Second Sunday of Lent: Genesis 12:1-4a, Romans 4:1-5, 13-17 and John 3:1-17
Conversation: a word which sums up the way in which we share thoughts and opinions, feelings and experiences, the mundane and significant.
Conversation: that two-way process of building relationships; the way we manage our lives; or express who we are.
Some are life-changing, soul-searching, eye-opening, heart-wrenching.
Whether it’s with a parent or sibling, friend or partner, how many of those conversations happen after sundown?
Image: Christ and Nicodemus on the Rooftop
Perhaps it should be no surprise that Nicodemus approached Jesus at night - at that time when it’s possible for exchange of words to take a deeper, more relational turn.
Evening hours have fewer interruptions.
We’re not pressed for time; we can be fully present.
We’ve had a chance to decompress; organise our thoughts about the day.
There’s space.
We’re more relaxed and receptive.
The setting sun allows the comfort of night to enfold us.
The busy world is hushed; the fever of life slows for a while.
A hot chocolate or a glass of wine; a comfy chair or perched on the end of a bed.
In that space, we can dare to go deeper, to ask the questions that matter most to us; to share uncertainties and hopes, memories and experiences; to tell stories or ask questions; less judgement, the possibility of healing.
Then sleep, when it comes, is a little easier: tiredness, yes; less weight on our shoulders, maybe; the shift in relating, or understanding, certainly.
Nicodemus begins with what he knows; the word on the street. The signs he and others have witnessed point to the presence of God, to a teacher from God.
Jesus responds with statements about the kingdom - about birth and life, about heaven touching earth.
How? Says Nicodemus. He goes for the literal. Can one be re-birthed?
Jesus dives into metaphors and symbols, stretching imagination with talk of water and Spirit, flesh and wind, movement and life.
How? Says Nicodemus again.
Jesus speaks of understanding, of testimony and of belief.
We’re beyond the realm of opinion now; this is the arena of love. We’re exploring what it is that we treasure or hold dear; what we invest in and cherish; what we place our trust in - what we love with all our heart.
We, like Nicodemus, can do that because Jesus has opened up the heart of God to us.
In him, that love stoops to earth and earth raised to heaven.
Jesus tells a story which reveals who he is; he roots it in a story that the teacher before him already knows. He honours his identity and learning.
For this conversation is life-changing, soul-searching, eye-opening, heart-wrenching.
Moses had lifted up a serpent in the wilderness to bring healing.
Jesus would be lifted up - in the wilderness of our world and our lives - to bring healing that opens up new, abundant and eternal life.
For God so loved.
Loved the world.
That he gave his Son. Of the Father’s heart begotten. Flesh of our flesh, in love.
So that we might believe. So that we might love.
So that we might not die. So that we might live.
For God so loved.
God’s love dwelt among us.
Love came into the world, not to condemn.
Love came so that we might be saved, healed, restored, forgiven, made whole.
Nicodemus’ how? is met with the invitation to believe, to love, to trust Jesus with his life.
In a way, that was like being a newborn: to be hungry, vulnerable and longing to receive love and respond to the world differently.
Did this conversation run from sunset to break of day? We don’t know.
But we do know that that life-changing, soul-searching, eye-opening and heart-wrenching journey had begun.
The next time we encounter Nicodemus is when he lovingly helps to bear loves’ body to the tomb. He lowers the one who had been lifted up into the ground. And waits for love to rise again.
Our world is longing for such love to rise up again; for there to be hope and good news to believe in.
For this is the heart of the gospel: the reality of grace in the face of suffering, risen life in the face of death; to lay hold of the promise of blessing which is the union of our humanity and creation with the living and loving God.
In Romans, Paul writes of this love which gives life to the dead and calls things into existence. He speaks of us as descendents of Abraham by faith and grace alone - that we might be blessed to be a blessing to the world.
This is a glimpse of a Spirit led life: for the Spirit is ‘boundless and free’ as my friend Tom Greggs puts it - ‘freeing the human to love and to live the humanity’ to which we are called.
This Spirit - this overflow of love from the heart of God - is known in creation and in blessing. It is known in the one lifted up on the cross for us; the love that wins over death.
This Spirit is glimpsed in those movements which animate acts of compassion in support of young and old; which stirs up the desire for the other’s well being such that we swap indifference for solidarity; which prompts advocacy for the vulnerable, lonely and voiceless; which dares to hunger for and seek after social renewal.
For God’s love for the world is a deep and dangerous truth: for the overflow of such love is attractive and changes us. It hopes for the best for all peoples and brings a new life not of condemnation but of healing.
The Spirit’s breath in and around us draws us into a bigger conversation. A conversation that is life-changing, soul-searching, eye-opening, heart-wrenching.
We see the world not only as it is, but as it might be; and, seeing that ultimate significance, we are called to live out of a belief of being loved.
For God so loved the world.
That he gave his Son. Of the Father’s heart begotten. Flesh of our flesh, in love.
So that we might believe. So that we might love.
So that we might not die. So that we might live.
For God so loved that Godself dwelt with us; and by the Spirit breathes through us breath by breath.
Love came into the world, not to condemn.
Love came so that we might be saved, healed, restored, forgiven, made whole.
© Julie Gittoes 2023
