Under the Sun

Numbers 21:4-9 & John 3:14-21

Fourth Sunday of Lent

[Having sung “Without His Cross” – here's a version on YouTube to get an idea of what it’s about, if you weren’t there]

            It wasn’t until I had that song running through my head for a while this week that I realized what a serendipitous choice it was for our Scripture lessons today; not an accidental choice, but not one we made on purpose either.  This song hits at least one really important theme from our texts.  I’ll put it this way: we just sang a beautiful song about a cross.  Singing songs about crosses is one of the most surreal aspects of our faith, if you think about it.  Had Jesus come later in history, we might just as well be singing songs about “his noose” or “guillotine.”  Pretty grizzly if you think about it that way, right?  This strange and horrifying symbol, is somehow transformed by the power of God’s love; even to the point that we can fashion its image into beautiful physical artwork; even to the point that we can write and perform uplifting songs about crosses.  By the power of God’s love, we can say with confidence that, “Without His cross, there is no crown.” 

            On the one hand, the coming together of this song and our Scripture lessons, tells me that God is obviously saying something to us.  Perhaps it is the reminder that this symbol of pain and death is transformed by the power of God, because pain and death themselves are transformed by the power of God.  But at least, and perhaps more to our point today: we are drawn to consider what it means to look to the Cross.  As this song and our Scripture lessons today remind us, the Cross is where our eyes belong, but the Cross is not the source of our salvation, any more that a bronze snake on a pole was what saved the Israelites.  No, it is only the power of God at work in Jesus.  We keep our eyes on the Cross, not because it’s magical, but because that is where our Savior went.  We keep our eyes on the Cross because that is how he brought us salvation.  But mostly, we keep our eyes on the Cross because that is the kind of love he still calls us to show. 

            I’m trying to keep this sermon simple, but it’s not a simple sermon.  I will do my best, but I may have bit off more than I can chew.  Some of you like to look for a connection between the Scriptures and the sermon title.  This may be one of those Sundays where what I thought the message would be about when I titled it and where it wound up are not the same thing.  Which is kind of funny because our Gospel lesson contains John 3:16.  It seems I should be able to just recite that verse a few times and call it a sermon, right?  “For God so loved the world…  Does everyone have that memorized?  Great!  Let’s go to brunch.”  But there is so much more going on here; some of which we might want to learn about too. 

            For example, there is this man named Nicodemus who shows up in our Gospel lesson.  We should probably keep in mind that Jesus speaks the words of John 3:16 in a specific context to a specific person.  Nicodemus is mentioned three times in the Gospel of John.  Not a central character, but important.  The first mention comes here—and we’ll talk a bit more about this visit in a moment—but first just a mention of the other two: the second comes about midway in the Gospel, when the religious leaders are starting to seriously think about executing Jesus.  It’s Nicodemus who reminds them that the “law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing.”  Finally, after the Crucifixion, it’s Nicodemus, along with Joseph of Arimathea, who prepares Jesus’ body for burial. 

            One would not call Nicodemus a proper disciple of Jesus, but neither would one call him an enemy either.  This is especially surprising when we also learn that Nicodemus was a Pharisee and considered a leader among the religious leaders.  In other words, he is not someone we would expect to help give Jesus a respectful burial; he’s not someone we’d expect to try to hit the brakes on his persecution; he’s not someone we’d expect to come to Jesus with earnest questions about the things that Jesus has been saying and doing.  But here in our Gospel lesson today, that is exactly what Nicodemus is doing. 

            To be fair, he does it under the cover of night.  He may be eager to hear the Truth of God, but he does have appearances to keep up; he doesn’t want to be seen doing it.  When Jesus, at the end of our Gospel reading, talks about light and darkness, he might be making fun of Nicodemus a little bit.  Maybe challenging him to live his faith out in the open; maybe come visit Jesus during business hours; when the sun is up.  But at least we can say that Nicodemus seems like a genuine person of faith.  He’s exactly the kind of person we ought to be looking for in our lives as we seek to grow the Church: people who are clearly being led by God and who are trying to live faithful lives; people who clearly want to know the Truth; but people who may not yet really know Jesus. 

            Which is not to say that Nicodemus doesn’t know anything; he doesn’t yet truly know Jesus, but he knows plenty.  In fact, Nicodemus had knowledge of Scripture and of Israel’s history that would have surpassed most people.  Which is probably why Jesus pulls out an illustration that most people wouldn’t have understood.  We know John 3:16; we know about the story of Exodus out of Egypt; but we may not be as familiar with the story that seems to link the two; and this is a story we should know.  Which is why I included it as a Scripture lesson today. 

            This story about the snakes from Numbers, comes at the end of a series of what are called “murmuring stories”.  These stories set up an overall theme for their journey.  From essentially the very beginning, the people complained about almost everything.  I’m not much of a camper, so I get it: I know how I’d feel about being out under the wilderness sun, not really knowing if the guide knew where he was going, and at the mercy of the bugs, critters, and wild animals who lived out there.  I would hope I wouldn’t complain about it as much, but I know how I’d feel.  Hopefully, I wouldn’t complain as much because hopefully I would also notice the ways God provided along the way: in the deliverance from slavery in Egypt; in the food called manna that just fell to the ground every morning; by the occasional quail supper that came about the same way; by water from rocks; and from the pillars of smoke or fire that lead them along the way.  I would hope, given the obvious ways that God provided, I would at least be able to keep my gripes to myself; but who knows.  For most of us, that is easier said than done. 

            But like I said, this story comes at the end of a series of murmuring stories: like this was the last straw for God.  God keeps providing, but the people keep on grumbling.  Everyone wants to feel appreciated, even God, it seems.  It is as if God finally says, “Okay, you don’t appreciate all the good things I provide.  Fine, I’ll provide you with some poisonous snakes.  How do you feel about that?” 

            Here we find, what I think, is a perfect metaphor for the human condition: God has made for us this wondrous creation, set in this vast and unimaginable universe, full of delights and beauty; and we are not satisfied, we want more.  We are never satisfied!  It is the very nature of sin, that we take the good we find from creation and in one another and we neglect and abuse it.  We take from God’s good gifts and we distort and misuse them.   

            And to a point, God leaves us to our own devices.  Notice what happens in our reading from Numbers: the people realize the pain they’ve brought upon themselves and pray that God will take that pain away.  They pray that God will take back the serpents, but God does not.  We pray weekly that God will heal our world: to bring an end to violence, hatred, warfare, disease, and greed; but God rarely ever does.  We see the occasional exception—the power of God still shows up—but the evil persists.  Jesus did not come into the world to bring an immediate end to our pain; anyone telling otherwise is selling something.  No, Jesus came into the world because God so loved it; so that we would have a way to survive it.  Rather than taking back the snakes, God gives the people a focal point above the snakes to get them past it. 

            It’s a little like the time a local priest and a Presbyterian minister were standing by the side of the road holding up a sign that read, "The end is near! Turn yourself around now before it's too late!"

            As a car drove by, the driver yelled, "Leave us alone, you religious weirdos!"

            Moments later, from around the curve, they heard a tremendous splash.

            The pastor looked at the priest and said, "Maybe our sign should have read, ‘bridge out.’"

            Yes, God leaves us to the consequences of our sin, but God doesn’t just leave us to our own devices.  God also leaves us with signs to the way past them.  Jesus tells Nicodemus that, just like that bronze snake that Moses lifted up in the wilderness—just like that object that the Israelites had to put their trust in—those who put believe in the one who is to be lifted up will also be saved.  Now we see a lot in that statement that Nicodemus didn’t.  We see the way that Jesus, the Son of Man, was lifted up on the cross and we see the way that he was lifted up again from the grave.  Nicodemus would just have to wait a little while to see this for himself. 

            But the more important point is this: Jesus tells Nicodemus that the Son of Man is being lifted up so that God’s light can shine.  Although we might want the consequences of our bad choices to be taken away, God give us something better—and through us, God gives the world something better: a reason not to be afraid.  God even takes that thing we fear the most, even death, and shapes it in Jesus so that we might see instead God’s love, eternal life, and even the end of fear.  When we fix our eyes upon that lifted Christ—when we put our trust in his saving power—we see just how God so loved the world.  May we be refreshed in that love today and may we also lift it up for the world to see in all we do and say.