During
the summer after sixth grade, I set out on a mission of the direst sorts. You
see, I was certain that there was a secret alien base hidden under Burnet High
School. We lived across the street from the school, and there were strange
happenings around it throughout the summer—people coming and going at odd times
of day and night, weird lights shining out of windows and smoke hanging around
doors, and weird noises coming from the gym and the auditorium when no one was
supposed to be there.
I
shared my convictions and fears with some of my close friends, people that I
knew would take me seriously and share my concerns. We decided to set out one
night to engage in reconnaissance work. We snuck out of the house around
midnight—yes, I snuck out a lot during the summers—and we ventured across the
street to the campus. As much as possible, we slipped from shadow to shadow,
staying as hidden as we could. We had even donned black sweatshirts and black
pants—in the summer in Texas, mind you—to blend into the darkness as much as
possible.
After
a slow slink from my house the school, we began our search for extraterrestrial
existence. We peered into windows, checked every door we could, and we even
climbed an outside ladder up onto a lower section of the roof. And do you know
what we found?
Absolutely
nothing.
But
that didn’t matter to us. We were still insistent that there were aliens there.
We knew that if we said something to anyone else, our parents, friends,
teachers, and pastors would think us crazy, or just silly boys that were
divulging in sillier fantasies. So we kept it quiet, and every week or so, my
group of friends would stay over and we would again venture out into enemy
territory.
In
our Scripture reading this week, we hear of someone else who ventured out into
the night to engage in a dire mission. This man is slowly and carefully making
his way down the street, doing his best to blend in with the night and within
the shadows of the buildings around him. If anyone else was out and about, his efforts
would have been in vain, for his clothing and his bearing would have
immediately given him away to any who would have spared even the briefest of
glances.
But
luck is on his side tonight. No one else is out, and he is able to make his way
unseen across the village and into a small house located in the poorest section
of a poor town. As our stranger turns from slowly closing the front door,
painstakingly trying to make as little noise as possible, he is greeted the
house’s resident, the very man that our nocturnal caller has braved the empty
streets to meet.
They
stare, face-to-face at each other, one smiling, and the other startled that he
was not able to get the drop on his mark.
I
can imagine Jesus looking at the intruder, smiling, and saying, “Well hello
there, Nicodemus. So good of you
to drop in.”
And
I can imagine Nicodemus, too startled for small talk, jumping right to the
point. “Look, Jesus. We need to talk.”
Nicodemus,
a Pharisee, comes to Jesus and says an amazing thing. “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has
come from God, for no one could do these miraculous signs that you do unless
God is with him.”
Do
you ever read something or hear someone say something and you can’t help but
think that something is missing? Well for me, this is one of those times. I
hear Nicodemus’ words and I can’t help but think, there’s more, right?
And
there is. There’s an unspoken “but” hidden in his words.
It’s
like when you tell the police officer, “Sir, I know I was speeding down the
highway, but… don’t you think you
could let me off with a verbal warning.”
Nicodemus
is saying, “Jesus, we know you are wise and doing things of God, but…” Can you hear it? I wonder what it
is that he wants to say, but doesn’t.
“Jesus,
we know you’re wise and sent by God, but do you have to be so mean to us?”
“Jesus,
we know you’re wise and sent by God, but don’t you think you should dress more
appropriately when coming into Temple?”
“Jesus,
we know you’re wise and sent by God, but do you have to go and heal everyone?
How will we know who all the sinners are if they aren’t paralyzed and blind?”
The
“but” is definitely there.
And
I’m certain that these two things—the coming of Nicodemus at night and his
unspoken yet emphatic “but”—are absolutely interconnected. You see, since
Nicodemus was a Pharisee, it was most likely not the greatest career move for
him to be meeting with someone like Jesus. In the previous chapter of John’s
Gospel, Jesus goes into the Temple at Passover and clears it out, driving out
the merchants and moneychangers and yelling to all that they have turned a
house of worship into a market. Jesus isn’t exactly the Pharisees’ favorite
person.
And
yet here he is, sneaking off into the night to meet with the Messiah, to tell
him that he knows that he is a teacher who has come from God, for no one could
do what he had done except on God’s authority.
Nicodemus,
like me and my aliens so many years ago, knew a secret that he was afraid to
share with anyone else: the secret that Jesus was the Christ.
He
came to speak to Jesus, to tell him that he knew Jesus was more than the
Pharisees were willing to admit, to tell him that he believed.
But…
but… that wasn’t all. You see, Nicodemus is willing to admit to Jesus his
convictions, but he isn’t able to openly admit his beliefs to anyone else.
Jesus had probably interacted with him in the Temple the day before. Nicodemus
could have helped Jesus cleanse the Temple. But no. He was afraid, so he came
to Jesus under the cover of night, when no one else would hear what he said,
when no one else would find out.
How
many times do we do that? How many times do we proclaim that Jesus is Lord, but
only when it is convenient to us? How many times do we show our faith, but only
when we aren’t around others who might judge us negatively for it? How many
times do we, like Nicodemus, allow our fears to stay our feet and our voices
during the day when people are watching, and only acknowledge Jesus in the
silence and safety of a dark house?
Have
you ever seen those Jesus fish bumper stickers? They’re pretty simple, just a
little silver fish made out of two lines that sticks onto your back bumper.
They’re pretty popular, and you usually don’t have to drive long before seeing
one on the road. I mentioned to a pastor friend of mine once that I thought
they were a neat and easy way to share your faith. I’ll never forget his
response to me. He said, “I’ll never put one of those on my car because I’m a
horrible driver. I don’t want the people behind me judging the church because I
just cut them off in traffic.”
This
pastor was afraid of what people might think if they knew that the person
behind the wheel was a Christian. He thought it would reflect poorly on the
church, and put him in an even worse light. So, when he’s driving, he hides his
faith, working to blend into the anonymity that only a busy highway can give.
He could instead strive to become a better driver. He could make it a habit of
using his blinker, slowing down at yellow lights instead of gunning the gas, and
redirecting his road rage somewhere else. But no. He chooses to cover his
Christian convictions so that he can continue to drive like a maniac.
What
about you? Where are the places in your life where you refuse to show your
Jesus fish bumper ornament? Where are the areas in your life that you feel
pressured by fear to come before Christ only under the cover of darkness?
Where
are the aliens that infest the high school of your life?
Because
the truth is that we are called to do live our lives differently. We are called
to come to Christ in the darkness of night and
in the brightness of day. We are called to proclaim our faith always, working in everything we do—even
in how we drive our cars—to announce to everyone the wonderful news that Jesus
is the Christ. We are called to share our convictions and our beliefs with
everyone—not just the people we think will believe us, but absolutely everyone,
so that the world might come to know the love of Christ.
Friends,
we are called to be and do more than Nicodemus. We are called to join with
Jesus in proclaiming that “God so
loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him
won’t perish but will have eternal life. God didn’t send his Son into the world
to judge the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever
believes in him isn’t judged; whoever doesn’t believe in him is already judged,
because they don’t believe in the name of God’s only Son.”
May God help us
all answer that call.
Amen.
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