Personal Transformation
Lent 2
John 3.1-17
Why is Cinderella such a popular story? This story of a young woman in trying circumstances – facing abuse and hardship – finally being won to a royal life by her prince charming, is repeated in countless versions across the globe. It was a famous and oft repeated story of unjust oppression and triumphant reward long before the Walt Disney studios got to it. There are well over 300 recorded variants of this tale told and retold across world. One of the reasons it appeals so must surely be because it records an amazing transformation? We delight to see the downtrodden and hopeless transformed into the beautiful belle of the ball with a golden future in front of her.
Jesus answered Nicodemus, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above’ (John 3.3). What is Jesus requiring from Nicodemus, and indeed anyone else who would aspire to a place in God’s Kingdom, if it isn’t a transformation? This is a transformation that has about it a Cinderella quality of beauty, charm, and radical change. To be born 'from above’ means to be born from the very realm of God. Like Cinderella this is a radical re-shaping of life in royal terms – but the royalty involved isn’t a make-believe prince charming, but the holy One who is Father to the Prince of Peace. In the fable Cinderella becomes the daughter-in-law of the king; in the
call to discipleship those transformed become the very children of God. ‘All who have received him he empowers to become children of God’ (John 1.12). As Cinderella is re-created as a beautiful princess, so the disciple of Christ is re-created as one bearing the status of godly character.
But this is no fairytale, what Christ is asking for is a radical shift in human understanding that changes a person’s place in the universe forever. Nicodemus gets in a mess because he apparently takes the metaphor Jesus employs at face value – he doesn’t take the hint about ‘above’ – the realm in which God exists – and ties the whole idea much too closely to literal human birth. He fails to appreciate the profound spiritual change to which Jesus is alluding.
Though, perhaps, his stumbling over the realities of physical birth suggest that he has more of an idea of what Jesus is getting at than first appears. His spoken, ‘How can these things be?’ could perhaps be an exclamation of wonder rather than a straightforward statement of bemusement. Perhaps we are more like Nicodemus than we care to admit?
‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from
above,’ said Jesus. And we query the image of it, or exclaim our surprise at the demand it makes of us. Of course, some translations render it as ‘You must be born again.’ The directness of that makes it all the more disarming. We must be renewed by God – that’s the be all and end all of this encounter as John the gospel-writer presents it. George Whitefield, that great eighteenth-century preacher who did so much to advance Christianity in the then new lands of the Americas, repeatedly spoke on this theme in every imaginable circumstance. ‘Why, Mr Whitefield,’ enquired a friend, ‘why do you preach so often on “Ye must be born again”?’ ‘Because,’ was his answer ‘ye must be born again.’ The be all and end
all!
Bishop John Taylor Smith, Chaplain General to the Forces right through World War I and beyond, and often called ‘Everybody’s Bishop’, was preaching one Sunday to a fashionable congregation in the City of London. At the morning service he took for his text the words these words from John 3, ‘Ye must be born again.’ After the service someone told him that they were not used to that kind of preaching in their church. It might be all right for the Salvation Army but not for a congregation such as theirs. That evening he preached again, this time his text was, ‘Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again’ (John
3.7).
Strangely the same thing was said to me on a previous occasion when this text came up in the lectionary. He said with indignation , ‘If we wanted that sort of thing we would go to the Pentecostal church!’ My reply was that we cannot avoid ‘that sort of thing’ if we are serious about wanting to live the life of faith as Christians.
Jesus extends the discussion for Nicodemus’ sake, ‘No one can enter the kingdom of God,’ he says, ‘without being born of water and Spirit’ (John 3.5). Water speaks of the outward signs that God gives us – of sustaining life, of death, of washing and the bringing of new cleanness. Spirit speaks of that inner moving of God within us that can turn hollow words into meaningful actions. So being ‘born from above’ unites these inner aspects with
both intention and actions. The first step in this union of inner disposition, willed intention and resolute action is often simply admitting our need of a Saviour – our need of Christ.
Christian faith always begins and ends with Christ. Sure there are lots of ways into religious ideas and feelings, but our faith always begins with Jesus. He is the one with whom we have to do. It is all too easy to talk of God, but what we're called to isn't talking
about, but coming face to face with Christ. Don't be fooled, it is easy to pretend we're not quite sure what God wants, or what God is like. But God is as he is in Jesus, and in God there is no unchristlikeness at all, as Archbishop Michael Ramsey used to put it. Jesus, his person, his actions, his dying, shows us God. Who are we fooling if we avoid that?
‘Vicar,’ she said, ‘I really didn't know where I was going; why I had bothered with church all those years, but it came over me when things were a real mess, and I cried, and you know that marked a turning.’ She admitted her need of a Saviour. To know a Saviour is to admit that you can do it by yourself. To know a Saviour is to acknowledge that a transformation is needed that goes way beyond anything we can do for ourselves.
Make no mistake about it, if Jesus is Lord of our lives obedience, repentance, and witness is required of us. Those things come with the transformation we are talking about. To be
‘born from above’ is to live as one who steps beyond the comfort zone of self. Christ is no easy option – there is a profound seriousness of intent here, but that seriousness is always tempered by joy, the joy of being a conscious recipient of God's abiding love. We are being transformed into God’s children – we receive a new status as God’s holy people. This is something to make a song and dance about! Admit our need of a Saviour, believe Jesus died for us, and acknowledge him as Lord of our lives – so shall we be born again of water and
Spirit.
To end with another story about Bishop John Taylor Smith: he was once preaching in a
cathedral so many of the local worthies were sitting near him, indeed on his immediate left was the local archdeacon. His theme, you’ve guessed it, was ‘You must be born again.’ Part of what he said was this:
'My dear people, do not substitute anything for the new birth. You may be a member of a church, but church membership is not new birth, and except ‘a man be born again he cannot see the Kingdom of God.’ Pointing to the archdeacon on his left, he continued, 'You may even be an archdeacon like my friend here and not be born again, and except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. You might even be a bishop like myself and not be born again, and except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.’
Next day the bishop received a letter from the archdeacon that said:
My dear Bishop, you have found me out. I have been a clergyman for over thirty years, but I have never known anything of the joy that Christians speak of. Mine has been a hard, legal service. I did not know what was the matter with me, but when you pointed directly at me and said 'You might even be an Archdeacon and not be born again, I realised in a moment
what the trouble was. I had never known anything of the new birth.
The bishop and archdeacon arranged to meet and before long they were praying together, the archdeacon responding to Christ's call as he had never done before. At last he had admitted his need of a Saviour, believed that Jesus had died for him, and acknowledged Jesus as Lord of his life.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life (John 3.16) – be born again of water and the Spirit.
Jesus answered Nicodemus, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above’ (John 3.3). What is Jesus requiring from Nicodemus, and indeed anyone else who would aspire to a place in God’s Kingdom, if it isn’t a transformation? This is a transformation that has about it a Cinderella quality of beauty, charm, and radical change. To be born 'from above’ means to be born from the very realm of God. Like Cinderella this is a radical re-shaping of life in royal terms – but the royalty involved isn’t a make-believe prince charming, but the holy One who is Father to the Prince of Peace. In the fable Cinderella becomes the daughter-in-law of the king; in the
call to discipleship those transformed become the very children of God. ‘All who have received him he empowers to become children of God’ (John 1.12). As Cinderella is re-created as a beautiful princess, so the disciple of Christ is re-created as one bearing the status of godly character.
But this is no fairytale, what Christ is asking for is a radical shift in human understanding that changes a person’s place in the universe forever. Nicodemus gets in a mess because he apparently takes the metaphor Jesus employs at face value – he doesn’t take the hint about ‘above’ – the realm in which God exists – and ties the whole idea much too closely to literal human birth. He fails to appreciate the profound spiritual change to which Jesus is alluding.
Though, perhaps, his stumbling over the realities of physical birth suggest that he has more of an idea of what Jesus is getting at than first appears. His spoken, ‘How can these things be?’ could perhaps be an exclamation of wonder rather than a straightforward statement of bemusement. Perhaps we are more like Nicodemus than we care to admit?
‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from
above,’ said Jesus. And we query the image of it, or exclaim our surprise at the demand it makes of us. Of course, some translations render it as ‘You must be born again.’ The directness of that makes it all the more disarming. We must be renewed by God – that’s the be all and end all of this encounter as John the gospel-writer presents it. George Whitefield, that great eighteenth-century preacher who did so much to advance Christianity in the then new lands of the Americas, repeatedly spoke on this theme in every imaginable circumstance. ‘Why, Mr Whitefield,’ enquired a friend, ‘why do you preach so often on “Ye must be born again”?’ ‘Because,’ was his answer ‘ye must be born again.’ The be all and end
all!
Bishop John Taylor Smith, Chaplain General to the Forces right through World War I and beyond, and often called ‘Everybody’s Bishop’, was preaching one Sunday to a fashionable congregation in the City of London. At the morning service he took for his text the words these words from John 3, ‘Ye must be born again.’ After the service someone told him that they were not used to that kind of preaching in their church. It might be all right for the Salvation Army but not for a congregation such as theirs. That evening he preached again, this time his text was, ‘Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again’ (John
3.7).
Strangely the same thing was said to me on a previous occasion when this text came up in the lectionary. He said with indignation , ‘If we wanted that sort of thing we would go to the Pentecostal church!’ My reply was that we cannot avoid ‘that sort of thing’ if we are serious about wanting to live the life of faith as Christians.
Jesus extends the discussion for Nicodemus’ sake, ‘No one can enter the kingdom of God,’ he says, ‘without being born of water and Spirit’ (John 3.5). Water speaks of the outward signs that God gives us – of sustaining life, of death, of washing and the bringing of new cleanness. Spirit speaks of that inner moving of God within us that can turn hollow words into meaningful actions. So being ‘born from above’ unites these inner aspects with
both intention and actions. The first step in this union of inner disposition, willed intention and resolute action is often simply admitting our need of a Saviour – our need of Christ.
Christian faith always begins and ends with Christ. Sure there are lots of ways into religious ideas and feelings, but our faith always begins with Jesus. He is the one with whom we have to do. It is all too easy to talk of God, but what we're called to isn't talking
about, but coming face to face with Christ. Don't be fooled, it is easy to pretend we're not quite sure what God wants, or what God is like. But God is as he is in Jesus, and in God there is no unchristlikeness at all, as Archbishop Michael Ramsey used to put it. Jesus, his person, his actions, his dying, shows us God. Who are we fooling if we avoid that?
‘Vicar,’ she said, ‘I really didn't know where I was going; why I had bothered with church all those years, but it came over me when things were a real mess, and I cried, and you know that marked a turning.’ She admitted her need of a Saviour. To know a Saviour is to admit that you can do it by yourself. To know a Saviour is to acknowledge that a transformation is needed that goes way beyond anything we can do for ourselves.
Make no mistake about it, if Jesus is Lord of our lives obedience, repentance, and witness is required of us. Those things come with the transformation we are talking about. To be
‘born from above’ is to live as one who steps beyond the comfort zone of self. Christ is no easy option – there is a profound seriousness of intent here, but that seriousness is always tempered by joy, the joy of being a conscious recipient of God's abiding love. We are being transformed into God’s children – we receive a new status as God’s holy people. This is something to make a song and dance about! Admit our need of a Saviour, believe Jesus died for us, and acknowledge him as Lord of our lives – so shall we be born again of water and
Spirit.
To end with another story about Bishop John Taylor Smith: he was once preaching in a
cathedral so many of the local worthies were sitting near him, indeed on his immediate left was the local archdeacon. His theme, you’ve guessed it, was ‘You must be born again.’ Part of what he said was this:
'My dear people, do not substitute anything for the new birth. You may be a member of a church, but church membership is not new birth, and except ‘a man be born again he cannot see the Kingdom of God.’ Pointing to the archdeacon on his left, he continued, 'You may even be an archdeacon like my friend here and not be born again, and except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. You might even be a bishop like myself and not be born again, and except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.’
Next day the bishop received a letter from the archdeacon that said:
My dear Bishop, you have found me out. I have been a clergyman for over thirty years, but I have never known anything of the joy that Christians speak of. Mine has been a hard, legal service. I did not know what was the matter with me, but when you pointed directly at me and said 'You might even be an Archdeacon and not be born again, I realised in a moment
what the trouble was. I had never known anything of the new birth.
The bishop and archdeacon arranged to meet and before long they were praying together, the archdeacon responding to Christ's call as he had never done before. At last he had admitted his need of a Saviour, believed that Jesus had died for him, and acknowledged Jesus as Lord of his life.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life (John 3.16) – be born again of water and the Spirit.