Come to the Light

Scripture Lessons: Numbers 21: 4-9 and John 3: 1-21 Sermon title: Come to the Light Preached on March 18th 2018 As I said last Sunday, the Gospel of John is full of important details, and some of those details are both significant and unique to John's Gospel. The important detail John gives us at the beginning of our Second Scripture Lesson for today is this detail that "a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews…came to Jesus by night." Not in the day - by night. And you know why people choose to do some things at night. No one has to buy a new car under the cover of darkness. No one sneaks in to a Post Office to deliver mail. This Pharisee, Nicodemus, he goes to see Jesus, not when people would have been out and noticing things, but at night when the Mrs. Kravitz' of the world were in bed sleeping. Why then does he go at night? 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 the Publix but goes into the liquor store. You know this kind of person. He's like the woman whose husband is drawing unemployment, but she maxes out the credit cards on a big vacation so she can still send out a Christmas card of her family at the beach. Why? Because all of us are interested in keeping up appearances, but so often that's doing us more harm than good. Nicodemus going to see Jesus at night reminds me of Jan Brady when she hid her glasses in her purse so Bernie McGuire wouldn't know that she wears them. Maybe you remember that episode of the Brady Bunch. Jan rode home from the library with her glasses still in her purse and crashes into the garage. Isn't it strange that sometimes we'd choose wreaking our bicycles over being seen for who we really are? Nicodemus goes to see Jesus at night, and you know why. Because we all go to Jesus out of our own version of the night, not sure whether or not we're ready to be really seen. Not sure if we want anyone to know who we really are and what we're struggling with, and most of us feel this feeling so profoundly that we even hide the truth from our doctors, our children, some even feel compelled to hide here at church. We cover up our struggles with Easter Bonnets. It's hard to ask the Sunday School class to pray for you when you're struggling, because we'd all rather brag to them about how well our kids are doing or how we're going to redecorate our kitchen. Everyone is glad to come to church when they're preparing for their wedding day. Meeting with the organist, picking out the flowers, talking about the details, and going in to the pastor's office to discuss the ceremony. But it's so much harder to get here when you're going through a divorce, even though that's exactly what this place is for. This is a hospital. We come here because we're sick and want to be healed, but it's so hard to come to terms with our own affliction. We'd all prefer to be well, so that's what we pretend, and that's the story that we tell ourselves and our friends. Nicodemus is afraid to go see Jesus in the light of day for the same reason that people use Facebook as a giant forum for pretending that everything is OK. But we have to be real to someone. If we don't, hiding the truth will kill us, but telling the truth requires overcoming some serious obstacles. In the words of John Calvin, that great theologian 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. Hence we are reminded that they who occupy a lofty station in the world are, for the most part, entangled by very dangerous snares." And what are those snares? The snares of decorum that keep people from being honest. The snares of familial obligation that push some to uphold a certain image and keeps them from airing their dirty laundry. The snares of appearances that keep the powerful from apology and any semblance of weakness. The snares of ego driven fear that keep the religious from enjoying the benefits of grace, for sometimes even we Presbyterians choose to appear like we have it all together rather than reveal our need for mercy. Nicodemus goes to Jesus at night, because for those who feel inclined to maintain the air of having things under control, words like: "I don't know what to do," 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 and don't have to face each other. 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." Think about those words. "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. Seeking out help from him requires complete vulnerability. 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 who'd look down on me saying: "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 of being honest is just too painful a thought. 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 our 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." There are religious groups and churches at work in this world who are so capable of inspiring their congregations to feel shame, that they will convince you that it's not a matter of whether or not you're going to Hell, just how soon. For years, I believed, and some days I still do, that sin is not so much a reality that can be forgiven but a state that I am sentenced to permanently. "Sinner." Shame keeps us resigned to the darkness. Shame 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. And shame causes us to misunderstand who Christ is. But listen to what he said: "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." A man came out of the 8:30 service this morning and told me that a coach long ago told him not to go complaining about his problems to anybody. "60% of people don't care, and the other 40% are glad you're suffering." But that's not so with my Lord. Our challenge is simply that the road to healing is a road, not of denial, but of vulnerability. The position to receive salvation is one of surrender. Using Nicodemus as our model, we all must step out of the shadow and into the light, not as we long to be but as we are. In need. Weak and broken, ready to receive healing, mercy, and acceptance from a loving Savior. The hymn got it right: we need not tarry till we're better, or we will never come at all. Come to the light - no matter how long you have walked in darkness, the darkness does not define you and you need not be afraid. For anyone can be born again after having grown old - and everyone, no matter how old, is still in need of the Savior who makes all things new. Amen.