A 2017 online article by the Religion News Service noted the significant rise in attendance at services of Choral Evensong in the United Kingdom, despite the sobering decrease in Sunday morning church attendance. The editor of a website devoted to Choral Evensong noted that many people don’t want to engage directly with the Church anymore. They are looking for what he called a “side entrance,” and in his estimation, Choral Evensong provided such a side entrance. As he put it, those who engage indirectly with the Church “are attracted by artistic expression and then by osmosis they find it spiritually appealing.”[1]
The article quoted several tourists from across the globe who attended Evensong at Westminster Abbey, most of whom observed that they were either not religious, or only “spiritual but not religious.” One woman from Colorado said, “I used to go to church more when I was young but the rules, the judging of people put me off. But the church here, with a service like this, brings people together.”[2]
The sublime beauty of Evensong, its low demand on active participation, and its focus on the transcendence of God are quite appealing to many who would otherwise never step foot inside a church. For whatever reason, people are deeply hungry for the beauty of holiness, even if experienced from the fringes of the Church. It reminds me of the story that during the height of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln, who was known to struggle with traditional Christian dogma, would wander across Lafayette Square from the White House to sit quietly in a back pew at St. John’s Church for Evensong, and then he would leave just as quietly as he came.
If those on the fringes of religious life could call anyone their patron, perhaps it would be Nicodemus. He has long been considered a prototype of the classic seeker. On one level this is true. Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night because he’s been intrigued by something in the signs that Jesus has performed. We don’t know exactly why he makes his visit at night, but it could be that his tentativeness in coming to Jesus was due to his fear of being seen too closely associated with this mysterious teacher, who also had a reputation for being a troublemaker.
Based on a surface reading of the text, Nicodemus misses a whole layer of meaning in Jesus’s speech. Nicodemus confusedly interprets Jesus’s words on a literal level, while Jesus is wallowing in double entendre, which is even more apparent in the original Greek text. In short, Jesus and Nicodemus talk past one another.
But I wonder if there’s more to Nicodemus than we have historically given him credit for. True, he may be a kind of seeker, but in many ways he’s quite different from the modern seeker. Nicodemus, after all, is very religious. He’s not on the fringes of religion, he’s deep into it. But Jesus is urging him to be more spiritual. Nicodemus is the inverse of the person who is spiritual but not religious.
And yet, for all his literalism and incomprehension of what following Jesus really means, could it also be that Nicodemus sees something that others around him don’t see? Does he see more in Jesus than we think he sees? Yes, he may make a nocturnal visit to Jesus, and he may leave that visit with more questions than answers. But maybe there’s more to Nicodemus than meets the eye.
I suspect that Nicodemus instinctively knows what he can’t yet clearly articulate or confidently live. He’s already made a confession of sorts in approaching Jesus. “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do, unless God is with him.” Something tantalizing has drawn Nicodemus to Jesus, even if at night. Jesus is more than a teacher. God is with him, as Nicodemus recognizes. He can see hints of a striking truth revealed in Jesus. And although Nicodemus might not know how to put it into words, could that something be that a glorious gift lies on the other side of judgment?
One thing is clear in John’s Gospel: judgment is present in who Jesus is. When we are in the presence of Risen Christ, our lives are automatically judged. The ways of our lives are pitted against the one who is truth itself, and the ensuing judgment reveals the tension between our ways and God’s ways. This judgment sheds light on the dark corners of our lives that we would rather hide away. The judgment of Christ brings everything into the light.
But so often, we can only see the judgment as punitive, which is not the end of the story. And I have a sneaking suspicion that for all his hesitance, Nicodemus has caught a glimpse of something on the other side of judgment. He has seen hints of this in the visible signs performed by Jesus. There’s something so alluring in what Nicodemus has seen that he must approach Jesus to find out more. Could the allure of Jesus’s signs be visible evidence of the freedom of eternal life? Nicodemus must have seen these encouraging hints in the healing of those with physical ailments, in the grace Jesus extended to those shunned by society, and in the extraordinary ways in which natural laws were defied by the simple presence of this rabbi. Indeed, Jesus tells us that he’s pure gift from God, not for the world’s condemnation but for the world’s life. Our judgment in Christ is not a castigation but a healing grace, so that we can truly embrace the gift of eternal life, be healed, and ultimately be saved.
If Nicodemus shares something in common with the modern-day seeker on the fringes of the Church, is it too scandalous to think that, ironically, those seekers might see something that we in the heart of the Church don’t readily see? Even if they can’t articulate the mystery that they espy, might those seekers help us who are comfortably religious become more spiritual, too?
Do you remember what the random tourist from Colorado said after Evensong at Westminster Abbey? “I used to go to church more when I was young but the rules, the judging of people put me off. But the church here, with a service like this, brings people together.” This person could appreciate something in the transcendent worship of the Church that pointed past the critical and hypocritical judgment that is sometimes wielded by her members. Human judgment is meant to exclude and ostracize rather than to reconcile. But the beauty of holiness, perhaps found in a service of Evensong, was a lens through which a spiritual but not religious person could see the true heart of the Church. Maybe this seeker could see that, despite her flaws, the Church couldn’t do such extraordinary works apart from the presence of God. Despite her weaknesses, God was still with the Church.
Do we need reminding of this? Have we become so complacent with our place in the Church that we’ve forgotten what lies on the other side of judgment? Have we forgotten what incredible works we can do when we are called to live as if we really believe that God is with us rather than implicitly against us? Can seekers, whether religious or not, draw our attention to that special something that is the real meaning of life in Christ, which is nothing short of the freedom given through the forgiveness, love, and mercy of God?
This, I think, is the meaning of being born anew, being born from above, or being born again, however you say it. Nicodemus sees the hints of potential, but Jesus encourages him to grow into spiritual maturity to realize the fruits of his incipient vision. And like Nicodemus, we and all the seekers on the fringes of the Church, are called not just to glimpse the other side of judgment, but to live on that side. We are called to be born anew.
To be born anew is to live as if what’s on the other side of judgment is really true. It’s to live as if God wants to forgive and not condemn us. It’s to live with the light of Christ shining on all the areas of our lives we would rather hide. It’s to live like beauty matters because it points us to the mystery of God that we can never control, as we try to do with everything else. To be born anew is to go where the Holy Spirit will blow us, no matter how frightening it is when we let go of our navigational powers. To be born anew, repeatedly, is to remember that on the other side of judgment we will encounter God’s greatest gift of all.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Second Sunday in Lent
March 5, 2023
[1] [1] “Evensong sees a surge even as British church attendance declines,” b Catherine Pepinster, in Religion News Service, August 30, 2017, (https://religionnews.com/2017/08/30/evensong-sees-a-surge-even-as-british-church-attendance-declines/)
[2] Ibid.