Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent, Year A (3-1-26)

Several weeks ago, I was running around here like a bat out of you-know-where, trying to do this and that. And often when I give into the temptation to think to myself "I think I'm going to have a good administrative day, very productive, very orderly," it's about then that the Holy Spirit just drops someone or something into my day. I'm pretty sure as a reminder of who is really in charge here.

So, naturally within five minutes of a tradesman walking into our office to collect a check for his services, the two of us were sitting in that pew together. And he was telling me a heartbreaking account of his life; of the current tremendous struggles he and his loved ones faced, and of the seeming endlessness to the suffering that lapped up around his life.

It was only after the tears seem to run out, and after there was an admission of guilt around "not being in church," and not always doing the right thing - it was only then that he looked up at that cross with a twinkle of something in his eye that looked a lot like faith.

"Do you believe there can be a future that's not the same as today?" I asked him.

"I do," he said. And I couldn't help but notice he seemed to walk out of here a little taller than he came in.

If we are told one thing today, it is this: God makes a way for the faithful. Not the impressive. Not the morally polished. Not the spiritually accomplished. The faithful.

This is good news because it means Abram’s story is our story. It means Nicodemus’ confusion is our confusion. It means we come to God most faithfully not with an impressive moral or spiritual résumé, but with an empty agenda. And with empty hands. Outstretch, surrendered, and ready to receive God's promise of our renewal.

 And then comes that line so familiar: “For God so loved the world…” Not God so loved the worthy. Not God so loved the strongest nation that "got it right" and then bent all the others to its way. Not God so loved the religious elite. Not God so loved those who believed every word. Not God so loved those who were always on the right side of history. Not even God so loved only those who call themselves Christian.

God so loved the world. The broken, rebellious, fractured, and wounded world.

What is truly mind-blowing to me is that God's love of that same world has always preceded its transformation. Think about it: before Abram even obeyed he was promised a new future. Before Nicodemus understood grace Jesus promised it to him. Even before we are born from above we are seen and cherished by a creating and life-giving God.

I can't help but think of our dearly departed Betty Bogutt when we speak of those who have been born from above. Someone totally gripped by the Gospel. Who gets a glimpse behind the veil at the freedom and peace that comes from complete reliance on God and trust in God's faithfulness. She carried a an almost childlike sense of wonder and awe at the simple beauty of life. She saw the hand of God in the most mundane and often even in the most troubling of times. Her faith was an example to me, and she would have been the first to tell you that her renewal - this rebirth - came late in her life. And that it changed how she saw everything. Her rebirth was exactly why when I said goodbye I also had to tell her how proud of her I was. And of that fierce, unshakable faith. Until the very end.

This new birth—this being born “from above” or “of the Spirit”—is not simply self-improvement. It is truly a re-creation. Just like when in Genesis the Spirit hovered over the waters, so now the Spirit hovers over our chaos and speaks new life. This is the heart of the Gospel. This is the Good News. It is never too late.

Jesus does not offer Nicodemus a five-step plan. He offers him a cross. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” Because true salvation does not come by climbing upward to God but by looking in faith at the One who is lifted up for us.

Here is the heart of it: righteousness is not achieved; it is received. New birth is not engineered; it is given. The promise does not rest on our performance, but on God’s faithfulness.

Now, this does not, of course, make obedience to God irrelevant. Abraham’s life changed. Nicodemus, later in John’s Gospel, steps into the light, defending Jesus and helping to bury him. Once we truly accept grace, it does not leave us unchanged. But transformation is the fruit, not the foundation. The only thing we're on the hook for in this whole project, is to say yes.

So if today you feel like Nicodemus—confused, cautious, unsure—you are not far from the kingdom. Or if you feel like Abram—staring at promises that seem impossible—you are exactly the kind of person God delights to call righteous. Come with your achievements, sure. And definitely approach the throne of grace boldly with your failures. But more than anything, come with trust. With faith.



For the God who called a childless old man “father of many nations” and who loved the world enough to give an only Son is the same God who - by water and Spirit - brings life out of barrenness, and light out of darkness.

And all out of faithfulness to you.

Amen.