3/16/14
Back in the 1970’s when I was living in New York, I was friendly with a playwright who, at the time, was very successful and well known on the theatre scene, but had a drinking problem; and he wrote a play about his personal struggle with alcoholism, which he titled, Some Men Need Help. It’s one of the central tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous – it’s the first of the Twelve Steps – that, not just some men, but all alcoholics need help; and of course as Christians we understand that not just all alcoholics, but all humans need help, help that can be given only by God.
In the season of Lent, we Christians look at our limitations, our weakness, our gone-wrong-ness; but more importantly, we look beyond all that for God’s help, a help we have done nothing and can do nothing to earn. The liturgy for Ash Wednesday, which begins Lent and gets us pointed in the right direction for the season, focuses not so much on our own sinfulness as on God’s mercy, to which we must look for help; and the working out of God’s mercy, the activity of God’s mercy in our lives, is something we Christians call grace: the grace of God.
The Collects for each Sunday in Lent almost all mention either grace or help. There’s a special Collect for Grace in the service of Morning Prayer, which we just said, and I will repeat it: “Lord God, Almighty and Everlasting Father, you have brought us in safety to this new day: Preserve us with your mighty power, that we may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Notice that this prayer concludes with a reference to our own action in the world: “in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose.” We are not merely passive recipients of God’s grace; grace enables us to fulfill God’s purposes.
In this connection, I direct your attention to what you may already have noticed: the beautiful frontal Flora Quammie made for the side altar here. About a month ago Flora told me that she wanted to focus her church school class this month on helping people, and she was wondering how that might relate to Lent. And I said Lent is a perfect time to talk about helping people because of what I just told you: in Lent we look at the fact that we need help, and because God helps us, we can help others. We can love others because God loves us first. That’s how it happens
So, as she did with the Christmas tree, Flora has made little ornament figures that the kids are going to put up on the frontal – they’re working on them this morning – that represent ways they help their parents, as examples of the process spelled out there: “God loves us, so we can…” This is God’s grace, the living out of God’s mercy, which happens in new ways every minute of every day.
We see a particular instance of God’s grace in the story of Nicodemus, a story which is not confined to the gospel passage we heard today. Nicodemus actually makes three appearances in the gospel of John, of which today’s is the first; the second and third are very brief, but taken together, they tell a particular story.
Nicodemus comes to Jesus because he knows he needs help: of what kind he probably couldn’t say. That’s the problem. Nicodemus feels something missing, and he doesn’t know what it is, or even why he feels that way. But evidently what he has heard of Jesus, and maybe even seen himself, has started the idea gnawing at him that maybe, despite everything his background, his tradition, and his position in society is telling him, maybe this man can give him what he’s looking for, can even tell him exactly what it is that he’s looking for, which at this point he doesn’t know.
This episode occurs early in the gospel of John. By this time, Jesus has done some high-profile things: he’s performed his first miracle (at the wedding at Cana, turning water into wine); and he has driven the merchants and the moneychangers out of the Temple in Jerusalem, literally whipping them out. And word is spreading among the religious authorities that Jesus is saying things that sound blasphemous: he tells the people selling doves in the Temple, Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.
So there’s a buzz spreading about this man, a buzz unlike anything anyone’s ever heard, about this man who seems to be unlike any other, who has a unique, and mind-boggling, power, and who, though he’s from some little town in the far north and has no credentials at all, is saying things about God and the way we should live with a sense of complete authority, with a knowledge that seems to be infinite.
The more the powers that be hear about this man, the more they feel threatened. And Nicodemus is certainly part of that group, part of the establishment. John tells us that he is “a ruler”, which almost certainly means that he’s a member of the Sanhedrin, the highest governing body of the Jewish people. These are people who have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, and, like most people in power, maintaining themselves in power.
Nicodemus, though, is clearly a little different, because he comes to Jesus. He comes at night, this first time, because he doesn’t want anyone to see him: not his peers, because he doesn’t want to jeopardize his own position – not yet, anyway; and not anyone else, because he doesn’t want to give Jesus credibility – not yet, anyway. But what he has heard of this man has planted in him the suspicion – the hope – that he can find help here.
I’m not going to talk about the substance of what Jesus says to Nicodemus, which is some of the most profound material in all the gospels, and you could spend a lifetime preaching on it. I just want to look at Nicodemus. The only spoken reaction he has to what Jesus tells him is incredulity: Jesus tells him, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above; and Nicodemus, evidently a literal-minded guy, says, How can anyone be born after having grown old? Jesus continues with teaching that leaves Nicodemus speechless: we hear nothing more of or from him in this story. We don’t know how he reacts, or what he absorbs.
But we know something’s sunk in, and something’s happened in the man, because we see him a second time near the middle of the gospel. By this time the chief priests and Pharisees are really fed up with Jesus and want to arrest him; and up pops Nicodemus, who sticks up for Jesus to a point: he says, Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it? So by this point he has come to a place where he feels moved openly to defend Jesus to his class, his peers, all of whom just want to throw Jesus in jail and who have no suspicion that Nicodemus feels any differently. And we hear that it does cost Nicodemus something to speak as he does, because they answer him, You’re not from Galilee too, are you? They start to turn on him; and we can imagine the possible consequences.
The third and final appearance of Nicodemus is at the foot of the cross, right after Jesus’ death. Joseph of Arimathea has taken Jesus’ body down, and it is Nicodemus who appears with a mixture of myrrh and aloes, for embalming and fragrance: this was what was customarily done at the time of death. It was also a load which, according to John, weighed about a hundred pounds, which takes some doing. So by this third and final appearance Nicodemus is treating Jesus like a member of his family.
You can see the progression. At first he doesn’t want anybody to know that he might be interested in Jesus, and he shows no understanding of what the man is saying. The second time, he evidently has come to understand enough so that defends Jesus to people of his own class, thereby putting himself at some risk. And the third time, Nicodemus comes openly to this criminal who has just suffered brutal execution, and treats his dead body as he would that of a member of his own family; and in so doing, plays a pivotal role in the story of the resurrection. This man is dead. Nicodemus puts him in the tomb.
We don’t know what happened to Nicodemus over the course of this story. Maybe even he couldn’t say what it was. But something happened, something he didn’t expect, or earn. This is an example of the grace of God, which enables us to fulfill God’s purposes.
So I’m going to ask you to do something. It doesn’t have to be today, just sometime before the end of Lent. (You may already have guessed.) Just as we did at Christmas, I would like us all to join with our kids in putting a little figure on the frontal over here. But for your figure, think about a way that God has helped you, a way that God’s grace has been active in your life – big or little – give it some thought - and memorialize it by taking one of those little figures, putting something on it that represents the experience – it could be just a word, or a picture, it’s not important that anybody else knows what it is, just that you do, and that you lift it up in this way – and put it up on the side altar. And let us always be thankful for God’s grace, which, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
Back in the 1970’s when I was living in New York, I was friendly with a playwright who, at the time, was very successful and well known on the theatre scene, but had a drinking problem; and he wrote a play about his personal struggle with alcoholism, which he titled, Some Men Need Help. It’s one of the central tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous – it’s the first of the Twelve Steps – that, not just some men, but all alcoholics need help; and of course as Christians we understand that not just all alcoholics, but all humans need help, help that can be given only by God.
In the season of Lent, we Christians look at our limitations, our weakness, our gone-wrong-ness; but more importantly, we look beyond all that for God’s help, a help we have done nothing and can do nothing to earn. The liturgy for Ash Wednesday, which begins Lent and gets us pointed in the right direction for the season, focuses not so much on our own sinfulness as on God’s mercy, to which we must look for help; and the working out of God’s mercy, the activity of God’s mercy in our lives, is something we Christians call grace: the grace of God.
The Collects for each Sunday in Lent almost all mention either grace or help. There’s a special Collect for Grace in the service of Morning Prayer, which we just said, and I will repeat it: “Lord God, Almighty and Everlasting Father, you have brought us in safety to this new day: Preserve us with your mighty power, that we may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Notice that this prayer concludes with a reference to our own action in the world: “in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose.” We are not merely passive recipients of God’s grace; grace enables us to fulfill God’s purposes.
In this connection, I direct your attention to what you may already have noticed: the beautiful frontal Flora Quammie made for the side altar here. About a month ago Flora told me that she wanted to focus her church school class this month on helping people, and she was wondering how that might relate to Lent. And I said Lent is a perfect time to talk about helping people because of what I just told you: in Lent we look at the fact that we need help, and because God helps us, we can help others. We can love others because God loves us first. That’s how it happens
So, as she did with the Christmas tree, Flora has made little ornament figures that the kids are going to put up on the frontal – they’re working on them this morning – that represent ways they help their parents, as examples of the process spelled out there: “God loves us, so we can…” This is God’s grace, the living out of God’s mercy, which happens in new ways every minute of every day.
We see a particular instance of God’s grace in the story of Nicodemus, a story which is not confined to the gospel passage we heard today. Nicodemus actually makes three appearances in the gospel of John, of which today’s is the first; the second and third are very brief, but taken together, they tell a particular story.
Nicodemus comes to Jesus because he knows he needs help: of what kind he probably couldn’t say. That’s the problem. Nicodemus feels something missing, and he doesn’t know what it is, or even why he feels that way. But evidently what he has heard of Jesus, and maybe even seen himself, has started the idea gnawing at him that maybe, despite everything his background, his tradition, and his position in society is telling him, maybe this man can give him what he’s looking for, can even tell him exactly what it is that he’s looking for, which at this point he doesn’t know.
This episode occurs early in the gospel of John. By this time, Jesus has done some high-profile things: he’s performed his first miracle (at the wedding at Cana, turning water into wine); and he has driven the merchants and the moneychangers out of the Temple in Jerusalem, literally whipping them out. And word is spreading among the religious authorities that Jesus is saying things that sound blasphemous: he tells the people selling doves in the Temple, Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.
So there’s a buzz spreading about this man, a buzz unlike anything anyone’s ever heard, about this man who seems to be unlike any other, who has a unique, and mind-boggling, power, and who, though he’s from some little town in the far north and has no credentials at all, is saying things about God and the way we should live with a sense of complete authority, with a knowledge that seems to be infinite.
The more the powers that be hear about this man, the more they feel threatened. And Nicodemus is certainly part of that group, part of the establishment. John tells us that he is “a ruler”, which almost certainly means that he’s a member of the Sanhedrin, the highest governing body of the Jewish people. These are people who have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, and, like most people in power, maintaining themselves in power.
Nicodemus, though, is clearly a little different, because he comes to Jesus. He comes at night, this first time, because he doesn’t want anyone to see him: not his peers, because he doesn’t want to jeopardize his own position – not yet, anyway; and not anyone else, because he doesn’t want to give Jesus credibility – not yet, anyway. But what he has heard of this man has planted in him the suspicion – the hope – that he can find help here.
I’m not going to talk about the substance of what Jesus says to Nicodemus, which is some of the most profound material in all the gospels, and you could spend a lifetime preaching on it. I just want to look at Nicodemus. The only spoken reaction he has to what Jesus tells him is incredulity: Jesus tells him, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above; and Nicodemus, evidently a literal-minded guy, says, How can anyone be born after having grown old? Jesus continues with teaching that leaves Nicodemus speechless: we hear nothing more of or from him in this story. We don’t know how he reacts, or what he absorbs.
But we know something’s sunk in, and something’s happened in the man, because we see him a second time near the middle of the gospel. By this time the chief priests and Pharisees are really fed up with Jesus and want to arrest him; and up pops Nicodemus, who sticks up for Jesus to a point: he says, Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it? So by this point he has come to a place where he feels moved openly to defend Jesus to his class, his peers, all of whom just want to throw Jesus in jail and who have no suspicion that Nicodemus feels any differently. And we hear that it does cost Nicodemus something to speak as he does, because they answer him, You’re not from Galilee too, are you? They start to turn on him; and we can imagine the possible consequences.
The third and final appearance of Nicodemus is at the foot of the cross, right after Jesus’ death. Joseph of Arimathea has taken Jesus’ body down, and it is Nicodemus who appears with a mixture of myrrh and aloes, for embalming and fragrance: this was what was customarily done at the time of death. It was also a load which, according to John, weighed about a hundred pounds, which takes some doing. So by this third and final appearance Nicodemus is treating Jesus like a member of his family.
You can see the progression. At first he doesn’t want anybody to know that he might be interested in Jesus, and he shows no understanding of what the man is saying. The second time, he evidently has come to understand enough so that defends Jesus to people of his own class, thereby putting himself at some risk. And the third time, Nicodemus comes openly to this criminal who has just suffered brutal execution, and treats his dead body as he would that of a member of his own family; and in so doing, plays a pivotal role in the story of the resurrection. This man is dead. Nicodemus puts him in the tomb.
We don’t know what happened to Nicodemus over the course of this story. Maybe even he couldn’t say what it was. But something happened, something he didn’t expect, or earn. This is an example of the grace of God, which enables us to fulfill God’s purposes.
So I’m going to ask you to do something. It doesn’t have to be today, just sometime before the end of Lent. (You may already have guessed.) Just as we did at Christmas, I would like us all to join with our kids in putting a little figure on the frontal over here. But for your figure, think about a way that God has helped you, a way that God’s grace has been active in your life – big or little – give it some thought - and memorialize it by taking one of those little figures, putting something on it that represents the experience – it could be just a word, or a picture, it’s not important that anybody else knows what it is, just that you do, and that you lift it up in this way – and put it up on the side altar. And let us always be thankful for God’s grace, which, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.
