"Questions and Answers"
John 3:1-21
Donna Giver Johnston
June 11, 2006
It began with a question. An enlightening conversation I had recently with a young girl in the church began with a question. She asked, "If I have a complaint about the church, who do I talk to?"
After I got over my surprise, I smiled, and said, "Well, it would depend on the nature of the complaint. For example, if it is a complaint about the building, then that would go to the trustees. A complaint about worship or Sunday school, would go to the Session. About fellowship meals or flower delivery--the Deacons. And if it is a complaint you don’t know what to do with, then that would go to one of the Pastors."
After a thoughtful pause, she declared, "Well, then, I guess I need to talk to the trustees."
I chuckled to myself, but seeing that she was very serious about this matter, I continued, asking, "Would you be willing to share with me a little about your complaint?"
She said, pointing to the doors of the sanctuary, "It’s about those cloudy windows on the doors. You can’t see in. I don’t think that a church should have cloudy windows. I thought the church was about making things more clear, helping people see the light, not cloud it. How can this be?"
It began with a question. In the Gospel lesson for today, questions abound. Nicodemus, a Pharisee, is one of the most devout of Jews, and yet he is confused. And so, with his questions, he seeks out Jesus, who is called Rabbi, the teacher, in the hopes of him shedding some light.
Jesus answers with "Very truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above."
Nicodemus asks, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?"
Jesus answers, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and spirit."
Nicodemus asks, "How can these things be?"
It begins with a question. The journey of faith for all of us begins with a question. Do you desire to be baptized or for your child to be baptized? And then more questions are asked: Do you turn from sin? Do you turn to Jesus Christ? Will you be Christ’s faithful disciple obeying his word and showing love? We say yes, and by water and Spirit, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, we are marked as God’s own forever.
How can this be?
It began with a question— for a little girl seeking to see the light.
It began with a question— for Nicodemus seeking to know the truth.
It begins with a question—for us seeking to find our way on the journey of faith.
But, as we grow, the questions continue—and they only seem to get harder.
Now what? What do you want to do when you grow up?
Where should I live? What should I do? How much can I make? Do I have to save some?
Should I do the right thing? If I don’t, will I get caught?
To do or not to do? To go or not to go? To be or not to be?
Do you love him? Do you love her? Do you take this man/this woman to be your spouse?
Why does it have to hurt so much? How can I ever forgive him?
What happened? How? She’s gone? Is she in heaven?
I have what? How long do I have to live? Why me? Where is God in this?
How can this be?
Questions of faith become questions of life become questions of faith. . .
as the journey of life intersects with the journey of faith intersects with the journey of life.
Questions abound as we try to live out our faith, as we try to understand God’s way in this world. In search of understanding, we go to church. Sometimes we find clarity; sometimes only cloudy windows. In search of understanding, we go to the Bible. Sometimes we find answers, sometimes only more questions. And sometimes, we take our questions elsewhere—giving up on the ability of our faith to engage the hard questions of life.
In today’s Gospel reading, we find both questions and answers have something to teach us.
How can these things be? It’s a questions of faith for Nicodemus who’s seeking to understand the kingdom of God, and not only that, but seeking to find his place in it—here and in heaven. And so he asks questions.
And where is Jesus during this questioning?
We find Jesus is an active participant—asking some and answering some. And so the conversation continues. . .
From this Gospel story, we learn something important about Jesus. We learn that Jesus is a teacher who journeys with us, invites our questions, and takes them seriously, does not dismiss them, but helps us wrestle with them. And when we reach the end of our ability to grasp the hidden ways of God—which we inevitably will—Jesus gives us something to hold onto, the most important truth of all: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him, may not perish, but may have eternal life."
Did you hear that? God so loved the world—the world and all those in it, both those with great faith, and those whose faith is barely hanging on, both those who are born again and those who are still trying to figure out what that means.
Whoever believes in him may have eternal life—those who believe, not those who know all the answers, or those who always get it right, but those who keep asking questions, those who stay close to Jesus, those who believe even when they don’t understand.
Where is Jesus? We find Jesus is in the questions, pointing us to the answer, even when we can’t yet know it; pointing us to the light, even when we can’t yet see it; pointing us to the kingdom of God, even when we can’t yet find our way.
Robert Fulghum, author of All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, tells this story about questions and answers.
It was at the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, led by Dr. Alexander Papaderos. He turned. And made the ritual gesture: "Are there any more questions?"
Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence.
"No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes.
So I asked. I asked the most important question of all—you never know somebody may have the answer and I wouldn’t want to miss it.
"Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?"
The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go.
Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing form my eyes that I was.
"I will answer your question."
Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this:
"When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.
I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine—in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.
"I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light—truth, understanding, knowledge—is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.
"I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world—into the black places in the hearts of men—and change some things in some people. Perhaps other may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life."
And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk.
Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from my memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still.
Are there any questions?
On the journey of life, there will always be questions—questions of life and death, love and faith. Some questions are easy, some are hard. Some questions we cannot answer, at least not on this side of heaven. But, our faith is part of the ongoing conversation. Our faith is what we can hold onto, when all else is in question. Our faith is in the one who is with us, loving us, even while pointing us to the light, the truth, and the way we seek to find.
So, while you’re seeking answers to life’s questions, hold onto something to remind you of the promises of our faith.
Maybe it’s a mirror or another object that you can hold in your hand.
Maybe it’s a Bible verse. . . like Psalm 27 "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?"
Or John 3:16 "For God so loved the world, he gave his only Son."
Or another verse that you can hold in your heart.
Maybe it’s a place in the church that has a hold on you—maybe beside a clear window letting in the light.
Or then again, maybe it is the cloudy windows of the sanctuary doors, reminding you that now we see in a mirror dimly, but one day, we are promised, we will see face to face, when all of our questions will be answered.
Until then, may God be glorified by our questions and answers.
May God be glorified by the light we reflect and the truth we profess.
May God be glorified by the love we share—generously and freely, as Jesus did—without question.
Glory, glory, glory be to God!