All of us run—not with Jesus—but away from him. Still, he continues to love us. This is what God’s glory looks like.

The eternal nature of God—Father, Son, and Spirit—is a love that never ends, never stops, never dies. It continues to be poured out within itself and into all of Creation always. This is true glory. A love that does not end. Jesus glorified the Father through his continual love and it is only this that leads us into glory.

The Foolishness of Preaching

Foolishness is an unlimited resource!

While I had every intention of preaching this sermon today at St. John's, Decatur a stomach bug hit my household and unfortunately this sermon will only be given electronically. The text which inspired today's sermon was 1 Corinthians 1:18-31 and in particular, "20 Where are the wise? Where are the legal experts? Where are today’s debaters? Hasn’t God made the wisdom of the world foolish? 21 In God’s wisdom, he determined that the world wouldn’t come to know him through its wisdom. Instead, God was pleased to save those who believe through the foolishness of preaching."

Foolishness is an unlimited resource. On Friday mornings when I am nearby a television I often find myself glued to ESPN, so that I can see Sportscenter’s “Not Top 10” list where (mostly) professional athletes crash and burn mightily. Sometimes it is a botched handoff in football, an errant throw from the outfield in baseball, or a superstar basketball player missing an easy layup or dunk. Of course, athletes do not have a monopoly on foolishness.

Politicians do not often find themselves unified on any issue, but it is hard not to see foolishness as a bipartisan affair. A former Republican Texas Governor infamously forgot the third agency he would cut if he were elected President of the United States. (Ironically enough he now serves as the head of the Department of Energy, which oversees the EPA—allegedly that third agency he forgot.) Not to be outdone, in the 2004 Presidential Election a former Democratic governor of Vermont, destroyed his entire campaign with a single un-presidential yell. Although athletes and politicians often seem daft, with their mistakes shining brightly in the spotlight, foolishness distinguishes itself as a trait that crosses all career paths and walks of life.

Simply typing in “Fail” on YouTube yields 75,900,000 videos. I did not have time to watch all of them, but suffice it to say the list of fools stretches to all walks of humanity: parents, children, news anchors, weightlifters, kite surfers, drivers, organists, and even a few preachers. Of course, I do not think this is what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the church in Corinth long ago. The version of 1 Corinthians we heard today was from the Common English Bible, a translation which we are utilizing throughout Holy Week. And, the words Paul wrote to the Church in Corinth struck me more profoundly in this different version.

Paul wrote, “In God’s wisdom, he determined that the world wouldn’t come to know him through its wisdom. Instead, God was pleased to save those who believe through the foolishness of preaching.” Paul was not speaking about foolish preachers who smash television sets with baseball bats, accidentally start their sermon by saying “Satan gave me this message!” or by crashing over in a casket as a sermon illustration. Yes, these all actually happened. Paul though was talking about how the world perceives the message that we as a people preach. And, just like in his own day, the message that we share so often sounds foolish to our surrounding society.

“The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are being destroyed. But it is the power of God for those of us who are being saved.” As we continue this journey of Holy Week walking with Jesus toward the cross that is ahead, we may wonder and worry about what lies ahead. Society around us tempts us to walk not in the direction of the cross with its suffering and shame, but instead towards comfort and convenience. Seeing the journey that Jesus walked seems to all the world like foolishness. But, to those of us who proclaim Christ crucified as our King, our Lord, and our God we see that way not as foolish, but wise.

As we look back on the life of Jesus we can easily say that we would have been wise enough to walk with him, but what about in our own day? If we knew nothing of who Jesus was and saw a man peacefully speaking the Truth of God’s reign to those in power we might very well shout to him, “Be quiet! You’ll get yourself killed.” With hindsight we may believe we know what God’s wisdom looks like, but can we see it in our own day? Will we proclaim it today? Will we preach it this week?

The world says, God foolishly sent Christ Jesus into a violent world, what did you think would happen? But, God’s foolishness outshines the wisdom of this world. All technology, economy, and academia cannot possess the foolish wisdom that God showed us in Christ Jesus. God's love endures, even as we act like fools. That is the wild message that we continue to preach as we walk together with Jesus to the cross. This is what captivated Paul long ago too.

When Paul wrote to that startup church in Corinth he was extending Jesus' invitation to walk with Christ toward the cross all the time, not just during Holy Week. The Roman cross stood out as a destructive torture device meant not only to kill but to humiliate. Paul and so many others foolishly (according to the world) followed Jesus on the way of the cross, and these followers have found their own crosses literally and figuratively. And yet, during all those times when what seemed so foolish to the world played out over time, God’s wisdom (of loving all) persisted. Even now we may believe that God is foolish to extend love to someone or some people, but we would be foolish to hold onto that belief. Instead, may we be fools for Jesus as we walk with him carrying our own crosses as we go.

Healing the Breach

How will you heal the breach like St. Cuthbert?

Collect for St. Cuthbert
Almighty God, you called Cuthbert from following the flock to be a shepherd of your people: Mercifully grant that, as he sought in dangerous and remote places those who had erred and strayed from your ways, so we may seek the indifferent and the lost, and lead them back to you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Lessons for today:
2 Corinthians 6:1–10
Psalm 23
Matthew 6:24–33

Think for a moment about the following question: Who in the world is your arch nemesis? Presumably none of us are crime-fighting superheroes, so perhaps that is the wrong question. Let me try it again. Who in this world do you most dislike? Or, maybe I could put it in more practical terms: With whom would you not want to be stuck on an elevator for several hours? Do you have an answer?

I will not make you submit your answer for approval, but I wonder on whom your mind focused. Was it a politician whom you feel is unfit for office? Is it someone who incites terrorism? How about someone closer to you? A sibling who was relentlessly unkind? An ex that treated you like dirt? A parent who disowned you? A child who permanently scarred you? I imagine we can think of someone not just in the news but in our lives who has caused us great harm. How about someone in this church though?

Quite often in the history of the Church (with an uppercase C) severe dislike has arisen between fellow members in the Body of Christ. While enmity between any two parties causes pain, when hostility arises among followers of Jesus a dreadful scarring occurs. The wounding that we—as Christians—inflict upon one another seems more dubious and detrimental than scars caused by outside forces. It is like a clinched right fist punches a tender left bicep, a left foot stopping a right big toe, an elbow crushing a hipbone. This violence only causes pain to oneself. Still, as I look around the Christian landscape, I see more divisiveness than ever before.

In our Youth Confirmation Class last spring we discussed the particular place of the Episcopalian Tradition among the Christian landscape. Evan used the image of a river, which has split into divergent streams to express our current state of denominationalism. At first, I found myself taking pride in our place in the river—not at the head of the waters, but also not the most recent stream to sprout off on its own. Certainly I celebrate the place we occupy in the scope of Christianity.

Yes, I love that what draws us Episcopalians together is the importance of our worship. I cherish that we do not make people sign some statement of beliefs before we start loving them. I think it is paramount that we serve together, like Jesus served us. I believe it is critical that we do not turn off our minds in church. And of course, I love the integrity that our lives are to reflect following Jesus not just on Sunday mornings but every day. Still, when we start to believe that we have it all, that we are right about everything, or that we are better than anyone or everyone else we have lost our way. And worse, we have created a breach between ourselves and fellow members of Christ’s Body. Of course, this kind of Christian-on-Christian aggression is nothing new.

During the years of the Seventh Century branches of Christianity fought battles on the farthest reaches of the British Islands. Not only were two parts of the Body of Christ undergoing conflict—the Roman and the Celtic practice—but also, in that time and place paganism was challenging Christianity’s place in the hearts of many. Onto the scene stepped a calm, devoted monastic named Cuthbert whom the Church celebrates today.

After the death of Aidan, who challenged paganism in Northumbria, Cuthbert became the preeminent Christian leader in the north of what we now call Great Britain. Cuthbert received a vision in the night sky, as Aidan was dying, which caused Cuthbert to enter the religious life. He served as prior at two monasteries and was also made a bishop. As a religious man he would travel great distances to care for isolated people staying months at a time if necessary to ensure that their physical and spiritual needs were met. On top of this, his calm presence at the Synod of Whitby allowed for the rising division between Celtic and Roman practices of Christianity to cease.

Cuthbert represented in many ways the Celtic practices of Christianity during the day, but instead of seeking his own end he sought first the Kingdom of God. Cuthbert served as a healer of the breach between Roman beliefs and Celtic ones. If not for his reassuring leadership the Church would have suffered even greater division. As a bishop and a monastic, Cuthbert led using word, deed, and sacramental leadership, so that God’s healing could happen and all could follow Jesus—the head of our Body.

We might look back at the life of Cuthbert and think that ultimately he failed though, as the Church catholic appears so divided today. We may believe that Cuthbert’s hope of a unified Body of Christ appears broken now. However, his way of reflecting the light of Christ and sharing the Good News of Christ in his day provides for us a cheerful example in our divided days.

If we seek first the Kingdom of God and follow in the path of Christ Jesus we will not be divided. The closer we grow to God, the closer we grow to one another. Will we agree about everything with others? No. Will we all worship God in the same way? No. Will everyone acknowledge the same way of following after Jesus? Probably not. However, if we are to begin to heal the wounds we have been so good at making on our own body—the Body of Christ—we must be willing to care less about the worries of this world and more about the life in God’s Kingdom.

God gives us the joyful task of living into God’s Kingdom not in the future, but right now. There are not separate parts of the kingdom—there is one Kingdom! God calls us to be part of the one body—the Body of Christ—right now. There are not multiple bodies—there is one body. God calls us to be like Cuthbert who was a healer of the breach in his day. How will we heal the breaches in our day? How will you love your enemies inside and outside the Church?

Believe

John 3:16 is everywhere...

John 3:16 has the type of mass appeal among Christians that when it comes up in the Revised Common Lectionary, like it will this Sunday morning, the congregation gets excited even before the preacher opens her mouth. Jesus said, “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.” What’s not to like? God loves the world… YAY! God sent his only Son… Who doesn’t like Jesus?! Those who believe in him may not perish, but have eternal life… Eternal life, sign me up! Strangely though, if we in the Church continue to remove these words from the rest of this verse’s surrounding story they will have the effectiveness of a vital organ that a surgeon has just cut out and thrown in a garbage can. To receive the full, transformative power of what Jesus said, we have to examine the surrounding story and particularly why Jesus said what he said and to whom he said it.

Before going any further though, I must make a confession about this supremely famous passage from the Bible. While John 3:16 sometimes gets coopted into a straightforward explanation of why Jesus came to earth, this often-used proof text is not as simple as saying, “Jesus came to pay our debt to an angry God and as soon as you say you believe him then you get to go to heaven when you die.” This type of theological litmus test certainly has its appeal—it is human nature to want to be included, especially when it comes to something as important as eternity. However, when I hear my brothers and sisters in Christ saying through their interpretation of John 3:16 that if you believe in God (in the way that we believe in God), then Jesus you will go to heaven I cringe. I cringe because if it is up to us to be saved, even through something as simple as saying we “believe” in Jesus, then I think we will always fall short. Also, and more to the point of this post, this is not what John’s account of the Good News of Jesus Christ tells us, nor is it what God spoke through his Son Jesus. So, back to the surrounding story and why Jesus spoke what he spoke to whom he spoke it.

First, let us start with the last bit. To whom was Jesus speaking in John 3? Well, one night Nicodemus, who was a Pharisee, came to find Jesus. This was odd. Pharisees did not come to Jesus except to try to upend his ministry. This Pharisee though seemed stumped. The traditional rituals and practices of his Faith were not fulfilling him, so he came to Jesus to seek something more. Nicodemus came at night probably because he did not want his Pharisee buddies seeing that he was having trouble and going to an upstart rabbi named Jesus for help.

Nicodemus approached Jesus with some placating words at first. The Pharisee said, “Sir, we know that God has sent you to teach us. You could not work these miracles, unless God were with you.” Jesus took very little time to respond even without so much as a question from Nicodemus, as Jesus uttered, “I tell you for certain that you must be born from above before you can see God’s kingdom!” Jesus immediately saw through the kind words to see Nicodemus’ real problem—he was spiritually dead. Nicodemus though, thought Jesus spoke of an actual second physical birth, but even when Jesus responded with a teaching on the Spirit making new children of God (John 3:5-8) Nicodemus still did not understand. Jesus’ response to Nicodemus’ continued confusion gave birth to our entire story for this coming Sunday morning including John 3:16, which gets at why Jesus spoke what he did.

Jesus did not speak these most famous words in isolation, but rather in the context of a conversation with a confused Pharisee who could not grasp God wanting to renew us through the Spirit. The Pharisee’s initial comments that about Jesus’ signs (3:2) and Jesus’ wondering how this teacher of Israel could not comprehend the Spirit’s re-birthing (3:10) points us toward understanding what Jesus was trying to teach throughout this whole chapter of John’s gospel account. Throughout John’s gospel account Jesus performed signs not miracles. The signs were actually pointing to something beyond the action itself. When this Pharisee came in talking about the sign and continued to not understand the teaching about the Spirit Jesus seemingly got frustrated.

During this late night conversation Jesus wanted to go deeper with someone familiar with the teachings of God like him. Jesus yearned to go beyond the signs themselves to talk about the Truth to which they pointed. The Truth was and still is that God loves the world, that God sends the Son to save and not condemn the world, and that those who believe experience eternal life. God loving the world and the world not being condemned but saved is great news, but this bit about belief always trips me up. Mostly because I have never met anyone who had completely unwavering faith. Even the people we hold up as pillars of the faith struggle, so what happens if my belief falters? Well, over two thousand years the Church has morphed the true meaning of what it means to believe.

To believe once meant to give over oneself to something. This has less to do with the head and more to do with the soul. For one to believe has everything to do with being open to the work of the Spirit, which fits much more closely with what Jesus was already speaking to Nicodemus. If one is stuck in the rigid intellectual ascents that others have foisted upon that person or if one has completely switched off one’s heart such that one’s worship feels completely severed from one’s daily life, then one remains closed off to the re-birthing of the Spirit and the eternal life She brings.

Nicodemus came to Jesus at night wondering not about signs, but about the truth to which the signs pointed. Jesus saw through Nicodemus’ kind greeting to challenge the religious teacher to wake up to the deeper Truth of God’s love and the acting of the Spirit in his life. Before we throw around the most famous bit from the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus, may we remember that is was not a litmus test for belief, but rather a challenge to experience the Spirit’s re-birthing. None of us will make it through life with unwavering faith and the good news is that we do not have to endure in this way. Rather, may we be open to the Spirit’s moving in us as we give over ourselves to God’s working in our lives.