In Nicodemus, we find a stand-in for us. He’s confused, frightened, and showing up at the wrong time. And yet he’s responding to an invitation when he least expects it to do something amazing.
How our searching in the dark helps bring the light to us.
Lent 4B | John 3:14-21
You’ve probably heard the joke.
A woman stops for drinks with friends on her way home. They’re getting along well, laughing, having a great time. But it’s time to go. So she heads out to the parking lot.
That’s when she sees her. A woman across the lot, crawling on the ground.
She walks over to the woman and asks “What’s wrong? Can I help?”
The woman looks up from the concrete and says “I’ve lost my earring! It’s really important to me!” She looks back at the ground, flooded by the incandescence of the streetlight.
The woman is moved by another woman’s loss and joins her on the ground.
After a minute, she says to the other woman, “You know, when I’ve lost something, I like to retrace my steps. Do you remember where you were when you first noticed your earring was missing?”
The woman points to a car on the other side of the parking lot.
“I was over there, but this is where the light is.”
Sitting with Nicodemus
This morning, we entered into the middle of a conversation which began in verse one of this chapter — chapter 3 in the gospel we call John. We’re introduced to Nicodemus, a religious leader; a big name in the religious community, who comes to Jesus in the dead of night.
Now this conversation, is full and rich, and much of what they talk about in the verses before the part we just read are about being changed by God–being born again. A concept we all know carries a lot of baggage today. But even then, face-to-face with Jesus in the flesh, Nicodemus can’t quite get what Jesus is really getting at.
And if we’re being honest with ourselves, most of us can relate. We don’t get all of this saving and changing mumbo jumbo. We’re Nicodemus! We want to come to Jesus in our hearts and on our own intellectual terms of belief. He’s the stand-in for all of us who are trying to find God in the midst of all of the junk swirling around us. Without endangering our public standing, of course.
He comes to Jesus in secret. In the middle of the night. Because he doesn’t want to be seen. And he doesn’t want to lose his standing because of it.
But isn’t the middle of the night also when our demons torment us? And isn’t that when we feel most alone?
The Virtue of the Night
Nighttime was precious to me as a young adult. By then, I’d be too tired to study any more. Half of my friends are in bed. The noise had long vanished. Walks across campus became introspective. Or conversations with friends got deeper and more honest.
For me, the night isn’t a stand in for evil. It’s the only time we often feel free of expectations.
So when Nicodemus comes to Jesus to figure things out, it is far too cruel to judge him for his worries or criticize him for when he arrives. The night is the only time Nicodemus could hear the Holy Spirit calling out to him. And he’s looking for the light.
In the Dark
I’ve had their conversation many times. Nicodemus takes Scripture and the words of Jesus too literally. He’s like You keep talking about being born twice, but how can I get back inside Mom? Which is pure comedic gold.
Nicodemus, a wise teacher, comes to Jesus because he knows Jesus is the real deal. He wants to understand; he’s halfway there already! And Jesus wants to help him get over the hump.
So Jesus turns the conversation from the literal/metaphor dimension to God’s mercy.
That famous line, John 3:16 blazes like a neon sign because of how often wise teachers have used it to give literal punishments to all those searching for the spark they lost in a dark parking lot. They offer the streetlight without a chance they’ll find anything where they’re looking.
Staying in the Dark is the Punishment
What Jesus actually showed Nicodemus that night is not a connection with God that he had lost, but how that relationship was built on a false premise. The premise that God rewards and punishes after declaring half of his children are trash.
He tells Nicodemus that those who are doing evil are already condemned by the life they feel stuck in. In other words, the punishment is nothing. They’re in the dark and they’ll stay stuck there. Because they’re looking for God in the wrong place.
But the grace — the forgiveness of God — comes like light which illumines the darkness. It comes to help search and find where you need to be looking. As if the woman were looking for her earring where she actually lost it.
What is Prayer?
This is what we always seem to do with prayer. We bring all of our anxiety to God and throw that junk up there before God and say take all of this away — I’m in so much pain! Or else we have compassion on others and petition for them take away their pain, Lord!
We make prayer into wishes from a genie we hope will grant them. If we say the right things. Maybe like putting John 3:16 on our eyeblack before a game. Or wave a sign from the stands.
But if you look at the Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer, found on page 856, you can see prayer is much more than that.
It asks: “What is Prayer?”
“Prayer is responding to God, by thought and by deeds, with or without words.”
So simple. Responding to God. Not like a genie at all! But like one we’re in relationship with. Like we actually should respond to the late night conversation and the stirring in our souls.
Prayer is building that relationship. So there are more kinds of prayer than our asking for stuff. Because we can’t find this relationship in a culture of individualism and narcissistic wealth creation.
But the catechism doesn’t stop there, so go back to those later. Maybe tonight, after the sun goes down.
Praying in the Dark
Our whole worship experience is prayer. We pray collects, collecting our prayers for a particular time or purpose. We have petitions, like we offer in the Prayers of the People.
And then there are other prayers — prayers of confession, in which we admit to ourselves, to our neighbors, and to God that we aren’t perfect. We screw up. A lot.
But then the priest stands up and prays for God’s absolution to be upon us. That we be forgiven and pulled from the darkness of our own hell.
We move our bodies in prayer, reconciling with our neighbors at the peace.
And we gather all of our prayers together in a prayer so important, we call it The Great Thanksgiving. A prayer in which we name God’s great compassion and forgiveness — giving thanks to God for this incredible mercy.
All this liturgy is corporate prayer — both a scripted and spontaneous outpouring of seeking and devotion.
So how fitting is it that we all come here in our darkness, in our confusion and fear? Nick is totally our guy, isn’t he? He’s us! Seeking, desiring, afraid of being caught looking foolish.
We come here and hopefully we hear Jesus tell us that we are wonderfully made, children of God. And if we’re in hell right now, it’s not because we’re bad. It’s because we’re all looking for God in the wrong place. And not facing the truth: we’re keeping each other in the dark.
The Epilogue
Of course, Nick’s story doesn’t end here — he comes back later. He shows up in chapter 7 when he tries to get his colleagues to do the right thing in the eyes of the law. He speaks out to injustice.
Then again, a third time, in broad daylight, when the disciples have fled. He helps Joseph of Arimathea prepare Jesus’s body for burial.
The full story of Nicodemus is that he doesn’t stay in the dark. He comes to realize the truth of God’s mercy isn’t just a private relationship, but is also witnessed by our public character.
All of us and each of us.
May we so come, in this bright morning light, to see the mercy being offered and the countless opportunities before us to help one another see that this mercy is also generously offered to everyone.
[h/t – The Rev. David Henson, whose clarity on the passage give him bolder words than I can wrestle out of myself.]