Nicodemus had been doing “church” for a long time. He was a Pharisee, a leader of the Jews. That’s the first thing the scripture tells us about him.
Which means that he had been studying the scripture, studying the Torah, studying the prophets, for a very long time. It means that he had been interpreting the scriptures, and explaining to the people what they meant, and telling them how they should follow these teachings of God in their lives… for a very long time.
He’d been doing this for so long, that he didn’t really know how to do anything else. He’d been doing it a certain way for so long, he didn’t know how to do it any other way.
But at some point, he realized: this isn’t working. This way of doing things is no longer working.
It wasn’t working for him; and it wasn’t working for the people he was trying to lead.
A lot of people have that same feeling about church today. Many of the books I read and most of the few podcasts I listen to come from people who, at some point, became disillusioned with church, and with Christianity.
Many of them went through a period sometimes called “deconstruction;” a period in which their eyes were opened to all the ways that the faith they had been taught was no longer working for them.
They saw all the inconsistencies; they saw all the ways faith had been used to destroy life rather than nurture and sustain life.
But they didn’t dare bring such things up in conversation. If they did, their church would tell them that their faith was weak, that Satan was taking hold of them—even though all they were doing was trying to find the truth and follow Jesus more closely.
And after weeks, or months, or—in some cases, years—of going to church and sitting through sermons with clenched teeth and wounded hearts, they found they just couldn’t do it anymore.
So they stopped believing, or stopped attending, for a while at least.
But they still longed for a spiritual connection. So they started over. They set out on a new journey, to rebuild their faith, and rediscover what it means to be a follower of Jesus.
I think Nicodemus was going through something like that. He genuinely wanted to be a better person, to follow God more closely, to be more authentic, more honest and truthful in his understanding of God. He wanted a faith that was more authentic; something deeper and richer and more life-giving. But he didn’t see any other way of doing things—any other way of believing—than the way it had always been done.
So one day, he came to Jesus by night. In secret, as it were, because he didn’t want anyone to know that he had these doubts, these questions, these longings. He didn’t want anyone to think his faith was weak, or to know that he was searching for something more, when he, as a Pharisee, was supposed to have everything all figured out.
He just didn’t feel safe enough to ask those questions and voice those concerns publicly. And he wasn’t quite ready, yet, to admit that his own understanding of faith had been evolving.
So he came to Jesus, at night, and said, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God…”
Speaking at the Evolving Faith Conference in 2020—a conference specifically for people like Nicodemus whose faith is evolving—Bible scholar Peter Enns pointed out that the “we” in Nicodemus’ statement implies that there are more like him. “Rabbi, we know…”
Nicodemus, with his doubts, his questions, and his longing for a more authentic faith, is not alone. In the same way that you, perhaps—with your doubts, your questions, and your longing for a more authentic faith—are not alone.
There are others who are also trying to figure things out; others who are, perhaps, deconstructing and reconstructing their faith. Others who also want something more, something more life-giving, something more authentic, than what they have been getting from the church. Others who have questions and doubts, who want to be able to voice those questions and doubts, but who still long for a spiritual connection, to be connected to God.
You are not alone.
Often, when Christians read this story, they try to put some distance between themselves and Nicodemus. They want some distance between themselves and Nicodemus’ silly questions.
Because without that distance, they have to admit that Nicodemus’ questions aren’t that silly, and that they are, in fact, similar to the questions they themselves have. Questions that make them uncomfortable. Questions that would make their church leaders uncomfortable.
If we distance ourselves from Nicodemus and all his questions, we can more easily ignore the questions that dwell in our own hearts and minds.
Well. You know who asks lots of questions? Little children. Studies have been done that show that 4 year-olds ask between 200 and 300 questions per day.
But as kids grow older, the number of questions they ask declines.
We know that Jesus once told his disciples to “let the little children come unto me.” Maybe one reason why children were not supposed to be present in public settings is that they ask too many questions. As people grow up, they’re taught to not question their teachers, not question what they’ve been taught.
Which is unfortunate, because questions are how we grow. Eric Betzig won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 2014, and he said that his success as a scientist came about because he never stopped asking questions. He said: “Everyone is born a scientist. It’s just unfortunate that with a lot of people, it gets beat out of them. I’ve been lucky to be able to maintain that kid-like curiosity and enthusiasm for experimenting and learning.”
A “kid-like curiosity” is certainly a curiosity that asks lots of questions.
What’s true for science is also true for faith. To grow in faith: maintain that “kid-like curiosity,” and ask lots of questions.
Unfortunately, we often emphasize just the opposite. “Don’t question; just believe.” That’s what many Christians hear today.
So the disciples try to shoo the children away from Jesus; but Jesus chastises the disciples. “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them! For it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.”
The kingdom of heaven belongs to those who ask between 200 and 300 questions per day!
I think Jesus sensed this holy, childlike faith in Nicodemus; but Nicodemus just needed a push to go further in the direction he was already headed. So Jesus says: “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”
To which Nicodemus replies, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”
I used to enjoy making fun of Nicodemus. He seems so naive—stupid, even—asking such silly questions.
But Nicodemus is not stupid. He’s a very learned teacher of the faith. His question is simply his way of saying to Jesus, “Go on; I’m listening… Say more…” It’s his way of being an active listener, a part of the conversation, willing to let Jesus lead this conversation into even deeper waters.
Which Jesus does. Jesus talks some more about what it means to be born from above, or, born from the Spirit, and how radically the Spirit transforms one’s life. There are some allusions to baptism, a bold, public act of radical reorientation.
Then Nicodemus asks, “How can these things be?” And Jesus replies, “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?”
And I think that’s Jesus’ way of saying: trust what you know. Trust what you are feeling.
And then Jesus starts explaining things, except that, in ancient Greek, there are no quotation marks, so it’s kinda hard to tell where the words of Jesus end and where the ideas and interpretation of John, who wrote this gospel, begin.
But we do eventually come to that verse that we all know by heart: John 3:16, “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.”
And then, right after that, in verse 17: “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
And, taken together, these two verses raise a lot more questions, since in verse 16 it says those who believe will have eternal life, but in verse 17 it says that the whole world will be saved, which raises many questions about just what is belief, anyway; and just how big is God’s love, anyway… Is God’s love so big that even those who don’t believe are included?
And some, who like to draw lines, say no, no, no; God’s love is not that big; while others, who like to erase those lines of division, say yes; yes, God’s love is that big—like in this drawing by David Hayward.
And it is good to question these things, and to compare them to other things we know about God. For example, that God is love, as we read in the first letter of John.
Anyway, at the end of this conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus, the spotlight is on Jesus, and by the time Jesus is finished talking, we almost forget that it was Nicodemus’ questions that started this whole thing.
And maybe you think, well, he probably just went back to being a Pharisee, back to doing religion the way he’d always done it, back to being a Pharisee the way he’d always been a Pharisee…
But surprisingly, Nicodemus does appear again in John’s gospel. Twice.
He appears in chapter 7, when a group of Pharisees is arguing with Jesus and trying to get him arrested; this group even argues that even though the crowds may be followers of Jesus—even though the riff raff may believe what he says—no Pharisee would ever believe the stuff Jesus says.
Nicodemus, with a little more boldness than he had the first time we met him, intervenes and says, “Uh, guys: Our law does not allow us to judge anyone without giving them a fair hearing…” In other words, “Let’s listen to what he says.”
And it looks here like Nicodemus has ventured a little further down the path of deconstruction and reconstruction. He’s still wrestling with the questions, probably with Jesus’ help, and he’s doing so a little more openly now; not just at night, in secret, but in broad daylight.
And then, at the end of Jesus’ life, Nicodemus appears again… he’s there at Jesus’ burial. He brings the myrrh and the aloe to help anoint Jesus’ body, and he helps place the body in the tomb.
And he does this, I think, because when he had questions, Jesus honored those questions. Jesus took them seriously, yet at the same time challenged Nicodemus to move into a new way of believing, a way filled with honesty and authenticity and, most of all, love.
Jesus didn’t judge or criticize Nicodemus for the questions he had; instead, he encouraged Nicodemus to explore those questions further, and to follow them, and follow the path down which they led.
And that allowed Nicodemus’ faith to continue growing and evolving. And that brought Nicodemus life. It brought him wholeness. It helped him become a more authentic human.
And helping to bury Jesus’ body was Nicodemus’ way of saying “thank you.”