“Daylight”

John 3:14-21
Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned, but those who do not believe are condemned already because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

Our scripture passage today is a strange one, because the lectionary cuts right in the middle of this conversation that Jesus is having with Nicodemus. I have no idea why the lectionary selected only part of the conversation although I could guess it's because John is very long-winded in his narratives, and perhaps they thought it would be too long to include the first 12 verses. But it's a bit strange that the passage literally starts with the word “and” because it's in the middle not just of a conversation, but a thought! John 3 takes place right after last weeks’ passage where Jesus overturned the tables in the temple. After his big display of power, authority, and theological conviction, this leader and Pharisee named Nicodemus comes to Jesus under the cover of night. We take it to mean that he is ashamed or afraid of being seen with Jesus in the light and so he comes at night– convinced of Jesus's authority and knowledge, wanting to ask questions. Jesus has a long conversation with him in which it seems almost like Jesus is messing with him. Their conversation talks about being born of the spirit and born of the flesh and Nicodemus is confused about how one can be “born again.” This dichotomy of flesh and spirit is tripping him up and he asks, “how can this be?” Then comes perhaps the most famous verse in John, if not the entire bible– John 3:16.

I grew up in Salem Oregon, where basically the only Christians I knew were the ones who went to my church. I went to public school and I didn't really think that there were big differences between different churches because I didn't really know any Christian outside of my church. I remember working on a project for English class with a friend who was raised Catholic and I mentioned something about John 3:16 and she said she didn't know what I was talking about and I remember looking at her, flabbergasted, and saying “you don't know John 3:16?!” It was inconceivable to me that a Christian wouldn't have John 3:16 memorized because it was such a foundational part of my theology as a child. This was the gospel in one line, or so I thought. What strikes me as ironic now, when I think of that moment, was the fact that I could not have told you what John 3:17 said. I'd plucked out John 3:16 as a verse that could live on its own if it wasn't part of an entire thought, discourse, and conversation. I thought that John 3:16 was all about individual salvation– that if you loved Jesus, you personally will be saved. I had no idea that John 3:17 said that God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. The lack of condemnation never even crossed my mind. And yet now when I read this passage, it seems so essential to me. The good news is not just God's love but also the lack of God's condemnation. God's great rescue mission to humanity in the incarnation is not born out of condemnation or disgust from God but out of love not just for those who love God in return, but for the world as a whole.

But as he continues, John once again presents us with another dichotomy– light and dark.  “And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.” This metaphor of light and dark has been a powerful one for millennia. When we talk about bringing things into the light, we mean bringing them to people's attention so that we can see them. 

Maybe you feel like you’ve spent your life hiding in the darkness. Maybe it feels safer than the light. At least in the darkness, people can’t reject what they can’t see. Maybe there are parts of you that you are ashamed of and so you think, “as long as I stay in the dark, no one will know.”  You’ve spent a long time not showing your true self for fear of what people will see. For fear of what God will see. King David writes in Psalm 139 and asks God, 

Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

And still, we hide. We hide from God like Adam and Eve with our pathetic fig leaves, hoping the darkness is enough to keep even God from seeing us. Our devotional book that we've been reading during Lent has poems that go with each day, and the poem that Kate wrote for Monday has stuck with me all week. I’d like to read it to you: 

I work quietly, in secret, to repair 
all that is broken.
This anxiety and that despair.
(Other problems I avoid altogether.)
There is no use telling you, I reason.
This is mine to fix.
But your eyes see everything, God.
Why can't I see that as the gift it is?
But it’s because I am seeing you, fixed from above 
with the pixelated precision of drone warfare.
Your omniscience would be terrifying, 
exhausting to imagine, 
or, worse, humiliating.
But you come from below, Jesus.
Bleary eyes in a manger.
A steady gaze as you walk among us.
Or stare straight from the cross.
You look at me with nothing more, 
nothing less, than with the love that first 
interrupted my life with your existence.
There is no protecting you from me.
Or me from you.
From my insecurities and apathy, 
from the shrug of my shoulders
when you say that you are here 
to love me in aliveness.
Nothing is hidden from you, God.
You can see it all.
What a gift, God.
What a gift.

I resonate with Kate’s fear that being seen by God will mean that God will see the worst did me. That being truly seen by others will mean having them see the worst did me. But I believe the truth is that by hiding ourselves in the darkness we hide not only our worst qualities, but also our best ones. The best of who we are of what we have to offer the world is also in the darkness. You can't just hide the part of who you are. What would happen if you chose to believe that by stepping into the light, what would be seen is not the worst of you, but the best? How would you act if you believed that God is looking at you not with condemnation and judgment but with unending love? 

But here's the thing about darkness and light–it's not the binary that we pretend it is. The world that God made does not operate like a light switch that is either on or off. There is not just night and day– there are the in-between moments as sunset fades from pink to purple to deep amethyst twilight; the light of dawn just before the sun rises; the light cast by a full moon; or the shadows found in daylight. 

Indeed, God created not only a world of binaries, but a world with a rainbow of shades and colors in between. The question is not “will you go straight from the darkness to the light?” but instead, “are you willing to risk the slow light of sunrise?” Can you step into a world beyond the binary into a world where you can start to let yourself be seen and known?

I want more for you than Nicodemus was willing to give himself. Nicodemus came at night because he was afraid of judgment from his fellow peers and Pharisees. He came at night because he did not want to be seen and Jesus told him quite clearly that he did not come into the world to condemn, but that the world might have life. I wonder, if Nicodemus had been willing to come in the light of day, what else could have happened? Who else would get to hear this conversation and be changed by it? 

It is a bold and scary thing to trust that being seen really does mean being seen by God who looks at you with love. But it's true. So if you feel like you have been hiding in the dark, if you have tried to protect yourself by hiding your qualities in the dark then I'll tell you that you are also keeping your best parts of you in the dark, too. The world needs the best of you and God is not afraid of the worst in you. We all have both inside us and there is nowhere we can flee from God’s presence. That’s a good thing. So let us go with boldness, ready to meet God in the daylight, or somewhere in between the light and the dark. Or at the very least, let us pray for a clear sky at night so that the starlight and moonlight can give us a glimpse of the world where we could be known.