Seeking the Light by Night

Scripture Lessons: Mark 10: 17-27 and John 3: 1-21 Sermon title: Seek the light by night Preached on 3/12/17 You caught the important detail John gives us at the beginning of our Second Scripture Lesson. I know you did, because you’re smart, and so you caught this detail that “a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews…came to Jesus by night.” Not in the day – by night. Not when people would have been out and noticing things – like where the good Pharisee was and who he was going to see, but at night when inquiring minds were at home minding their own business. Because of this detail I’ve been critical, others have been critical of Nicodemus too, because “at night” is when people do things that they wouldn’t normally do during the day. You have that think that Nicodemus goes to see Jesus at night because he doesn’t want anyone to see him going over there. He’s like the guy you know who parks at Baskin Robbins to go over to the liquor store. He’s the kid who parks in the driveway and honks his horn for your daughter, rather than come to the door to face you like a man. Certainly, it’s easy to read this passage, notice this important detail, and look with judgement on Nicodemus because he seems something like the boyfriend who breaks up with his girlfriend over text message, but I’ve come to an important understanding this week because I’ve realized that one of the biggest problems I have with text messages and all the face to face contact that they avail you from is that they weren’t around when I was in high school. Had they been I wouldn’t have spent weeks working up the courage to ask someone out to the Homecoming Dance – I would have just typed that simple phrase on my phone and sent it. Back in my day, you had to handle a lot of sensitive business face to face in broad day light, and had I the technology to text a date, well, “Why have an awkward face to face conversation when you can get rejected by text instead,” says Linzi Anderson of Lewisburg Presbyterian Church. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night. Not in broad day light where everyone can see and talk and make assumptions, but at night. Because he’s a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews, and as Jesus had just stormed the Temple in Jerusalem in the chapter before, the Lord thereby proving himself to not be the kind of person that the respectable rub shoulders with. Nicodemus goes to Jesus when it was safer to do so. But not only that, in the words of John Calvin, that great theological mind who laid the ground work of our Presbyterian faith: Nicodemus, is of the Pharisees. And “this designation was, no doubt, regarded by his countrymen as honorable; but it is not for the sake of honor that [this title] it is given to him by [author of John’s Gospel], who, on the contrary, draws our attention to it as having prevented him from coming freely and cheerfully to Christ. Hence we are reminded that they who occupy a lofty station in the world are, for the most part, entangled by very dangerous snares; nay, we see many of them held so firmly bound, that not even the slightest wish or prayer arises from them towards heaven throughout their whole life. Why they were called Pharisees; for they boasted of being the only expounders of the Law, as if they were in possession, of the marrow and hidden meaning of Scripture.” So surely while there is some self-serving, ego driven, status preserving reason that Nicodemus seeks out Jesus at night, what strikes me now, is that doing what Nicodemus does is normal enough. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night, because some people, people of high status who are used to preserving it, are often only ever able to be honest under the cover of secrecy. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night, because being real, for some, is such an act of vulnerability that only the cover of night makes it possible. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night, because for those who feel inclined to maintain the air of having things under control, words like: “Would you go out with me,” or better yet – words like: “I’m lost and need help” are so hard to say that only the bravest among us just come right out and say them. By so many, these words are mostly whispered, and only then if no one is looking. Maybe while in the car - when the one talking and the one listening are both looking at the road. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night, because how else could he say, “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.” Are these words not so courageous, whether they were said in broad day light or under the cover of night, that they deserve our applause and not our judgement? “Rabbi,” which means teacher – says a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews, who is supposed to be a teacher himself. Then, “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.” What a confession this is – and I say that it is, a confession, an act full of precious vulnerability because Nicodemus had all the credentials, all the certifications – he was by all standards a holy man of Israel and yet this Jesus of Nazareth is the one who is doing all the signs and wonders. You know what this is like – it’s like an orthopedic surgeon, going to a chiropractor. Nicodemus has the courage of a doctor who sneaks over to the acupuncturist. It’s like the Presbyterian Minister who takes a Sunday off to go over to Maury Hills Church of Christ to see what all the fuss is about – “We know that you are a teacher who has come from God,” and while we are supposed to be the Frozen Chosen, we know that no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God” – yes, this is a bold act of courageous vulnerability. So, courageous, that most would never do it. For fear that they’ll be attacked, some never let their guard down this much. Show weakness – never. Admit that someone else can do it better – no way. Ask for directions? I’d rather drive all night having no idea where I’m going than risk being shamed by a gas station attendant: “You’re not from around here, are you?”. Vulnerability – even small acts of vulnerability are tough. Someone asks how you’re doing. “I’m fine. I’m fine,” and I’ll go on pretending that I am because taking the risk that you might judge me or reject me is just too painful a thought. What I realize now is that for years I’ve been pointing my finger at poor old Nicodemus for going to see the Lord at night rather than in the light of day, but listen – at least he goes. At least he asks. While he may be shielded by the dark of night, at least he seeks out the light. So many never get that far. Think about the rich man from our First Scripture Lesson. Jesus was setting out on a journey and a man ran up and knelt before him. “Good Teacher,” he says, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” This is a great question. An admirable question it would seem, for in asking the question the rich man seems to be admitting that he doesn’t know and so he asks. But Jesus said to him, “You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and mother.” Then the rich man said to him – and this is the important part, the part that I really want to emphasize. After Jesus listed the commandments for him in all their unattainable glory, the rich man said, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Did you hear that? All the commandments – “I have kept all these since my youth.” Now I know that’s not possible, maybe you know that’s not possible too – but why would this guy so delude himself that he would proclaim to our Lord and God: “I have kept all these since my youth?” Because pretending that we don’t need help is easier than admitting that we do. Do you know how good kids can get at hiding their illiteracy? So, good that some graduate from high school while maintaining this awful secret. Do you know how well some grandparents can hide their dementia? So well that their children have no idea until it’s too late to do anything about it. According to Dr. Brene Brown, a noted scholar on the subject of vulnerability, rather than ask for help or confess that we need it, many people will work towards a perfection that they’ll never achieve because revealing their state of need is just too painful. Some people can’t say they need help. They just can’t stand the thought that they need it. And why is that? Many experts believe it is because of shame. In his book, Spirituality in Recovery, a 12 Step Approach, Dr. John Ishee, a good Presbyterian and the retired Director of Pastoral Care at Cumberland Heights Alcohol and Drug Treatment Center in Nashville writes: “There is an important difference between guilt and shame. Guilt is the feeling that we have done something wrong – that we have violated your conscience. Shame is more. It is the feeling that we are wrong – flawed, defective, less than, unworthy, deficient, disgraceful, bad – even evil. Guilt prompts us to think or say, “I made a mistake.” Shame prompts us to think or say, “I am a mistake.” Do you know how many people have received that message? Received it even from the church? I’m one of them. For years, I believed, and some days I still do, that sin is not so much an act that can be forgiven but a state that I am sentenced to. “Sinner.” Perhaps you’ve felt it before, as one woman did at our Ash Wednesday service not two weeks ago: “I can’t go forward to have those ashes on my head,” she told her friend, “I’m just not worthy.” And you can see here that shame causes us to miss the entire point. It keeps us resigned to the darkness for fear of exposure. It convinces us that we cannot be healed as the Israelites were in the wilderness when Moses listed up the serpent and all who looked upon it were saved. Shame convinces us that it’s not our deeds which are evil, but ourselves – that the ashes we wore on our foreheads cannot be washed away. But they can: “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.” Come to the light – no matter how long you have walked in darkness, the darkness does not define you. And come to the water – where your sins will be washed away. Be born again, for anyone can be born after having grown old – and everyone, no matter how old, is still in need of the Savior who makes all things new. Amen.