In our Gospel passage today, Jesus has a late night visitor. It is Nicodemus, a Pharisee. He is not a man who even gets a mention in any of the other gospels, but in John’s Gospel Nicodemus is important. We encounter him three times: first in today’s passage, when Nicodemus comes to Jesus after dark. We cannot be quite sure what he is seeking, but an important conversation takes place, and then Nicodemus goes away…
We don’t hear of him again until chapter 7 when the Pharisees and chief priests seek to arrest Jesus. Surrounded by those with whom he works, and lives, Nicodemus courageously speaks out, arguing that even this man, Jesus, must be treated according to their laws of justice: “Does our law judge a man without first giving him a hearing?” he asks.
And his third appearance in John’s gospel is after the crucifixion when he and Joseph of Arimathea bury Jesus’ body. Nicodemus brings a huge quantity of myrrh and aloes, to place within the linen shroud. This is in keeping with 1st Century Jewish custom, though such a large amount of spices would only be used for an exceptionally lavish burial, say, that of a king.
We know so little about him: who he was; his childhood and working life; and his position as an older man within the prominent Pharisees sect within Judaism at this time. So, the story I am going to tell you is the work of my imagination, arrived at through reading, prayer, and hopefully the hand of God in there somewhere too. I hope it speaks truth, even though it may not be factually true. So sit back and listen to the (imagined) voice of Nicodemus…
“Oh, I love my faith, and my faith community. Of course I was born into it; my parents were my first teachers of my faith, in the rituals that were everywhere in our family home, and in the weekly Shabbat, that centrally important weekly period of rest from all work, a time of spiritual rejuvenation, and celebration. Food, prayers, candles, singing… I loved it then, and I love it now.
By the time I was ten, I attended Bet ha Midrash, the house of study, alongside my friends. We worked hard – the rabbi made sure of that, but I liked his seriousness about our learning. Somehow I knew its importance because of how seriously he treated the teaching, and his fierce discipline of us as we tried to learn. Most of my friends couldn’t wait to grow up and leave their Torah studies behind, but I used to stay late – I always had more questions, so it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when Rabbi Shimon the Elder took me under his wing. Eventually I too became a teacher, and leader of our people within the Pharisees sect. What a privilege it is to help people to walk closely with God, to know the Torah, to teach families the importance of placing our faith and our laws at the centre of life.
I first heard about Jesus of Nazareth from the people – they spoke of his teaching, his miracles, and the people who were leaving their families and homes to follow him. It all sounded very suspect to me – and it definitely sounded like he was breaking laws left, right and centre, and we all know where that leads – to a perversion of God’s commandments, and breaking of the covenant.
Then, by chance one day I witnessed him speaking to a small group outside the Temple, and I couldn’t tear myself away. There was something about his voice, his words, his love for those people that was beautiful. It’s not like me at all, but I found myself in tears – tears of deep joy, flowing silently down my cheeks and into my beard. I stayed well back – I knew there was danger being seen with this man – but at one point he looked over at me, and our eyes met, and I felt seen, and known and understood in a profound way.
That moment of really being seen never left me; it disturbed me somehow. My faith until that point was clear and strict. And, as I said at the beginning, I love it. But this man – was he even a normal man, I’m really not sure – this Jesus had stirred something deep within me, and it refused to be silenced.
One night I went out walking after sunset. I wasn’t sure where I was going, I just couldn’t stay with my books any longer. It was like there was a fire within me. I wandered and found myself going into the garden of Gethsemane. I love it there. It’s peaceful, no crowds, though I hadn’t been there at night on my own for many years. I sat for a while under an olive tree, looking over the valley. Then I noticed him. He was in a clearing, kneeling, praying I am sure. Obviously I didn’t approach him during prayer, but then he sat up, looked over at me, and motioned to me to go over and sit with him.
Nothing was said at first … I didn’t have a question ready, and he seemed content for us to sit quietly together. But after a bit, not wanting him to think I was there in any official capacity, I simply offered him this truth – that I knew that he was a teacher who had come to us from God. He turned and looked me in the eye, as he had done those months before by the Temple, and spoke words that seemed crazy to me. He spoke of something that he called being ‘born from above’ and born of ‘water and spirit’. I still don’t really know what he was on about! And I told him so at the time! Going back into the mother’s womb, and being born again? This was ridiculous talk that scared me.
You need to remember, I am a Pharisee, and my role is to ensure that the people adhere exactly to the commandments of God, in order that the covenant with God is kept. When Jesus started talking about those born of the Spirit – I think those were his words, yes, born of the Spirit, and being like the wind that blows where it chooses, it was too much. Anyone who lives here knows that the wind simply can’t be controlled, is totally unpredictable, and often destructive. Just imagine what would happen to our religion, our laws, if a wind-like spirit took over! So, I stood up, and started to walk away. And then I heard his voice, filled with sadness, speaking words that pierced my heart … ‘Are you the teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?’
Even now, weeks later, I don’t know if I understand. But the shock of his words has gone, and in its place what has stayed with me is the power of his presence, the love in his eyes and voice, and my longing to be with him, listening to him again. He’s someone we need to listen to, and not condemn. I only hope he’s not too radical, because already there are those who want him silenced, however that may be done.
As I walked away from him that night, I found myself thinking of our ancestor, Abraham, or Abram as he was then, and God shaking him out of his comfort and security and telling him to go to the land that God would show him. He left his old life … he left his old self we might say, and walked into a new life that he discovered through journeying in trust with God. And I just wonder … was Abram born from above, born of the Spirit, on that night when the Lord spoke to him? Because, on that night Abram became new, didn’t he?
Dawn was breaking over the distant hills as I walked away. I looked up, and felt sure that something extraordinary was happening through the life of this man Jesus. Yes, I was confused, but at the same time I found myself walking away with hope and joy in my heart, and singing a favourite Psalm loud and clear into that new day…
I lift up my eyes to the hills—
from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.