A Mind of Its Own (Lent 2A)

 

A Mind of its Own

8 March 2020

Homily Delivered the Second Sunday in Lent Year A

8:00 a.m. Said Mass; 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

Parish Church of Trinity Ashland (Oregon)

Genesis 12.1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4.1-5,13-17; John 3.1-17

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

In the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, we read the following in the preface:  “There was never any thing by the wit of man so well devised, or so sure established, which in continuance of time hath not been corrupted.”  Today’s gem of a gospel reading from John is a case in point.   A favorite of people styling themselves evangelicals, the way they teach it is 180 degrees in the opposite direction of what it actually says.  

Jesus here meets a man who wants to stay in control, and Jesus says “let go.” 

Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night, in private.  “I know who you are, Jesus.  I have seen the signs that you perform. I know you are from God.”  He calls Jesus “Rabbi,” and wants answers about scripture,  the commandments, and how to enter God’s kingdom.

But as we read in the verse just before this story begins, Jesus knows “what is in each person” (John 2:25).  He sees Nicodemus’ heart, and tells him what he needs to hear, not what he wants to know.
 

“Unless you are begotten from on high, you cannot see God’s kingdom.”

Nicodemus misunderstands: he thinks that Jesus is speaking of biological rebirth, tripping over the fact that the word used for “from over us,”  or “from above” can also mean “over again.”  Jesus corrects him by contrasting the physical body and the breath that animates it (or the “wind” or “spirit” that gives it life--it’s the same word in Greek and Aramaic). “Truly, I tell you: no one is able to enter the kingdom of God unless they are begotten of water and wind. Flesh begets flesh, but wind begets wind.”  Spiritual life is unpredictable as the wind:  You can hear the sound it makes, and see its results, but cannot see it directly. “So it is with everyone who is begotten by the wind.”  

Nicodemus still misunderstands.

Jesus tells him that it won’t make sense unless Nicodemus undergoes this begetting from above.  “How can you understand my teaching on heaven when you can’t even understand a simple example drawn from day-to-day life?” 

At this point, it is clear that Jesus is no longer talking to Nicodemus. The Evangelist is talking to us.  In a phrase Martin Luther called “the Gospel in miniature,” he concludes “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who puts their trust in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” 

OK—this text is complicated, relying on many puns not apparent in English. But basically, the story is pretty straightforward:  Nicodemus says, “I know who you are.  The signs that you perform show you are from God. Tell me what you know.”  Jesus replies, “You don’t have a clue about who I am. You heard about me supplying wine for a wedding feast, and driving out money-changers from the Temple; so you think I am worth listening to, and come here. But you do this in secret.  If you think you’ve just professed faith in me, you don’t know what faith is.  Faith is not about opinions privately held, conclusions safely stated.  It’s about commitment, about risk.  It requires a totally new orientation, a new life, one given anew by God.”  

Nicodemus misses the point, and asks, “How? How can this happen? How can these things be?” Nicodemus has questions, but not the right questions.  He wants Jesus to give him a formula, a check-list on how to be born of God.  Jesus sees that Nicodemus will not get closer to God without relaxing, without giving up control.  So he tells Nicodemus about water and wind.

Scripture uses many different images to describe what Jesus is talking about here: turning back, surrendering to God, being washed clean, becoming a child, getting married to God, finding a treasure buried in a field and selling everything to buy the field,  being sprinkled with purifying water, new creation, new life, waking up from a deep sleep, coming to one’s senses, regaining eyesight.  Some passages describe it from how it feels on the inside and call it forgiveness; others look at its results and call it a healing.  Though Jesus here calls it a new begetting and conception, some passages call it a death, or dying to one’s old way of life. 

Early Christians, who borrowed from John the Baptist a rite of full immersion into water as a way of marking and helping this process of death and new life along, called it a burial in the water.  That is why Jesus here says we must be begotten both of water and of wind. Though the Gospel of John never directly refers to sacraments like baptism and the Eucharist, it does make passing meditative allusion to them, as it does here. 

Jesus has in mind being pushed backwards into water, with that feeling of falling, with that feeling of drowning.  The contrast could not be sharper—this is not Nicodemus’ view of tidy purity ritual washings, done regularly and on schedule according to the rule book he wants from Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t give Nicodemus the rule book he wants. Though Jesus is no slouch when it comes to the demands of justice and faith, he knows that without God breathing in us, rules only bring frustration and arrogance:  flesh begets flesh.  Nicodemus wants a list of things he must do; Jesus talks about being begotten.  Nicodemus wants rules; Jesus talks about the wind blowing here and there.  Nicodemus wants to play it safe; Jesus wants risks, deep, life-threatening yet life-giving risks.   

The wind blows where it will, the breath breathes where it wants, the Spirit has a mind of its own:  giving up control to God, living in the Spirit, cannot be mapped out, counted up, or predicted. This confuses Nicodemus, who knows how to trust the security of the rules, rituals, and moral aphorisms of conventional religion.  He asks Jesus “how can I make this new birth happen?”

Jesus replies, “This is not about what you need to do. You cannot give birth to yourself. This is about God, who breathes life and makes the wind blow.  Take the risk.  Relax and let go.  Let God do whatever God wants to do with you. He will surprise you.”

Some people misread this story just as badly as Nicodemus misunderstands Jesus’ words. They think that “being born again” is an action they must take.  Like Nicodemus, they think their salvation lies in taking an action, even if it just confessing Jesus with their lips and believing in him with their hearts.  But Nicodemus confesses Jesus in the opening line of the story.  And Jesus says that is not enough.  We have to open ourselves to God, trust fully.  It is that simple. It is that risky.  It may feel like drowning until God reaches down and pulls us into the breath of  new life. 

Nicodemus later in the Gospel learns to allow himself to be carried away by the wind.  He speaks up for Jesus in the Council, and after Jesus’ death, with a friend asks to help bury Jesus’ body.   Risks, indeed, but exactly where the wind blew. 

Beloved siblings, we are all like Nicodemus in the night.  But God made us for a home we have never yet seen, and that we can barely even imagine now. Jesus tells us of that home, because he came down from there. He loves us dearly, each and every one.

Jesus not only showed us the way, he is the way.  He accepted and opened himself to the will of his Father, risked all, and let himself be borne away on the wind, even to the point of being lifted high upon the cross.  Through this and his glorious coming forth from the grave, he is modeling for us how to abandon ourselves to God. 

Let us all learn to relax as we let ourselves fall into the mysterious love of God.  Let us lose our lives so that we may find them.   Let’s not insist that things be just so.  Let us allow that Spirit with a mind of its own to direct us and lead us, to enliven us, and help us to breathe in this new life.   Let us allow ourselves to be borne away on his wind.   

In the name of Christ, Amen.