"He came to Jesus by night"-Sermon for Lent 2, John 3:1-17:
I have often, even recently, shared stories about my father Nathan who we lost in 2007. I have noted his life-long struggles with addiction and recently told the story of the early days of my parents’ separation. My mom driving by local watering holes with me and my brother in the back seat of the car, 6 and 4 years old, when he hadn’t come home for several days at a time. Hoping to see his car in a half full parking lot…to talk…to express our love and concern for him…to hopefully bring him home. And, though Nathan would be out of our lives as much as in it in the many years following and perhaps as more of a friend than a father, I have also noted that my dad and I remained close through all the ups and downs…through all the highs and lows…the nighttime moments and, though fewer than we would like, the more light filled hopeful moments that proceeded his premature death at 58. My brother and I were even blessedly able to be with him…holding him…as young men ourselves…when he breathed his last. The room full of love in the midst of loss…a holy moment of deep connection…a family reconciled and gathered in prayer, sharing sweet words of love and affirmation…with God at the very center.
It was literally in the middle of the night when my dad passed away. But, in that, again, holy moment of deep connection, it was as if the long night of a life full of disappointment and “what if’s” came to an end in the light of a new day dawning…the light of his resurrection…the ultimate healing that comes to each of us, through cross and empty tomb, such that in the fullness of time, when each of our races have been run, we will all stand with head held high, whole and healed of our own brokenness and dis-ease, completely as the people God created us from the beginning to be…standing shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, in the very presence of unending light and love and bliss. For God so loved the world that he gave us his only son…not to condemn the world…not to condemn you and me…but to save us…to save all of us…that we might be born again and again from our own present darkness…from our own nighttime moments in the present and most especially at the end. Though we still have a way to go…Lent always leads to Easter.
And, I will also note, that my dad, Nathan, was sober for several years before he passed. And, one moment I will always treasure is getting to attend an AA meeting with him. It also happened to be at night. We drove to some ubiquitous strip center in Dallas near where he lived. Other men arriving at the same time, many with a cigarette or cup of coffee in hand. Though strangers to me, they were dear friends to my father who he greeted warmly by name. Though, again, it was night, the room we entered was brightly lit by fluorescent lights. The space had clearly been some sort of retail establishment in a prior life. But, the real light…the light of hope, of transformation, of lives resurrected…of lives saved and lives born again…really began to light up and fill the room as we joined the circle and the conversation began in earnest. Men vulnerably and courageously laying bare their hearts before God and each other…revealing the substance of their nighttime lives…the hopes and fears of all their years. Each beginning with a similar refrain…something like, as my father uttered himself, “Hi, my name is Nathan. I am an alcoholic.” My father, adding, at his turn…”And, I brought with me today my son, Miles, whom I love.” Which was followed by warm words of affirmation and welcome by all those gathered. So much heavenly light pushing back against the night crowding in from the store front windows.
Though the Gospel lesson that sits before of us today is a story I have been familiar with since I was a small child…hearing it read in the Episcopal Church I grew up in…running into it occasionally in a Sunday School class…it was when I was helping lead a bible study with another group of men in New Orleans, where I had internship the summer after my first year of seminary…that the particular phrase from the second verse of the passage…first quickened my heart. It literally felt like it jumped off the page at me. I love it when scripture surprises us, as is so often does, and I think that is when we really need to pay attention. And, specifically, I am referring to John’s descriptive words, again at the very beginning of this passage, which read, “He came to Jesus by night”. I suppose I had always jumped on to the “born again” phrase or the much beloved 16###sup/sup### verse that I have already quoted and begins, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son”…a verse prominently displayed in the crowd of every major sporting event I watched or attended as a child. And, though each are worthy of our attention…maybe even are the most important parts of Jesus’ teaching in this passage, again, in that particular bible study, I was blessedly struck, maybe I should say stuck…even entirely undone…here at the second verse with these six seemingly innocuous words, “He came to Jesus by night”.
These words would be understandably easily passed by as just something to set the scene. This conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus just happened to take place at night…perhaps after a long day of work and dinner…just when Nicodemus could finally get away. But, friends, there are no throw away lines in scripture. It is all God-breathed, and I believe John chose each word in his Gospel with great intention. So, as I began to really lean into these words, as I have many times since then. I began to think about when and why, when and why I have gone to Jesus by night. And, I speak not here about the hour of the day…but, instead, the condition of my heart, which is what I think John was pointing to as well. For, indeed, it has been when my heart has been clouded by the darkness of shame and confusion and grief and fear and insecurities and compulsion and betrayal…my own and others…it is in those nighttime moments…groping around in the dark…perhaps akin to a stumbling drunk…when I have found, like Nicodemus, my own way to Jesus. And, why? To be born again…not once forever…but many times…to be born again…to be saved. For God so loved the world that he gave us his son…not to condemn us…but to save us. Or, as Bill so powerfully said last week, I have gone to Jesus by night to be broken open…that the light might come in.
And, friends, to go to Jesus by night is not cowardice. It is certainly not weakness. Brene Brown writes, “Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor - the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart."” Thus, to go to Jesus by night, is to courageously lay before Jesus and those he has placed in our lives as his own heart and hands…a friend or loved one who has earned our trust, a pastor or therapist or support group…to lay before Jesus in prayer and soul-bearing conversation, often with others, our whole heart…in all of its beauty and giftedness and all of its darkness and suffering…honestly, vulnerably, entirely…to be saved…to be born, again and again, into a whole new life…a life filled up with God’s perpetual light and love…that always shines through the darkness of death…and all the many, many varied expressions of death, our ancient foe, we will and do experience while we yet live.
It is this that Nathan, my dad, blessedly demonstrated for me, before God and that God given company of companions, each broken and beat up, just like each of us, in that heavenly lit store front with the nighttime darkness trying but failing to push in through the windows. He showed me what it means to go to Jesus, the Light of the World, by night. What it means to courageously lay our whole heart, its light and its darkness, its love and its brokenness, before Jesus…and be born again and again. For God so loved the world that he gave us his only son…not to condemn it…not to condemn us…but to save us…save all of us. Amen.