Fourth Sunday in Lent

March 14, 2021 | John 3:14-21 | David Brooks |

A man strode down the sidewalk looking at his phone. He glanced up momentarily and walked into a local hotel to check in. As he strode to the front desk, he noticed that the bellman was not on duty to greet him and take his bag. Arriving at the desk, he waited, but no clerk appeared.

A minute or two passed. The man began to fume; he had been told that this was a fine hotel, but clearly it was not! The staff was worthless! The room was overpriced! The president of the company would hear from him!

Just as his anger rose to a fever pitch, a manager came rushing through a side door, saw the guest and stopped short with a look of surprise.

Sir, how did you get in here?

Is that how you greet a guest? I will have your job!

You must come with me, please.

No! I will stay right here until the General Manager comes!

Sir, we have a gas leak, and the fire department is on the way—we are evacuating, so please follow me!

Did you see what the problem was here? Our unnamed guest assumed he knew what was happening, and further assumed that whatever was happening it reflected poorly on someone else.

And this is our situation too. We believe the problem is out there, with someone else. We work mightily to fix other people. Some of you might say that the essence of my job, whatever it is I do, is about fixing other people. We worry about what other people are doing, thinking, saying. One might say that abusive relationships are an extra-thick slice of this problem, for if I change you and keep you under control then my life will be fine.

But the problem is not with other people; to be more precise, focusing on other people can’t and won’t solve the problem. God knows that the problem begins with us, and the only way to fix the problem is for us to be made new and begin to live out of the gift God gives. It is this problem that Nicodemus completely misunderstands; the fact that he comes to Jesus at night is only an echo of the fact that he carries darkness with him—he, a teacher of Israel, a prominent citizen—is lost. He gropes in the dark, and teaches others to do the same.

Much of what we mean when we talk about Christian practices is meant to counteract our odd myopia. In the case of our unnamed hotel guest, it would accomplish more to practice control of self, rather than control of others. It would accomplish more to practice the Eighth commandment by putting the best spin on the behaviors of his neighbors, rather than speaking ill of them. It would accomplish more to practice good leadership—to be the person he wants/hopes/expects others to be, rather than demanding others do what he will not.

Now you’ll have also noticed that I’ve used the word practice several times in this sermon. Many Christians today misunderstand that word. We tend to think of “Christian practices” as ways of extending control over God: if we do such and such, then God will have to respond. But this is only the problem we face written large and huge over the whole universe. I don’t guess you need me to tell you that trying to control God doesn’t work. And since we misunderstand what Christian practices, such as prayer or giving alms and offerings or worship or studying the Scriptures or telling others the Good News about Jesus and all the rest of them, are really about, we misunderstand why we need them. We need them because we are lost. We need them because, in this new life that Jesus bestows, we simply must do the things that cultivate that life and not seek to control the One who gives life. We need them because our Christian practices place us in moments and situations where we can discover how trustworthy Jesus is, how our Lord is the way forward out of our lostness, our groping in the nighttime of sin. To live as a Christian, to practice life in this way is not a way to wrest something from God, but an act of trust that God is already at work in life to bring good things forth from our poor obedience. As the monk Thomas Merton is reported to have prayed:

My Lord God, I am lost.

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

and the fact that I think that I am following your will

does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I pray that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always;

even though I may seem to be lost and in the darkness of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Amen.

—

The Rev. David Brooks

Raleigh, NC, USA

Pr.Dave.Brooks@zoho.com