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Maya Angelou tells the story of her brother Bailey coming home after dark, later than he was supposed to. She, her uncle and grandmother waited at the door of their home worried and concerned. Knowing when to be home and off the back roads in Stamps Arkansas was clear to everyone. It could be a matter of life and death.  From an early age, both Maya and her brother Bailey had been taught all they needed to know about the law and living life.

As the family waited, they could hear the dogs barking in the distance. Their worry turned to fear. When Bailey finally arrived home, their fear turned to joy, then their joy to anger. “Where have you been?” they each demanded. He was disciplined both verbally and physically and sent to bed.

There in the middle of the night, Maya, relieved and curious, wanted to know exactly what had happened. At one point, she asked him about the barking dogs and wondered aloud about how he had dealt with the fact that his life was in danger. Bailey looked at her and said, “Maya, sometimes your soul has to go and hide behind your heart!” Heart and soul now safe at home—Bailey’s now life begins anew.

         The soul guarded by the heart is a powerful image. The soul, that ethereal substance unique to the inner essence of every living being, embraced, protected, comforted and intertwined by the most prominent life-giving organ as it beats a rhythm of wisdom and knowledge, intelligence and judgment enables us to know to what and ultimately to whom we belong.  Yet, even when those words—the soul guarded and guided by the heart—are sweetly strung together, ultimately they remain inexplicable—no words adequately express what is really being said. So at night, and during the day, we seek to understand by asking, “What does it all mean?”—heart and soul—life, love, the eternal.

         Nicodemus is a learned man; a Pharisee. As a Pharisee, he knows biblical law and he knows it without a flaw. Etched in his mind and on his heart remains what is essential, “the way to know God is through the law.” As a Pharisee, he believes in life after death, and the resurrection, and the existence of angels and demons. And yet, there is always more to learn; more to process and internalize. One night, Nicodemus comes to Jesus seeking.

“Rabbi,” he said, “We know you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can “do” these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.”

In one sentence Nicodemus captures the fullness, the essence, of who Jesus is—heart and soul.  He calls Jesus Rabbi, teacher, one who is knowledgeable of biblical laws and traditions. He calls him “teacher come from God”—one who is fully a part of God’s being. And thirdly, he acknowledges Jesus as a leader in his community—one who gets things done, if you will.

Yes, Nicodemus knows who Jesus is. But take note, his knowledge is based on “signs”, the things he knows Jesus to have done. He has seen Jesus’ feeding the hungry and strengthening the poor. He has observed Jesus’ teaching first hand and it is safe to say, more than likely, he has heard about Jesus’ healing the sick and the comforting the brokenhearted. He knows Jesus by what he himself has heard him say and/or what he saw Jesus do. And still, in some ways, Jesus work and presence remain inexplicable.

With all of this knowledge on his mind, Nicodemus comes to this night-time moment, seeking. He comes seeking however, with his mind full of preconceived categories of what he, Nicodemus, believes is possible for Jesus to do.  His thoughts are all wrapped up with conclusions and presumptions he now wants to discuss with Jesus—Rabbi to Rabbi; teacher to teacher; man to man.

Before we even know the specifics of what Nicodemus is seeking, Jesus guides—no, turns—the conversation towards something deeper than knowledge itself. He said, Nicodemus, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Mindful questions flood his head! My head as well, perhaps yours too. Born from above?!?! What does that mean?

The Greek word anothen has two meanings. It means, “from above” and it also means “again” or “anew.” In most bible translations anothen it has been translated born again and more recently, born anew. This double meaning is only possible in Greek, there is no Hebrew word or nor is there an Aramaic word that has a similar double meaning. Therefore we can surmise this word, anothen was used intentionally as a challenge to Nicodemus to move him beyond a surface meaning which has to do with chronological time—born again and again and again from the womb—to a deeper meaning which has to do with place—not from the womb, but born from above—through grace and truth, repentance and love, confession and forgiveness again and again and again.

These two meanings, from above and anew, are meant to be heard and interpreted at the same time—not separately. In other words, we are to be born again and again from above of both water and Spirit—dying to an old way of doing and living into a new way of being.

“You must be born again,” is a phase that makes many of us uncomfortable, me included and I understand that I have been born from above again and again.  It is not the words so much -- as dying and rising--are at the heart of Christianity. Rather, the phrase can make us squeamish because of what the phrase has come to mean. For example, the simple act of saying yes, I have been born again, in and of itself somehow validates our faith as if that validation allows us to then belong to a special club that has special power and influence, socially and politically.

If we say no, I have not been born again, even if we don’t fully understand what it all means, we are implored to hurry up and birth – if not, we are destined to go straight to h-e-double toothpicks.  This is a flat, one-dimensional understanding of what Jesus is saying to Nicodemus. It is an understanding based on an individual’s private moment of conversion; a proclamation of a task completed. Jesus is saying something much, much more. Jesus speaks of a radical-significant change in the way we live life—and how we live life in community with one another.

In many ways, being born again from above is simply inexplicable, no word or set of words adequately describe moments of conversion, moments when we discovered a new synergy between heart and soul. So when we ask ourselves, have we been born again—we can say yes… and…I am still birthing, still growing, still learning, still deciding how to -- walk and talk -- this life of faith. We are still seeking to understand and to know. Jesus invites us to come in the night and at day to talk it out. 

And with that said, we can know for fact that to be born again as Jesus taught is literally about our turning towards life anew.  It is about being committed to walking the walk that Jesus walked and talking the talk that Jesus talked. It is about making prayerful decisions and relying on grace rather than arrogance and self assurance. Being born again from above is means taking a risk and stepping out in faith especially when it you are not feeling so courageous. It is knowing when to let your soul hide behind your heart so that you can put one foot in front of the other until you find the place you call spiritual home.

Being born from above again is about dying to one way of living and coming alive in spirit and truth. It’s about turning around and being born from the inside out.  Grounded in the cradle and the cross, being born again from above is to rid ourselves of our preconceived categories and conclusions and know who Jesus truly is. This birth is grounded in the cross. And so like Nicodemus, we come night and day seeking—knowing we have to turn our minds upside down to really get it.  

A parable:

Once upon a time, there was a woman who set out to discover the meaning of life.  First she read everything she could get her hands on—history, philosophy, religion.  While she became a very smart person, nothing she read gave her the answer she was looking for.  She found other smart people and asked them about the meaning of life, but while their discussions were long and lively, no two of them agreed on the same thing and still she had no answer.

Finally she put all her belongings in storage and set off in search of the meaning of life.  She went to South America. She went to India. Everywhere she went, people told her they did not know the meaning of life, but they had heard of a man who did, only they were not sure where he lived.  She asked about him in every country on earth until finally, deep in the Himalayas, someone told her how to reach his house—a tiny little hut perched on the side of a mountain just below the tree line.

She climbed and climbed to reach his front door.  When she finally got there, with knuckles so cold they hardly worded, she knocked,

“Yes?” said the kind-looking old man who opened it. She thought she would die of happiness.

“I have come halfway around the world to ask you one question,” she said, grasping for breath. “What is the meaning of life?”

“Please come in and have some tea,” the old man said.

“No,” she said. “I mean, no thank you. I did not come here for tea. I came for an answer.  Won’t you tell me, please, what is the meaning of life?”

“We shall have tea,” the old man said, so she gave up and came inside.  While he was brewing the tea, she caught her breath and began telling him about all the books she had read, all the people she had met, all the places she had been. The old man listened (which was just as well, since his visitor did not leave any room for him to reply), and as she talked he placed a fragile tea cup in her hand.  Then he began to pour in the tea.

She was so busy talking that she did not notice when the tea cup was full, so the old man just kept pouring until the tea ran over the sides of the cup and spilled to the floor in a steaming waterfall.

“What are you doing?!” she yelled when the tea burned her hand.  “It’s full, can’t you see that? Stop! There’s no more room!”

“Just so,” the old man said to her.  “You come here wanting something from me, but what am I to do? There is no room in your cup. Come back to me when it is empty and then we will talk.”

Jesus said, Nicodemus, let’s talk—heart and soul—of life born of water and spirit again from above. Empty yourself so you can know this. For God so loved the world that God gave his only son that who so ever believed in him would not parish but have ever lasting life.  May it be so.  Amen.

Barbara Brown Taylor—the Christian Century February 21, 1996  From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

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