Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
The encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus, a leading Jerusalem Pharisee, is presented as a dialogue—even a sort of interview. Nicodemus’s queries are so brief as to function simply as prompts for sections of Jesus’ discourse, the first of several such discourses in John’s gospel.
In congregational contexts where members’ “working theology” is heavily influenced by Western soul-saving missionary endeavors of the 19th and early 20th centuries, the meaning of these seventeen verses is often collapsed into the familiar “salvation formula” of v. 16. God’s “giving” of the Son is thus linked strictly to Jesus’s death. Jesus’ reference to his “lifting up”, likened to Moses’ lifting up of a healing serpent on a pole in the wilderness at God’s command (v 14), evangelical teaching went straight to the cross. This in turn reduces God’s “giving” of the Son for the saving of the world to Jesus’ death, in turn interpreted as blood-sacrifice for sin. Yet, neither sin nor sacrifice is mentioned here; rather, Jesus speaks of our needing a “new birth” that leads to “new life” and entry into the kingdom of God.
In addition, decades of preaching have stressed only one of the two quite natural meanings of the Greek phrase that can mean either “born again” or “born from above.” As a result, “born again” has become a catchword for soul-salvation and deliverance from eternal damnation—ideas foreign to this text. Furthermore, such “flattening” of the lively, polyvalent semantics of the text robs us of the richly metaphorical, evocative nature of Jesus’ teaching.
Helpful preaching on this text might start by reclaiming the richness and mystery of its language. What if God’s “giving” of the Son means far more than marking him for death? And do we really understand what “born from above” or “born of water and the Spirit” may mean for us? Might this text speak of a newness of life in the here and now, not just at our death?
A preacher might begin by gently, but clearly, questioning the traditional reduction of the meaning of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus to v 16, and in turn, the reduction of that verse’s meaning to Jesus’ death as sacrifice for sin. We can make clear that “born again” can also be read “born from above.” We can invite our listeners to shed the stance of the smug (and frankly, anti-Semitic) Christian insider: “We, the born-again, are so much smarter than clueless Nicodemus!” Here, Jesus’ ministry has barely begun. For Nicodemus, a well-educated teacher of Jewish tradition, the weave of metaphors Jesus deploys in these verses must have been as confounding as they were intriguing: “kingdom of heaven” “born from above,” “born of water and the Spirit,” “lifted up as the serpent in the wilderness was lifted” (vv.13-14, cf. Numbers 21:4-9). Jesus seems to be suggesting that we, like Nicodemus, will discover their meaning as John’s gospel unfolds.
Another sermon might broaden the question of what is meant by God’s giving of the Son for the salvation of the world. One might take up two or three of Jesus’ “I AM” sayings as interpretations of what is given to us, and to the world, in life of the Son: light to live by, true bread, trustworthy shepherding, water to quench the soul’s thirst. Our Lenten journey most surely leads to the cross, but that should not blind us to God’s multi-dimensional self-giving revealed throughout this gospel’s many scenes, signs, and discourses.
Another approach, as we move deeper into Lent, may be to issue the invitation that Phillip extended to Nathanael: “come and see” (1:46). We might imagine Nicodemus, skeptical but curious, lingering at the edge of the growing crowds. On our Lenten journey, we can join him, watching and listening as John unveils for us the world-saving self-giving of God unveiled, in and through Jesus, the Son. We have miles to go and much to learn in these weeks of Lent from the one who says “I AM,” who heals our blindnesses and calls life from a tomb. Miles to go until, in gathering darkness, we climb the last hill and witness the self-outpouring of the lifted-up Son of Man. There we may grasp the paradox of divine saving power: apparent defeat will lead to the unmasking of this world’s greatest deceit. That greatness lies in the power to exclude, exploit, intimidate, and dominate, and to manufacture “truth” that serves our ends. The Spirit gives life more powerful than death itself, and in following the self-giving Son of God, we shall truly live.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 