INTO UNKNOWN TERRITORY
JOHN 3:1-17
FEBRUARY 17, 2008—LENT TWO
THOMAS H. YORTY, WESTMINSTER PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH

            Nicodemus wasn’t the only one who wanted to know who Jesus was. Harold Bloom, the well known professor of literature at Yale, undertakes the question in his recent, Jesus and Yahweh, The Names Divine.
            As a Jew, literary scholar and debater, Bloom offers some poignant reflections. Though most scholars regard Jesus as Jewish and he was, Bloom says, he is now American: multi-everything. We may as well have a Southern Baptist or Pentecostal or Mormon or Muslim or African or Asian Jesus as a Jewish one.
            Which may explain why 89% of Americans report to Gallup that Jesus loves each of them on a personal and individual basis. On the one hand, this statistic suggests Jesus is a mirror in which we see ourselves. But on the other hand, Bloom says, something else is at work and he is moved to awe at such reports. 1

            Bloom also notes the endless questing for the historical Jesus fails because fewer than a handful of searchers come up with more than reflections of their own faith or skepticism.
            More to the point, says this expert of literature, everything that is truly important about Jesus comes to us from texts we cannot trust. What we are left with are fragments and enigmas. And just as accountants can make numbers say anything, so some followers of Jesus can turn him into anyone.
            What is a good Presbyterian congregation to do with this story of Nicodemus who comes to Jesus in the night to learn more—but ends up with little of what makes us Presbyterians comfortable before committing?

            As Bloom intuited “something more is at work” when it comes to our quest for Jesus.
            Robert Frost asked to comment of the poetry of a colleague said the most exciting movement in nature is not progress and advance but expansion and contraction; the opening and shutting of the eye, the hand, the heart, the mind. His colleague, he said, was more interested in advancing than being open to new experience. 2
            I want to suggest today that Nicodemus is compelling to us because he comes to Jesus with an open heart. This teacher of Israel who held one of the most prestigious positions in society comes in the night admitting his ignorance, yet wanting desperately to know more.

            And can’t we relate to Nicodemus? How many us have wanted to know more about Jesus but were afraid to ask because we were supposed to already know or didn’t want to appear unfaithful? And this is why Nicodemus comes at night, so no one will see him.
            You could say, like Nicodemus, we are open and closed.
                        Open to some new, dynamic experience of faith but closed to putting ourselves or our reputations on the line in order to have such an experience. Often times it is the degree of the crisis we are experiencing that will dictate how willing we are to leave our comfort zones.

            Yet, the business of having open hearts relates not just to individuals but to communities. Barbara Wheeler, president of Auburn Theological Seminary notes 19th century socially progressive, warm-hearted Presbyterians were open to new forms of worship while their conservative counterparts were cold and stodgy worshippers.
            Yet today the circumstances are reversed: today many 21st century progressives are closed to experimentation in worship. Their heads have taken over their faith and their hearts, their passion in worship has all but disappeared.3
            But theological and social conservatives today are the ones whose hearts have led them to a willingness to express their faith trying new forms of liturgy and music. In general—and there are exceptions—the liberal churches were the ones growing then—in the 19th century, the conservative churches are the ones growing now, yet warm hearted and new worship forms are the common thread in each.

            What does this have to do with Nicodemus? It has to do with being open or not to meeting Jesus; not only to new ways of expressing our faith in worship but also being open to acknowledging, like Nicodemus, that perhaps some change would be good.
            For socially progressive, inclusive Presbyterians we can be remarkably rigid and closed about how we are willing to worship. On the one hand, we tout the value of sharing Sabbaths and learning more about our religious neighbors; but on the other hand, when it comes to opening our own worship to more inclusive forms we back away from expressions of emotion, passion and feeling.
            When it comes to being an open and welcoming congregation why should we discard prohibitions to sexual orientation or physical handicap and not the very forms that impede some people from giving heartfelt expression to their faith.

            Nicodemus’ Achilles heal is his dependence on rational thought. “We know 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.” Nicodemus is saying “We have you pegged, Jesus. Our categories and measurements identify you as a teacher from God.”
            But Nicodemus offers nothing of himself. He doesn’t say anything that will make him any more vulnerable than he already is coming to Jesus at night.
            Nicodemus hopes he can explain who Jesus is through his preconceived categories. But in order to be free Jesus has to turn Nicodemus’ categories upside down—which is what he has to do with you and me, isn’t it?

            Jesus responds to Nicodemus: “Signs are fine but they are not enough. Any one who would see the kingdom of heaven must be born from above, anew.” The Greek word means two things: spatially “from above” and temporally “anew.” Jesus challenges Nicodemus to go beyond the familiar precincts of his faith into new territory.
            Jesus speaks of radical new birth not only of water but of God’s Spirit; yet these are terms Nicodemus’ lexicon of faith does not contain.  
            Nicodemus is still trying to figure out the literal meaning of Jesus’ born from above, anew statement and it is the last time we hear or see him, until he reappears to take Jesus down from the cross.

            I think Nicodemus would make a good patron saint for progressive Presbyterians. Like him we love to look good, be in control, and have the right answers. But if you think about it those impulses are contrary to the heart God wants which is broken and contrite.
            Why does God want a contrite and broken heart? Because when our hearts are broken and contrite we approach God not with our own answers but seeking his answers; not with our infallible categories, yet open to God’s definition of truth, of success, of wholeness.
            Give Nicodemus his due: he comes out of the darkness, seeking, probing, questioning and in so doing he engages Jesus in one of the longest most theologically revealing conversations in all of scripture.

            But like the rich young ruler who goes sorrowfully away or Sarah who laughs when God tells her she will bear a son in her late age, Nicodemus is left today struggling; wondering who this Jesus is and what it would mean to follow him.
            If you are at a point struggling like Nicodemus you are in good company. Nicodemus finally figures it out which is why he shows up at the cross.
            Surely this revered leader of Israel must have been amazed, if not bemused, finding himself now risking his life, wondering where it all would lead.

            In meeting Jesus, we come face to face with a living God. We can’t define him. He defines us. He meets us, talks with us, and invites us to follow him.
            I do not mean to sound simplistic or naïve. There is much about conservative Christianity that is just as stuck, off putting and exclusive as there is about progressive Christianity—judgmental theology and fears of a pluralistic world.
            But that’s my point. Maybe we both need to be born from above, anew. I said a moment ago it is the crisis we face that gets us out of our comfort zone. After a week like the one just past, with yet another campus shooting spree, aren’t we facing enough crisis today to risk something new.

            Maybe good, traditional Presbyterian congregations like this one could learn a few things like talking more freely about our faith, expressing our passion for God in worship forms that are not superficial but still new and bold. Maybe some of our conservative brother and sister Presbyterians could learn from us to be more open to the vast diversity of the human family represented in virtually all of our cities and towns as well as the sublimity of other faith traditions.
            Frost was right: the most exciting movement in nature is expansion and contraction; like the diastolic and systolic rhythm of a beating heart; of a soul alive with the spirit of God; of a congregation pulsing with faith and service.
            The Gospel ends today with a reminder why Jesus came: that “everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” Which echo that familiar blessing of Jeremiah, “for I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen. You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”

            That’s why we’re here. That’s what our commitment to Madeleine today and all of our children and the future of our church depends upon—religious faith and commitment from the heart, not just the head. Amen.