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You've seen this scene lots of times on TV, stage or film. There’s
a man sitting at a table being interrogated by the police or security
services: he denies everything and the interrogators seem to be getting
nowhere. Then "SLAM!" onto the table they throw down a piece
of incriminating evidence - the letter, the knife, the hotel bill, the
bank statement, the photograph - and the awful words follow: 'how then
can you explain this?' and the story starts to unravel.
This was the experience of the Rabbi Nicodemus when he came to see Jesus
one dark night...
John's a good storyteller, and he sets the scene well. Jesus has been
in Jerusalem for a few days, and has done a number of signs, miracles
which show him to be the Son of God. John tells us (end ch.2) that many
saw the signs and believed in Jesus - but then he adds the rather cryptic
comment that Jesus didn't trust himself to them, because he knew what
they were like. When you read this you immediately want to ask the question,
what does this mean? - and John shows us what it means by telling this
gospel story of Nicodemus, who's a religious teacher who's impressed by
the miracles that Jesus has done.
'We know from these signs that you're a teacher sent from God', says Nicodemus.
But he goes no further than that. He's not coming out from behind his
careful religious exterior to affirm who Jesus is. It's rather like a
zealous evangelical or Catholic cleric meeting a vicar he doesn’t
know and about whose soundness he has serious doubts. Nicodemus is being
cagey. But Jesus doesn't let him off the hook so lightly. Imagine the
scene: Nicodemus sits at table in Jesus' kitchen, in the warm glow of
lamp and firelight, fearful that other people will know he's been there,
congratulating himself for being so brave in welcoming this Galilean newcomer
into the fold of the Jewish religious teachers' guild incorporated.
And then Jesus starts to put the pressure on in the interrogation. It's
not the usual way round - it begins with Jesus making statements which
leave Nicodemus floundering with questions which show his ignorance. You
must be born anew - How? Of water and the Spirit - how? Ah says Jesus,
call yourself a teacher and not even know this?
Nicodemus had come to visit in his capacity as the official teacher who
could validate Jesus' ministry. But, as John says, Jesus knew what he
was about, and didn't trust himself to Nicodemus. Jesus didn't need
to be validated - it was Nicodemus who needed to know how inadequate his
teaching and experience was.
So as Nicodemus tries to maintain his professional front while not really
understanding the conversation, Jesus SLAPS on the table in front of him
the crucial piece of evidence which pulls the rug out from under Nicodemus'
feet. You say I'm a teacher come from God – so let me teach you what
God says: not only do you need to be born again, but the Son of Man must
be lifted up for God to save the world.
To us this seems incomprehensible. To Nicodemus it was inconceivable.
Here was this preacher telling him that the Messiah, God's chosen one,
the king and saviour of Israel, would be lifted up, not in glorious
power, but on a cross. But if Nicodemus believed what he said he did about
Jesus, how could he reject the idea of a crucified saviour, if Jesus said
it and Jesus truly was from God? Poor old Nicodemus - skewered at the
Lord's interrogation table. And poor old you and me.
One of the most vivid phrases in the New Testament comes in this encounter.
‘The breath blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it,
but you don’t know where it comes from or where it goes.’ The
word for breath means both wind and spirit: like the wind the Holy Spirit
comes unseen, and only by the effects of the Spirit do you know that the
Spirit has come. Behind Jesus’ words and his approach to Nicodemus
is the reality that God is like the wind; God is not to be pinned down
or held to account.
We're creatures of habit. We set up a pattern of life for our own security
and psychological well-being and expect it to stay the same. E.g. the
routine of going to work; routine of working day or week; patterns of
worship, prayer and life. And if we have a settled life then maybe we
can cope with a bit of the unusual, or with a few problems in our faith.
But what happens when the pattern is threatened, when the house burns
down or the marriage fails or illness strikes or retirement comes or the
climate changes? What happens when God comes calling in a wind that blows
down our front door and rips off the roof of our life and the defences
we’ve put around our faith?
Because God loves us, God is not always gentle. God will call us to account,
not to condemn us, but as with Nicodemus, to provoke us to be born again:
to give our hearts and lives to God alone, to make a new start with God
and to go on doing so, with the God who is not a life management consultant,
but an artist who continually redraws and recreates us, in the teeth of
our routine lives: a God who sends us on adventures and sometimes blows
us off our feet.
Here you and I are this morning, come to worship the crucified Messiah.
At least we've come in daylight, unlike Nicodemus. By being here we say
that we believe in Jesus - and so he sits us down at his table; but not
to give us a nice cup of tea andcongratulate us on our wisdom in choosing
him. He gives us instead a challenge, an interrogation, declaring who
he is and asking us the basic questions: are we born again? Are we open
to the howling gale of the Holy Spirit blowing through and changing
us? Do we truly believe in a crucified leader, and are we ready to be
crucified ourselves? In other words - when we come to the Lord's table,
do we really mean what we say?
As we seek to follow Christ through this Lent, let’s look out for
the questions and doubts where the Lord challenges us, for the wind of
the Spirit blowing through us. Be especially alert for the things that
Jesus slaps down on his table in front of us through the voice of our
conscience or the words of others: the inconsistent sins, the lack of
love, the putting-off of prayer or giving till tomorrow. As Nicodemus
found, if we come to tell Jesus that we rather like him, he's going to
ask us how far we really mean it.
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