Nick at Night

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”Jesus answered, “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 said to him, “How can these things be?” - John 3:1-9

So Nicodemus the Pharisee comes to Jesus at night. He starts off with the niceties, complimenting Jesus on his bonafides, the miracles that confirm his authority as a teacher of God's truth. "We know you are of God" is an interesting expression. Who's the "we"? He comes alone at night; who among his fellow priests would agree with this statement? Perhaps he is so accustomed to thinking of himself as part of this elite group, these Pharisees, that he cannot say "I" anymore. But they're not around.

People pick on old Nick for this coming this way. "Too chicken to acknowledge Jesus in broad daylight, eh?" Well, um, yeah. He would have a lot to lose, marching up to Jesus and accepting his teaching in front of all his friends. Pharisees took vows in front of huge crowds of people to devote themselves to the law. They vowed to perfectly obey thousands of laws pertaining to every area of life. They studied, they worked hard. They lived a life apart - "Pharisee" means the Separated One. It's remarkable that he would seek Jesus out. He was certainly giving his life to God in the most committed way he knew. What could being born again mean to someone that dedicated?

I was "born again" when I was 13. Perhaps you've been in an altar call like mine. You remember the pastor asking the choir and the organist to play and sing "Just as I Am" a few million times, while he crooned his invitation to come up and accept Jesus as your Lord and personal savior. He made your life sounds mighty miserable, and Jesus sound mighty good.

I loved being born again, getting saved. I did it several times. I can almost remember how the industrial church carpeting felt under my knees, the blonde wooden prayer rail under my hands. I liked the drama of it, the whole notion of giving myself to God, of yielding to something that was also a sense of yearning inside of me - union with the divine. Knowing my purpose. Not being alone, ever again. Joy, he promised. (Sure sounds sexy as I write this, and I suppose old Rumi would agree: God is lover.) Sometimes there were "counselors" who told you what prayers to say. You had to confess your sins and accept Jesus' death on the cross as being personally yours. You had to say that Jesus was the power that would rule your life, whether you had any notion of what that meant, or not. No wonder Nicodemus wanted a few facts, a little evidence before signing on.

Then the morning after. I expected a new life, as promised. Presto-change-o, holy life. It was always my same old life, except maybe an added attempt to be good. I was part of an elite, though, a group of people who were right with God. My parents weren't born-again, I went to church with friends or alone. I read a lot of things to try to help me understand what to do next. I had obligations to show myself as an example, to witness to others and save them, too. We had some remarkably kind adults in our church who tried to mentor me. They tried to reduce my suffering by teaching me to hold myself apart a little less. I always felt like a failure. I think I expected that I would simply feel God, that Jesus would come and change me in a way that was, well, obvious. That somehow that ritual, that expectancy would yield something, by itself.

It's taken me decades to have the courage to expect something again. Not in the same way. (Abracadabra, Jesus!) Jesus' way takes a lot of work, a lot of dedication, and it's a way taught by many other teachers besides him. And I think it's true that we can't just decide to love people on our own, to overcome our own self-centeredness, our own fears, to overcome the injustices of the world, just because we make up our minds to do it, doggone it. We need help.

That's where the whole "born of water, born of the spirit" comes in for me. I do think the Spirit exists. I've felt its gentle whoosh under me sometimes, or its sharp-stick prodding. I do think we must yield ourselves to it, constantly listen for it, surrender and become willing for it to change us. It's slow. It takes patience and rededication. My 13-year-old self would've given up on it ages ago.

No wonder Nicodemus doesn't "get it" at first. No wonder he asks dumb questions. He's already giving God everything. Why should he change? Like Nicodemus, I enjoy my introvert's "separate" life, surrounded by books, hoping to get to God through them. I think Jesus is asking for something more passionate, and much less comfortable. Damn it.