John 3:1-16

I’m not really the betting type, but I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck that every single one of you has heard at least part of the text I just read from John’s Gospel before. In fact – I might kick myself for this in a minute – but can I get a show of hands of people for whom any of those words sounded familiar?
“For God so loved the world that God gave his only Son…” The famous – even infamous – most-quoted verse of Scripture: John 3:16. We’ve seen it on signs, on billboards, on bumper stickers. Those among us who are football fans have seen it painted on Tim Tebow’s face.
Or maybe the piece that you’ve heard time and time again is this idea of being “born again.” I imagine most of us have met someone who identifies as a “born again Christian.” Perhaps you identify as a born again Christian. Whatever way you slice it, this text has worked its way into the fabric of our culture. We couldn’t avoid this text it even if we wanted to.
And to be sure, there are plenty of Christians who would rather steer clear of this text. To be completely honest with you, some days I’m one of them! Because whether we love this text or hate it, whether we cling to John 3:16 for comfort on our hardest days or roll our eyes when we see it on yet another bumper sticker, whether we identify as “born-again” Christians or we cringe when we hear that label, I imagine most if not all of us here today can think of a time when the words we heard this morning have been used in a way that is hurtful. A time when these words about how “God so loved the world” has been spoken not in a spirit of love, but of judgment – even condemnation. We’ve seen those signs that say, “John 3:16 – When you die, where will you go?” Or perhaps we’ve encountered people, even strangers, that ask us, “Are you born again?” And we get the sneaking suspicion that they’re not actually asking to hear about our faith journey, that it’s more of a “secret handshake” to see if we’re in the club if we’ve made the cut.
Some have even called this text the “preacher’s nightmare” because of all the experiences – life-changing or traumatic – all the baggage we bring to this passage of Scripture. Because when we hear a text this familiar, it can be hard for us to really hear these words. To listen to what the Spirit is saying to the church today, to listen to something new.
The immense irony of all this is that the whole point of this text is that the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ – the Word made Flesh dwelling among us – requires we who would call ourselves God’s people to open our minds to see very old things in very new ways. At the very least, this seems to be what Jesus is asking of Nicodemus, as we listen in on their conversation.
Nicodemus, the text tells us, is a Pharisee. As we may remember, Jesus and the Pharisees do not tend to get along very well. But in this case, Nicodemus recognizes Jesus as one who comes from God and actually seeks Jesus out, albeit under the cover of darkness, because he wants to learn from him. As far as we can tell, he is sincerely trying to piece together the way that this ‘new thing’ Jesus is doing fits with his own religious tradition and long-held understanding of God.
And so Jesus, known for speaking in parables and even riddles, starts Nicodemus off with this: “Truly I tell you, no one can see the Kingdom of God without being born again – or born from above.” In English, we have to say it twice to convey the whole meaning of the word, but in Greek, this word, another, means both “again” and “from above”. It is a double entendre – a pun of sorts. Like saying, “I love camping; it’s usually…in tents.
Jesus is using wordplay, metaphor, perhaps even a little humor, to communicate in human terms something of the realm of God. For unlike those who use “born again” as a label,
when Jesus teaches Nicodemus about being “born again”, he is using a rich, multi-layered metaphor to put into words that which is really beyond words: The new thing that is happening in the incarnation of Jesus Christ – the very Kingdom of God breaking into the world.
Nicodemus…well…he’s not quite there yet. He’s still a bit skeptical. He’s still keeping Jesus at arm’s length; after all, they’re meeting in secret, under the cover of darkness, so that Nicodemus’ Pharisee friends don’t see him associating with this radical Rabbi. And so Nicodemus responds, “Born again? How is that possible? Can anyone go back into their mother’s womb a second time?”
I have to imagine that Jesus chuckled a little at this response. “Seriously, Nicodemus? You think I’m asking you, a grown man, to go back inside your mother’s womb for birth number two? Believe me, your mother is never going to agree to that!” No, Nicodemus, you can’t literally be born again from your human mother, but you can, and you will be born again by water and the Spirit, born from above – from the womb of God Herself.
The Gospel often asks us to look at old things in new ways, doesn’t it? To take a long-held belief and hold it up to the light of Christ, letting that light shine through it like a prism in the sun, reflecting and refracting the light so that an old truth sparkles and shines in new and perhaps unexpected ways.
Are there places in your own life where God might be calling you to see something old in a way that is new? Where is Jesus, the Word-made-Flesh, challenging you to embrace a bigger concept of God, or of truth? Where in your life of faith are you being shaped, like a child growing in the womb, before you can be born into a new chapter, a greater maturity, a new experience of relationship with God, with others, and with the world around us?
Truth be told, this text itself, and the way I’m interpreting it this morning offers us an opportunity to see an old thing in a new way, a way that is likely a little jarring and uncomfortable for some folks, and that perhaps fits quite naturally for others. Because with all this talk of being born again, born from God’s womb – well, for fear of stating the obvious, we are talking about a God who is…female.
Traditionally, though not exclusively, the Church through the centuries has chosen to use male language and imagery to refer to God. And to be sure, the Bible uses plenty of male languages to describe God. But the God of the Bible, the God revealed in Jesus Christ, is not exclusively male. In Scripture, God is described as a Father who has mercy on his children, a Mother who nurses and comforts her child. A Warrior who goes before his people in battle, and a Woman in labor who will no longer hold back her cries. A Shepherd who sets out to find his one lost sheep, and a Woman scouring her whole house for one lost coin. The God we meet in the Bible transcends not only gender but even humanity – God is a Rock, God is Water, God is Fire, God is a Tree, God is a Bird, God is Clothing we put on ourselves, God is Bread we eat.
Now, as good Presbyterians and practitioners of Reformed Theology, we know that God is none of these things “literally”, for the who and what of God is far beyond our human comprehension. Just like Jesus in his conversation with Nicodemus, we talk about God with the language of metaphor and imagination. And yet, somehow, even our metaphorical and imaginative language for God has tended to privilege those metaphors associated with male, masculine imagery.
This is not hugely surprising, seeing as the medieval church quickly grew into a patriarchal institution that privileged men and maleness over women and femaleness. We can see plenty of vestiges of that still in existence today. And yet, even for those of us who know, intellectually, that the vastness of God is entirely beyond our human concept of gender, that God
includes all expressions of gender – for remember, God created all of the humankind in God’s image – this idea of God as male still permeates our subconscious.
There is a story I remember hearing in seminary that illustrates this perfectly. A student in class one day, exasperated by a long and, in their opinion, largely irrelevant debate about the gender of God, finally cried out, “God is neither male nor female! He is Spirit!!”
So yes, this God Jesus describes in our text, this female, Mother, God-with-a-womb may be disconcerting to many of us. It may not be how we are used to talking about God. But remember, this is Jesus who is teaching. Jesus who calls us to look at old things in new ways.
So friends, I want to ask you this morning, what might it add to our understanding of God to look at God in this new way – as God the Mother, God who has a Womb, as She who is our refuge and strength? How does God our Mother make our knowledge and experience of Godself and God’s truth bigger, and more powerful, than it was before? What does acknowledging the feminine nature of God change the way we – those of us who are female and those of us who are male – understand the feminine nature in ourselves? How might it change the way we interact with and value our fellow human beings, especially those who have wombs, who are mothers, who are women?
Conclusion: God Gives Birth to Nicodemus – And to Us!:
In their nighttime meeting, Jesus asks Nicodemus to look at old things in new ways, but Nicodemus is not ready. At least not yet. You see, this conversation is not the last we hear of Nicodemus in John’s Gospel. He returns for a brief moment in Chapter 7, where he cautiously stands up for Jesus in a conversation with his fellow Pharisees. And then, near the end of the Gospel, we meet him one last time. Just after Jesus has been crucified and died on the cross, Nicodemus shows up with myrrh and aloe, and he and Joseph of Arimathea anoint Jesus’ body for burial. It takes him awhile, and we never get a solid answer, but I think eventually, Nicodemus begins to understand how he might see old things through the new light of Christ. I think that if we could kneel down next to him as he anointed Jesus’ crucified body, he might even begin to tell us a little bit about what it means to be born again, born from the womb of God.
Perhaps Nicodemus needed more time to grow, to experience God’s healing and transforming grace, to be nurtured in God’s womb. Perhaps when we meet him in chapter 3, Nicodemus is simply not ready to be born again, to be born from above.
And you know what? I think that’s ok. Growth is a process, after all, in or outside of the Womb. Perhaps Nicodemus is still what my friend Deborah Kapp calls a “gestating Christian,” one who still needs the safety and nurture of God’s womb in order to continue to grow in this season of his life. Or maybe Nicodemus has been through this whole process before and is now back in the womb of God, to grow further into the man God has called him to be – for we are not only born again but again and again and again and again.
Perhaps you have experienced this sort of rebirth from above in your own life. Perhaps you haven’t. Maybes you’re ready to follow Jesus’ invitation to look at old things in new ways, to receive God’s Spirit, to let your imagination run wild with the images and stories Jesus gives us to understand who God is and what She is doing in the world. Or maybe you’re not. Perhaps you, like Nicodemus, are still in God’s womb, being nurtured, and formed, and growing into the person God has called you to be. Maybe you’re there for the first time…maybe for the fortieth. Wherever you are, in this process, in this cycle, it’s ok.
Because of the good news friends, is that we worship a God who desires to give us new life. A God who is ready – even eager – to do the hard, sweaty work of labor on our behalf. A God
who so loved the world that she sent her only Son, so that we might not perish, but might have eternal life. We worship a God who is patient and nurturing, who will cradle us in her Womb until we are ready. Until finally, She whispers to us “It’s time”, and we are born again, born from above, born into a new maturity of faith, and of love, and of life. Thanks be to God.