Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York
It’s always less threatening to encounter parts of ourselves in others. In our gospel today we encounter Nicodemus, who enables us to do just that. His action in coming to meet Jesus in the night, his trust, however guarded and limited by fear, prompts us to examine our own. Trust is a complex and mysterious thing. Some of it has to do with things that go back to our childhood. Some has to do with our sense of ourselves: our strengths, our weaknesses, our willingness to risk, our sense of how loveable we are. We have a common thread that binds us to Nicodemus in this episode of his life. It's a bridge moment for him, a transition, as he steps out of his comfort zone. We have all been through transitions. In fact, we as an Order are going through one right now with the upcoming election of a new Superior and the recent departure of a member of our community here. Having just returned from my visitation to our brothers in South Africa, I came to appreciate even more the drastic double transition they’re negotiating in setting up the new monastery there.
We all know
what transitions feel like. They are a dark and liminal space and they are not
comfortable. They are the times and places in our lives when we feel isolated
and alone, when the stability and predictability of life are disrupted, when
our confidence shrivels and we have more questions than answers. They are the
times when we feel afraid, powerless, unprepared, and overwhelmed by what lies
ahead. They are the times we feel there is nothing to hold on to, nothing makes
sense, and we can’t see the way forward.
In such times
it’s helpful for us to affirm that God is with us in whatever situation we find
ourselves ---that God is rooted in the realities of our lives, even amid change
and loss. As we receive the Eucharist today, we are physically affirming the
fact that God is with us, within us, so we may continue to live in trust---especially
during transition and change.
God
often calls us to new places in subtle ways. Take Nicodemus. He was a busy and
powerful man, a lawyer and teacher, a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling
council. He was liked and respected, but at his center there was an empty space.
One night he arranged to meet Jesus secretly. It didn’t take long for Jesus to
see that emptiness. There was more than curiosity in Nicodemus’ voice. In his
seeking there was longing. We can recognize it because the same longing is in
us. We all long for God, for the love, grace, and presence of God, whether we
are conscious of it or not. It’s how we humans are created. Jesus tells
Nicodemus that he needs to journey into himself. He needs to enter those parts
of himself long forgotten, to discover the desire, to acknowledge the longing.
All his responsibility, all his busyness, all his influence doesn’t keep him
from feeling dead. All the power and control he has cannot drive this feeling
from him. He needs to come alive; he needs, Jesus says, to be “born from
above”. Then Jesus switches images and speaks of a wind that blows in a
person’s life. You can’t control it. All you can do is wait for it. Nicodemus
is attracted, confused, and repelled by what he hears. He is affirmed yet
frightened. Like most of us, he is wary of things that can’t be controlled. Yet
even in this conflicted moment, as he sits in the shadows, he knows that his
life will never be the same again. Even if he doesn’t respond, even if he tries
to drown this moment out by the duties and responsibilities of the coming days,
nothing will ever be the same again. He walked away from the encounter that
evening, but he never succeeded in walking away from Jesus.
Months later, when Jesus’ body hung on the cross, Nicodemus came looking for him again. This time it was in broad daylight for all to see. He forgot his position, his reputation. He forgot everything except what Jesus had become for him. He and his friend, Joseph of Arimathea, took the body down, carried it away, and placed it in a tomb. In lowering that body, I imagine that Nicodemus descended into himself more deeply and discovered what Jesus had spoken about. In that moment of change, Nicodemus was “born from above”. In that moment, Nicodemus knew something that you and I know, especially in those painful moments of discovery born of change, loss, and transition. He knew that Jesus, whose body he was carrying, was already rising in his heart.
