John 3:1-10; March 1, 2026; Second Sunday in Lent
——-
The title of the sermon today is “Starting Over.”
But I want you to know, here at the beginning, that I did not start over and write a new sermon after yesterday’s events in Tehran.
You’ve heard me for several years now pivot and talk about such things: the horror, the fear, the depravity that comes with war. And these things we will pray for later at the table.
That doesn’t mean to minimize them, or run from them, but I also don’t always want to run towards them, every time something awful happens, which feels daily at this point.
Rather, I think I will stick with the word the Spirit first put in me when I wrestled with the question that Nicodemus wrestled with himself, when asking:
“How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?” – John 3:8-9
For here I should admit that I don’t always understand these things either.
That, like Nicodemus, I struggle at times with hearing, and learning, and the process of aging. Wondering if it’s actually possible to ever start over and be born again.
It would be great to do that, I think, somedays. To “be born after having grown old.”
Which always reminds me of a quote by the great novelist Julian Barnes (who, amongst other brilliant stories, wrote The Sense of an Ending – amazing read), who once asked, “Are you as old you look, or as old as you feel?”
Well, sometimes, especially recently, I feel a lot older than I both look and feel. And I suspect I’m not alone.
So, it would truly be great, I think, somedays, to start over, to be born again. To have new knees. To have new ears and eyes, and a new digestive system that isn’t so opposed to onions!
Yes, indeed it would be great! And also, somedays, I think it would be great to have new memories, or less memories for that matter, less recovered arguments and guilt to work through. Again, I suspect I’m not alone.
I can imagine that many out there, and perhaps some in here, would do anything for the chance to wipe their slate clean. To never have to deal with the horrors once inflicted upon them by themselves or others, by nature, disease, cancer.
To some, I imagine, being born again would be truly wonderful. I mean, imagine starting over with more loving parents, with grander experiences, with better friends… and having another chance to go left at the fork rather than right, making wiser everyday choices at every new opportunity in sight. Imagine…
And now imagine that someone approached you with the power to do just that… would you say yes? Would you jump at that chance, or would you balk? If presented with the opportunity, would you actually give up everything that you presently have, everything you have acquired and learned, for the chance to start over from the beginning and literally be born again?
No doubt due to my privilege, I think, if I’ m being honest, if truly pressured, my own answer would be “no.” Sure, I’ve made tons of mistakes that I’d rather correct. And I’d like to make, like, a million better choices in general. But if that meant losing who I’ve become, or like, giving up Seth, no way, no how! Nor would I ever want to be forced to, like, learn how to swim again (that stuff was tough! It’s no wonder that not everyone can). And never would I ever want to go through primary school again, or middle (God forbid middle!! The worst!). No, never again!
And perhaps, Nicodemus felt the same way. Perhaps Nicodemus had felt like he had earned his stripes already, and that there was no way, no how he was ever going to go through the rigor of becoming a Pharisee again, of being taught again… So, when he’s approached by Jesus, the great Rabbi, with the power to do just that, he’s like, nope, not going to happen, man.
Nicodemus is a fascinating one, isn’t he? He recognizes that Jesus at least has some authority, and that Jesus is a teacher worth asking questions of, and yet, he also seems quite mystified, oppositional, and clueless about what Jesus actually has to say. Almost like he doesn’t want to be taught again… demanding, “how can this be?” when being reminded of something he hadn’t previously considered, or had willfully forgotten.
The dude comes by night, which is John’s clue of telling us that he arrives in darkness, shrouded in some percentage of ignorance, devoid of key insight and enlightenment. In other words, Nicodemus comes supposedly seeking the light but will balk at actually seeing the light.
Perhaps like some of us too.
And a big reason why Nicodemus seems like such a blockhead, like us, is because he’s way too literal. He completely whiffs at understanding what Jesus is saying because he’s a prisoner to literalism, to fundamental dogmatism, and thereby lacks all imagination and mysticism, the creative dimensions necessary of a living and breathing faith. And that’s why he mishears or misinterprets what Jesus is saying as “you need to be literally born again,” as opposed to what Jesus is actually saying that “you need to be born from above.”
The words in the Greek tell the story. While sometimes “again” and “above” can be used interchangeably, and while the Gospel of John is notorious for this sort of poetic wordplay, John chooses a word here that is elsewhere rendered as “above.” So, instead of literally being born again, Jesus is metaphorically saying, be born from above.
It’s the ageless question and dilemma Jesus puts to Nicodemus and to us. Pushing all of us to think bigger rather than smaller, and higher rather than lower; acknowledging that the breath of God, the wind otherwise known as the Holy Spirit, is always moving, always teaching, and always creating in a higher dimension than the literal, blowing wherever it darn well chooses.
So be born of that stuff today, our Savior is saying! Be enlightened, be inspired, and be amazed to think deeper. Doing so today, changing your life today, by the freedom of the spirit, which doesn’t regenerate us in the dark womb of the flesh, but in the bright light of the here and now that emanates from above.
Amen?
Now, if I lost you there, take comfort, you’re in good Biblical company. Nicodemus didn’t understand these things, and I started this sermon saying that sometimes I don’t either.
And admittedly, diving too deep into the theological scaffolding of flesh and spirit can be somewhat disorienting, so instead of going any further with it today, I’ll think I’ll leave it alone for another time (like, say, for September, when I’ll do a sermon series on the Apocrypha and certain Nag-Hammadi texts… which, I’m like totally nerding out for! Just ask Valerie whose office I leapt into and immediately started rambling.)
Instead, let’s prepare to leave today with these more familiar words to recall and consider:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. …And, all things came into being through him, for what has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. And to all who received him, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh, but of God.” – John 1:1-4; 12-13
…not of flesh, but of God!
My friends, can we enter the womb again? Can we actually start over? And, would we want to?
Well, if we want to, we can. But, mercifully it’s not again, at some point in the past through the flesh, but rather, right now, above and anew in the Spirit of Jesus Christ.
Who now and forever invites us to his table, where together we can replace what is old for what’s new, what is literal for what is mystical, and what’s dead for what’s alive.
Amen.
