A Midnight Encounter

John 3:1-8

Nicodemus seeks Jesus one night. He waited until he was sure that anyone who might notice him would be asleep or safely housed. As with many midnight conversations, this one becomes existential.

A detail worth noting is that Nicodemus is a powerful churchman. He is a Pharisee sitting on the Temple Council. That means he helps administer all that happens in the Temple, the literal heart of Judaism. Interestingly, as a church bureaucrat, he still has his faith--not always a given. He seeks Jesus because Jesus seems to be a powerful presence of faithful practice, so powerful that God truly is at work in him. This man is worth checking out.

Yes, he is. Faith finds Christ; Christ finds faith. As the embodiment of God's love, this dynamic makes sense.

It also explains a warning we within the Church need to always keep before us--the more institutionalized we become, the more danger there is that Christ will not find us. Institutions, by nature, are self-serving and self-preserving. In that effort, anything and anyone who challenges their status quo becomes suspect or cast off (which also explains why reformations happen--someone realizes we lost our way and calls us back).

Nicodemus stands apart from his brethren on the Council. He is willing to listen to this unaffiliated rabbi who is gaining a following. He will not reject him out of hand.

That is our job, too.

But wait, you say, we would never dismiss Jesus! We are good churchfolk! We are hungry seekers!

Yes, but ask yourself this question--on whose terms do you seek Jesus?

One of the most prevalent, stubborn heresies of all--and, yes, I include myself in it--is making Jesus in our image. Author Ann Lamotte makes a wonderful point--"What is the difference between you and God? God does not want to be you." We all do this--we make God in our own image--even the loudest critics of God, for the God they reject very often looks like a God they made to reject.

Jesus settles this problem with Nicodemus right away--he immediately turns the conversation to his thinking, launching into an exposition on being born anew. Nicodemus is lost. This is a good thing.

The cure for our heresy is for God to refuse to play. Job offers the best illustration of this dynamic--Job wants suffering explained and answered. He wants an end to ambiguity and mystery. God refuses to play--"You will never understand" is the message of Job 38 to the end of the book--and that's it--that's all God will give Job. As God refuses to play with us, God saves us.

A God of our own making can save no one. It might make us feel good and certainly will work wonders in the self-justification, self-righteousness departments, but save us from nothing that ails us. No, the better place is to be in awe of God, accepting God's unknowability apart from what God reveals. We find God when we lose God.

Then we are open to redeeming grace that can enter an ICU and save everybody, even if they die. We are open to redeeming mercy that can mend hatred to poisons persons into seeking to kill one another. We are open to redeeming compassion that can quicken any human heart to give to make another full. And so it goes--instance after instance where we are befuddled and hamstrung, stuck in our own mire; God redeems.

Midnight conversations can be remarkably clarifying. Our minds are different at that hour.