The Rev. Dr. Brandon Perrine
Lent 2A
John 3:1-17
March 1, 2026
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.” Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things? Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. 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.”
~o~
It’s not hard to imagine what this scene might have looked like: a darkly cloaked Pharisee closing his gate quietly some hours after night fall, glancing furtively to his right and then to his left before quickly scuttling into the dimly-lit city. He avoids the lamplight, preferring the shadows, as he picks a careful path down lesser-traveled streets and back alleys on his way to the house where the Nazarene stayed.
He doesn’t want to be seen—doesn’t want to answer any questions about what he’s doing out at this time of night, where he’s going, or who he’s going to see. He has questions of his own. He finally arrives at another gate, raps timidly on the door, and waits. A servant answers the door and leads him through the courtyard to a comfortable dimly-lit room where Jesus rests.
“Rabbi,” the Pharisee begins as he assumes the role of a student seated at a master’s feet, “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.” Jesus answers him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above…” And on they talk, well into the night before the Pharisee leaves the place, still under the cover of darkness.
What happens here isn’t an argument to win or a sinner to save. It’s a conversation. And maybe that’s the point. It’s a great set-up for the ensuing dialogue—a seemingly respectful and healthy exchange between two parties that are often pitted against one another as enemies in the gospels: Jesus and the Pharisees. Instead of enmity, we see a genuine attempt at understanding.
We get the distinct impression from the story that the two men knew one another—at least knew of one another. Jesus responds at great length to each of Nicodemus’ questions and Nicodemus follows up with additional questions for clarification. You get the sense that he truly wants to get Jesus despite the complexity of his claims.
Jesus talks about rebirth through water and spirit; appeals to firsthand experience of heavenly things; refers to Moses saving the people from poisonous snakes in the wilderness; and speaks about the Son of Man saving those that believe in him. It’s dense, theological, and highly symbolic, but Nicodemus is undeterred. He’s fully, deeply committed to understanding.
Oh, that we might follow in Nicodemus’ footsteps. That in our families, our churches, our communities—and yes, even our politics—we might be so committed to truly understanding those we disagree with. And oh, that we might follow in Jesus’ footsteps—prepared to offer a thoughtful and measured response when pressed to explain what we believe and why.
But Jesus’ response—described by reformer Martin Luther as the gospel in a nutshell—has taken on an almost polemic, credal quality in the mouths of many modern-day Christians, as though it were a line drawn in the sand: “For God so loved the world…”
Far from the closing statement it’s often treated as, this verse, at least in the mind of its author, is meant to secure for the hearer something far more tangible than life after death. Let’s slow down and listen again.
For God so loved the world—that’s the foundation. Not fear. Not condemnation. Love.
That God gave God’s only Son—for John, Jesus isn’t just another messenger, but God’s own life moving toward the world.
So that everyone who believes—belief isn’t passive mental agreement. It’s active. Lived. Embodied. A way of participating in what Jesus is doing.
May not perish but may have eternal life—And eternal life isn’t simply about someday. For John, it’s life with God that begins now—sharing God’s life here and hereafter.
We might reword the verse like this:
God loves the world so much that God enters it. Becomes a part of it. And everyone who joins in that love—who participates in that life—shares in God’s life, starting right now.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s what Nicodemus heard that night. It sounds less like a ticket to heaven and more like a way to live. And even if Nicodemus walked away still unsure, this exchange itself becomes a model for the very thing Jesus describes: honoring one another with time, space, questions, and honest words. Choosing curiosity over fear. Relationship over condemnation.
Maybe that’s what being born from above looks like. Not a dramatic spiritual test or a magic prayer. Maybe it looks like two people sitting together in a dimly lit room, asking honest questions, listening deeply, and choosing love. Maybe eternal life looks less like pearly gates and more like conversations like that.
And maybe it begins not someday—but today.
May it be so. Amen.
