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Sunday February 20, 2005 - Lent 2, Year A

You hear a knock at your door. You open it, and there stand two earnest young women.
"We won't bother you long," they say. "We just want to ask you,
are you born again?"

You drive past a house. It looks a little run down: the paint is peeling on one wall, and chickens scratch around in the dirt. Not so long ago, it was out in the boondocks, surrounded by farmland, but now it's just a few hundred yards from the new residential developments and looks kind of out of place.
And there, right on one side, is a large sign,
"John 3: 16. Have you been born again?"

A man stands in a pulpit, a black leather bound bible open in his left hand,
his right hand waving in the air.
"In the Bible, the very words of our Savior, in John chapter 3, verse 16, it says, ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not die but have eternal life.' Do you believe in him? Do you have eternal life? Have you been born again?"

Have you been born again? It's not a question
that we often hear in the Episcopal Church. If you're anything like me, you associate it with traveling evangelists, or hardline conservative preachers
or simply people who don't know how to mind their own business
where religion is concerned.
Many of us
are in the Episcopal Church
because however much we might believe in God and Jesus, we don't believe in over simplifications,
or aggressive tactics and demands.
Some of us
might even describe ourselves as refugees from the brands of Christianity
that constantly demand an answer to the question,
"Are you born again?" We're not into that kind of
in-your-face evangelism.

And so
we try to steer clear of questions like "Have you been born again?" We don't make too much fuss about evangelism;
we let people become part of our community
without making them sign
on the dotted line.
It's not that we don't take our faith seriously, it's just that we like
to have our religion presented in a way
that's a little more refined,
a little more nuanced,
maybe even a little less demanding.

And so we avoid talking about being born again; we avoid asking people for their testimonies; we avoid
anything that might be considered
at all
hard line.

Nicodemus
would have made a great
Episcopalian.

Nicodemus was a leader, one of the educated, the pious, the elite
among the Jews. He'd heard about Jesus, even liked what he heard,
but the idea of coming publicly to Jesus
and asking him questions
was impossible. It would destroy his reputation; it would undermine his credibility; it might even
threaten his livelihood.
So he came to see Jesus
in the dark of the night.
No one could see him; no one would suspect him.
He came to Jesus and said, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, because no one could do the miracles you do
without the help of God." A nice straightforward
greeting, honoring the visiting teacher.
But what he really meant, what Jesus heard him say was,
"Can I believe you? Is this really true? Do you have an inside track
on how to get to eternal life?"

And that's when Jesus began
with this "born again" language.
"No one can see the kingdom of God
without being born again."

And of course, that's when Nicodemus
began to get confused.
Because he knows, as well as we do, that being born
is one of two events
that by definition only happen once in a lifetime. The other one
is dying.
"But, but how can anyone be born again? It's impossible! I'm full grown; my mother
can hardly give birth to me
a second time round!"

Jesus answered him
"No one can enter the kingdom of God
without being born of water
and of the spirit."

And Nicodemus,
not surprisingly,
is still confused. Because Jesus's answer
is not exactly clear about what this new birth is. It's got to do with the Spirit, he says, a spirit that blows just like the wind.
We hear it, but can't tell where it's coming from or where it's going, gusts that are unpredictable
and blow us
where we don't expect. We can see its effects
but we can't control it.
That's what the Spirit is like, that's what
will shape our lives
if we risk putting ourselves
into the hands of God, if we risk allowing
the spirit to blow through our lives, if we risk being
born again.
But the Spirit
is not so unpredictable
that it is dangerous, not really dangerous. Because this is all God's doing,
God who loved the world so much
that he gave his only son,
so that whoever believes in him, whoever takes the risk to trust Jesus
will have
eternal life.

Of course, this all sounds terribly risky. Nicodemus is not stupid. Put his life
into the control of something as unpredictable
as the wind? Something as unprovable
as God?

But Jesus goes on. "I tell you," he says, "we are talking about the things of heaven, the things of God. And the only way to know if what I say is true, is to check it against the testimony of someone who has been to heaven, who has been with God. That's how you know. And the only one who has done that
is the Son of Man. "

The Son of Man. It's a name that Nicodemus knows from his Old Testament reading, a name that as far as he can see, Jesus seems to be qualified to use. So if Jesus is
this Son of Man,
if Jesus's words can be trusted,
then what he is saying
is that Nicodemus
has to take the step
of trusting himself
to the power of the spirit
trusting himself
to the wind of God
trusting himself
to the power
that can give him new birth.

The conversation ends there, and there is no indication
of what Nicodemus thinks about all this.
But later in the gospel of John
we find him again hovering around in the background, not quite willing to commit himself,
not ready to give up on it all.
And when Jesus dies, it is Nicodemus
who provides the spices
to embalm
his body.
But we don't know
if he ever takes the risk
and allows the spirit of God
to transform his life.
It may be
that he just stands on the edge,
willing to listen
but not quite willing
to commit, not quite willing
to allow himself
to be born again by the spirit.

To be born again, born from above is another way scripture puts it.
To allow ourselves to be given new life
by God,
to take seriously the promises of God
and risk our lives on them.
It's about being willing to undergo
an experience
that is as life changing
as being born.
A transformation as profound
as that which turns us from being a foetus, a child fully dependent
on our mother's body for life,
to an independent human being
capable of life in its own right.
A transformation
that takes us from the safety
of a world that is clearly defined,
a world with straightforward rules and boundaries
to a world that is shaped by the Spirit, where the spirit of God
runs free like the wind,
a world that is risky, unpredictable, full of challenge.
But we move to this new world
with the promise
that God will be with us,
that God is calling us,
that God has something in store for us
that is better than we could ever imagine.

Being born again
is the sort of experience that Abraham has
when on the basis of a promise of God
he leaves his home, everything he knows, his family and friends and the life he has made for himself
and sets off for the promised land.
A risky journey
and an uncertain end.
But we know the end. We know
that for Abraham
the promise is fulfilled,
and he ends up with everything God has promised him.
A new land, a family full of descendants,
and a God
who is with him day by day.

We might not be real comfortable
with the idea of being born again,
or not, at least,
with the way the question is too often put to us.
But the question is one
that is not limited to evangelists with big black bibles
or signs by the roadside
or people knocking at our doors.
It's a question that Christ himself asks us,
the basic question of faith,
he asks
gently, quietly, insistently,
"Have you been born again? Are you willing to be born again? Just let me into your life, let my spirit give you new life, let me take you on a journey
that will be beyond your wildest dreams and imaginings. Just trust me. Given me a chance."

Will you give Christ a chance?

 

Sermon ©Raewynne J. Whiteley 2005