Monday after Easter 2
April 20th
READING: John 3: 1-8
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.’
REFLECTION
As
we flick back in John’s gospel-account[1]
we find an enigmatic little passage that seems to raise three themes that are
cyphers for the many chapters that follow.
Nicodemus
emerges as a fascinating “exemplar” whose appearances in the text are never to
be ignored. My own suspicion is that he was very close to the John who was
source of the Fourth Gospel, but that’s merely a hunch. Still: over three
appearances Nicodemus stumbles owards and upwards from this secretive
night-time visit to Jesus. This is a visit during which he does not exactly
reveal his inner-Einstein. Do any of us? Yet he appears with more gumption in John
7:50–51; tentative still, but willing to try to persuade the Sanhedrin that
this emerging rabbi, Jesus, should be given a fair go. The third time he
emerges his actions surpass words: his love for dead Jesus overcomes
intellectual confusion. At great cost, Nicodemus pours out heart-broken love
for the dead Teacher. He is weighed down not only by fifty kilos or so of
spices, but by grief and, we might guess, a sense of failure. And Easter dawns.
Nicodemus’
somewhat sub-par comprehension in the night visit (night is never just night in
John’s hands) allows the author to introduce two other great themes. Nicodemus’
obtuseness allows Jesus to labour his theme of rebirth – a theme seized in some
quarters of the church as the be all and end all in relationship between humans
and God. In reality, as Nicodemus demonstrates, this Jesus-saying demands more
subtlety: we ultimately leave Nicodemus pouring out spices and love on a dead
man’s body. Nicodemus is a stark reminder of where we find Christlike love
around the world in Covid-19 days (and in all days), as family members and
loved ones mourn friends, relatives and lovers who have died in isolation (and
I for one am constantly reminded of the days when HIV-AIDS first swept across
the surface of God’s earth).
Finally,
this strange passage hints at another theme that will swell through the
gospel-story: the promise of a coming Spirit-Comforter. As we journey towards
Pentecost that theme will grow in our consciousness, and as an Easter people we
will find more and more cause to dance thanksgiving for an empty tomb.
[1]
At my theological college in
Melbourne the director, Dr John Gaden, once delivered an impassioned (to the
extent that this introspective wise man was even impassioned) soliloquy
explaining why we should never refer to the gospels as “Gospel of [purported
author’s name].” As we observe in the liturgy, the gospel is always “the Gospel
of our Lord Jesus Christ” (the exact wording differs from country to country).
I have never forgotten John’s wise words, and do my best to uphold them.
No comments:
Post a Comment