Most people are familiar with this passage for one of two reasons: either this strange conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus about being “born again,” or the fact that it contains John 3:16, one of the most frequently quoted verses in the Bible. These two tiny portions of scripture are the basis of some of today’s most popular theology - theology that separates believers from non-believers, that defines “who’s in” and “who’s out”’. Many Christians understand these verses to mean that there are certain very narrowly defined rituals, experiences, or beliefs one must have in order to be a “real” Christian - rituals like baptism, experiences like being “born again,” or belief in Jesus the way the church authorities define it. And in a way, it makes sense that so many people gravitate towards these interpretations: the boundaries of Christianity aren’t very clearly defined in scripture, so these simple “checkboxes” in John 3 allow them to feel confident in their belonging.
To be honest with you, I’m also of the opinion that Jesus gives us a definition of who’s with him and who’s against him in this passage. But I disagree about what that definition is. I don’t think it hinges on a moment of being “born again” or accepting Jesus into your heart. There’s nothing wrong with having these experiences of faith, of course, but I just don’t think they’re as important to Jesus as we may have been led to believe. Instead of focusing on verse 3 or verse 16, I find myself drawn to the very end of this passage - verses 19-21. These last three verses tell a different story about what defines a real follower of Christ, but we have to read carefully to figure out exactly what it’s saying.
At first glance, it may seem like Jesus is using light and darkness as metaphors for good and evil actions respectively, saying that you’re “in” if you do good and you’re “out” if you do evil. But objective morality can’t possibly be the deciding factor - if that were the case, not one of us would make the cut because not a single human being is without sin. We’ve all done evil in the past, and we’ll all do evil again. But do you remember how John’s gospel begins - by describing Jesus as “the light of the world”? In this context, verse 20 takes on a new meaning when it says, “All who do wicked things…fear that their actions will be exposed to the light.” And then, in verse 21, “Whoever does the truth comes to the light…” Jesus is drawing a line here between those who avoid the light and those who come to it. It’s not as much about our actions themselves as it is about whether or not we’re willing to let them be seen and judged. The thing that separates the “real” Christians from the false ones, Jesus seems to be saying, is accountability.
It may seem like a strange thing for the Christian identity to hinge on, but it actually makes sense, if you think about it. In calling Jesus “Lord,” as we do in baptism, ordination, and various other important moments in our life together, we aren’t appointing him as our mascot or our team captain. We’re acknowledging his complete authority over our entire lives, including every single one of our words and actions. If we try to hide *anything* from the light of his moral judgement - if we tell ourselves, “my politics are separate from my faith,” or look the other way when injustice rears its ugly head in our own backyard - then we have no right to call him Lord at all. If we do not measure our every single word and deed against Christ’s teachings, then we cannot belong to him, nor to God’s kindom.
The world has always been full of professed Christians who are all too eager to avoid this light of accountability. It’s not difficult to come up with examples: Clergy who abuse children and institutions that protect them. Public figures who behave recklessly and handlers that cover it up. Politicians who do profound harm and PR teams that excuse it. No matter how often accountability pursues them, they always manage to find another shadowy corner to crawl into. These individuals may have been born again; they may have professed faith in Christ loudly and repeatedly; they may have taken part in every single sacrament there is, but their refusal to face the consequences of their actions betrays them: they do not belong to Christ.
But accountability doesn’t only concern those who commit harmful or evil acts. Those of us who generally try to live righteous lives, who’ve never tried to cover up our wrongdoing, we can’t necessarily rest on our laurels. Too often, we also try to hide our actions from the light, to evade accountability, just in a different way. Nicodemus is proof. I think we’d all agree that the actions he takes in this passage should be considered positive ones: coming to Jesus, recognizing his power and authority, and wanting to learn from him. And yet, Nicodemus chooses to hide these good actions under the cover of night. He doesn’t want them brought to light because he’s afraid of the consequences he’d likely face from his pharisaic peers. Even though he has the best of intentions, Nicodemus, too, ultimately chooses to shield himself from accountability.
Maybe we can’t imagine ourselves committing evil acts and intentionally hiding them from the light - but can we see ourselves in Nicodemus? I’m sure most of us believe that we’re on the right side of history, that we support all the things that Jesus stands for, that we have nothing to hide. But we need to be asking ourselves whether we believe in these principles enough to step all the way into the light with them. We may be willing to “like” a social media post, but are we willing to share it and claim its message as our own? We may be willing to share our beliefs with family and friends, but are we willing to lose them over it? We may be willing to show up to a protest, but are we willing to face arrest or even physical harm on behalf of the cause? We may be committed to being a radically welcoming church community, but are we willing to proclaim what that means publicly? Are we willing to alienate potential members, to risk eventually having to close our doors, for the sake of these values? Are we willing to face the consequences - even unfair ones - that come with taking a bold, public stand?
These are not easy questions. They’re not supposed to be. The light of accountability isn’t always warm and cozy; it can be - and often is - harsh and demanding. But accountability for our actions (both good AND bad) is a crucial part of being a follower of Christ. Contrary to what we may have been taught as children, faith is not a privately-held belief; it is a publicly-lived commitment. And once we arrive at this realization, each of us has to then embark on our own journey to discover how this reality insists on transforming our own lives.
You may not personally be at that point yet - Lord knows I’m nowhere near the end of my own journey - but God always provides us with plenty of opportunities along the way to learn from those who are. This weekend, over 100 clergy marched through the Minneapolis/Saint Paul airport in a demonstration condemning the illegal and unjust actions taken by ICE. They were arrested for their efforts. As law enforcement put them in restraints, they calmly and powerfully prayed the Lord’s prayer in unison. Even as this was happening, at least 600 more from all over the country descended on Minneapolis to put their reputations, their arrest records, and even their bodies on the line for people they’d never met before. And this is no small risk - we’ve all seen the videos with our own eyes of people in Minneapolis being seriously injured and even killed as they try to protect their neighbors. In these ugly and terrifying times, THIS is what it looks like to fully come into the light, to face the consequences of your actions boldly and without fear. THIS is what it looks like to stand on God’s side. THIS is what it means to be a follower of Christ.
Maybe this is what Jesus was talking about when he told Nicodemus that he must be “born anew”. He’s not referring to one particular point in time - a single moment of revelation or profession. It’s not about jumping through the right hoop or checking the right box to achieve salvation. It’s making a choice to become like a newborn - vulnerable, powerless, exposed, and thrust into a harsh and unfamiliar light. It’s choosing this, in spite of your discomfort and fear, for the sake of growing and learning and becoming something better than you were before. And it’s choosing this, not just once, but over, and over, and over, and over again, both because you know that it will lead you to new life, and because you trust the divine hands that will be there to catch you each and every time.
Those who truly follow Christ commit to ongoing accountability, whatever the consequences may be. We refuse to hide in the darkness; we keep stepping into that light, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes fearfully, but always faithfully - and never alone. Because accountability isn’t just for those who have done wrong, and it’s not just for those who want extra credit. It’s for all of us. So choose to come into the light, and be born again. And again. And again. Amen.
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