Standing at the Crossroads (Where on earth is Canaan?)

Genesis 12:1-4a; John 3:1-17
February 17, 2008
Rev. Dr. Judith Kaye Jones

Have you ever actually, physically stood at a crossroads? Of course, you say, but I mean, have you every stood on your feet, feeling the dirt or pavement beneath your feet, felt the breeze blowing on your face, felt the weight of your own body as you balance, lean forward, perhaps hesitating before lifting one foot to take that step that will place you on one road or another, and been aware, in that physical and ordinary moment of that step that you were in that instant, choosing the rest of your life? It happened to me, once. It was in North Florida, and I had gone for a walk down one of the unpaved roads in the small town of Monticello. I had much on my mind, and I was just wandering along, sort of looking about me at the Spanish Moss drifting on the wind above my head, shrouding the limbs of pecan trees like veils, or bandages—sort of looking at the swampy land on each side of the red dirt road, sort of listening to the sound of birds and breeze and somewhere, the barking of a determined dog, reminding me of the beat of my heart in its rhythmic persistent drumming on my eardrums. I was walking because I had a decision to make, and I had been restless and uneasy for weeks as I considered what lay ahead of me. I tend to put off difficult decisions, especially when whatever choice I make will cost me pain, or cost someone else disappointment. I waffle. I dally. I hope the need to make a difficult choice will somehow be taken out of my hands. I came to a crossroads. A country crossroads—no signs, no markers to tell you what lay down any of the roads. People who live in that part of the country know, you see, what lies down those roads, and they don't need signs. They're not about to put up signs for the benefit of those who don't live there. If you don't know what's down that road, the locals might suggest, then you probably don't need to go down it.

This morning's readings are about two people who stand at a crossroad in their lives. First, we have encountered Abram. Abram had come with his father's family out of what would today be part of Iraq, and settled in Northern Turkey. Abram's father died. Now Abram would have, in the natural order of things, become head of the family, responsible for all the kin and cattle, responsible for making and carrying out plans. The family lives there, they speak the language, understand the politics, if any—who am I kidding, there are always politics, they have a routine established for living their lives, rearing their children, providing for their futures. And then God steps into this well-understood way of life and says—get out. Leave. Get thee out to the land of Canaan that I will show you. And there, God promises, I will make you the father of a great nation, and I will bless you so that you may bless others. And Abram does just that. Now, a word about that leave taking that the Bible does not address. Sarai, Abram's wife, is not consulted. We know nothing of what she felt when Abram broke the news. God spoke to me, we're leaving. Abram may have had the task of listening to God, but Sarai, you may be sure, had the responsibility for packing. Throughout time the great prophets and visionaries have stepped into the road, their eyes full of dreams and their spirits soaring above the mundane world, but remember, someone had to remember to pack a lunch.

Why on earth would they go? They are old, they are at least comfortable where they are. We have no reason to think there was anything wrong with where they were. No famine, no war, no oppression. And we know from later stories that Abram and his family possessed great herds and flocks. Packing was no simple matter. Abram is an old man. His wife is an old woman. Wouldn't it have made sense for them to just finish out their lives at home and let the younger generation get on with exploring the future, with dreaming dreams and seeing visions. Wouldn't you have thought they would have preferred to shelter in their tents instead of stepping out into the wind? And where the heck is Canaan, anyway? No maps, no signposts, no onstar—just go to this land of Canaan that God promises—I will show you. Abram heard God speaking, calling, summoning. He stood at a crossroad, he and Sarai. Stay here, where it's safe and familiar, where our fathers and mothers and all our kin live, stay here where we understand everything—or step out into the wind.

Abram and Sarai are childless. They have no new life from their own bonding to carry on their family line. Yet here is God promising new life—I will make of you a great nation. The one thing that they did not have, new life, life for the future. Later God will promise Sarah a child, and you remember, for the sheer excitement and puzzlement and delighted disbelief and joy of it, Sarah laughed. So for new life, Abram and Sarai listen to God's summons. For the sake of new life they forsake the security of home and step out into the wind.

Then there is Nicodemus, or, as we have called him in the past, Nick at Night. Nicodemus is a man of position and learning, and more important, he is a good, a really good man, a man of principal, a righteous faithful believing man. And he has heard about Jesus. And he comes to see this man others are raving about. He comes at night. Now some argue that the Jewish scholars of his time were taught to study at night because only then could they truly concentrate, when all other distractions and noise and competition for attention have fallen silent. Some suggest that his coming at night really is a sign of respect for Jesus, that he would give up his scholarly studies to include Jesus, to listen to Jesus, to consider the reality of Jesus. But remember, the Gospel of John is called the Gospel of light, and from its beginning prologue to the end of the book, John is constantly contrasting those who walk in the light, and those who sit in darkness. Those who hear Jesus and believe, and believing, follow. And those who cannot hear, cannot see, refuse to believe, and so are left behind. Here is Nicodemus, and he has come at night, through the sheltering darkness, safe from prying eyes, his reputation, no doubt justly earned, as a pious, learned, righteous Jew safe because there is no one to see him visiting this radical, impious, scandalous breaker of laws and traditions, this Jesus. Perhaps Nicodemus began by asking himself, who the heck is this Jesus, anyway? Why should I risk all that I have, all that I am, for him, to be seen with him, to have it known that I had listened to him. Nicodemus stands at a crossroad. Something has drawn him here, to this unmarked crossing, some need, some hope, some dream or vision that his life does not satisfy, respectable and comfortable and worthwhile though it surely is. He has come to see Jesus—and has availed himself of the opportunity at least of casting off blindness and stepping into the light. He comes. He speaks with Jesus. And Jesus suggests to Nicodemus that he doesn't really have it all, after all. Jesus recognizes Nicodemus as a good man, an important man, but most of all, a man with great potential. He offers him discipleship—because that is what it was, this talk of being born from above. Nicodemus, a sure but perhaps a trifle pedantic scholar, thinks Jesus means "born again," another meaning of the word. But Jesus isn't talking about physical rebirth, and he is no doubt deeply disappointed that Nicodemus would stumble over such a mistaken idea. No, no, not again, above! Born from above! Born from God! Nicodemus, here is your opportunity to enter into new life, experience new birth into a life custom designed by God. All you have to do is choose to step into the wind, into the wind of new life that is blowing from God and that will make all things—even you, new.

Nicodemus, unlike Abram, can't face the wind. He is unable to overcome his status and his literal understanding. Messiah, though he has been looking for him all his life, is too frightening and challenging and radical an idea to be born in the flesh. He cannot leave the shelter of theory, of ideal and embrace the here and now. He cannot leave the shelter of the tent and step out into the wind. Yet.

But there is hope. As with God there is always hope. As with those who truly encounter the living Christ, all things are possible. Sometimes it is instant. Sometimes it takes a lifetime. Nicodemus has encountered Jesus, and though he cannot set out for Canaan at that first meeting, neither can he settle down and stay behind forever. Later, Nicodemus will speak from his seat in the powerful Sanhedrin, right there before God and everybody, Nicodemus will find the courage to stand up for Jesus. Talk about stepping into the wind—can you imagine what a buzz of talk and shock went round that room, a hurricane of anger and disbelief. Nicodemus, the righteous, the respected, defending the mad carpenter from Nazareth who preaches justice, and peace, and healing, and compassion, who heals on the Sabbath and suggests that he, and we, are actually children of God. And later, because apparently Nicodemus decided he kind of liked being out in the wind and storm, he would help Joseph of Aramethia take the dead body of Jesus down from the cross and lay it in the tomb. He would take upon himself the disgrace and ritual uncleanliness that came from touching the dead flesh of an executed felon. Is it possible that Nicodemus left it at that? I don't think so. I have no doubt that he never went back to the old life. Once you are born from above, once you experience the new life offered by God, you can never again settle for plodding through life. Once you have stepped into and embraced the wind, you have to fly.
When have you had to strike out on your own, without any guarantees from your family or faith community? What voice did you hear? How might this be a blessing for everybody — even those who did not go with you?

How do we honor the voice of God in the Bible and still listen for God to speak in unprecedented ways? What room do we make for other voices? What room do we make for God's voice?

Where is the wind of the Spirit blowing in your life? Can you afford to respond with openness? If not, what other responses are available to you right now? How can God transfigure your circumstances?
Call us out, O God, from familiar settings.
Lead us into unexplored regions,
and make our lives a blessing to all whom we meet.
Give us courage to explore you and to explore ourselves openly.
Amen.