But Jesus answered, “I tell you the truth, unless one is born from
water and the Spirit, he cannot enter God’s kingdom.”
JOHN 3:5
IT’S A FACT of the farm. The most fertile ground remains barren if no seed is sown.
Apparently Nicodemus didn’t know that. He thought the soil could bear fruit with no seeds. He was big on the farmer’s part but forgetful of the seed’s part. He was a legalist. And that is how a legalist thinks. A legalist prepares the soil but forgets the seed.
Nicodemus came about his legalism honestly. He was a Pharisee.
Pharisees taught that faith was an outside job. What you wore, how you acted, the title you carried, the sound of your prayers, the amount of your gifts—all these were the Pharisees’ measure of spirituality.
Had they been farmers, they would have had the most attractive acreage in the region—painted silos and sparkling equipment. The fences would have been whitewashed and clean. The soil over-turned and watered.
Had they been farmers they would have spent hours in the coffee shop discussing the theory of farming. Is it best to fertilize before or after a rain? Do you fallow a field every other year or every third year? Should a farmer wear overalls or jeans? Cowboy hats or baseball caps?
The Pharisees had only one problem. For all their discussion about the right techniques, they harvested little fruit. In fact, one untrained Galilean had borne more fruit in a few short months than all the Pharisees had in a generation. This made them jealous. Angry. Condescending. And they dealt with him by ignoring his results and insulting his methods.
That is, all the Pharisees except Nicodemus. He was curious. No, more than curious, he was stirred; stirred by the way people listened to Jesus. They listened as if he were the only one with truth. As if he were a prophet.
Nicodemus was stirred by what he saw Jesus do. Like the time Jesus stormed into the temple and overturned the tables of the moneychangers. Nicodemus once knew such passion. But that was a long time ago—before the titles, before the robes, before the rules.
Nicodemus is drawn to the carpenter, but he can’t be seen with him. Nicodemus is on the high court. He can’t approach Jesus in the day. So Nicodemus goes to meet him at night. He goes in the darkness.
Appropriate. For legalism offers no light.
Nicodemus begins with courtesies, “Teacher, we know you are a teacher sent from God, because no one can do the miracles you do unless God is with him” (v. 2).
Jesus disregards the compliment. “I tell you the truth, unless one is born again, he cannot be in God’s kingdom” (v. 3).
No chitchat here. No idle talk. Straight to the point. Straight to the heart. Straight to the problem. Jesus knows the heart of the legalist is hard. You can’t crack it with feathery accolades. You need a chisel. So Jesus hammers away:
You can’t help the blind by turning up the light,Nicodemus.
You can’t help the deaf by turning up themusic,Nicodemus.
You can’t change the inside by decorating the outside, Nicodemus.
You can’t grow fruit without seed, Nicodemus.
You must be born again.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
The meeting between Jesus and Nicodemus was more than an encounter between two religious figures. It was a collision between two philosophies. Two opposing views on salvation.
Nicodemus thought the person did the work; Jesus says God does the work. Nicodemus thought it was a tradeoff. Jesus says it is a gift. Nicodemus thought man’s job was to earn it. Jesus says man’s job is to accept it.
These two views encompass all views. All the world religions can be placed in one of two camps: legalism or grace. Humankind does it or God does it. Salvation as a wage based on deeds done—or salvation as a gift based on Christ’s death.
A legalist believes the supreme force behind salvation is you. If you look right, speak right, and belong to the right segment of the right group, you will be saved. The brunt of responsibility doesn’t lie within God; it lies within you.
The result? The outside sparkles. The talk is good and the step is true. But look closely. Listen carefully. Something is missing. What is it? Joy. What’s there? Fear. (That you won’t do enough.) Arrogance. (That you have done enough.) Failure. (That you have made a mistake.)
Legalism is a dark world.
Perhaps you didn’t know that. You may be reading with a puzzled expression asking, “What is this story doing in this book,Max? I thought this was a book about Jesus meeting people at their point of pain. Nicodemus isn’t hurting. He’s got clout. He’s got friends. He studies the Bible. He’s not in pain, is he?”
If you asked that question, be thankful. If you have never known the crush of legalism, be grateful. You have been spared.
Others of you haven’t. Others of you could answer the above question better than I. Legalism is slow torture, suffocation of the spirit, amputation of one’s dreams. Legalism is just enough religion to keep you, but not enough to nourish you.
So you starve. Your teachers don’t know where to go for food, so you starve together. Your diet is rules and standards. No vitamins. No taste. No zest. Just bland, predictable religion.
Reminds me of a group I was in as a youngster. When I was eight years old I was part of a boys’ choir. We met two evenings a week for two hours. We wore blazers and sang at banquets. We even went on the road.
Curiously, our instructor was an ex–drill sergeant. Before he ran a boys’ choir, he ran a boot camp. And some of the previous spilled over into the latter. Every evening during rehearsals, we took a marching break. We’d go outside and march in formation. He gave the commands, and we did the turns.
“Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four.”
At first, I didn’t question the practice. I didn’t have the courage. I was intimidated by the man. Finally, I summoned enough guts to ask the kid beside me to explain the marching.
“Why are we doing this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
No one did. For two years we marched two nights every week. But no one knew where we were going and no one knew why. We just knew that if we wanted to sing we’d better stay in step.
That’s legalism.
It’s rigid. It’s uniform. It’s mechanical—and it’s not from God.
Can I give you the down and dirty about legalism?
Legalism doesn’t need God. Legalism is the search for innocence—not forgiveness. It’s a systematic process of defending self, explaining self, exalting self, and justifying self. Legalists are obsessed with self—not God.
Legalism:
Turns my opinion into your burden. There is only room for one opinion in this boat. And guess who is wrong!
Turns my opinion into your boundary. Your opposing opinion makes me question not only your right to have fellowship with me, but also your salvation.
Turns my opinion into your obligation. Christians must toe the company line. Your job isn’t to think, it’s to march.
If you want to be in the group, stay in step and don’t ask questions.
Nicodemus knew how to march, but he longed to sing. He knew there was something more, but he didn’t know where to find it. So he went to Jesus.
He went at night because he feared the displeasure of his peers. Legalism puts the fear of man in you. It makes you approval-hungry. You become keenly aware of what others will say and think, and you do what it takes to please them. Conformity is not fun, but it’s safe. The uniform doesn’t fit, but it’s approved, so you wear it. You don’t know why you are marching or where you are going—but who are you to ask questions? So you stay in step and plod down the path of least resistance.
And if you dare explore another trail, you must do so at night, like Nicodemus did. He snuck through the shadows and crept through the ebony streets until he stood in the presence of Christ. In the conversation, Nicodemus, the renowned teacher of the law, speaks only three times: once to compliment and twice to question. After a lifetime of weighing the tittles of Scripture in the scale of logic, the scholar becomes suddenly silent as Jesus opens the gate and the light of grace floods the catacomb.
Jesus begins by revealing the source of spirituality: “Human life comes from human parents, but spiritual life comes from the Spirit” (v. 6).
Spiritual life is not a human endeavor. It is rooted in and orchestrated by the Holy Spirit. Every spiritual achievement is created and energized by God.
Spirituality, Jesus says, comes not from church attendance or good deeds or correct doctrine, but from heaven itself. Such words must have set Nicodemus back on his heels. But Jesus was just getting started.
“The wind blows where it wants to and you hear the sound of it, but you don’t know where the wind comes from or where it is going. It is the same with every person who is born from the Spirit” (v. 8).
Ever had a gust of wind come to you for help? Ever seen a wind-storm on the side of the road catching its breath? No, you haven’t. The wind doesn’t seek our aid. Wind doesn’t even reveal its destiny. It’s silent and invisible and so is the Spirit.
By now Nicodemus was growing edgy. Such light is too bright for his eyes. We religious teachers like to control and manage. We like to define and outline. Structure and clarity are the friend of the preacher. But they aren’t always the protocol of God.
Salvation is God’s business. Grace is his idea, his work, and his expense. He offers it to whom he desires, when he desires. Our job in the process is to inform the people, not to screen the people.
The question must have been written all over Nicodemus’s face. Why would God do this? What would motivate him to offer such a gift?What Jesus told Nicodemus,Nicodemus never could have imagined. The motive behind the gift of new birth? Love. “God loved the world so much that he gave his one and only Son so that whoever believes in him may not be lost, but have eternal life” (v. 16).
Nicodemus has never heard such words. Never. He has had many discussions of salvation. But this is the first in which no rules were given. No system was offered. No code or ritual. “Everyone who believes can have eternal life in him,” Jesus told him. Could God be so generous? Even in the darkness of night, the amazement is seen on Nicodemus’s face. Everyone who believes can have eternal life. Not “everyone who achieves.” Not “everyone who succeeds.” Not “everyone who agrees.” But “everyone who believes.”
Note how God liberates the legalist. Observe the tender firmness of his touch. Like a master farmer, he shoveled away the crusty soil until a moist, fertile spot was found, and there he planted a seed, a seed of grace.
Did it bear fruit? Read the following and see for yourself.
Nicodemus, who earlier had come to Jesus at night, went with Joseph. He brought about seventy-five pounds of myrrh and aloes. These two men took Jesus’ body and wrapped it with the spices in pieces of linen cloth, which is how Jewish people bury the dead. In the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden. In the garden was a new tomb that had never been used before. The men laid Jesus in that tomb.
John 19:39–42
Strange how a man can go full circle in the kingdom. The one who’d come at night now appears in the day. The one who crept through the shadows to meet Jesus now comes to the cross to serve Jesus. And the one who’d received the seed of grace now plants the greatest seed of all—the seed of eternal life.