Tag Archives: John 3:16

Nicodemus gets a bad rap: A Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent, 2026

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March 1, 2026

We are gathered today on this Second Sunday in Lent, full of fear, anxiety, and anger. On top of all else that has happened over the last year as we have watched the institutions and values we held dear collapse; the unbearable burdens of it all weighing us down, and now this, war on Iran, a school with 85 schoolchildren bombed; the leader of their nation killed, chaos and further violence and pain await.

We gather today, distracted and mortified, seeking solace and comfort. Many of us may also have been hoping to use this season of Lent to deepen our faith, to grow in discipleship, to draw nearer to Christ as he and we all draw near to the cross. And yet it may be that for you, as well as for me, the words of today’s gospel offer no solace or comfort, but evoke trauma of past religious experiences—born again, or the weaponization of John 3:16. Words meant to offer life instead have offered condemnation in the culture of American Evangelical Christianity.

Although in this, the first year of our three year lectionary cycle, we spend most Sundays in the gospel of Matthew, for the next four Sundays, and during Eastertide, we will be reading from the Gospel of John. For today and the next three Sundays we will be spending time with three fascinating stories from that gospel, each of them detailing encounters with Jesus. This week, there’s Nicodemus; next it’s the Samaritan woman at the well; then there’s the man who was born blind; and finally, the story of the raising of Lazarus.

Each story is also a story of transformation; most obviously in the case of Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead. In today’s story, there seems to be no transformation but Nicodemus will make two other appearances in the gospel, most notably at Jesus’ death when he assists Joseph of Arimathea in burying Jesus’ body where he is identified as a follower of Jesus. But all that comes later.

For now, let’s focus on the story in front of us. Nicodemus is identified as a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews. So we’re meant to imagine a prominent figure in the community. We’re told he comes to Jesus by night, an image that evokes both darkness—the binary of light and darkness is prominent throughout John’s gospel, and secrecy. We might conclude that Nicodemus doesn’t want others to know that he sought out Jesus.

In any case, Nicodemus says something a bit puzzling to Jesus: “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” What’s interesting is that Nicodemus approaches him with a term of respect. Not yet an official role in Judaism, that would come a century or two later, but he calls Jesus Rabbi—teacher and goes on to say that Jesus performs signs—a reference in the gospel of John to Jesus’ miracles, which ability is a sign of God’s presence in and with Jesus.

On the surface, it seems fairly straightforward, an acknowledgement of Jesus’ power, but it is also probing: it’s not a direct challenge to Jesus’ authority as we will see later in the gospel, but it seems to imply that Nicodemus isn’t quite sure what to make of Jesus.

Not surprisingly, Jesus isn’t about to give him any help in his quest for information. As happens so often in the gospel, Jesus’ reply to him seems to be something of a non sequitur, perhaps even nonsensical: “I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born from above.” Nicodemus after all has made no mention of the kingdom of God.

And then comes another puzzle. Our translation reads “unless they are born from above.” The traditional translation is: “born again.” Same word, two completely different possible translations. Instead of asking Jesus to clarify what he meant, Nicodemus assumes Jesus means born again and asks how it is possible to enter one’s mother’s womb again. 

I see this as a pivotal moment in their encounter and it’s one that many of us have experienced. When we meet someone or something new, we want to fit into our categories of understanding, to make it make sense on our terms. Nicodemus seems to assume Jesus means one thing, even if it’s nonsensical or absurd, while Jesus is using words that are opening up whole new universes of possible meaning. That becomes clear as Jesus continues, speaking of the spirit blowing where it wills.

In addition to the confusing language that we have here, it’s not clear when Nicodemus leaves the scene. Are the last verses addressed to him, to other bystanders? Or given that Greek texts of the day lacked most punctuation not to mention spaces between words, it’s not even clear whether Jesus speaks the last few verses, or whether it’s the gospel writer addressing us as the text’s readers.  

In any case, I should point out that however John 3:16 has been used or interpreted in the past, it’s rarely coupled with the following verse: “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” In other words, it is not a statement of exclusivity or exclusion, but rather one of openness and invitation. Christ came into the world that the world—everyone, in fact, everything, the cosmos, might be saved through him.

As I mentioned, Nicodemus will appear again in the gospel, first in chapter 7, where Jesus is again in Jerusalem and is caught up in a dispute over the nature and origin of his authority. While Nicodemus does not defend him in front of the Pharisees, he does point out that Jesus deserves a fair hearing. This may suggest that the earlier encounter with Jesus opened Nicodemus to the possibility that Jesus’ message was life-giving and transformative. 

We see that transformation has taken place in Nicodemus’ final appearance in the gospel where he assists Joseph of Arimathea with Jesus’ burial and provides an extravagant amount of embalming spices. Now, we can conclude that Nicodemus is a disciple of Jesus though a secret one, like Joseph.

Over the past few weeks and months, I have had a number of conversations with people who are relatively new to the church; some are coming back to church after years or decades away, some are experiencing Christian community for the first time. Their journeys are unique, as are all of ours. Sometimes there’s a precipitating event; sometimes, a growing sense that there is something more to life than what they have been experiencing.

I think of Nicodemus, who was first drawn to Jesus because of the signs—miracles he performed but turned away when Jesus didn’t meet his expectations or provide easy answers. But over time, he kept wondering. Maybe he thought about what Jesus said, ruminated over it, tried to figure it out, and kept coming back to it. Maybe Jesus’ words began to make sense, or opened up to him new possibilities of life and faith. In the end, we see him ministering to Jesus at his death, performing intimate acts of devotion and care.

The chaos, violence, and disruption in the world that surrounds us can overwhelm us, immobilize us. It can make it difficult to find space or time to focus on what really matters, to explore our relationship with Jesus. It may make it difficult to process our feelings, to explore the questions that concern us. A chance encounter, words of life, the spirit blowing where it will, may plant seeds that take time to germinate in us. To nurture them, to allow them to grow and blossom may lead to new life in us. I hope you take time this season of Lent, to notice those seeds in yourself, to nurture and sustain them, that your life in Christ may grow to its full stature.

God loves the Cosmos: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, 2021

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For God so loved the world…

A familiar verse, etched in many of our memories since childhood, John 3:16 etched on jewelry, on billboards, on signs held up at sporting events. One of those ubiquitous Christian symbols that can be off-putting and life-giving, a marker of identity and difference, life and death, judgment and welcome. A verse deployed to threaten and cajole, to convert, and yes, to offer salvation. 

I wonder sometimes what the effect had been if the verses hadn’t been divided in the way they were. That is to say, instead of ending where it does with “may have eternal life” but had included the next sentence: “Indeed, God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.” Instead of condemnation and judgment, the offer of salvation and life.

But we have what we have and the weight of tradition, of centuries of Christian devotion and evangelism, leave us little room to think differently or imaginatively about this verse. But let me try.

First off, context. One of the challenges of our tradition of dividing scripture into verses as well as chapters (they’re a fairly late development, only becoming universal in the seventeenth century), is that it is easy to extract a single sentence, or phrase, or verse, from its literary context and use it as a mantra or to prove a doctrinal point. John 3:16 is part of a larger literary unit, and even our gospel reading which encompasses 14-21, is pulled out of a larger narrative, that of Jesus’ encounter with Nicodemus.

It’s one of those encounters in the Gospel of John that is jam-packed with theological significance. Carefully constructed, rich with symbolism,  the encounter uses images of light and darkness to highlight some of the key themes of the gospel. Nicodemus is said to be a Pharisee, a leader of the “Jews.” He comes to Jesus by night, calls him “Rabbi” (teacher or master) and asks about the source of his authority. 

In fact, it’s not at all clear when the dialogue between Jesus and Nicodemus ends, whether we are to assume that Nicodemus is still present, or even if Jesus himself is speaking these verses from 14-21. In fact, it may be, I interpret this not as Jesus himself speaking, but as the gospel writer trying to say some important things about who Jesus is, why God sent him, and what relationship with Jesus means for his followers.

I want to highlight a couple of themes here. First of all “lifted up.” Having heard the story of Moses, the Israelites, and the serpent in the wilderness, hearing the gospel, we are in on the reference made here to Moses and the Serpent, and are inclined to think of “lifted up” in those terms, a serpent of bronze erected on a pole so the Israelites could look at it, and Jesus, crucified for all to see.

But lifted up means more than that in the Gospel of John, or more accurately, “lifted up” includes in it ascension as well as crucifixion—a single act of God, encapsulated in another favorite Johannine word “glorification.” We can see an allusion to “lifted up” as ascension as well as crucifixion in v. 13, which immediately precedes our gospel reading: “No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man.” I’ll have more to say about all this next week when we look at another significant section of John’s gospel, John 12.

For now, I would like to turn our attention to another word—“world” or in Greek, “Cosmos” universe. Its occurrence here will catch the attention of a careful reader of John because it takes us back to John 1, In the beginning was the word. A few verses into that hymnic prologue, we read, “He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.” Throughout John’s gospel, “world” or “cosmos” is understood negatively, even if, as in chapter 1, the world was created by God. The world stands in opposition to Jesus Christ in John’s gospel, yet here we see that “God so loved the world.”

Now two things. First of all, “the world” the “cosmos”—not just human beings. We might think about God loving the world in much more inclusive, expansive terms than we typically do. For those of us who care about the environment, worry about climate change, the fact that God loves the world challenges us to rethink our own understanding of the world in which we live and our relationship to it. 

Secondly, we would do well to translate this phrase a little differently. Instead of, “For God so loved the world”—it has a slightly different emphasis: “This is how God loves the world.” To put it another way: we see the extent and nature of God’s love for the world in that God sent God’s only son so that all who believed in him would have eternal life.

The significance is this. Instead of putting the emphasis on human response: believing, and the effects of that response, eternal life, it might be better to emphasize the extent and nature of God’s love. God loves the world so much that God sent God’s only son….

Judgment here comes not from God but from the human beings who reject God in Christ. To use the gospel’s imagery, “the light has come into the world and people loved darkness rather than light.” That offers a different perspective on things. Instead of fearing a just and righteous God, we need to fear our own desires and choices—to preserve the dark and hidden corners of our lives and to live in the dark and hidden corners of the world.

We experience sin and brokenness, in ourselves and in the world around us. Sometimes that sin so burdens us that we can see nothing else, or know nothing else. 

But God loves the world, God loves us. God offers us, in relationship with Jesus Christ, a different way, a different possibility for living. Sometimes, that is hard to know and to experience. Look up to the cross, look to Christ, lifted up, and see God’s love, not God’s punishment, see and experience healing and hope. See the possibility and promise of new life in him!

This is how God loves the world: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, 2018

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Is there any verse of scripture more familiar in our culture than John 3:16? It may be that for many in our culture it is the only verse they know, or at least, the only verse they know the reference for. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him, shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” Over the years, we’ve seen it displayed at athletic events; on bumper stickers or decals on cars, emblazoned on all matter of Christian kitsch.

For that very reason, many of us find its ubiquity and overuse problematic or even offensive. It’s as likely to divide or put people off as it is to attract people to Christianity, for not only does it seem to reduce the truth and beauty of Christianity to a slogan or formula, also, by the over-emphasis on belief, seems divide the world between believers and unbelievers, saved and unsaved, and those of us who struggle with doubt and uncertainty, wonder whether we are included among those who will inherit eternal life. Continue reading →

Encountering Jesus in the Gospel of John: A Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent, Year A

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I wonder how many of you heard today’s gospel and began to cringe. Two verses from this passage have been enormously important in Christianity, especially among American evangelicals. Though our version, the New Revised Standard Version, translates it differently, the paraphrase of the old translation of John 3:3 “You must be born again” has shaped our understanding of the Christian life and experience at its most basic level, and John 3:16, even without the text of the verse itself, is a key marker for evangelical identity and a symbol of American Christianity. Continue reading →

Nicodemus, Bumper Stickers, and Christian faith: A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

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I’m not a big fan of identity markers. What I mean by that is, I don’t like political or religious slogans, especially when they’re reduced to bumper stickers. I don’t even particularly like clothing associated with sports teams or universities. I think they over simplify, invite stereotyping, and create boundaries. Take for example, those coexist bumper stickers. You know, the ones that spell out the word using symbols from some of the world’s religions? When I see a car with such a bumper sticker, I immediately make assumptions about the driver—she’s probably in her fifties or sixties, if not older, has been involved in progressive religious and political causes for a very long time, and is very concerned to be on the “right” side of every issue. You know, a typical Madisonian. Don’t worry, I do the same thing if I see a mini van with a fish symbol on the back, or, God forbid, a prius with an Episcopal shield. Such symbols clearly identify where we stand, at least for ourselves, even if those we encounter don’t necessarily know what the symbol means.

That’s certainly true of John 3:16. Back in the 80s, when I was watching college and professional sports regularly, there was a guy who held up signs with simply that: John 3:16—at every major sporting event. I don’t know if it still happens. I did a little research and learned that the guy who started it is currently serving four consecutive life terms for kidnapping; so go figure.

Back then I wondered what the point of his efforts was. That combination of letters and numbers, John 3:16, was meaningful only to those who knew the verse in question. To everyone else, it was completely meaningless. And if you knew that words were, you probably figured you were all set, you believed, therefore you were among those who God loved and were assured of everlasting life. So why hold up the signs?

Given that context, I suspect that for people who don’t know what the verse means, that combination of words and numbers—John 3:16—serves little more than as a marker of identity, the same way wearing a Wisconsin Badgers cap or sweatshirt might. And like a Wisconsin Badgers cap worn at an Ohio State-Michigan game, John 3:16 might arouse suspicion, anger, or alienation from outsiders. My guess is that for some of you, hearing me say out loud “John 3:16” makes just a little anxious or angry as you recall encounters with conservative Christians, or your own experiences among aggressive evangelists.

All of that goes to the meaning and perception of one short verse from today’s gospel reading. It’s a verse that has become so ubiquitous in our culture that it has lost any connection with its original context in John’s gospel, and I would venture to guess, it has also lost its power to shape us and our understanding of God.

And that’s a shame, because of all scripture, there may be no passage that is as as profound in proclaiming God’s love for humanity and the world: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten son, that whoever believes in him might not perish but have everlasting life.”

To understand today’s gospel reading, and especially to understand this key, familiar verse, we have to pay attention to the context. Today’s gospel comes from chapter 3, which begins with the encounter of Nicodemus and Jesus. Nicodemus is identified as a Pharisee, a leader of the religious establishment. Significantly, he comes to Jesus by night and it’s clear from his questions that he regards Jesus sympathetically, even as one whose teaching has authority—he addresses Jesus as “Rabbi.” In their conversation, and this is typical for Jesus’ encounters with followers or would-be followers in John, Jesus makes statements that are ambiguous, open to multiple interpretations. That’s apparent from the other very famous statement in this chapter that “no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” The word translated here as “born from above” can also be translated and is usually translated “born again.”

Jesus speaks enigmatically. In fact, it often seems that he intends to confuse his dialogue partner. There’s another puzzle here for it’s not at all clear that Nicodemus remains on the scene by the time we get to Jesus’ words in today’s reading (the phrase “Jesus said to Nicodemus” has been provided by the editors of the lectionary. It doesn’t appear in the text).

Jesus’ puzzling, ambiguous language continues in our gospel passage. There’s that phrase “lifted up.” While the connection between the Numbers story and Jesus’ crucifixion may be obvious, in John’s gospel, “lifted up” means more than crucifixion. A better translation here might be “exalted” for it better conveys what Jesus and John are getting at. In this gospel crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension are all part of a single action or event. It’s a paradox—certainly the crucifixion is Jesus at his most human, and humiliated; but it is also the moment when his divine nature is most evident. It is the moment of his glorification.

God so loved the world—In the later verses of this passage, there is condemnation and judgment. But above all, there is love, God’s love. The passage confronts us with the question of our conception of God, our understanding of the fundamental nature of God and our understanding of our own nature and deepest desires. Is God a God of love or a God of judgment? We might be inclined to see these two attributes as equal. Certainly, both are important and both are intrinsic to God’s character. But in this passage, love wins.

“God so loved the world.” This little sentence is really quite remarkable for John’s gospel. Everywhere else in the gospel, consistently, the world, the cosmos, is depicted in opposition to Jesus Christ. And that’s the case even though in chapter 1 the gospel writer proclaims that God created the world. Now we learn that the God who created the world loves the world. Indeed, God loves the world (not just humans, the created order) so much that God gave God’s only son that we might have everlasting life.

Judgment here comes not from God but from the human beings who reject God in Christ. To use the gospel’s imagery, “the light has come into the world and people loved darkness rather than light.” That offers a different perspective on things. Instead of fearing a just and righteous God, we need to fear our own desires and choices—to preserve the dark and hidden corners of our lives and to live in the dark and hidden corners of the world.

It’s interesting that Nicodemus came to Jesus by night, in the darkness. As I said, we don’t exactly know when he leaves the scene—after his last recorded response to Jesus’ words, his expression of disbelief and misunderstanding? Or did he stick around until this point, when Jesus speaks about those who love the darkness better than the light? If so, it’s pretty powerful to imagine him hearing those words, turning away, and walking back into the night, back into the darkness.

But that’s not the end of Nicodemus’ story. We encounter him again at the end of the gospel, at the end of Jesus’ life. John reports that he assisted with Jesus’ burial, supplying 100 pounds of a mixture of myrrh and aloes. Having earlier turned back into the darkness, now, having seen Jesus lifted up, Nicodemus walked into the light.

The same choice confronts us. We can look up to the light, to Christ glorified on the cross, a symbol and sacrament of God’s love for us and the world, or we can turn away, scuttle into a dark corner and hide, fearful of the light shining in the darkness of the world, the light shining on the darkness of our own lives. As we approach Holy Week and draw nearer to the cross, may the light and love of God shine in our hearts and help us to experience the fullness of God’s love, the fullness of new life in Christ.

 

 

“For God so loved the world:” Some thoughts on the gospel for the Fourth Sunday in Lent

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Is there any verse of scripture more familiar to American Christians than John 3:16? For decades, it was prominently displayed at major sporting events; one can see it on bumper stickers; the verse (if not the words) even appears on tattoos. In fact, it is so ubiquitous especially among Evangelicals, that Christians of other stripes, progressive ones, might be offended when they see it. It’s one of those markers of identity that are as likely to alienate as they are to attract; to divide insiders from outsiders, to condemn rather than invite.

And that’s a shame, because of all scripture, there may be no passage that is as as profound in proclaiming God’s love for humanity and the world: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten son, that whoever believes in him might not perish but have everlasting life.”

In the later verses of this passage, there is condemnation and judgment. But above all, there is also love, God’s love. The passage confronts us with the question of our conception of God, our understanding of the fundamental nature of God. Is God a God of love or a God of judgment? We might be inclined to see these two attributes as equal. Certainly, both are important and both are intrinsic to God’s character. But in this passage, love wins.

“God so loved the world.” This little sentence is really quite remarkable for John’s gospel. Everywhere else in the gospel, consistently, the world, the cosmos, is depicted in opposition to Jesus Christ. And that’s the case even though in chapter 1 the gospel writer proclaims that God created the world. Now we learn that the God who created the world loves the world. Indeed, God loves the world (not just humans, the created order) so much that God gave God’s only son that we might have everlasting life.

The judgment here comes not from God but from the human beings who reject God in Christ. To use the gospel’s imagery, “the light has come into the world and people loved darkness rather than light.” That offers a different perspective on things. Instead of fearing a just and righteous God, we need to fear our own desires and choices—to preserve the dark and hidden corners of our lives and to live in the dark and hidden corners of the world.