Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 3/1/2026
Lessons:
John 3: 1-17
Dearly beloved – come along with me as we slip into the night…
We’re going back in time – so let’s take the DeLorean – as we go visit Nicodemus!
Who sits pensively in his study – contemplating two doors in front of him.
Door number one and Door number two.
Door number one is brightly lit.
It smells like polished wood and good wine.
His colleagues are there, the respected religious leaders, the ones who know how the world works. They have titles, robes, reputations.
They understand the system because they ARE the system.
Behind Door #1 there is laughter, strategy, back-slapping confidence.
They can raise a glass and congratulate themselves on maintaining order in a chaotic world.
They can talk about that upstart rabbi from Galilee with envy disguised as mockery – as they plot out how to manage him, contain him, neutralize him.
Behind that door there is safety.
Things are Predictable.
And mostly Professional.##
Then there’s Door number two – where things are quieter. Darker.
It does not smell like wine. It smells like risk.
Behind that door is a wandering teacher from Nazareth -
with calloused hands and dust on his sandals.
A man who speaks in riddles about wind and water and birth.
A man who has been turning expectations upside down.
A man who makes the powerful nervous and the invisible feel seen.
A man who has plucked the strings of Nicodemus’ heart – and infused him with an urge and a calling to find out more.
And this morning you hop out of our DeLorean and I join him – as he stands in the hallway between those two doors.
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If you’re like me, you tend to romanticize him because I know how the story turns out.
I know that Nicodemus eventually helps prepare Jesus’ body for burial.
I know that he becomes associated with courage and compassion.
I know that because he stepped through Door #2, we got what is arguably the most famous Bible verse ever: “For God so loved the world…”
But before all that, Nicodemus was just a man with a decision to make.
Not unlike you and me.
We know Nicodemus was a Pharisee.
A leader of the Jews.
A teacher of Israel.
That is not villain language in John’s Gospel.
That is résumé language.
That is the kind of person you invite to speak at conferences –
or at least to guest preach at St. David’s on its Patronal Feast…
He is the kind of person who has influence.
The kind of person who is expected to protect tradition, guard doctrine, preserve order.
So Nicodemus had a lot to lose.
Door #1 offered him applause.
Door #2 offered him questions.
And he chooses that second door - the dark.
He chooses curiosity.
He goes at night, which has been interpreted in a thousand different ways.
Maybe he was afraid of being seen.
Maybe he did not want the professional consequences.
Maybe night was the only time he could get away without raising eyebrows. Whatever the reason, he goes. And that matters.
Because faith is not always born in the daylight.
Faith is not always convenient or comfortable.
Sometimes it begins in the shadows, in whispered conversations,
in questions we are not ready to post online,
in doubts we are not ready to admit at Bible study.
Nicodemus risks looking unprofessional.
He risks being misunderstood.
He risks being associated with someone controversial.
He risks stepping out of the script that has been handed to him.
And that is not a small thing.
His world is screaming at him to keep the status quo.
Do not rock the boat.
Stay in your lane.
Protect the institution.
Keep the system intact.
‘We worked hard to build this.’
‘Do not let some upstart rabbi from small-town Nazareth unravel it!’
And to be fair, the status quo can feel comforting.
It is a known quantity. It is measurable.
It keeps the peace, at least on the surface.
If the world were perfect, the status quo would be fine:
If justice flowed freely, if everyone had enough,
if power were always used for good,
if religion always healed instead of harmed,
if love were never weaponized, then maybe preserving the system would be holy work.
But look around:
Where’s perfect?
Where’s absolute harmony?
Where’s sanity?
We know how systems work – how they can calcify.
We know traditions can harden into walls.
We know certainty can become a fortress that keeps God out.
And Nicodemus senses something.
Maybe he can’t name it yet.
Maybe it is just a flicker.
But there is a still, small voice whispering that faith might not be about control.
It might not be about protecting what we have built.
It might be about openness.
So he steps through door number two.
And, even then, Jesus does not give him a neat, bullet point answer.
He does not say,
“Great job – you got it – now here are three steps to spiritual success.”
His verbiage remains puzzling - he talks about being born from above:
He talks about wind that blows where it chooses: you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. ##
Now many of you are teachers – and Nicodemus is a teacher.
He likes categories. He likes clarity.
And Jesus… hands him mystery.
“Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”
You can almost see Nicodemus blinking in the dark.
Born again? Born from above?
How can anyone be born after having grown old?
He is not being obtuse. He is being honest.
This does not fit his framework.
And that is where real faith often begins.
Not with having the right answers, but with admitting that our old answers might not be big enough: That the broken world that sits at our door is only there because the old answers no longer cut it.###
And this is why we need Nicodemus faith today.
Not a faith cemented in the status quo - or being right.
Not a faith obsessed with winning arguments or protecting turf.
Not a faith that measures holiness by how airtight our theological system is.
We need a faith that is open to a Spirit that refuses to be domesticated.
The Spirit is wind.
Not brick – Wind: And Wind moves.
Wind surprises. Wind rearranges.
Wind does not ask our permission before it blows through our carefully constructed structures.
And that can be terrifying.
Because many of us have been taught that faith equals certainty.
That doubt is weakness. That questions are threats.
But what if curiosity is not the enemy of faith?
What if it is one of its most faithful – and necessary companions?
Nicodemus models something powerful that we so desperately need today.
He does not storm in with accusations.
He does not come at Jesus with a debate team posture.
He begins with sincere respect:
“Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God.”
Nicodemus listens. He engages. He asks.
He allows himself to be confused.
When was the last time we allowed ourselves to be confused – to admit we don’t have all the answers – and tell ourselves that’s ok? We live in a world that hates that!
An age of hot takes and quick judgments -
We can broadcast an opinion before we have even finished reading the article.
We can align ourselves with tribes that reward us for certainty and punish us for nuance.
Door #1 is always available.
But don’t take it.
Nicodemus didn’t take it.
He didn’t take the door of easy applause.
The door where our people nod approvingly and say, “Yes, that is exactly right.”
The door of cement silos and closed minds.
The door where we never have to stretch.
Door #2 does the opposite.
Door #2 requires humility.
Door #2 is the narrow door.
It requires saying, “I might not see the whole picture.”
It requires risking that someone will misunderstand us.
It requires trusting that the Spirit is big enough to hold our questions.
Did you notice that Nicodemus did not leave that nighttime conversation with everything figured out? In fact, he leaves with more mystery than clarity!
But did you also notice – that something has shifted?
Later in the Gospel, when the religious leaders want to arrest Jesus, Nicodemus speaks up.
He does not deliver a sermon. He simply asks whether the law judges people without first giving them a hearing?
It is a small act. But it is movement. Curiosity turning into courage.
And at the end, when most of the disciples have scattered, Nicodemus shows up with myrrh and aloes to help bury Jesus. He steps into the light.
Faith that begins in the dark can come into the light – it can grow into something beautiful.
“For God so loved the world…”
That verse did not drop from the sky into a vacuum.
It came in the middle of a conversation with a cautious religious leader who dared to choose Door #2. God so loved the world.
Not God so loved the right people.
Not God so loved the ones who had perfect doctrine.
Not God so loved the insiders.
The world. The messy, complicated, stubborn, breathtaking world.
That is what happens when curiosity meets opportunity.
The circle gets wider. ##
Nobody here needs a preacher to tell us how rare these voices of patience and humility are - that the State of the Union is rampant division.
This is why you being here is so important –
Because you are what the world desperately needs:
Humble bridge builders.
People who can sit at tables with those with whom they disagree and listen without immediately crafting a rebuttal.
We need peacemakers who are not interested in scoring points but in cultivating understanding. We need witnesses to God’s mercy who reflect that mercy in the way they speak, post, vote, and live.
“Nicodemus faith” is not flashy.
It is not loud.
It is not always certain.
But it is willing.
Willing to step away from the comfort of the crowd.
Willing to ask better questions.
Willing to admit when the Spirit is doing something new.
(And the Spirit is always doing something new!)
The temptation is to cling to what we know because it feels stable.
But the Gospel has never been about preserving comfort.
It has always been about transformation.
“Born from above…” “Born again…”
That phrase is not about a single emotional moment.
It is about an ongoing reorientation.
It is about allowing God to reshape our imaginations, our assumptions, our reflexes.
It is about trading the illusion of control for trust. ##
So how is this sitting with you today?
Maybe you are standing between two doors in your life?
One door promises predictability.
It keeps you aligned with what is expected:
It protects your image.
It allows you to avoid hard conversations or uncomfortable growth.
The other door is quieter.
It invites you to listen more deeply.
To reconsider something you thought was settled.
To extend grace where you would rather extend judgment.
To admit you might need to be born from above in some area of your life.
Maybe the door in front of you has to do with a relationship.
Maybe it has to do with how you see someone who believes differently.
Maybe it has to do with how you understand your own faith.
Where is God inviting you to trade certainty for curiosity?
Let me be clear by saying: that does not mean abandoning conviction.
It means holding our convictions with enough humility that the Spirit can still speak.
Nicodemus did not lose his identity as a teacher of Israel when he went to see Jesus.
But he allowed that identity to be expanded.
He allowed love to be larger than he had imagined.
And that is the invitation for us.
Not to have everything figured out.
Not to be the smartest person in the room.
Not to win.
But to be open.
Open to a God who loves the world.
Open to a Spirit who moves like wind.
Open to the possibility that faith is less about guarding doors and more about walking through them.
Night falls on Nicodemus.
It falls on us too.
There will always be voices telling us to stay in our lane, protect our tribe, keep things tidy.
But there will also always be that still, small voice – the voice of your spirit-self!
You do not have to understand everything to respond to it.
You just have to be willing to step into the dark and trust that love is waiting there.
Amen.