"That Sneaking Suspicion"
A Sermon Preached by The
Rev. Thomas C. Leinbach
February 17, 2008 - Harwich, Massachusetts

Preaching Text: "Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. He came to Jesus by night…" (John 3:1-2)

Years ago, shortly after graduating from divinity school, I visited a former classmate who had taken his first pastorate in central Pennsylvania. One afternoon, after driving through a series of corn fields stretching out as far as the eye could see, we stopped at a store to pick up a few items for dinner.

It was then that I saw this group of so-called "plain people," all dressed in black, getting out of a car, also black. Having visited relatives in Pennsylvania any number of times as a child, the sight brought back a lot of memories.

Having grown up in the suburbs of New York it was really something to see horses-and-buggies traveling along the sides of the road as cars whizzed by them as if standing still. The men inside always wore long beards and round wide-rim hats, while the women wore long dresses and head-coverings - in black, of course. It felt at the time as if I had been transported to Mars. Absolutely nothing in my youthful experience had prepared me for such a sight. They were so very different and their lifestyle so at odds with everyday American culture.

So it was with some surprise that I saw this particular group of plain people getting out of a car, even if it did happen to be black. I asked my friend why they were allowed to drive a car, since I'd never seen that before.

He explained that there basically was two types of "plain people." There is the "Old Order Amish," who use horses for both farming and transportation, who dress in traditional manner and who forbid the use of electricity and telephones. Then there is the "New Order Amish," who have fewer restrictions, and allow, in some instances, the use of both cars and electricity.

It still struck me as odd that some would drive cars. And for those who did, I wondered, what possible difference would it make if their cars were painted in some color other than black? It all seemed to me a difference without distinction! The rules seemed so arbitrary, even if solidified in practice and tirelessly enforced.

My friend's response to my musings really struck me. "I guess," he said, mischievously, though thoughtfully, "they've got their system down!" Whether it made sense or not, in other words, was beside the point. At some juncture they obviously had decided that this particular way of doing things was the way it should be done. From then on, there would be no variance or change.

Having subsequently lived for a time not far from the Amish, my comments should not be taken as disparaging, even if they sound that way. For, in fact, I have great admiration for the seriousness with which they take their faith and how that faith informs every aspect of life. Each and every Christians is called, in fact, to nothing less.

It's just that my friend's use of the word "system" got me to thinking. Isn't it so very human of us all to create and live within systems, with habits of thinking and doing from which we rarely, if ever, deviate, that over time become largely unconscious and unthinking?

Maybe this is what happened to Nicodemus, in fact. For you see, Nicodemus was a Pharisee, that elite group of highly disciplined religious superstars whose whole lives were dedicated to serving God and God alone. They were that rare breed who made it their life's work to obey every single detail within Mosaic Law, itself a very exacting and far-reaching proscription for life, one that ordered every aspect of living. The systematic Nicodemus, in other words, probably wouldn't have any difficulty relating to the Amish and their particular "order" for life.

But then Nicodemus heard about this strange new prophet from the backwater provinces who really was stirring things up. He had heard about the crowds that were following him everywhere and how some even had gone out to the Jordan to be baptized by him.

He had heard also about a wedding that had taken place in Cana, where this same prophet purportedly changed water into wine - no less! As a resident of Jerusalem, he had heard the buzz on the streets, and in fact had first hand knowledge himself of how Jesus had stormed into the sacred precincts of his temple and had thrown the moneychangers out. Something was afoot, and his soul was stirred, he had to admit.

So, one night, Nicodemus sets out under the cover of darkness to meet up with this notorious rebel, the one who was setting so many hearts on fire. Something prompted him - at great risk - to seek him out, to find out for himself just who this man might be.

Nicodemus, you see, truly loved the Lord, and couldn't rid himself of the sneaking suspicion that somehow this strange prophet just might know something about God he didn't. What if it really was true that it was God who was speaking and acting through him?

Maybe Nicodemus sensed something beyond his ordered, systematized life that his soul was crying to know more about. Maybe, deep down, he sensed that something important was missing from his carefully tended life, that there was more to God and this world than he somehow knew.

As do we. After all, it's not just the Amish or the ancient Pharisees who live highly ordered lives born of habitual thought and practice. Nor are they alone in wondering whether that is all there is.

Take us Mainline Protestants, or "mainstream" Christians, for example. We, too, have our way of doing things. In fact, we're a lot like Nicodemus, says David Leininger.

Like Nicodemus, we tend to be secure financially and often are leaders in our community. Nicodemus' grasp of religion, like ours, includes doing, not just feeling, linking belief and behavior. He, too, is intellectually curious, not one to blindly accept. Nicodemus, by almost any standard, seems admirable in just about every way.

Nonetheless, something is missing in his life, which prompts him to request a meeting with Jesus in the middle of the night. When Jesus tells him that anyone wishing to follow him must be born again or born from above in order to enter the kingdom of God, he recoils. And so do we.

In short, what Jesus really means is that our relationship with God must be renewed continually. Otherwise, things get stale. We start taking things for granted. We lose our initial joy, peace and hope because our relationship with God has grown overly familiar, having lost its vitality.

For Leininger, being a Christian means more than just upholding certain standards or acting in an ethical way. It's more than being a decent citizen or trying to correct the abuses and injustices of society.

Not only that, most of us, he contends, live off a faith someone else once told us we ought to have, which can prove inadequate when facing the challenges of life, with all its tests and demands, doubts and fears.

In the end, he argues, we need more. We need a decisive new beginning - precisely what Jesus offers Nicodemus.

Yet it is not just the Nicodemuses of this world, not just the religious who need to be awakened to our deep-seated need for God.

Dena Williams, a Lutheran pastor, once read this Ann Landers column in her local newspaper:

Dear Ann: I am not a religious man. In fact, I consider myself an atheist. I am also very ethical and have high moral standards. I donate to more than a dozen charities. I am kind to animals, children, and the environment. I would never raise my hand to my wife or children, and I treat them as the precious people they are. I strive to make the world a better place and understand those different from myself. I am intelligent and kind, and stand up for what I believe. I never impose my beliefs on those around me. So, why is it that as soon as people find out I don't believe in God, they tell me I am going to hell? One woman said, 'You cannot possibly have good morals if you don't believe.' This is nonsense. I know plenty of 'God-fearing, church-going folk' who have rotten moral standards. I am sick and tired of people making moral judgments about me based solely on the fact that I do not believe in religion. How can I get these well-meaning but ignorant people off my back? Signed: Unbeliever in Maryland.

To which Rev. Williams offers this thought-provoking reply:

Dear Unbeliever in Maryland: You sound a lot like someone else I know, a man named Nicodemus. Oh, Nicodemus was a religious person, in every sense of the word. He went to the synagogue, kept the laws, and was a believer. That is not what you have in common with him. Nicodemus, though, also lived an upright life: he was kind and responsible, intelligent and thoughtful. He was as comfortable with his life as you seem to be with yours.

There is good news for you. It is the same good news that Jesus spoke to Nicodemus. It is the good news of life, born of water and spirit, life for Nicodemus, life for you, life for all people. The good news for all of us is that God is present in our lives, bidden or unbidden, God is present. Your friend, Dena.

Each and every one of us needs God, whether we know it or not. And it is not just believers for whom this is so. In our steady, highly ordered lives, we still feel from time to time that hunger, that vague sense of disquiet, that unsettling, sneaking suspicion that there is more to this life than we know.

During Lent we have the opportunity to reevaluate our spiritual lives, to make decisions that prompt a renewed and renewing relationship with God, to give over our lives yet again to God.

What we yearn for, whether we name it or not, is to be born again, to be born from above, born by water, wind and spirit. So we emerge out of the shadows of our lives and come to Jesus. There we find life, for Nicodemus, for Unbeliever in Maryland, for each one of us and for all people.

Amen.