Sermon from Lent 2, Sunday March 1, 2026
The Rev. Aron Kramer
2 Lent
Sunday, March 1, 2026
When I was growing up, the Stillwater High School Football coach, George Thole, showed up to Church every February for a month to do his duty as an usher. It was his moment to try and recruit me to be the field goal kicker for the high school team. In hindsight, I should have taken him up on the opportunity.
Shortly after I was ordained I was invited to preach at Ascension, and it happened to be a Sunday in February. Having been ordained for a minute, I was testing my chops with some of the old guard at Ascension. I was walking up to George when one of the long time members, someone who had had a long history in the military, walked up next to me and said to George, “It’s good to see you today, George, but you my friend, need to belong more regularly to the army of the Lord!”
My mouth kind of dropped at that approach, I had a different quip in mind, but George responded without missing a beat, “Bill, I already belong to the army of the Lord! You don’t see me so often because I work for the Secret Service.”
We all are certain of some things and not so certain of others.
Nicodemus, in today’s Gospel, was seeking something, some kind of certainty. He came to Jesus in the dark of night, and received the same kind of George Thole answers to his own questions. Not very satisfying, but if you think about it, very amusing.
I have been thinking a lot about Nicodemus, because I want to be honest with you, when this particular text from John arrives, I always feel the need to preach on the text itself and the centuries of hatred and bias, and violence that has erupted in our world because of it. I have been so blinded, or distracted that I haven’t really taken in the journey that begins for Nicodemus as we read this Gospel today.
It’s a journey that has kind of blown my mind. Nicodemus asks Jesus immediately, “I know you are a teacher who has come from God”. And Jesus responds as if they’re having two entirely different conversations.
Nicodemus wants evidence, clarity, concrete substance, he is an educator after all, evidence is important. Jesus, however, answers in the language of the Spirit. The language is very confusing to Nicodemus and those around him. Jesus answers with mystery, vision and rebirth, two ships passing in the night, nowhere near each other.
So I have been wondering if instead of speaking to the harmful nature of this text, John 3:16, I need to speak to the journey that Nicodemus begins on this night when he arrives to discover for himself who this Jesus person is.
The Gospel of John tells us Nicodemus is a Pharisee. A leader of the Jews. A teacher in Israel. He is educated, respected, and established. He is not a spiritual lightweight or a casual skeptic tossing out late-night hypotheticals. He is a serious person asking serious questions. But, and this is a big but, he comes to Jesus at night.
People have speculated about that detail for centuries. Was he afraid? Was he cautious? Was he protecting his reputation? Maybe. But John loves symbolism. In John’s Gospel, darkness is never just about the time of day. Darkness, for the writer of John, is often about not yet seeing.
What fascinates me is that Nicodemus does not disappear after this confusing conversation. If this were the only story we had from John where Nicodemus appears, I would be preaching right now about how to understand more completely and fully the text of John 3:16. But John brings Nicodemus back.
Later, in chapter 7, when the religious leaders want to arrest Jesus, it is Nicodemus who speaks up, carefully, cautiously, but publicly: “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing, does it?” It’s not a ringing endorsement. It’s not a bold confession. But it is a moment and an important moment at that. We get to see something has shifted in Nicodemus, something has changed, his need for clear answers, his need for Jesus to fit in some kind of box or definition is shaken, shattered even.
And then, at the end of the Gospel, after Jesus has been crucified, when most of the disciples have fled, Nicodemus appears again. This time it is not at night like when we met him today. This time he brings myrrh and aloes, and not just a vial and a pouch, but pounds, and pounds of myrrh and aloes to prepare Jesus’ body for burial. This is not a person who is wondering about Jesus anymore, this is a person who is certain who Jesus is.
The man who once asked, “How can anyone be born after having grown old?” now handles the broken body of Jesus, the one who had patience with him in his own searching and wondering. Nicodemus, the one who came in darkness now stands at the very tomb where Jesus will be laid.
Nicodemus never makes a grand declaration like Peter. He never leaves everything like the disciples who were fishing. He never anoints Jesus like Mary. His faith is quiet, slower, less certain. But it grows. And that’s what has blown my mind. Because Nicodemus may be the most relatable disciple in John’s Gospel. He does not leap into faith. He does not understand at first, but seeks to learn. He wrestles. He questions. And in the end he returns.
And maybe that’s what being “born from above” looks like, not a single dramatic moment, but a long, unfolding transformation. A gradual movement from darkness, or from searching into light, and into understanding.
I know I have shared this with you all in the past, but when I was in college and struggling with my own call to the priesthood, a mentor, The Rev. Stephen Stanley, chaplain at University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill sent me a note saying, “If you are confused – Thank God! If you do not have all the answers – Thank God! If you do not know exactly what God is up to – Thank God! If you have to wait upon the Lord – Thank God! There are no shortcuts to grace. Our home is NOT the destination, but the journey. St. Anselm said, “I do not understand so that I may believe, I believe so that I may understand.”
Maybe Nicodemus gives us all permission to admit that we don’t understand everything. That faith can begin with confusion. That seeking is not failure. Maybe Nicodemus shows us that certainty is not the same thing as faith. He, like us, came looking for answers, for clarity about how to be a faithful person. What he received and like all of us and what we have received is a journey.
I see that journey unfolding right here at St. Ed’s. I see it in the way you care for one another. In the way you pray for this neighborhood. In the way you keep asking, “What is God calling us to next?” We are not a congregation standing still. We are on the edge of something. I hope you can feel it. There is energy here. There is possibility here. There is a holy restlessness here.
And I don’t think that’s accidental. I think that’s your active and present engagement with the Spirit. Nicodemus could have stayed in the safety of the night. He could have kept his curiosity private. But at some point, he stepped forward. He aligned himself publicly with Christ. He brought what he had.
I wonder if we might be standing at one of those moments. Not a dramatic, lightning from heaven moment. But one of those quiet thresholds: a slight push, a moment of giving, intentional prayer, new and consistent service, bold invitations to people who we don’t see right now. I feel like we are in a moment, where something, just a little push would radically change the trajectory of this faith community.
Because participating in the life of God is, as Bishop Loya repeatedly says, not about filling seats or meeting quotas. It’s about saying yes to the Spirit who is already moving here. It’s about trusting what God is birthing among us right now is worth our time, our energy, our love. If you sense even the smallest nudge, if you feel even the faintest stirring, don’t ignore it. Step toward it. Come out of the night, just a little more. Because resurrection rarely begins with certainty. It begins with someone saying yes in the dark.
If you are confused — thank God.
If you are searching — thank God.
If you are waiting — thank God.
2 Lent
Sunday, March 1, 2026
When I was growing up, the Stillwater High School Football coach, George Thole, showed up to Church every February for a month to do his duty as an usher. It was his moment to try and recruit me to be the field goal kicker for the high school team. In hindsight, I should have taken him up on the opportunity.
Shortly after I was ordained I was invited to preach at Ascension, and it happened to be a Sunday in February. Having been ordained for a minute, I was testing my chops with some of the old guard at Ascension. I was walking up to George when one of the long time members, someone who had had a long history in the military, walked up next to me and said to George, “It’s good to see you today, George, but you my friend, need to belong more regularly to the army of the Lord!”
My mouth kind of dropped at that approach, I had a different quip in mind, but George responded without missing a beat, “Bill, I already belong to the army of the Lord! You don’t see me so often because I work for the Secret Service.”
We all are certain of some things and not so certain of others.
Nicodemus, in today’s Gospel, was seeking something, some kind of certainty. He came to Jesus in the dark of night, and received the same kind of George Thole answers to his own questions. Not very satisfying, but if you think about it, very amusing.
I have been thinking a lot about Nicodemus, because I want to be honest with you, when this particular text from John arrives, I always feel the need to preach on the text itself and the centuries of hatred and bias, and violence that has erupted in our world because of it. I have been so blinded, or distracted that I haven’t really taken in the journey that begins for Nicodemus as we read this Gospel today.
It’s a journey that has kind of blown my mind. Nicodemus asks Jesus immediately, “I know you are a teacher who has come from God”. And Jesus responds as if they’re having two entirely different conversations.
Nicodemus wants evidence, clarity, concrete substance, he is an educator after all, evidence is important. Jesus, however, answers in the language of the Spirit. The language is very confusing to Nicodemus and those around him. Jesus answers with mystery, vision and rebirth, two ships passing in the night, nowhere near each other.
So I have been wondering if instead of speaking to the harmful nature of this text, John 3:16, I need to speak to the journey that Nicodemus begins on this night when he arrives to discover for himself who this Jesus person is.
The Gospel of John tells us Nicodemus is a Pharisee. A leader of the Jews. A teacher in Israel. He is educated, respected, and established. He is not a spiritual lightweight or a casual skeptic tossing out late-night hypotheticals. He is a serious person asking serious questions. But, and this is a big but, he comes to Jesus at night.
People have speculated about that detail for centuries. Was he afraid? Was he cautious? Was he protecting his reputation? Maybe. But John loves symbolism. In John’s Gospel, darkness is never just about the time of day. Darkness, for the writer of John, is often about not yet seeing.
What fascinates me is that Nicodemus does not disappear after this confusing conversation. If this were the only story we had from John where Nicodemus appears, I would be preaching right now about how to understand more completely and fully the text of John 3:16. But John brings Nicodemus back.
Later, in chapter 7, when the religious leaders want to arrest Jesus, it is Nicodemus who speaks up, carefully, cautiously, but publicly: “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing, does it?” It’s not a ringing endorsement. It’s not a bold confession. But it is a moment and an important moment at that. We get to see something has shifted in Nicodemus, something has changed, his need for clear answers, his need for Jesus to fit in some kind of box or definition is shaken, shattered even.
And then, at the end of the Gospel, after Jesus has been crucified, when most of the disciples have fled, Nicodemus appears again. This time it is not at night like when we met him today. This time he brings myrrh and aloes, and not just a vial and a pouch, but pounds, and pounds of myrrh and aloes to prepare Jesus’ body for burial. This is not a person who is wondering about Jesus anymore, this is a person who is certain who Jesus is.
The man who once asked, “How can anyone be born after having grown old?” now handles the broken body of Jesus, the one who had patience with him in his own searching and wondering. Nicodemus, the one who came in darkness now stands at the very tomb where Jesus will be laid.
Nicodemus never makes a grand declaration like Peter. He never leaves everything like the disciples who were fishing. He never anoints Jesus like Mary. His faith is quiet, slower, less certain. But it grows. And that’s what has blown my mind. Because Nicodemus may be the most relatable disciple in John’s Gospel. He does not leap into faith. He does not understand at first, but seeks to learn. He wrestles. He questions. And in the end he returns.
And maybe that’s what being “born from above” looks like, not a single dramatic moment, but a long, unfolding transformation. A gradual movement from darkness, or from searching into light, and into understanding.
I know I have shared this with you all in the past, but when I was in college and struggling with my own call to the priesthood, a mentor, The Rev. Stephen Stanley, chaplain at University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill sent me a note saying, “If you are confused – Thank God! If you do not have all the answers – Thank God! If you do not know exactly what God is up to – Thank God! If you have to wait upon the Lord – Thank God! There are no shortcuts to grace. Our home is NOT the destination, but the journey. St. Anselm said, “I do not understand so that I may believe, I believe so that I may understand.”
Maybe Nicodemus gives us all permission to admit that we don’t understand everything. That faith can begin with confusion. That seeking is not failure. Maybe Nicodemus shows us that certainty is not the same thing as faith. He, like us, came looking for answers, for clarity about how to be a faithful person. What he received and like all of us and what we have received is a journey.
I see that journey unfolding right here at St. Ed’s. I see it in the way you care for one another. In the way you pray for this neighborhood. In the way you keep asking, “What is God calling us to next?” We are not a congregation standing still. We are on the edge of something. I hope you can feel it. There is energy here. There is possibility here. There is a holy restlessness here.
And I don’t think that’s accidental. I think that’s your active and present engagement with the Spirit. Nicodemus could have stayed in the safety of the night. He could have kept his curiosity private. But at some point, he stepped forward. He aligned himself publicly with Christ. He brought what he had.
I wonder if we might be standing at one of those moments. Not a dramatic, lightning from heaven moment. But one of those quiet thresholds: a slight push, a moment of giving, intentional prayer, new and consistent service, bold invitations to people who we don’t see right now. I feel like we are in a moment, where something, just a little push would radically change the trajectory of this faith community.
Because participating in the life of God is, as Bishop Loya repeatedly says, not about filling seats or meeting quotas. It’s about saying yes to the Spirit who is already moving here. It’s about trusting what God is birthing among us right now is worth our time, our energy, our love. If you sense even the smallest nudge, if you feel even the faintest stirring, don’t ignore it. Step toward it. Come out of the night, just a little more. Because resurrection rarely begins with certainty. It begins with someone saying yes in the dark.
If you are confused — thank God.
If you are searching — thank God.
If you are waiting — thank God.
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