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Creekside
Church
Sermon of June 18,
2000
"Outside In,
Inside Out"
John
3:1-17
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Rev. David
Bibbee
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Today
is Trinity Sunday, the first Sunday after Pentecost a time
set aside to reflect upon the important, but involved doctrine
of the Trinity. Today, many well-intentioned preachers will
leave their congregations mystified as they try to make comprehensible
the third person of the trinity...the Holy Spirit, a being
distinct from the father and son, and yet a perfect unity,
three in one.
When our family visited the
Grand Canyon, we were awed by the sight. The enormity of
the canyon had a "dizzying" effect upon me, so much so that
I was anxious walking to the edge. I recall the story of
another nervous tourist who was afraid to get close to the
edge. "What would I do if I fell off the edge?" he asked
the guide. The guide responded, "Well, in that case, sir,
don't fail to look to the left and right, you'll love the
view."
I will not descend deeply
into the complexities of the spirit, but we can take in
the view, and trust that our effort will not go unrewarded.
After many years of studying and struggling with the doctrine
of the Trinity, one prominent theologian summarized her
thoughts by saying, "The whole thing is incomprehensible."
But it is a good thing the Trinity is incomprehensible.
If it were nailed down, coded and completely understood,
what need would we have of seeking the Holy Spirit in our
lives?
Our text today is the familiar
story of Jesus' encounter with Nicodemus. He hadn't dismissed
Jesus as had many of the Pharisees. Nicodemus was "curious."
Notice when he came to Jesus...at night. John did not include
this detail to tell us the time of day, or that Nicodemus
picked the night to avoid being seen by someone who might
recognize him.
John loved to play with double
meanings. Living water wasn't just water. Living bread wasn't
bread. And night isn't the end of day. Night is a symbol
for Nicodemus' and Israel's spiritual condition. The night
stood for the religious establishment which knew everything
of God it needed to know. The moment Nicodemus was in Jesus'
presence, he became a spiritual sophomore-an outsider who
attempted to "make sense" of Jesus. But Jesus told Nicodemus
he wasn't going to "get it" by looking in from the outside.
"Rabbi, we know you are a
teacher sent from God. We've seen you work. So how do you
do it? Just break it down a step at a time so we can see
your system." An inquisitive American had gone to Japan
seeking spiritual enlightenment from a wise old Zen master.
As they sat down the master poured the visitor a cup of
tea, but when the tea reached the brim he kept pouring.
The American was confused by the master's action and finally
he could not constrain himself and cried, "Stop! Nothing
more will go in." The master then replied, "How will you
find enlightenment when your head is full of so many notions?
To be enlightened you must let go of the thoughts that fill
your head."
Nicodemus thought figuring
Jesus out was a matter of mechanics. The only way to understand
and experience the power of the presence is not as a detached
outsider peeking in. What's necessary is a view from the
inside.
While in France we went to
see the famous Chartes Cathedral. This enormous Gothic church
is visible from 15 miles in the French countryside. The
construction of Chartes began around the year 900 and took
some 250 years to complete. Chartes' major attraction is
its stained glass windows, considered the most magnificent
in the world. Viewed from the outside there isn't a clue
to suggest how they look from the inside, but when you enter
the cathedral and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you
are utterly amazed by the brilliant red, blue, and green
glass depicting so many biblical scenes in meticulous detail.
The beauty could only be seen from the inside.
Nicodemus hoped his inquiry
would yield to rational explanations. But suppose he received
rational explanations? What then? Someone said, "Reason
always stops at an unsatisfying place." There will still
be questions beneath rational answers to be asked.
The spirit works in a realm
beyond the rational boxes into which the world tries to
put everything. Those who question and criticize the followers
of Jesus don't understand why someone who is treated terribly
doesn't exact revenge. They don't see the point of a retired
person volunteering to tutor poor children when he could
be spending his retirement on the golf course instead. A
teacher is assaulted by a student who is put in jail. Conventional
wisdom says, "Lock him up and throw away the key." Instead,
the teacher responds to cruelty with kindness, and those
looking in from outside are baffled.
What accounts for such people?
They have been born anew. So much has been said about the
"born again" exchange between Nicodemus and Jesus. It wasn't
exactly a good model of communication. Bud and Betty had
celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary. There was a long
line of family and friends who dropped by the church to
congratulate them. It was a good day, but they were glad
it was over. That evening they relaxed on the porch swing,
watching the sunset on their special day. Bud gazed fondly
at Betty and said, "I'm proud of you!" "What!?" Betty replied.
"You know I'm hard of hearing. Say it louder." "I said,
I'm proud of you!" Then with a dismissive gesture, she replied,
"That's alright. I'm tired of you too."
"No one can see the kingdom
of God without being born from above," Jesus said. Nicodemus
was a sharp man, but the birth business confounded him.
"I should meet my mother on the obstetrics ward?" He didn't
understand because Jesus spoke from a different point of
reference. Rebirth didn't fit into Israel's laws and regulations
and practices. Being born of the Holy Spirit is a mysterious
thing. You can't command it. You can't contain it. "It's
like the wind," Jesus said. "It blows where it will...you
hear the sound of it, but you don't know where it comes
from or where it goes."
Our culture tries to take
Christian experience and siphon the mystery from it-boil
it down to emotionalism or wishful thinking; to try and
understand it and make sense of it. "What is born of the
flesh is flesh," Jesus said. "What is born of the spirit
is spirit." Jesus and Nicodemus spoke different languages.
Nicodemus couldn't grasp spiritual in fleshy terms.
The critics of Jesus continually
tried to discredit him. They interrogated those that Jesus
had healed and whose lives had changed. "What did he do
to you? What really happened? Give us a plausible explanation."
The critics couldn't make sense of it from the outside.
"We don't know what he did or how he did it. We don't know
whether Jesus is a sinner as you say. We only know that
we were crippled, blind and sinners ourselves, but now we
walk and see and know the freedom of forgiveness." In Acts,
Peter and John were arrested for preaching about Jesus'
life, death, and resurrection. And when the rulers ordered
them to stop, they said, "Whether it is right in God's eyes
to listen to you rather than God, you must judge, for we
cannot keep from speaking of what we have seen and heard."
The first Christians didn't
appeal to logic or rhetoric or argument to defend themselves.
They could only testify to what the spirit of Jesus had
done "within" them. Now as then, our faith is an inside
out way of living. Saint Paul said we are temples of the
Holy Spirit. Our lives are an inner sanctuary for the divine.
A reporter asked Mother Teresa, "Why are you so holy?" She
said, "You make it sound as if holiness were abnormal. To
be holy is normal. To be anything else is abnormal." The
British mystic Evelyn Underhill wrote in 1929, "The soul
lives in a two-story house. The ground floor is our physical
life, our life of flesh with all its hungers and instincts
created by God. But there is an upper floor; a spiritual
life with supernatural possibilities...the habitation of
God. We don't stay on the first floor. We cannot remain
on the second. The whole house is Gods, and when we are
open to God's spirit within us, God's presence will be reflected
on both levels."
Let me tell you about Howard
and Mary. I was privileged to be their pastor for 11 years.
For most of 25 years they suffered with their son John who
was a paranoid schizophrenic. They heard his paranoid delusions.
They were physically threatened and attacked. When he was
no longer able to live with them they found housing for
him. His illness led to one eviction after another. He spent
months in the St. Joe County Jail and almost two years in
the Logansport State Hospital. When released, he moved to
Portage Manor until the night he jumped from the toll road
bridge into the path of a semi truck. Through all the years
Howard and Mary never stopped visiting him, calling him,
reaching out to him, doing all they could for him, because
they loved him. Under a weight that would crush others,
they never quit hoping.
Looking in from the outside,
many would not understand the Howard's and Mary's of the
world. Why do people live for others in the absence of rewards?
Why do people remain hopeful in hopeless situations? Don't
ask them for proofs. They don't have any. Don't ask them
to explain it. They cannot. They can only say that something
happened inside...and experience called spirit.
Nicodemus came to Jesus in
the dark, but by the end of John's gospel he is a follower
of Jesus, living in the light because the wind of the spirit
blew within and changed him. The process did not stop for
Nicodemus. Nor does it stop for us. Those inside the faith
looking out have something to share with those outside looking
in. Evelyn Underhill said people with whole spiritual lives
cannot stay upstairs all the time. There are others who
need to know that they have a sanctuary of God within them.
Before I conclude I want
to offer a hopefully helpful poem by an Episcopal priest
named Samuel Shoemaker, the spiritual founder of Alcoholics
Anonymous. It's based on Psalm 84: 10, "I would rather be
a doorkeeper in the house of my God..."
I stay near the door.
I neither go too far in nor stay too far out,
The door is the most important door in the world-
It is the door through which people walk when they find
God.
There is no use my going way inside and staying there,
When so many are still outside and they, as much as I
Crave to know where the door is. And all that so many ever
find
Is only the wall where a door ought to be.
They creep along the wall like they are blind,
With outstretched, groping hands.
Feeling for a door, knowing there must be a door,
They never find it...so I stay near the door.
The most tremendous thing
in the world
Is for people to find that door-the door to God.
The most important thing any person can do
Is to take hold of one of those blind, groping hands,
And put it on the latch-the latch that only clicks
And opens to the person's own touch.
People die outside that door, as starving beggars die
On cold nights in cruel cities in the dead of winter-
Die for want of what is in their grasp.
They live, on the other side of it-live because they have
found it,
Nothing else matters compared to helping them find it,
And open it and walk in, and find Him...
So I stay near the door.
Go in, great saints, go all the way in-
Go way down into the cavernous cellars,
And way up into the spacious attics-
It is a vast, roomy house, this house where God is.
Go into the deepest of hidden casements,
Of withdrawl, of silence, of sainthood.
Someone must inhabit those inner rooms
And know the depths and heights of God,
And call outside to the rest of us of how wonderful it is.
Sometimes I take a deeper
look in,
Sometimes venture in a little farther;
But my place seems closer to the opening; so I stay near
the door.
I admire the people who go way in.
But I wish they would not forget how it was
Before they got in. Then they would be able to help
The people who have not yet even found the door,
Or the people who want to run away from God.
You can go in too deeply,
and stay too long,
And forget the people outside the door. As for me, I shall
take my old accustomed place,
Near enough to God to hear him, and know he is there,
But not so far from people as not to hear them.
And remember they are there, too.
Where? Outside the door-thousands of them, millions of them.
But-more important for me-
One of them, two of them, ten of them,
Whose hands I am intended to put on the latch.
So I shall stay by the door
and wait
For those who seek it.
I would rather be a door keeper in the house of my God...
So I stay near the door.
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