Sermon - John 3: 1-17

I grew up as a sailor.  From the age of two, my dad had me flying across the water on a Hobie 16, propelled by harnessing the power of the wind.  I came to know my husband, Corey, through sailing, and sailing remains a special part of my life.  My dad gave me a poster that I hung wherever I was, moving through high school, college and even into early adulthood that had an anonymous quote “You cannot direct the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”  Sailing is a challenging and invigorating sport because of the lack of control you truly have.  You are totally dependent on the wind.  Wind shifts, dies, and puffs so powerfully it tips you over, flinging you off the boat and into the water… as a little girl I would beg my dad “Promise you won’t let us tip!”  He would say, “I can’t promise that we won’t tip but I’ll promise that I’ll do my best to keep us from tipping.”  As teenagers Corey and I became more daring and tried to see how many times we could tip in one day...enjoying the rush of being overpowered by the wind.  Now my kids beg me, “Mom, promise you won’t let us tip!” and I give them the same response my dad gave me.  You must respect the power of the wind while sailing, and admit that you don’t have complete control.  Sailors become keenly tuned to the wind.  My dad would say to me: “feel the wind on your cheek”, and “watch for signs of the wind on the water”.  The most essential -- and often frustrating -- rule of sailing is that it is impossible to sail directly into the wind.  If you need to move in the direction of the wind you must zig-zag back and forth toward your destination.  “You cannot direct the wind but you can adjust your sails.”

Jesus’ words today remind me of this quote that I have lived by.  Jesus tells Nicodemus “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.” (Jn 3:8)

Nicodemus is a leader, a Pharisee, someone who is studied in the laws of the Jewish religion.  He knows a lot about Jewish law, what’s right and wrong and what’s to be done about it.  But something draws him out “by night” to Jesus.  It follows the old stereotype that only shady things happen in the dark.  That sneaking around in the dark means you’re up to no good.  Perhaps Nicodemus is sneaking around to avoid being labeled a heretic by his community for his acknowledgement of Jesus.  Despite these risks, he seeks Jesus.  He greets Jesus respectfully, calling him “Rabbi”, acknowledging him as a teacher and openly affirms that Jesus is from God.  Then things get pretty murky in the conversation with Jesus speaking about things like water and spirit.  We witness Nicodemus becoming more and more confused as he tries to understand Jesus within his rational, law-abiding way of thinking.  I really like Nicodemus because I can relate to his confusion and desire to understand.  It’s hard to grasp God’s presence in the world with Jesus’ explanations of the nature of water, spirit, wind and flesh… I need a story. 

The bible offers us many stories describing God’s agency in people’s lives.  The first reading from Genesis this morning highlights Abraham’s call, which is a great story that demonstrates the persistence of God’s promises in the lives of human beings who don’t always go in a straight line to their destination…. But sometimes even these stories seem a little too distant to grasp.

This community at Faith Lutheran Church also has a really great story that many of you know, that many of you participated in, that I want to remind you of today.  Two-and-a-half years ago Samaritas cried out for help for refugee youth who were aging out of their program without the  government documentation needed to either continue in Samaritas’ program or provide for themselves.  This is how the Parish House began.  Over the last couple of years I’ve heard many stories about this old parsonage that sits behind Faith Lutheran Church.  It was built in 1957 with the original church building and was a home for the first pastors who served this congregation until it was converted into an office.  With the expansion of this church building, including the addition of offices, the parsonage became an inexpensive storage facility and the location of weekly sewing by the dedicated quilting ladies of this community.  This congregation looked into having the parsonage burned by the fire department for training, or bulldozed, but those were expensive options.  The parsonage was actually sold to a community member for the hot price of $10,000, a transaction that fell through just before closing.  At the time of Samaritas’ need, the parsonage was rumored to be infested with mold and unlivable.  Laurie and I believed these rumors as we entered the parsonage for the first time and discovered it had no kitchen sink, one working bathroom between the two, a leaky roof that had soaked through and collapsed part of the ceiling in one of the bedrooms, and many other issues.  “You cannot direct the wind”... “the wind blows where it chooses.”

By all realistic, rational accounts, this old, dilapidated house could not be turned into a home within two months when it would be desperately needed.  It was obvious that this conversion, this transformation, was not possible.  “What is born of the flesh is flesh.”  And yet something inside this community persisted, insisted, that we try.  “What is born of the Spirit is spirit.”  And so we tried, we started, we began, piece by piece to empty the house of its random stored items, to transfer the quilting projects out of the house and into the church basement.  We zig-zagged toward our destination with the hope that the wind would somehow carry us there.  This entire community came together, once individuals, now joined by the spirit toward a common goal, to transform this house into a home.  To repair its brokenness.  To believe in God’s promise of newness.  By the world’s standards we were not licensed professionals, and yet the spirit inspired and empowered us to say “sure”.  The spirit called us to use our skills at plumbing, rewiring, painting, repairing and moving.  We adjusted our sails, we learned to feel the wind on our cheeks, and we listened to the spirit.  What’s amazing is that through witnessing the the renewal of the brokenness of this old house -- this community was renewed too.  Our eyes were opened as they witnessed God’s presence living, working and moving within this community.  What we had thought was impossible became transformed into a new reality before our very eyes.  We did not know where the wind would blow or where it would go but we felt it and responded.  And we stumbled into something beautiful.

Jesus tells Nicodemus “We speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen” (Jn 3:11).  Still, when I look back on this experience, there are many things that I don’t understand, things that don’t add up according to the way I know the world to work.  Richard Rohr in his book Falling Upward describes this:

God has to undo our illusions secretly, as it were, when we are not watching and not in perfect control, say the mystics.  That is perhaps why the best word for God is actually Mystery.  We move forward in ways that we do not even understand and through the quiet workings of time and grace.  When we get there, we are never sure just how it happened. (p. 51)

This lack of clear understanding makes it difficult for me to talk about this experience with people who didn’t live it.  This unknowing also brings a sense of humility, especially when I’m asked to share this story.  Laurie and I have been asked to develop a model so other communities can embark on their own similar project, and we find ourselves at a loss.  I have no model for God’s work within community -- except to feel the wind on your cheeks and look for signs of the wind on the water. 

Jesus seems exasperated with Nicodemus because Nicodemus, like us, wants a model, a pattern, a guide, to tell him what he has to do.  Really what Jesus describes is a process of letting go of control.  Of giving oneself up to the Spirit, to God’s will.  We must not try to direct the wind, we can only adjust our sails.  We need to learn to feel the power of the spirit on the tiny hairs on our cheeks.  We need to learn to see the signs of the spirit moving across the waters of our lives.  This learning is releasing control.  This learning is grace.  This learning is God undoing our illusions.  God’s presence within our lives does not fit within conventional categories that we easily understand.

This Lenten season, as we approach the time when Christ will be lifted up on the cross like the serpent in the wilderness, we are called to bear the cross within our own lives.  We are called to recognize that the cross is no longer humiliation, but exaltation, in Christ.  God revealed in Jesus is a God whose love knows no bounds and a God who reshapes us through that endless love.  Through our identity as God’s beloved we are given the courage to face those burdens that painfully stand between us and the Spirit of God.  The love of God empowers us to consider and face what illusions of control persist within us today… and let them be crucified.  Let them die.  Let them go.  As Christians, this is the foundation of our belief:  that every death leads to newness and wholeness of life.  You never know what beautiful new thing might be waiting for you on the other side.  Amen.