2nd Sunday of Lent, Year A
Psalm 121
OT Lesson : Genesis 12.1-4a
Gospel : John 3.1-17
Psalm 121 is one of my favourites. When I lift my eyes to the hills, my spirits rise at the prospect of a fine walk leading up to a high ridge, or even a rocky summit, from which to enjoy wide views of range upon range of further hills and forests, glittering lakes, even perhaps a glimpse of the sea. But the experience was not so good before there were accurate maps, well-marked paths, stout boots, and reasonably reliable weather forecasts. In Old Testament times the land beyond the horizon was unknown territory. It took courage to upsticks and set out to look for a new place to live, as Abram did in our first reading.
So, when the Psalmist lifts his eyes to the hills, he is nervous. ‘From whence cometh my help?’ is not a statement but rather a worried question. But he finds comfort in an assurance, rooted in his knowledge of the love of God, that out there in the wilderness the Lord will take care of him. He won’t stumble and injure himself; he won’t get sunstroke or be affected by the moon; the Lord will preserve his body – and his soul – from all evil.
In our gospel reading Nicodemus is not so much on a physical journey as on a spiritual journey, but one which is no less risky for him as a member of the Jewish establishment. He is attracted to what Jesus says, and impressed by what he is doing,
but he comes to him by night. He is not ready to take the risk of being seen to take counsel with this young teacher who is beginning to make a name for himself. Addressing him respectfully as Rabbi, he opens the conversation by acknowledging the presence of God in what Jesus is doing. But Jesus senses a certain reticence. Why else would Nicodemus come secretly, by night? So Jesus offers him an opening.
Noone can really see the kingdom of God – that is to say, no one can truly perceive and engage with God’s activity in the world – without being ‘born from above’. Nicodemus is puzzled. What does Jesus mean? How can he be born again at his age? So Jesus takes him a step further: No one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit. The reference to baptism is deliberate. John had been told: ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ Seeing the dove descending on Jesus at his baptism, John testified that this was indeed the Son of God (John 1.32-24).
What Jesus now offers to Nicodemus, is not just the cleansing of baptism, symbolized by the water, but the inspiration – the in-dwelling – of the Holy Spirit, symbolized by the descent of the dove. The water of baptism is earthly, but the Spirit, symbolised by the dove coming down from above, is heavenly, like the wind. You don’t know where it comes from or where it is going, where it will carry you. This is all too much for Nicodemus. He has seen or felt which way the wind is blowing, and he is troubled by it. That is why he has come to Jesus, but he is not yet ready to allow himself to be swept along.
I think many of us would sympathise with Nicodemus. Like him, we hear the loving, inclusive message of the gospel, we see and like the behaviour of at least some Christians and some Christian communities, and we want to know more. We have questions to ask about various aspects of the faith that we find difficult to grasp, but as we try to explore them we are faced with a leap of faith which we hesitate to make. Noone can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit. We get the water bit, the cleansing, but we are not so sure about this Spirit, like an unpredictable wind, which we cannot control. Where is that going to take us? And many of us hang back, as it seems Nicodemus did. We continue to explore the faith, we long to share that settled conviction that we see in some others. But we can’t take that step into the unknown. With Nicodemus, we say: How can these things be?
Jesus goes on to chide Nicodemus, gently, for his inability to see the bigger picture, to open his eyes and his heart to the coming of the kingdom. His reluctance prompts Jesus to foreshadow the healing power of the cross by reference to the bronze serpent which Moses lifted up in the wilderness to save the lives of the Israelites who had been attacked by snakes. They had to look up, when their fear made them want to look down.
And we have to look up. God so loved the world – as our Community Choir will sing in their performance of Stainer’s Crucifixion – that he gave his only begotten Son that whoso believeth, believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life (John 3.16-17). What an amazingly generous conclusion to a story which begins with Nicodemus struggling to see what Jesus was getting at when he spoke about being born again.
Happily this was not the end of the story for Nicodemus. Later in John’s gospel we come across him again, standing up for Jesus’ right to a fair trial when the temple police would have arrested him (John 7.45-52), and of course, later still, helping Joseph of Arimathaea to take Jesus body down from the cross and give him a decent burial. It was Nicodemus who bought the spices for the strips of linen cloth in which they lovingly wrapped the Lord’s body before laying it in the tomb.
I think we can all take comfort from Nicodemus’ troubled story. His was not an easy journey into faith, but Jesus met him where he was, challenged him to open up his heart to the love which was reaching out to him, drew him patiently to himself, and at last welcomed his tender ministry. The same Lord is ready to help each one of us to take the next step forward in our journey of faith and love.