Lent 2 2014

Lent 2 2014

It should be no surprise that Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. Nicodemus after all was an important man. He was a Pharisee and was known as a leader of the Jewish people, which placed him right among the group that Jesus often used for theological target practice. So ‘under cover of darkness’ was probably the best way for a man of political and religious import to meet with a radical.

I can imagine all of the anxiety that Nicodemus must have felt—after all, Jesus was bad news to some, but to others (like Nicodemus) Jesus was a breath of fresh air. It just may not have worked out so well if their respective groups happened to see them talking. But Nicodemus seemed eager to make the connection, and before long the two were in a discussion in which Nicodemus tried a little ‘bait and switch’ only to have Jesus ‘turn the tables.’

And if that isn’t enough use of cliché, Jesus even tells Nicodemus that he needs to be born from above—or as some would put it “born again.” It seems the only thing that’s missing from the moment is Jesus holding up a sign with John 3:16 painted on it, and Nicodemus being led through a sinner’s prayer.

Sorry. That was probably a little mean, and I take full responsibility for my own baggage about Evangelicalism.

But the truth is, in my previous experience in Protestant Evangelicalism, “born again” had a particular connotation. For one to be accepted by God, one must pray a “sinner’s prayer” and accept Jesus Christ as personal Lord and Savior. What was to follow, then, was a life of certain expectations and behaviors, which made it clear that you were set apart from a world, which (in turn) was doomed to destruction for all of its irresponsible rebelliousness.

Of course, outside of the Evangelical tradition, there is an understandable suspicion about prayer formulas for salvation and prescribed piety as a by-product of being saved. After all, we believe that Holy Baptism is the full initiation into the Christian faith.

However for as convoluted as the “born again” approach can be, I don’t think we can completely ignore all of it—especially when we start talking about the intimacy of relationship with Jesus Christ. Because for many people in that tradition, Jesus is not only held up as the Incarnation of God, but there is a deep love and intimacy to their spiritual lives.

At times while there is an almost over-familiarity with the divine—there is at the same time a trust that when all else collapses, faith maintains them. And even though there is some guilt associated with the practices, the tradition touts biblical literacy and vibrant lives of personal prayer as integral to one’s relationship with God. But above all else, it is supposed to be deep love of God that keeps them going…keeps them praying, keeps them awake for sermons which can go on for hours (literally).

However, there is another side to all of this, specifically the part that makes people feel like their relationship with Christ is only a personal thing.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t support a vibrant, personal faith—in fact, I think that we as Episcopalians might do well to practice more vibrant personal faith.

Instead, what I am talking about is how this type of personalization of faith can become so one-on-one focused that we begin to think that we can experience God apart from community as well, if not better, than we can in community. In other words, I don’t need a community of faith just so long as I have personal faith in Jesus.

Not only does this sort of attitude lead to isolation, but it is also where much of the “spiritual but not religious” ideology emerged in the 1990s…kind of ironic, really. But I suppose if your faith is not rooted and connected in community, one is left to drift on their own.

All the same, in a responsible, responsive faith, we’re expected to maintain both a strong sense of personal faith, as well as keep up a communal practice of our faith. Both do have some distinctive features, obviously, but these are not, however, mutually exclusive; because both naturally revitalize each other.

In fact, one of the many fascinating things about the Desert Mothers and Fathers is that they each left their respective cities to live solitary lives in the desert. Whether they chose to live in caves, like St. Antony, or in huts; these ascetics physically chose to set their lives apart to live their lives focused on their spiritual growth.

In many ways I think we idealize this lifestyle—I mean, sure bandits and scorpions were probably a regular issue, but there is still something very appealing about simplicity, and being in a place where there are few distractions. Even if silence and prayer aren’t your thing, who couldn’t do with some time away from cellphones, e-mail and traffic?

Anyway, the gift that we have from the desert ascetics is not only this amazing body of spiritual wisdom teachings; but, more importantly, (and surprisingly) we have lessons about how we ought to live and be formed in community.

Strangely enough, asceticism works best only if it is anchored to community.

So, whether we’re talking about the Desert Mothers and Fathers, or we’re talking about the Medieval English Anchoress, Julian of Norwich; all of them founded their places of solitude either near a city, or in loose communities within a short walk of one another, as was the case with the Desert Ascetics. The point being, that none of us is a Christian by ourselves—we need others who share our faith to not only challenge us and hold us accountable, but also to help us form one another through our stories and respective experiences. So, like Nicodemus, all of us have to eventually stop only meeting Jesus in dark isolation.

I recently had a conversation with a colleague that illustrates this point perfectly. He told me, regarding his congregation, that “there are all of these people with ‘little stories.’ And they have these stories that no one else knows—only their small groups who are involved in their circles. But none of them want to share their little stories; they don’t want to get involved with one another to share who they are and what is important to them outside of their circles. It’s too risky. But they miss that they are given the opportunity to share their little stories with the bigger story of the Gospel…”

To me this idea of having our respective ‘little stories’ is a fascinating image, because I think he’s right—we’re involved with what interests us; we’re involved in the things we want to be involved in; but then, there is this much greater story (greater community of faith) that we’re not engaging—specifically this greater story that is the Gospel. After all the Gospel is the Good News that Christ has come to redeem the world—a very big story—and our ‘little stories’ are anecdotes of how and why that matters.

Besides, how effective do we believe hearing John 3:16 quoted ad nausaeum could actually be when we’re not able to articulate what it matters to us—how it’s changed us—or how our little story fits as part of the whole…

Perhaps if we’re willing to share our little stories, even just beyond our circles, we might begin to learn from one another how to articulate the way in which the Gospel is incarnated in our lives. Maybe, if we even allowed ourselves to engage the life of the church a bit more, who we are and what we’re about won’t be left in the dark with Nicodemus; and the whole of our community of faith could benefit.

However, this can only happen if we allow ourselves to mingle our circles; to mingle our stories; and even, eventually mingle our lives so that we begin to truly form one another in Christian faith.

Because our stories of our lives changed by Christ are not the same as what Nicodemus experienced. We’re not called to meet in secret, or isolate our relationship with Christ apart from everyone else. If nothing else, our relationship to Jesus calls us to be in community—after all, perfect community is the very image of the Holy Trinity. And if we really believe that we are called to be the Church, then it is our responsibility to reflect God’s Presence and Christ’s love to the world; but this begins by being engaged in community and a shared life of faith.