Ephesians 2:1-10 John 3:14-21
Fourth Sunday in Lent
It was right after Jesus had raised a ruckus about unscrupulous people in the temple exchanging money, and selling cattle, sheep, doves, and cats, that a leader of the Jews came to Jesus in the darkness of the evening. His name was Nicodemus, and he was a Pharisee. You’ve heard of Nick at night, right? The Holy Spirit stirred his heart slightly. Perhaps he even had a mustard seed of faith. Whatever urged him on, it was enough to make him want to know, even need to know, more about Jesus. Nicodemus realized that religious leaders are highly scrutinized, so he came to Jesus in the cover of darkness. Meeting Jesus, he was the first to speak. “We know you are a teacher who has come from God. We see the signs,” he said. “Let go of what you think you know,” Jesus told him. “You have to be born from above.” After a confusing conversation about being born of water and the Spirit, he asked, “How can these things be?”
Jesus answered that Nicodemus did not believe the earthly things he had told him,– how could he believe the things of heaven? Jesus said that God would lift him up, just as Moses had lifted up the serpent in the wilderness. Humiliated and exalted all at the same time, Jesus would be lifted up on the cross, to save people from death. Then Jesus said to Nicodemus these words: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
For God so loved the world. A few years ago, it was popular to toss this phrase around on football field. Twenty years ago, that was a bumper sticker. Now it’s a tweet. But like most tweets, it’s fullness cannot be contained in six words. Jesus will be sentenced to death. He will be mocked and tortured, and with his mother watching, he will be hung on a cross to die.
The Holy Spirit must have grown that mustard seed of faith that Jesus had planted in Nicodemus. After Jesus died, he and Joseph of Arimathea came with a staggering amount of myrrh and aloes, and linen cloths to give Jesus a proper burial. And then God raised his only begotten son on the third day.
In the waters and the words of baptism, we are joined to Christ, to his life, and his death and his resurrection, we, too, receive new life. When Jesus came up out of the waters of his baptism, God said, You are my son, the beloved. In our baptisms, God claims us as sons and daughters. We are God’s beloved. This morning, Mira, the precious daughter of Michael and Sharon Powell, will be baptized. Through the Word and the water, Mira will be set apart for God’s use, which is the definition of a saint. She will receive the sign of the cross on her sweet, little forehead, and her life will become holy because God has laid God’s hands on her.[1] God loves her, and her parents, and her grandparents, and promises to never let go. This is God’s pure gift to us. Tim Wengert explains, God comes to us “in the flesh, in the water, in the bread and wine, in my needy neighbor, and even to children and infants. In a world where religion is what we make of it, this external, water and word, with all of its benefits, comes from outside of us and give us what no self-imposed piety can offer: God at work in the last place we would reasonably look.”[2]
God’s claim on us as God’s Beloved comes not from us, but from outside of us. I have a story about that. Like most people when they are shopping in the grocery store, I end up in conversations with strangers. One evening, I was standing there eyeing the fruit, when a woman looked at me and said, “What do you think heaven will be like?” Mind you, I was not wearing my clerical collar at the time. The woman didn’t even take time to catch her breath before she exclaimed, “It will be wonderful! But some people will be surprised when they don’t end up there.” I asked her if she thought she would be one of the ones who makes it. She replied, “Well, I better! I’ve been baptized 14 times!” (As my husband likes to say, more is better!) I smiled and nodded as I made my way over to the bread section. The bumper sticker that I had seen came to mind. “Jesus loves you, but I’m his favorite.”
As Lutherans we believe in one baptism, hearing in Ephesians, For by grace you have been saved through faith and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God. So I wonder how this woman understood baptism. Did its effectiveness wear off? Did she earn her salvation, like climbing a ladder? Was it all dependent upon her? Did she reach a higher level each time she was baptized? If so, what difference does Jesus’ death on the cross make?
As Mira grows, the world will teach her that she is rewarded for her good behavior, and forgiveness must be earned. She will be loved her for working hard, for doing the things which society desires, and for giving the “right” answers. But God’s love is not like the world’s. Our salvation does not depend on us. Neither does God’s claim on us. As Mira lives her days, the world will also tell her that sometimes she is beloved, and sometimes she is not. This is our reality, too. We hear from our society that we are not enough. We, in our struggle to be who we think we should be, lose sight of our belovedness, and we become separated from God. This is sin.
Before we can even confess our sin, we hear these words: But God, who is rich in mercy, loved us even when we were dead in sin, and made us alive togher with Christ. By grace you have been saved.
In our baptisms, we are marked with the cross, in which God claims us as his beloved. There is nothing that can change that, even our refusal to love God with our whole hearts. The mark of our baptism is the foundation for the ashen cross placed on our foreheads at the beginning of this Lenten season. Even in our death in sin, none of us is beyond God’s love and grace and redemption. Where we commit sin, God offers forgiveness. Where we see death, God brings life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son. For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.
In keeping with the baptismal emphasis of Lent, being reminded that we are joined to Christ in his suffering, and looking to this coming St. Patrick’s Day this coming Saturday, I end with this story. Legend has it that, about in the middle of the fifth century, King Aengus was baptized by St. Patrick. Sometime during the rite, St. Patrick leaned on his sharp, pointed staff and inadvertently stabbed the king’s foot. After the baptism was over, St. Patrick looked down. Seeing all the blood, he realized what he had done, and begged the king’s forgiveness. “Why did you suffer this pain in silence?” Patrick wanted to know. The king replied, “I thought it was part of the ritual.”
~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin
[1] See Seilhamer, Frank. Lima, Ohio: We Believe: an historical and spiritual guide to the Nicene Creed, 1993. 61-62.
[2] Wengert, Timothy. Martin Luther’s Catechisms. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2009. 112.