"Can't Keep a Secret"

Most people think "personal computer" when they hear the letters "P.C." There are other, less well-known acronyms for PC in the world vocabulary. Post Cibum is Latin for "After Meals;" P.C. in the business world is a business legal entity and the acronym for the Communist Party of Chile. The U.S. Navy's rating for a Postal Clerk and its term for a Coastal Patrol ship are both P.C . And last but not least, as the only members of our church who once served as U.S. Ambassador for a certain Pacific nation would know, the airline code for Air Fiji is PC. It wasn't too long ago that P.C. was being bantied about as a shortened way of saying, "politically correct." But until political correctness made its way onto the landscape, P.C. to me had always meant, "privileged character."

Nicodemus was a P.C., a privileged character of the first order, a man born into privilege, a guy who made it his life's goal to earn privilege, and then, toward the end of his life, a fellow who found himself the recipient of privilege from the strangest of sources in the strangest of circumstances.

Nicodemus was born into a wealthy family and never lacked for anything he ever needed. He may have never been short for anything he ever wanted. But at an early age, Nicodemus discovered that there WAS something missing in his life, something that could not be passed on to a child genetically; it was something that could not be withdrawn from a bank account; nor was it something that Nicodemus could ring a bell and command the servants to bring him. What was this elusive elixir? It was a soul. It was a relationship with the living God.

Because he was a man of privilege, Nicodemus very well could have spent the years of his life traveling and shopping and sipping olive martinis on the veranda, but he chose to forego all of that and become a Pharisee. When we read the gospels, the Pharisees aren't usually seen in a good light, but the Pharisees were initially the good guys. Two hundred years earlier, when Alexander the Great had conquered Palestine, Israel was being consumed by Greek language, culture, philosophy and religion. Some people saw this encroachment and said, "Enough is enough!" They devoted themselves to the study of God's Law with the intent of being able to live that Law to its fullest expression. These gentlemen called themselves "the Pharisees," which is a term meaning "separated ones." They wanted to separate themselves from all things Greek and in that state of separateness to be an example for all Jews to turn away from paganism and return to faith in God. But like many things, that vision dimmed through the years. Over time, the worship of the God of the Law devolved into the worship of the Law itself. The relationship with the living God was supplanted by a relationship with rules, regulations and endless codes of what could and could not be done. By the time Jesus began His public ministry, the Pharisees had become petty, self-righteous and the posterboys for hypocrisy.

Nicodemus‹this man born of privilege and raised in privilege and now separated in the pursuit of privilege‹found himself day in and day out digging into miniscule details of the law and arguing and strutting around showing off his holiness to everybody.

Yet in spite of all his money, in spite of all his education, and in spite of all his status as a holy man of the Law, Nicodemus had a secret he couldn't share with anyone: it wasn't working; none of it was working. His riches couldn't purchase it; his education couldn't learn it; his membership in the exclusive club couldn't barter for it. But in spite of all this, his little secret was that he was just as cold and miserable as the whitewashed tombs that Jesus had called Nicodemus and the other members of his gang.

Jesus' words to the Pharisees struck a nerve in Nicodemus' system, something that he wanted to explore further. So, secret in hand, the furtive Pharisee sent word to Jesus, one rabbi to another, asking for a time when they could get together, with the only stipulation that their rendezvous take place at night.

Nicodemus had two, logical reasons for the nighttime appointment. On the one hand, he knew that Jesus was far too busy during the day to carve out a block of time to see him. For another, scholars and rabbis believed that the best time to study and to discuss things was at night, without having to deal with inane, simplistic questions posed by ordinary dunderheads.

But the main rationale, truth be told, is that Nicodemus had a secret: he couldn't be seen in the same room with Jesus; he couldn't be seen publicly meeting with Jesus. After all, Jesus was the enemy. Jesus was the guy trying to tear down thousands of traditions and a way of life that stated in no uncertain terms: membership has its privileges. Nicodemus wanted to do nothing that would jeopardize his P.C. status. And so, the two rabbis agree to meet at night, Nicodemus with his secret, a secret admirer meeting Jesus at a secret location.

A first-time meeting between two rabbis is similar to two boxers coming out into the ring for the first round. A few jabs are thrown; some bobbing and weaving, some advancing and retreating are in order. It's a game to get to know the opponent, to get a feel, to establish some territory and get a rhythm going. Nicodemus takes the first jab: "Rabbi, we all know that God has sent You to teach us. All these miraculous signs are proof enough that God is with You."

Nicodemus is expecting Jesus to respond with an "aw shucks, leave your flattery at home" kind of comeback. But Jesus surprises the daylights out of Nicodemus. Instead of coming back with a soft counter jab, Jesus counteracts with a fast, powerful uppercut, a knockout punch delivered with the words, "Nicodemus, I'm telling you from the bottom of My heart that unless you are born again, you can never see the Kingdom of God."

This rattles Nicodemus. It stuns him. It startles him. It knocks the equilibrium right out from underneath him. He wasn't expecting this. The element of surprise is Nicodemus' biggest problem. In his training as a religious lawyer, he is accustomed to language that is cut and dry, black and white, right and wrong. The law is either for something or it's against something. Nicodemus mindset is cemented in literalist language. He's out of his element with Jesus' answer.

What floors Nicodemus the most is a three-letter preposition that Jesus uses, the Greek word ana. Jesus says you must be born ana.

The word ana can have any one of three meanings. The first meaning is "from the beginning." It can mean "radically." So Nicodemus, his mind processing all this at a million miles an hour thinks, "how can a person be born from the beginning? That doesn't make sense."

The second possible meaning of this little preposition is the way that it's usually translated, which is "again," meaning

"for a second or third or subsequent time."

The third thing that ana can mean is "from above," meaning "from the hand of God in Heaven."

Now, a single word is capable of tying all these aspects together. It's the word "anew." To be born anew means radically. To be born anew means again. To be born anew means from the hand of God above.

But Nicodemus is a literalist. He cannot process language that is couched in symbolism. So the first thing that pops out of his mouth is, "Come on, Jesus, You're taking silly. How in the world do You expect me to be born anew? In the first place, my mother's long dead. In the second place, I'm already grownup; I'm an old coot. Are You expecting me to crawl back into my mother's womb and start this all over again?"

Jesus counterpunches. "The truth is, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit. Humans can reproduce only human life, but the Holy Spirit gives new life from heaven."

You've heard a hundred sermons on what follows, "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him shall never die but have everlasting life." But we can't understand Nicodemus just on the account of this one encounter with Jesus. In much the same way that it takes nine months from conceptions to delivery, the rebirth of Nicodemus will take place over the course of months, even years.

So Nicodemus goes back to his Pharisee friends and thinks about what Jesus has said. It gnaws at him. It eats away at him.

For the next few months, Jesus grows in popularity. He draws be crowds. The larger Jesus becomes in the eyes of the public, the smaller the Pharisees look in the eyes of the people. Jesus becomes a very polarizing figure. Many people think He's wonderful, but a significant percentage thinks He needs to be silenced. And only one body had the authority to call Jesus to task: the Sanhedrin.

The Sanhedrin was the highest religious governmental power in the land. Comprised of the top 40 religious leaders in Israel, the Sanhedrin held sway over practically every aspect of Jewish religious life. Eventually, the Sanhedrin sends its officers out to arrest Jesus. It's more than coincidental that Nicodemus is a member of the Sanhedrin.

When the officers return to the chief priests and Pharisees without Jesus in tow, they are grilled by the Sanhedrin. "Why didn't you bring Him?"

The officers answer, "Never has a man spoken the way this man speaks."

The Pharisees counterpunch, "You haven't been led astray too, have you? Not a single Pharisee has believed in Him, has he?"

Now, when Nicodemus hears this, his spirit is crushed because he does, indeed, believe in Him. But he has to keep this secret in tact. He can't give up his privileges, his seat on the Sanhedrin, his position of influence and his admiring fans.

Yet even with this conflict churning inside him, Nicodemus tries to speak up for Jesus without it looking like he's on the Lord's side of the ledger. Addressing the Sanhedrin in his role of wise old sage, Nicodemus says, "Our Law doesn't judge anyone without first hearing from that individual. Shouldn't this same standard apply in this situation? Why don't we bring Jesus in and hear from Him firsthand?" His brethren stare at him with a look of stunned disbelief. "What are YOU, Nicodemus? Are you from Galilee too?" Nicodemus doesn't say anything in response. He's got a secret. He's privileged. He doesn't want to lose that privilege. And so for the next few months Nicodemus thinks. And he ponders. And he even prays, fervently, to a personal God. And he agonizes, not only with the truth that Jesus has spoken, but also over his own hypocrisy.

During the week of the Passover, things come to a head. Jesus enters Jerusalem in a triumphant parade; He goes to the Temple and turns over the tables of the moneychangers and drives out the cows and sheep; He screams about the Temple being His Father's and challenges the authorities, "tear this temple down and I'll raise it again in three days." That's all it takes. Late one night Jesus is arrested and brought before the Sanhedrin for trial. False accuser after false accuser is brought in to testify against Him. Every rule of Law, which the Pharisees have been so careful to observe, is thrown out the window. It rapidly evolves into a Kangaroo Court. When it comes time to vote to either acquit or convict Jesus, not a single voice of reason is heard. No one votes in His favor, not even Nicodemus. Where was his voice? Where was Nicodemus? He spoke out on Jesus' behalf once before. How come he didn't do it again?

No one knows. Was he like a Senator who worms his way out of a vote that would prove unpopular to his constituents by sitting out this vote and being absent? Was he at the trial and chose not to vote at all? Or was he part of the consent that convicted Jesus and sent Him and His cross packing to Golgotha?

Whatever it was, it all had the same effect. Presence or non-presence, vote or no-vote, the one time that Jesus needed someone to lay aside his dirty little secret, the one time that Jesus needed someone on His side, the one person who had been at least in the process of being born anew was nowhere to be found. And when Jesus was crucified, he was nowhere to be found as well.

It was, for Nicodemus, the longest hours of his life. When Jesus was crucified, he could have at least stood by His side. After all, most of the people at Golgotha were rubberneckers, onlookers who had come to see a life come crashing to a bloody end. He very well could have blended in with the crowd, yet Nicodemus stayed away. Secrets come out in a variety of ways. Sometimes it's due to the secret's discovery by an outsider. Sometimes it's accidental. Sometimes it's even an act of courage. But often, secrets are released because there's nothing to lose.

Whatever his reason, Nicodemus finally comes out of the closet when it comes time to bury Jesus. Along with Joseph of Arimethea, who comes along and offers his family tomb for a burial place for Jesus, Nicodemus brings a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds weight. It cost a fortune. So they took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen wrappings with the spices.

And so Nicodemus goes home. His secret's out, but it doesn't matter much now, does it? He'll get some criticism and sanctions, but it's nothing he can't handle. But something very odd and strange happens on Sunday. People coming to the tomb find it empty. News gets around about the resurrection. Nicodemus himself comes and looks at empty tomb. He sees the bandages, smells the spices, and that's all it takes. He experiences a rebirth radically, a rebirth again, and a rebirth from above. Birth is a process. Even though every life begins the same way, every life that develops is unique and mysterious. It's like a cocoon. There's a wrestling match. It's that struggle in birth and rebirth, in being born from below and being born from above, it's that struggle to become the person God intended for you to be.

For Nicodemus, it was a long, prolonged birth. Born into privilege, raised in privilege, and earning privilege. But in the end, the only privilege that counted was the love of God who loved him with a richness Nicodemus could never imagine. His secret, like the ugly moth that it had been, came out. He became a butterfly. He became the only P.C. that really counts: a Person in Christ.