Beginnings

Scripture:        Genesis 12:1-4a,   Psalm 121,      Romans 4:1-5, 13-17, John 3:1-17

Today, our church’s second-newest member, Abigail, will be baptized.  Today, at just a bit over two weeks old, Abigail begins her journey with the people of God, and especially the people gathered here at Emanuel Church.  Abigail will be baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection, so that the new life of Christ will be new life for Abigail as well.

In our Gospel reading, a well-respected religious leader, Nicodemus, makes a tentative start toward this new life.  Nicodemus, not wanting to jeopardize his standing in the community by being seen with the controversial Jesus, approached Jesus at night, under cover of darkness.   One way I remember this part of the story, and maybe it’ll be a memory aid for you as well, is the tagline for the Nickelodeon channel’s evening programming, “Nick at Night”.  Nicodemus is truly Nic at night – not only does he come to Jesus under cover of darkness, but he comes to Jesus from a place of darkened understanding, seeking more light.   Nicodemus gropes his way to Jesus through both the darkness of the evening and the darkness of his mind and spirit.

When Nicodemus approaches Jesus, he projects authority and certainty:  “We know that you are a teacher sent by God, because no one can do the things you do apart from God.”  Remember those opening words:  “we know”.   Jesus responds in a way that don’t seem to connect to the words of Nicodemus:  “Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”  The Greek word used here is gennao anothen; the Greek word gennao comes from the same root as our words genesis and geneology, speaking of beginnings and birth; the word anothen can mean “from above” or it can mean “again” – so the Greek phrase can be translated “born from above” or “born again.”  I think the words “born again” in our culture come with a lot of unhelpful baggage, sometimes involving images of a tent, and sawdust, and an altar call and being prayed over, asking Jesus to come into one’s life that very moment…and, often enough, the next morning waking up wondering what hit ‘em the night before.   Much of the unhelpful baggage around the phrase “born again” comes from our society’s stereotypes – if someone says that he or she is a “born again Christian”, these words raise assumptions in our society about the person’s family life, how they dress, what language they will or will not use, what establishments they will or will not frequent, how they vote…and, often enough, about who they hate…sad that some who claim the name of Christian are known more for who they hate than who for they love.  Many have come to Christ on the sawdust trail, but I don’t want to limit the discussion of salvation to that image and those stereotypes – and besides, sawdust makes me sneeze - so I’m purposely using the translation “born from above.”  “No one can see the Kingdom of God without being born from above.”

Just that one sentence, and Nicodemus’ confidence evaporates as he hears Jesus’ words in a very literal way:  “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”   And Jesus doesn’t try to simplify his message: after all, Jesus is one religious leader talking to another religious leader, and one would expect a religious leader to be able to understand figurative speech:  “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.  What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.  So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  Nicodemus by now is totally stumped, and says, “How can these things be?”

Now, fortunately for us as we read this passage, two of our congregation’s families have newborn babies – as I said, Abigail is a bit over two weeks old, and our other newborn is four days old – and so this image of childbirth is fresher for us than it would have been at other times.   As a congregation we followed both of these pregnancies closely – as a congregation we’re small enough that births and baptisms are not routine events, and so when a new baby comes, we really celebrate.  Believe me, these two babies were prayed over, bathed in prayer and covered in prayer the entire course of their respective pregnancies.  It may be hard to imagine – it certainly is for me – but what would the birthing process have been like for those babies.  They’ve been inside their mother’s womb for 9 months.  The womb is the developing baby’s world; it’s warm and safe, and everything they need comes to them without their having to ask; it just comes to them automatically.  For the baby, there may have been slight indications that there was something outside the womb, as mom put her hand on her belly and felt the baby kicking, and perhaps in some way the baby felt the press of the mother’s hand, and some moms may talk or sing to the baby inside them.  But everything these babies need is right with them.  Then, all of a sudden there are contractions, and everything in the baby’s world is shaking and convulsing and tensing up and releasing and contracting and letting go and contracting again, and the baby moves down the birth canal, into the light of the delivery room, and it cries for the first time.  And the baby finds itself in a new world, a different, larger world, with nothing but its own feeble instincts and its parents’ love to help it make its way, where it is utterly dependent, and has to learn how to make its most basic needs known to its parents.  But the baby has no lifegiving alternative.  It can’t stay in the womb forever; cannot stay connected to its mother by its umbilical cord forever; one way or the other, it needs to leave the world of the womb and enter the new, larger world of its mother.  For the baby, the only alternative to birth is death.

And this is the figure of speech Jesus uses to describe the radical spiritual transformation needed even to see, let alone enter, the Kingdom of God.  This isn’t about incremental change, about making New Year’s resolutions or joining Weight Watchers or going to a Dale Carnegie class so we can learn how to win friends and influence people.  Instead, it’s being prepared to give up everything we have and everything we know, so that we can encounter Jesus.  For the learned, respectable Nicodemus, all his education and all his stature in the community meant exactly nothing – in fact, if anything, it all got in the way.  Next week we’ll be reading about the woman at the well (John 4), whom Jesus met at high noon and asked for a drink of water, and she – a foreigner, uneducated, with a complicated past – was much more receptive to Jesus than Nicodemus was.  The woman at the well heard gladly what Jesus had to say, and afterward told everyone she knew about Jesus.  “Come see a man who told me everything I’ve ever done!” (John 4:29) Nicodemus had to be willing to lay all he had known aside and begin again, as a spiritual newborn, and for him it was a glacially slow process; it was only near the end of John’s gospel that Nicodemus was willing, near the end of Good Friday, the day of crucifixion, to come into the waning daylight, along with Joseph of Arimathea, to claim the crucified body of Christ.

“You must be born from above,” Jesus said.  That phrase, “from above” tells us who starts the birthing process; hint: it’s not us.  Whether we grow up in the church, or come to Jesus in a moment of crisis, we only draw near to God because God has first drawn near to us.   “The wind blows where it will, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or where it goes.  So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”  Truly, the initiative is with God, not us.

And so, Baby Abigail has much to teach us today.  Do you want to see the Kingdom of God?   Become like Abigail.  Do you want to experience the new life in Christ?  Become like Abigail.  Be prepared to unlearn everything you think you know – be prepared to be fools for Christ – because the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom.  Be prepared to lay aside your pride and self-sufficiency, your precious individualism, your rugged self-reliance – in order to become utterly dependent on God and on those whom God has gathered in Christ’s name – for the weakness of God is stronger than human strength (I Corinthians 1:25)  Anyone who will not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will not receive it at all (Mark 10:15).  The doorway into the Kingdom of God has a very low passage – adults have to stoop or get down on their knees in order to enter - but there’s enough room for a little child, enough room for Abigail – and enough room for us if we’re willing to follow. Amen.