February 17, 2008 Second Sunday in Lent
First Congregational Church in Thetford, Vermont, UCC
Psalm 121; Genesis 1:1-5, 2:4b-7: John 3:1-21
The problem with Nicodemus was that he did not really have the problems
he thought he had. He thought he had a problem with others’ approval, so he
snuck in to Jesus by dark of night to protect his reputation. He thought he needed
to prove himself as rational and conforming to common wisdom, so he cited as
evidence the signs Jesus did. But Jesus showed him that those were not his real
problems. His real problem was that he could not see the realm of God. His real
problem was that he could not enter the eternal life of God’s realm that was
available to him right then and there. His real problem was that he was not
seeking in the right way, so he could not see what he longed to find.
We need to consider the possibility that we are like Nicodemus, that we do
not really have the problems we think we have. We need to ask ourselves if Jesus
would treat us the same way. If we come here concerned about the things of this
world, we can expect Jesus to say something to shock us into a whole different
spiritual realm of being.
One of my favorite parables that I return to again and again like scripture is
the story Carl Jung told of the Rainmaker. Jung presents it as a story he heard
from an eyewitness, but factual or not, like all good parables it moves us to an
intuitive grasp of a spiritual truth.
As you may recall, the story takes place in a remote province in China. The
people there have been suffering a severe drought, and have tried every kind of
prayer and ritual they know. Finally they send word to a Taoist holy man from a
distant province. He comes and all he does is ask for a quiet house. He goes and
sits inside for three days. Then a huge storm comes and ends the drought, and he
emerges. When they ask what he did, he explains that where he comes from
everything is in the Tao, the sacred way, but when he got here, this place was not
in the Tao, and so neither was he. It took him three days of meditation to get back
in the Tao, and then the Tao flowed through him into that place, and nature’s order
was restored and the storm came.
Like Nicodemus, and perhaps like us, those drought-suffering people did
not have the problems they thought they had. They thought their problem was no
rain. They thought their problem was losing the approval of the gods. They
thought they had a problem of regaining control or securing their survival, and
these were things they were trying desperately to fix. But as it turned out, the
problem was that they were not in the Tao. Somehow they needed to enter what
we call God’s realm, and trust, and then their other problems would work out
naturally.
Jesus might say to us, you think your problem is about getting life right in
its mundane details, but if you would just see and enter God’s realm, you would be
saved from those other problems you think you have.
The question is, how can we get in the Tao? The answers Jesus gives are
not the kind we would like. First, they are not clear and precise, like insert tab A
into slot B. He says we must be born from above or born anew or born of the
Spirit that blows where it chooses. He says we must believe in the Son of Man
lifted up on the cross. He says if we do what is true, we will enter the light. These
are not full and detailed instructions on how to dwell in the sacred way of God’s
realm.
That is a small problem, though, compared to the other one he gives us.
Not only is he unclear about how to be born anew, but without telling us exactly
how, what he is asking of us is to give up an entire way of being. He is asking us
to give up the agenda of the false self that we have had since childhood—all our
self-concerned strategies for happiness, our compulsive desires for approval and
esteem, for power and control, for perfection and success, for pleasure and
comfort, for security and survival, give them all up and follow wherever the Spirit
blows.
It is no accident that the Lectionary gives us this passage to read today,
because this is the extremely difficult challenge that Lent is designed to help us
face. The challenge is to repent, to let go of our old way and enter the desert
emptiness, the wilderness of trial and temptation that looms before us when we try
to hand our life and our will over to the Spirit to lead.
Martin Smith talks about why we resist accepting this challenge in his book
of Lenten readings, A Season for the Spirit. He says,
The Spirit’s work in the heart is not a matter of a few adjustments
here and there, a little polishing and refining. There has to be a
breaking-up of the present order….We have been given notice that
the false selves we maintain…must give way to a new way of being.
And so the Scriptures speak of a breaking down of the old way of
being a person and the discovery of a completely new one. They
speak of our need to be born again. They speak of crucifying the old
self with Christ. Nothing milder than these expressions will do
justice to the radical change in our living meant by metanoia, the
repentance Jesus proclaimed after he emerged from the wilderness.
(page 37f, 1991 edition)
Metanoia is the Greek word translated as repentance that literally means a
change of mind, heart or spirit. This is what Jesus was trying to accomplish with
his teaching today.
Poor Nicodemus. We last saw him with a half puzzled, half outraged look
on his face, asking, “How can these things be?” And yet clearly the longing to
know the truth and find the way stayed with him, because he appears twice more
in the Gospel of John. The next time we see him is at a gathering of his fellow
chief priests and Pharisees, where he asks if rather than condemn Jesus they
should give him a fair hearing. The other leaders heap scorn upon him as he knew
they would—that is why he snuck off to see Jesus in the night. But in this second
appearance, Nicodemus is beginning to dare to do what is true in the light of day.
(John 7:45-52)
Then in his final appearance we see that he has undergone complete
metanoia. He is one of those who take Jesus’ crucified body down from the cross.
He brings seventy-five pounds of aloe and myrrh, an extravagant amount, to
prepare the body for the grave. He has arrived at a place of faith and love.
The leaving of our false self behind to be reborn into our true self, the
leaving behind of our old ways to enter the sacred way of God’s realm, can take a
long time. Like any birth, it involves gestation and labor-pain, a departure from
the old familiar comfort of the womb and an awkward journey through infancy
into the maturity of the new life. It is a journey moved by a deep longing for our
spiritual home, for the true comfort we find only in God’s realm. It is a longing
and a journey that began when God created the beauty of light and first breathed
Spirit into dust to give us life. It a journey that is inevitably mysterious and
beyond our control, because it is guided by the Spirits’ other-worldly logic. But
there are some things we can do to see and dwell in God’s realm—things that can
be expressed more simply and clearly than what Jesus said to shock our spiritual
intuition awake.
If you want the life that comes through metanoia, the changing or turning
of your mind, then practice continuous metanoia. Turn your mind briefly to God
in the middle of your daily activities as often as you can. Pick a prayer of ten
words or less to say every time you remember God all day long. Find twenty
minutes at the start of every day and another twenty minutes toward the end of the
day to turn your mind entirely to God, letting go all thoughts of other concerns.
Also, be mindful of the problem you assume you have at any given
moment. Notice it and ask yourself whether this is the biggest problem you face,
or if the bigger, more important problem might be that you are not in the Tao, not
in the sacred way, not seeing and dwelling in God’s realm. If you can, try to let go
of the first problem and focus instead on your longing to be in God’s realm. You
don’t have to do it for three days of sitting in silence; try three minutes, or thirty.
You may be surprised at how that little effort can affect the other problems in your
life. As the Rainmaker parable shows, when we take the time to enter a better
spiritual place, things tend to work out better around us.
These are all internal things that we can do to enter God’s realm and gain
the help found there, but there is also an active, external path. If you want to enter
the realm of God, act as if you are already there. Be what God calls you to be—
merciful, compassionate. Make peace, work for justice, help other people
however you can. That way leads to God’s realm in time.
Most important of all, remind yourself over and over of God’s love. For
God so loved the world that he gave us Jesus to show us the way and the life and
the truth. When you ask yourself, “From where will my help come?” practice
answering, “My help comes from God who made heaven and earth.”
If it seem as if God has failed to “keep you from all evil,” seek to enter
more fully into God’s love for you, and it may become clear to you that God was
with you even then. Nicodemus must have walked away into the night after that
first encounter shaking his head, feeling let down and abandoned by the man from
God. Yet it turned out in the end that Jesus’ mysterious words were just what he
needed at that stage of his journey.
We have a new line in our statement of welcome to our visitors in the
bulletin, one that many UCC churches are saying now: “Whoever you are,
wherever you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” We could also say,
whoever you are, whatever you are going through, God loves you and is with you
even now, even here.
Let us pray together in silence, opening our hearts with yearning toward
God’s realm within us to find the help we need.
Let us pray in silence….
Sermon 02/17/2008