THE WIND BLOWS WHERE IT WILL

John 3:1-17

St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

June 7, 2009, 2009

It was the time of shadows. The sun had gone down; people had headed home for dinner; and now, with night sliding in, everyone was moving into those quiet conversations that led eventually to sleep. But not so for Nicodemus, who was moving carefully through the shadows; quietly, tentatively walking through the dark streets of Jerusalem, searching for Jesus.

Call Nicodemus the patron saint of the curious. (a phrase borrowed from Margaret Hess). …the man who was full of questions; who had heard about this rabbi Jesus, who had done some research, who wanted to know more.

It’s hard to know why he was hungry for this encounter. Nicodemus was someone who appeared to have it made… a respected member of the Sanhedrin we are told later, which made him part of the ruling class, the elite… and presumably, quite wealthy. Probably a family man; successful. And yet, dissatisfied; curious; wanting to know more.

Nicodemus arrives at the tavern, the hostel where Jesus and his friends are staying. He opens the door; the wind slides in, and the hearth fire flares up; the conversation stops, and all eyes focus on Nicodemus. It takes courage to open the door, to walk into a group of strangers; it takes courage to ask questions; it takes courage to acknowledge that all is not well in your life, despite outward appearances; to admit that there is a hunger for something more, deeper, richer.

Like walking through the door into your first AA meeting; or your first visit to a group of young mothers living with post-partum depression. Full of curiosity, full of questions – will I find help here ? Will I find hope? Will I find me? It takes courage to ask questions like this, and then go tentatively and carefully through the shadows, to knock on the door. Maybe like walking into a church for the first time, this church perhaps. Curious, searching, with questions… like Nicodemus, wondering whether this Jesus is someone worth spending time with, wondering whether your restless search for the More, for God might be addressed here. It takes courage to walk through a church door for your first time.

But when Nicodemus entered the hostel, into the quick silence and stares, I imagine Jesus smiling, welcoming him into the circle around the table. Despite the shadows, Jesus could see that Nicodemus was alive with questions, born of the curiosity that is part of being human. For life is always presenting us with one question after another, in the crises that we humans experience, when we are cracked open by pain, exhaustion, grief, death; or by joy, release, birth; when we are ground down by the incessant pressure of too much “stuff”, filled with ennui, boredom; when we partake of the sacrament of defeat.

It happens… we are cracked open one way or another; the questions are inevitable. But it takes courage to acknowledge their presence, how they destabilize us, letting our vulnerability show. I came across a Dilbert cartoon the other week that highlighted the risk in asking such questions… you never know what you’re going to hear. Dilbert and his mother in the first panel of the cartoon. “How’s work?” she asks, and Dilbert responds, “I’m doing the job of three people and my pay has been cut 20%. My investments are worthless and my odds of finding a suitable mate are nearing zero. My life has no meaning, no joy, no hope. … Do you have any motherly advice?” And his mother responds, “Shake it off, you big wuss! And you can pass that wisdom on to the grandchildren you won’t be having.” Dilbert looks at her, “You’re not good at this.” And his mother walks away , saying, “Eat broccoli. Whatever.”

It’s a risk, asking for advice, admitting the questions, following our curiosity… but if this were precisely the means of bringing us into a deeper, more satisfying life? Have you ever noticed how many cracks and questions there are in the Bible? …”What is truth? Am I my brother’s keeper? Who is my neighbour? What must I do to inherit eternal life? My God, why have you forsaken me? What does the Lord require of me? Is it I, Lord?

Questions, cracks… Leonard Cohen understood this, didn’t he?

Ring the bells that still can ring,
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.

But be ready to be surprised; when you ask your questions, you don’t know what you’re going to hear. For instance, take Jesus’ first words to Nicodemus… “No one can see the Kingdom of God without being born again, from above.” Nicodemus might have been tempted to respond, “You’re not good at this.” His confusion was evident… “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” A bit of a literalist perhaps… or was he just afraid of what it might entail, to be reborn? Jesus pushes Nicodemus a bit further, “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 is born of the Spirit is spirit.”

Jesus is talking about a whole new way of knowing and seeing… a life rooted in the Spirit. Not a put down of the flesh, but rather a recognition that we are not just our flesh, but with consciousness, mind, spirit, soul… we are more. We are children of God… who can be filled with holy light, wind and life. We can participate in the More, we can recognize our relationship with this God. And it will change everything… here, and now. When John talks about the Kingdom of God, and later, about eternal life, he is not talking about something that happens after death, as if we will be given length of days in realms beyond our ken; no, rather, he is urging us to be reborn, born from above… probably over and over, reborn again and again and again. Moments when Buddhists might say we have a flash of enlightenment; when the 14th century Christian mystic, Mechtild of Magdeburg claimed, “The moment of my awakening was when I saw – and knew I saw—that God was in all things and all things were in God.” Not a bad way, I think, to talk about being born again.

Jesus is inviting Nicodemus into transformation, into a way of living differently. Perhaps the metaphor of rebirth can be stretched… if I am born again, that means I have to grow up again. Now God forbid that I should ever have to relive my adolescence, but there’s something to be said about understanding my life in a new way, as if I could relive, or perhaps better, re-interpret my past… discovering a capacity to forgive, to repair damage, to heal from old wounds, to be reconciled, to understand my life differently… a life that becomes deeper and wider. I can look back over past decisions, and decide to move in new directions; or discover new ways of affirming and enlivening those decisions.

To be reborn is to become part of a new family. Your being is not limited by the accidents of your physical birth – class, caste, race, ethnicity, wealth; your genetic make-up; nor by what your parents and siblings did or didn’t do. Oh, you were shaped and formed by all of this; hugely so. But through the Spirit, you can begin reworking what you’ve been given, making decisions about how you will live into your flesh, transforming the raw material of your life into a holy pilgrimage. You can be reborn, a child of God, who knows she or he is a child of God, born of the Spirit.

“How can this be?” asks Nicodemus… the last words we hear from him; a final question as he slips away, back into the night… touched maybe, intrigued, haunted. He will come back. Surely his question is our question… How can this be?

In trying to answer this question, I could talk psychologically… drawing your attention to the work done on “Stages of Faith,” particularly the research done by Jim Fowler, who -- informed by Piaget’s work on stages of cognitive learning, and Erik Erikson’s work on stages of psychological development, and Larry Kohlberg’s work on stages of moral development – developed the theory that we humans move through discernible and identifiable stages of faith. Seven stages he outlines, with most of us hanging around stage three, four or five; with the occasional Gandhi, Martin Luther King or Mother Teresa hitting number seven. Not a bad way to understand rebirth. Helpful, in fact; worth reading about.

I could speak Biblically … “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.” This rebirth stuff? It’s God who kickstarts it… that Holy Energy that arises from within us, like breath; that cradles us like morning breeze; that sweeps us off our feet like wild ocean winds; that breaks us into pieces, like a hurricane blasting Stanley Park. But it happens because God loves the world, loves us…. and works for our good in every event, in all the cracks and questions that arise from our daily lives, our joy and our pain.

Or I could speak ornithologically… I was raised to be a bit of bird watcher, with parents that buy bird books as part of their travels… birds of Costa Rica; birds of Britain. They used to be on the “birder alert” in Victoria, quickly informed when a rare species was sighted in the area. So I am intrigued that often the Spirit is symbolized by birds… like the dove that you can see in that window over there. The transforming energy of Holiness comes as gently as a dove; quick flutter of wings, landing on your shoulder, or the palm of your hand, head cocked, beady eye focused… a messenger from above. But the Irish Celts thought this was too gentle… and so they represented the Spirit with the symbol of the goose, big and strong. I never think of one goose… where there’s one, there’s two, a flock, a V flying high. Geese share leadership, taking turns being first in flight line, cutting through the wind for others to follow; geese honk to each other, encouraging, supporting. Thus Spirit might be understood as coming through community, in the midst of what happens in our common life, the way we travel together. Then there’s West Coast symbolism, where First Nations people have suggested that the Spirit be understood through the Thunderbird, or through the eagle. “How can this happen?” asks Nicodemus. Well imagine a bald eagle soaring above, and then suddenly plunging down, claws fiercely grabbing hold, knocking you off your feet. Perhaps a good balance for dove-like thinking. And then, of course, take a look at the new hanging on the communion table, with the great blue heron in full flight. Imagine the Spirit at the ocean’s edge, still, silent, patient, waiting for just the right moment to leap into action. Some First Nations’ people understand the heron as a messenger from the “other side” Imagine the Spirit arriving in the mystery and majesty of a six-foot blue-grey wing span. “How can this be?” you ask… well, maybe just for this week, every time you see or think dove, geese, eagle, or heron… say to yourself, “The Spirit is at work.” The wind blows where it will on the wings of the morning.

Nicodemus left Jesus with a question on his lips… but we know it slipped into his heart, because chapter three is not the last time we will see this man. He shows up at the very end of the story, when Jesus is crucified. It is Nicodemus who joins with Joseph of Arimathea, to take the body of Jesus off the cross – I imagine Nicodemus holding Jesus so carefully, tenderly anointing the body with myrrh and aloes, wrapping him gently in linen cloths, and with love, placing him in the tomb. Somehow the light got in through the cracks and questions; the wind blew into the heart of Nicodemus; he was reborn. I imagine him quietly humming a song… maybe words like these (from the Medical Missionary Sisters):

Spirit of God in the clear running water,
Blowing to greatness the trees on the hill.
Spirit of God in the finger of morning:
Fill the earth, bring it to birth,
And blow where you will. Blow, blow, blow till I be
But the breath of the Spirit blowing in me.

Spirit of God [all of our] hearts are lonely
Watching and waiting and hungry until,
Spirit of God, we long that you only
Fulfill the earth, bring it to birth,
And blow where you will
Blow, blow, blow till I be
But the breath of the Spirit blowing in me.