Reborn
There was a man named Nicodemus, a Jewish
religious leader who was a Pharisee. After dark one evening, he came to speak
with Jesus. “Rabbi,” he said, “we all know that God has sent you to teach us.
Your miraculous signs are evidence that God is with you.” Jesus replied, “I tell you the truth, unless
you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of God.” “What do you mean?” exclaimed
Nicodemus. “How can an old man go back into his mother’s womb and be born
again?” Jesus replied, “I assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born
of water and the Spirit. Humans can reproduce only human life, but the Holy
Spirit gives birth to spiritual life. (John 3:1-6)
As much as I
love my dog, True, we don’t always see
eye-to-eye. The problem isn’t his personality, because you couldn’t find a
bigger love than True – he sees every
person as a friend, and every day as a holiday. So, I don’t really have a
problem with True’s attitude. My
problem is with his habits – eating scraps out of the trash; licking dirty
plates in the dishwasher; doing his business in the wrong places. And,
occasionally, quenching his thirst in the porcelain water bowl – if you know
what I mean. That’s the problem. It’s True’s
habits. Dog behaviors. True’s problem
is not a True problem. True’s problem is a dog problem.
It’s a dog's
nature to do these things, apparently. And it’s his nature that I’d like to
change, not just his behaviors. A dog trainer can change his behaviors, but I
want to go deeper. I want to change who he is. So, here’s my idea: a me-to-True transfusion. The deposit of a
little bit of me into him. I want to give True
a kernel of human character. Then, as it grew, wouldn’t he change? His
human nature would develop, and his dog nature would diminish. We’d witness not
just a change of habits, but a change of essence. In time, True would be less like True
and more like me, sharing my disgust for trash snacking, potty slurping, and
dish licking. He’d have a new nature. Crazy, right? Perhaps. But not to God.
What I’d like to
do with True, God wants to do with
us. He wants to change our nature from the inside out. “I will
give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your
stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. And I will put
my Spirit in you so that you will follow my decrees and be careful to obey my
regulations.” (Ezek. 36:26-27) God doesn't want to send us to obedience
school to learn new habits; he wants to send us to the ER to get a new heart.
Forget the training. God gives transplants. Bizarre? Well, imagine how that must
have sounded to Nicodemus.
Nicodemus is
impressive. Not only is he one of the 6,000 Pharisees, he’s a ruler – one of
seventy men who serve on the high council. Think of him as a religious blue-blood.
What the justices are to the Supreme Court, he was to the Law of Moses. He’s an
expert. Credentials trail his name like a bride’s train. Nicodemus, Ph.D.,
Th.D., M.S., M.Div. Universities want him on their board. Conferences want him
on their dais. When it comes to religion, he's loaded. But when it comes to
life, he's exhausted. As a leading Jew, he's trying to obey the Talmud, which
is no small feat. There are twenty-four chapters on the Sabbath, alone. Things like,
“Tailors can carry no needles.” “Kids can toss no balls.” “Don’t carry a load
heavier than a fig, but anything half the weight of a fig can be carried twice.”
“You can carry enough ink to draw two letters.” “You can’t move a phonebook,
unless it’s to be used as a booster seat.” Whew.
Can a scientist
study stars and never weep at their splendor, or dissect a rose and never
notice its perfume? Can a theologian study the Law until he decodes Moses’ shoe
size, but still lack the peace needed for a good night's sleep? Maybe that's
why Nicodemus came at night. He’s tired and he can't sleep. Tired of all the rules
and regulations, he just can’t rest. Nicodemus is looking for a change, and he
has a hunch Jesus can give it. And though Nicodemus doesn’t ask a question,
Jesus gives him an answer: I
assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and
the Spirit. (v. 3)
This is radical
language – to see the kingdom of God you need an unprecedented rebirth from
God. Nicodemus staggers at the enormity of the thought. "How can a man be
born when he is old? He cannot enter a second time into his mother's womb and
be born, can he?" (v. 4; NASB) Don't you just love those last two words? “Can
he?” Nicodemus knows that a grown man doesn't reenter the birth canal. There’s no
Rewind button on the VCR of life . .
. is there? We don't get to start over . . . do we? A man can't be born again .
. . can he? What made Nicodemus add those two words?
The truth is
that Nick should’ve known better. He wasn't born yesterday, but maybe he wishes
he were. Maybe he wishes he could be born today. Maybe those last two words
“can he?” emerge from that part of Nicodemus that longs for strength and youthful
vigor. A fresh start. New legs. A clean page. Nicodemus seems to be saying,
"Jesus, my spiritual tank is on empty. So, how do you expect me to be born
again when I can't even remember if figs can be eaten (or are they carried?) on
the Sabbath? I'm an old man. How can a man be born when he’s old?"
According to Christ, the new birth must come from a new place. I assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom
of God without being born of water and the Spirit. Humans can reproduce only
human life, but the Holy Spirit gives birth to spiritual life. (vv.
5-6)
Could Jesus be any
more direct? "No one can enter
the Kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit." Do you
want to go to heaven? Well, it doesn't matter how religious you are, or how
many rules you keep. You need a new birth; you need to be "born of water
and the Spirit." God doesn’t give sponge baths, either. He washes us from
head to toe. Paul reflected on his conversion and wrote, "He gave us a
good bath, and we came out of it new people, washed inside and out by the Holy
Spirit." (Titus 3:5) Your sins don’t stand a chance against the fire hydrant
of God's grace and forgiveness.
But God isn’t
content to just clean you; he indwells you. God deposits within you "His
power, which mightily works." (Col. 1:29) Washing the outside isn't enough
for him. He places power on the inside. Stated differently, he places “himself”
on the inside. This is the part that stunned Nicodemus. Because working for God
wasn’t new – that’s his job; that’s what he does, or at least that’s what he
thought he was doing. But God working in him? “I need to chew on that,” he thinks.
And maybe you do, too. Because are you like Nicodemus? Religious as Saint
Peter's Basilica, but feeling just as old? Pious, but powerless? If so, remember
that when you believe in Christ, Christ works a miracle in you.
"When you
believed in Christ, he identified you as his own by giving you the Holy Spirit."
(Eph. 1:13) You are permanently purified and empowered by God himself. The
message of Jesus to the religious person is simple: It's not what you do, child. It's what I do; I’ve moved in. And then,
perhaps in time, you can say with Paul, "I myself no longer live, but
Christ lives in me." (Gal. 2:20) But if that’s true, and if we’ve been born
again, why do we seem to fall so often? Well, consider your physical birth.
For instance, did
you exit the womb wearing cross-trainers? Did you do the moonwalk on the day of
your delivery? Of course not. And then when you actually started to walk, you probably
fell more than you stood. So, should we expect anything different from our
spiritual walk? “But I’ve fallen so often that now I’m even questioning my
salvation.” Again, go back to your first birth. Didn't you stumble as you were
learning to walk? And when you stumbled, did you begin questioning the validity
of your birth? Did you, as a one-year-old, face-first on the floor, prop
yourself up and think, “Well, that’s it; I’ve fallen again. I guess I’m not human
after all”? No, you didn’t. A toddler’s stumbling doesn’t invalidate the toddler’s
physical birth any more than a Christian’s failings invalidate the Christian’s
re-birth.
See what he’s done?
God, through his Spirit, deposited a Christ seed in you. And as it grows, you
will change. It's not that sin has no more presence in your life, but rather
that sin has no more power over your life. Temptation will pester you, to be
sure, but temptation will not master you. So to the Nicodemuses of the world, rejoice.
It’s not up to you. Within you abides a budding power. So Trust him. Still
struggling with this issue? Alright, then consider this example.
Imagine that for
most of your life you’ve had a heart condition. Your ticker restricts your
activities. Each morning at work, when the healthy employees take the stairs,
you wait for the elevator. But then comes the transplant. A healthy heart is
placed within you. After recovery, you return to work and encounter the same
flight of stairs you earlier avoided. By habit, you start for the elevator. But
then you remember, “I’m not the same person anymore.” That’s because you have a
new heart. Within you dwells a new power. So there you stand. You have a choice
to make, and you might say, "I can't climb the stairs; I'm too weak."
But does your choice negate the presence of a new heart, or dismiss the work of
your surgeon? No, it doesn’t.
Choosing the elevator
would suggest only one fact – that you haven't learned to trust your new power.
It takes time. But at some point you’ll try those stairs. You’ll test that new
ticker. You’ll experiment with the new you. Because if you don't, you’ll run
out of steam again. That’s why religious rule keeping can sap your strength.
It's endless. There’s always another class to attend, another Sabbath command
to keep, another holy day to observe. No prison is as endless as the prison of
perfection. Its inmates find work, but they never find peace. How could they?
They never know when they’re finished.
Christ, however,
gifts you with a finished work. He fulfilled the law for you. So, bid farewell
to the burden of religion. Gone is the fear that having done everything, you still
might not have done enough. You climb the stairs, not by your strength, but
his. And, contrary to Ben Franklin’s 1757 observation in Poor Richard’s Almanac, God pledges to help those who stop trying to help themselves. "He
who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of
Christ Jesus." (Phil. 1:6) God will do with you what I only suggested doing
with True: change you from the inside
out.
And when God’s finished,
he'll even invite you to sit at his table – forever.
Grace,
Randy