Sunday, March 10, 2024 – Lent 4
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 3:1-17
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.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.“ Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
Part of maturing is being able to accept where you came from without necessarily being defined by it now. It’s being able to see the good in things that, in your youth, might have embarrassed you. And that pretty much describes my relationship to country music. I don’t listen to it, but I was definitely shaped by it. It didn’t play in our house when I was growing up, but it was in the air all the time. Especially at church; especially at the Sunday evening service. We went to church twice on Sundays, and the evening service was the more relaxed and spontaneous of the two. On Sunday evening anyone, at all, could rise and go to the front to sing a “special” song. It was sort of like a Jesus-centered country and western variety show!
The other day I thought of one of those songs that was sometimes sung on Sunday nights. And so, I googled it. And sure enough, there was a video of the late country music star George Jones, singing it. It’s called “Me and Jesus.” And the refrain is like this:
“Well, me and Jesus, we got our own thing going. Me and Jesus, we got it all worked out. Me and Jesus, we got our own thing going. We don’t need anybody to tell us what it’s all about.”[1]
Well, despite myself, there I was in my church office, tapping my toes and clapping my hands and singing along. (It’s a very catchy tune.)
I guess that song was on my mind because it seems the perfect summation of how today’s Gospel lesson was interpreted in my childhood church, and continues to be interpreted by millions of our fellow Christians today. It is the Christian faith as completely vertical: me and Jesus. It is the Christian faith as something private and exclusive: me and Jesus. And we don’t need any of you to tell us what it’s all about.
The best-known verse of this passage, John 3:16, can easily lend itself to a vertical interpretation of the faith. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
That was the first verse of Scripture I ever memorized as a child. And I still remember how my Sunday School teacher encouraged us to substitute our own names into this verse, making mine read like this: “For God so loved Jimmy Campbell that he gave his only begotten Son so that if Jimmy believed in him, he should not perish but have everlasting life.”
Putting my name in that verse had a profound effect on the way I understood God’s love. It made it intensely personal: me and Jesus. And there is a profound truth in that. Because our relationship with Jesus is intensely personal. God loves you personally. And if the church ever forgets to proclaim that basic message of the love of God in Christ, then we have lost our way.
But this rather exclusive focus on me and Jesus also has some unintended negative effects. It can lead to a religion that is intensely self-centered, doctrinaire, rigid, and disconnected from everyone and everything else.
Nicodemus, a Pharisee, was intrigued by Jesus and so, had come under the cover of darkness to talk theology. But Nicodemus was in for a very frustrating conversation. And he was especially perplexed by this talk of being born again or born from above – what sounds like a very vertical experience.
Despite Nicodemus’s confusion, Jesus doesn’t get hung up in trying to explain it. In fact, Jesus says it’s hard to pin down, like the wind blowing where it will. But like the wind blowing where it will, you can see the effects of it - like the wind in the trees. And what it looks like, Jesus said, is sacrificial love. It is to gain a clear vision of what God loves. And what God loves, according to John 3:16, is the whole world; the cosmos, as the Greek says. And the cosmos is everything: the fireflies and fish, the mountains and lakes, the stardust and the swirling planets, and me and you and everyone born.
Now that is a lovely idea… for God. I’m OK with the butterflies and bees, but am I really supposed to love everyone? Are we really supposed to work for the good of all – including our enemies? Are we really supposed to pour out our lives in the service of others?
Maybe that’s why we revert back so quickly to an exclusively vertical faith. It doesn’t really ask much of us – just a quick mental assent about Jesus for a one-way ticket to heaven. “… so that whoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life.” Me and Jesus. What a deal!
Except… that the Gospel never defines faith as mental assent. We say that. The Gospel never asks us to have all the “right” beliefs about Jesus. Faith is not signing on some doctrinal dotted line. And it has little to do with the function of our brains.
Another way to translate this word “believe” is “trust.” “… so that whosoever trusts in Jesus shall not perish, but have eternal life.” And that is faith defined as relationship. And a relationship of trust with Jesus invites us into relationship with everything else. So yes, to be born from above is about me and Jesus. But it’s also about me and the whole wide world. And that makes it a cross-shaped faith.
I don’t think I ever knew anyone who understood the cross-shaped faith better than my late friend Walter. Walter was a member of my congregation in New York, who also served as president of the board. Walter had lived all over the world. And Walter had absorbed many cultures and languages, including those of Africa, where his ancestors had come from.
Walter was especially in love with the African concept of Ubuntu. It is a philosophy or a way of seeing the world and everything in it as essentially interconnected. Ubuntu is loosely translated as: “I am because we are.” And that’s exactly how Walter saw the world. And that is how Walter saw his relationship with Jesus – as connecting him to everyone else; faith as community, as relationship.
During my time as his pastor, Walter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. He was given six months to live but Walter lived for more than two years.
I walked with him on that journey. And just a few days before he died, I sat beside his bed, and really struggled to have much to say in the face of death. Besides that, at this point, Walter was mostly non-verbal and I wasn’t sure if he could even here me anymore. But when it was time to go, I prayed with Walter. And somewhere in that prayer, I reminded him that Jesus had promised to never leave him, never forsake him. And when I said that bit, Walter, rallied for a moment and let out a cry was both relief and joy. And he looked at me and clearly said, “Thank you.”
It was a moment infused with the power of the Holy Spirit. And at first, it seemed to be all about Walter and Jesus. But it was more than that. It was also about me and Jesus. And it was about me and Walter. And it was about Walter, and me, and Jesus. In fact, it was about Walter, and me, and Jesus, and all of you, and the whole wide world – a communion of saints. And it was as close as I have ever come to a foretaste of that everlasting kind of life that has been promised to us all.
[1] Music and lyrics by Tom Hall
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
John 3:1-17
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.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? “Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.“ Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
Part of maturing is being able to accept where you came from without necessarily being defined by it now. It’s being able to see the good in things that, in your youth, might have embarrassed you. And that pretty much describes my relationship to country music. I don’t listen to it, but I was definitely shaped by it. It didn’t play in our house when I was growing up, but it was in the air all the time. Especially at church; especially at the Sunday evening service. We went to church twice on Sundays, and the evening service was the more relaxed and spontaneous of the two. On Sunday evening anyone, at all, could rise and go to the front to sing a “special” song. It was sort of like a Jesus-centered country and western variety show!
The other day I thought of one of those songs that was sometimes sung on Sunday nights. And so, I googled it. And sure enough, there was a video of the late country music star George Jones, singing it. It’s called “Me and Jesus.” And the refrain is like this:
“Well, me and Jesus, we got our own thing going. Me and Jesus, we got it all worked out. Me and Jesus, we got our own thing going. We don’t need anybody to tell us what it’s all about.”[1]
Well, despite myself, there I was in my church office, tapping my toes and clapping my hands and singing along. (It’s a very catchy tune.)
I guess that song was on my mind because it seems the perfect summation of how today’s Gospel lesson was interpreted in my childhood church, and continues to be interpreted by millions of our fellow Christians today. It is the Christian faith as completely vertical: me and Jesus. It is the Christian faith as something private and exclusive: me and Jesus. And we don’t need any of you to tell us what it’s all about.
The best-known verse of this passage, John 3:16, can easily lend itself to a vertical interpretation of the faith. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, so that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
That was the first verse of Scripture I ever memorized as a child. And I still remember how my Sunday School teacher encouraged us to substitute our own names into this verse, making mine read like this: “For God so loved Jimmy Campbell that he gave his only begotten Son so that if Jimmy believed in him, he should not perish but have everlasting life.”
Putting my name in that verse had a profound effect on the way I understood God’s love. It made it intensely personal: me and Jesus. And there is a profound truth in that. Because our relationship with Jesus is intensely personal. God loves you personally. And if the church ever forgets to proclaim that basic message of the love of God in Christ, then we have lost our way.
But this rather exclusive focus on me and Jesus also has some unintended negative effects. It can lead to a religion that is intensely self-centered, doctrinaire, rigid, and disconnected from everyone and everything else.
Nicodemus, a Pharisee, was intrigued by Jesus and so, had come under the cover of darkness to talk theology. But Nicodemus was in for a very frustrating conversation. And he was especially perplexed by this talk of being born again or born from above – what sounds like a very vertical experience.
Despite Nicodemus’s confusion, Jesus doesn’t get hung up in trying to explain it. In fact, Jesus says it’s hard to pin down, like the wind blowing where it will. But like the wind blowing where it will, you can see the effects of it - like the wind in the trees. And what it looks like, Jesus said, is sacrificial love. It is to gain a clear vision of what God loves. And what God loves, according to John 3:16, is the whole world; the cosmos, as the Greek says. And the cosmos is everything: the fireflies and fish, the mountains and lakes, the stardust and the swirling planets, and me and you and everyone born.
Now that is a lovely idea… for God. I’m OK with the butterflies and bees, but am I really supposed to love everyone? Are we really supposed to work for the good of all – including our enemies? Are we really supposed to pour out our lives in the service of others?
Maybe that’s why we revert back so quickly to an exclusively vertical faith. It doesn’t really ask much of us – just a quick mental assent about Jesus for a one-way ticket to heaven. “… so that whoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life.” Me and Jesus. What a deal!
Except… that the Gospel never defines faith as mental assent. We say that. The Gospel never asks us to have all the “right” beliefs about Jesus. Faith is not signing on some doctrinal dotted line. And it has little to do with the function of our brains.
Another way to translate this word “believe” is “trust.” “… so that whosoever trusts in Jesus shall not perish, but have eternal life.” And that is faith defined as relationship. And a relationship of trust with Jesus invites us into relationship with everything else. So yes, to be born from above is about me and Jesus. But it’s also about me and the whole wide world. And that makes it a cross-shaped faith.
I don’t think I ever knew anyone who understood the cross-shaped faith better than my late friend Walter. Walter was a member of my congregation in New York, who also served as president of the board. Walter had lived all over the world. And Walter had absorbed many cultures and languages, including those of Africa, where his ancestors had come from.
Walter was especially in love with the African concept of Ubuntu. It is a philosophy or a way of seeing the world and everything in it as essentially interconnected. Ubuntu is loosely translated as: “I am because we are.” And that’s exactly how Walter saw the world. And that is how Walter saw his relationship with Jesus – as connecting him to everyone else; faith as community, as relationship.
During my time as his pastor, Walter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. He was given six months to live but Walter lived for more than two years.
I walked with him on that journey. And just a few days before he died, I sat beside his bed, and really struggled to have much to say in the face of death. Besides that, at this point, Walter was mostly non-verbal and I wasn’t sure if he could even here me anymore. But when it was time to go, I prayed with Walter. And somewhere in that prayer, I reminded him that Jesus had promised to never leave him, never forsake him. And when I said that bit, Walter, rallied for a moment and let out a cry was both relief and joy. And he looked at me and clearly said, “Thank you.”
It was a moment infused with the power of the Holy Spirit. And at first, it seemed to be all about Walter and Jesus. But it was more than that. It was also about me and Jesus. And it was about me and Walter. And it was about Walter, and me, and Jesus. In fact, it was about Walter, and me, and Jesus, and all of you, and the whole wide world – a communion of saints. And it was as close as I have ever come to a foretaste of that everlasting kind of life that has been promised to us all.
[1] Music and lyrics by Tom Hall
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