Listening for a Motif
Commentary
In preaching about a certain passage once, I freely made reference to the Trinity. A church member, who rather prided himself on being contrarian, said to me afterward, “You know that the Trinity did not exist until the fourth century.”
I hoped that no one else in the greeting line overheard him, for his remark might easily have been misunderstood. He was referring, of course, to the Trinity as an official, explicit doctrine of the church. But said or heard with the wrong tone, and his remark could have been interpreted as saying that the Trinity was a theological invention. In reality, of course, “Trinity” is just the label that we have put on a truth that we discern in the revelation of scripture.
At a minimum, there is the so-called Trinitarian formula, which appears in Jesus’ “Great Commission” (Matthew 28:19). In addition, there are numerous other passages that feature implicit or explicit references to all three persons of the godhead. These include the story of Jesus’ baptism (e.g., Matthew 3:13-17), Paul’s discussion of the gifts of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:4-6), and Jesus’ teachings during the Last Supper scene in John (e.g., John 14:26), among others. And once we know the truth and reality of the Trinity, then we are positioned to discern it in less obvious passages.
Is that a presumptuous hermeneutic? Is that reckless eisegesis? That’s a risk, to be sure. But there is a larger and better principle involved here.
I think, for example, of the overture that is played before the curtain goes up on a musical. That overture anticipates the songs and scenes that will follow. Could the composer have written an entirely different and unrelated piece for the minutes before the curtain goes up? Of course. But there is artistry, purpose, and unity in the introducing of themes and the weaving together of motifs.
It is when we hear things in a passage that are not echoed or fleshed out elsewhere in scripture that we are on shaky ground. But it shouldn’t surprise us at all that the one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever has eternal truths about himself reverberating all through his word. So, while the doctrine of the Trinity does not become official until a later church council, and while the Trinitarian formula is not found until the end of a gospel, Trinitarian motifs may ring through the Old Testament. And that includes our assigned passage from Isaiah 6.
On this Trinity Sunday, our task is to proclaim the truth -- and the beauty and majesty of the truth -- of the Trinity. God is revealed to us in scripture as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And we are invited to use the passages assigned from Isaiah, Romans, and John to help our people see the beauty of that truth.
Isaiah 6:1-8
The famous scene from Isaiah 6 is full of majesty and meaning. No single sermon will exhaust what is there for our people to have. Let me briefly suggest just a few ways the preacher might go this Sunday.
First, we might explore the good news of God as King. I want to give more extended attention to this particular theme below. For the present, we simply acknowledge the fact that kingship is the context for the whole scene. The episode is dated in terms of a king (that is, the year that King Uzziah died), and the Lord is revealed as king (that is, seated upon a throne). The kingship of God, therefore, is a right and natural truth to preach.
We might also preach the awesomeness of God. From ancient hymns to contemporary Christian songs, this is a theme that our people have no doubt sung. Yet I fear it is a minority of American Christians who lived with an abiding sense of his awesomeness. We do well, therefore, to meditate on the scene that Isaiah reports.
Those of us of a certain age or older will recall the indirect methods by which we were taught to view eclipses (before the advent of the popular glasses that allow an individual to look directly at the phenomenon). The idea was that a person couldn’t look at the eclipse with the naked eye, and so he had to devise some workaround for being able to witness the thing. And so it is, we recognize, with the awesomeness of God in Isaiah 6. It is not God himself who fills the temple, but merely the train of his robe. It is not God himself whose voice made the very structure shake, but that of a seraph. It is not God himself who is described, but the seraphim who are in his presence. And they become for us like the old, makeshift devices we used to see an eclipse: for we did not see the eclipse itself, but a reflection of it or the shadows that it cast. So, too, we are not privy to the awesomeness of God itself, but to the responses once-removed.
A third preaching focus might be Isaiah. He is, after all, the one who stands in our place. He is our representative in this otherwise inaccessible moment, for he is the mortal in the presence of God. And while we do not see God, we see the man who sees God. And we observe that that man is awed, humbled, and intensely aware of his own sinfulness.
We are reminded of Peter’s reaction during one of his early encounters with Jesus (see Luke 5:8). And we are struck by the fact that, in both sinful men’s encounters with the Lord, the divine response is not rejection. We are seeing clearly in his presence when we recognize our own unworthiness. But we are seeing more clearly in his presence when we also recognize his gracious response to our unworthiness.
In Isaiah’s case, that grace takes the form of a fiery coal from the altar. The image is an intimidating one. And when that burning coal is touched to the prophet’s lips, it seems especially daunting and unwelcome. Yet we recognize the cleansing quality of fire, and if we truly desire to be clean, we will embrace whatever the Lord’s method may be.
Finally, we might preach the call-and-response that marks the end of the episode. The Lord’s call seems to be an open invitation, which is an important truth to share with our people. Lest they think that a call from God is always a personal, individualized matter, we should affirm that there is always a job opening in the kingdom of God for those willing to be sent, willing to go for him. And Isaiah is our role model at this moment, for he doesn’t ignore, dither, or delay. Rather, as soon as he hears God’s call, he raises his hand to volunteer.
In the end, therefore, we might preach the Isaiah 6 episode under the theme of response: the universal response to his majesty; our response to his presence; his response to our sinfulness; and our response to his call.
Romans 8:12-17
Romans 8 is full of gospel. A preacher could live for several months of Sundays in that chapter alone. And this week, we are tasked with proclaiming one small portion of that overflowing treasure.
In our selected passage, Paul is assuming two different dichotomies, and perhaps by identifying both we may gain greater insight into each. On the one hand, there is a spirit/flesh dichotomy, which is not only familiar to students of Paul, but is a dichotomy found woven through so much of scripture. On the other hand, there is the son/slave dichotomy, which is also explicit elsewhere in the Pauline corpus, as well as implicit across the larger canon.
The spirit/flesh paradigm in Paul seems to be about two different ways of living. Yet for Paul, they are not meant to be coexisting and competing (like the proverbial two dogs of a person’s nature), let alone complementary (like a sort of yin/yang paradigm). No, Paul envisions this as an either-or choice. I cannot travel both north and south at the same time, and neither can I live according to both the flesh and the Spirit at the same time.
Some early church heresies misunderstood the dichotomy, thinking that the real issue was material vs. spiritual. But of course, scripture bears witness to God creating the material world. Furthermore, he not only made us out of flesh, he also took on our flesh himself. So we mustn’t fall prey to the sort of gnosticism that hates the body. After all, when Paul elsewhere lists “the works of the flesh” (Galatians 5:19-21), it is not only “sexual immorality” and “sensuality;” rather, his list also includes matters like idolatry, sorcery, rivalries, and envy. These are not traditionally associated with appetites of the body. The NLT probably offers a helpful interpretation, therefore, when it translates “flesh” as “sinful nature.”
So it is that we are choosing every day whether to live according to that “flesh” or according to the Spirit. Yet it seems that the apostle has in view something more profound than just choosing the right fork in the road, significant as that is. It’s not merely choosing what way we shall go, but choosing by what we shall be empowered. To put it in metaphorical language, it’s not only what road we drive on but what engine is in the car; for Paul understands that we are driven by the Spirit or we are driven by our flesh.
The other dichotomy that is prominent in this passage is the juxtaposition of son and slave. The former status is where we begin, for we are slaves of sin. Jesus himself says as much (see John 8:32). But by God’s grace, we have available a completely new and altogether different status: son; child of God.
The goodness of this part of the good news is lost on so many American church folks since we generally walk around with a flowery notion that all people are God’s children. It’s a careless belief, and a strange one in light of the fact that the New Testament is so explicit on the point that Jesus is God’s only Son. How else, then, are we to call ourselves his children -- and consequently to call him Father -- except by means of adoption.
Such is the gracious choice and initiative of God. And such is the unfathomable privilege available to us.
And so we have two dichotomies, and each might help us understand better the other. For to identify our former status as “slave” offers helpful insight into our relationship to the flesh. And to identify our salvation as adoption into the heavenly Father’s family dramatically clarifies the presence and role of the Spirit in our lives.
John 3:1-17
Among the distinctive features of the Gospel of John is its characteristic focus on individuals. While the synoptic Gospels so often depict Jesus surrounded by crowds, the fourth gospel features chapter after chapter of Jesus dealing with individuals. And famous among those one-on-one encounters is the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus.
No other book in the New Testament tells us anything about Nicodemus, but he is mentioned three times in the Gospel of John. We’re introduced to him here in chapter 3, and we learn that he is a Pharisee and “a teacher of Israel.” In chapter 7, he reappears briefly as he tries to stand up for Jesus among the other Pharisees who are seeking to have Jesus arrested. And then, in chapter 19, Nicodemus combines efforts with Joseph of Arimathea to bury Jesus. At that time, the narrator identifies Nicodemus by reminding the reader of this moment in chapter 3, focusing especially on the fact that Nicodemus had come to Jesus by night.
That detail is, indeed, prominent in how John introduces this one-on-one encounter in chapter 3. And given the symbolic significance of light and dark in the Gospel of John, it is surely an unflattering detail. The narrator makes sure we know something about Nicodemus’ spiritual condition when we are told up front that Nicodemus came to Jesus by night.
The darkness -- ignorance, confusion -- of Nicodemus is further evidenced at the end of pericope. Or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of the ending to the pericope. Read the passage and try to find where Nicodemus exits. Try to find the resolution or even conclusion of the encounter. He arrives in earnestness, but he is filled with questions. And though he is privy to such significant teaching from Jesus, still his story is left without resolution. Nathanael, the Samaritan woman, the man born blind -- a few of the other beneficiaries of one-on-one encounters with Jesus in the Gospel of John -- their stories all conclude with faith in Jesus. But Nicodemus seems to disappear into the same night from which he came.
Nicodemus begins with two affirmations that provide a metric of his nascent faith. He calls Jesus “rabbi” and he affirms that Jesus comes from God. The former title is respectful, to be sure, but not unique. The latter affirmation is a little more vague. How many people would Nicodemus have said “come from God”? We don’t know.
As is characteristic of Jesus’ dialogues in the Gospel of John, he immediately turns the conversation to spiritual matters. No time for empty pleasantries. Jesus jumps straight to the dramatic statement that a person must be “born again.”
As has often been noted, the underlying Greek word can be translated “again,” “anew,” or “from above.” I don’t think that any one of those interpretations is untrue, but the translator of course has to make a choice. Whatever English word one settles on, the basic point remains the same: some birth is required beyond the physical, biological birth that we have all experienced.
Physical and biological seems to be the only level at which Nicodemus is able -- or willing -- to think. Jesus is disappointed, but then he goes on to elaborate, which is a benefit to us. Nicodemus’ obtuseness (like the Corinthians’ conflicts and questions) gives rise to much edifying Scripture for us. And so Jesus explains more particularly that there is spirit and there is flesh, and each one needs its own birth. For we understand from other parts of the New Testament that, while a person may be physically alive, they may be spiritually dead. Hence we need the Spirit to bring us to live -- real life, eternal life.
When Nicodemus still doesn’t understand, Jesus teaches him still more. And, specifically, Jesus teaches Nicodemus about Jesus. That was the starting place, you recall: Nicodemus’ two affirmations about Jesus. Now Jesus offers Nicodemus a fuller Christology.
The remarkable verses that follow feature these profound elements. Jesus is God’s only Son. God sent Jesus into the world out of love and for the purpose of salvation. And that salvation will be accomplished by something resembling the serpent on the pole from the days of Moses.
Application
A certain sort of Bible student or theologian might object to any suggestion of the Trinity in the Old Testament. Yet several prominent church fathers see and hear testament to the Trinity in our assigned passage from Isaiah. Theodoret of Cyr wrote, “The praise ‘holy, holy, holy’ properly indicates the Trinity.”1 Cyril of Alexandria, likewise, comments that the thrice-repeated “holy” “demonstrates that the Holy Trinity exists in one divine essence.”2 And Jerome notes that the exclamation of the seraphim serves the purpose “that the mystery of the Trinity in one divine nature might be displayed.”3
It’s a fascinating proposition. And it is certainly one that Reginald Heber underlines in his famous hymn, singing, “Holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty! God in three persons, blessed Trinity.”4
The brief selected passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans, meanwhile, is also not explicitly a teaching about the Trinity. Yet all three persons of the godhead are mentioned, and from that simple sample of the gospel message, we are given great insight into the role of the Trinity in our salvation. God the Father chooses to adopt us as his own. While it would be sensible for us, like Isaiah, to cower, sinful and unworthy, in the presence of Almighty God, instead we are moved to call him, “Abba! Father!” It is an almost scandalous intimacy. And it would be most presumptuous if it were our own initiation; but it is the Spirit that enables our recognizing God as our Father. And it is also the Spirit that enables our living as God’s children. At the same time, mindful that the Father has an only-begotten Son, we rejoice in the remarkable truth that we have been made “joint heirs with Christ.”
Finally, the famous conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus in John 3 also contributes to our Trinitarian theology. It is God the Father who loves the world, and it is by his gracious initiative, then, that he sends his Son into the world. We might be reminded of the moment that Samuel the prophet entered Bethlehem, and the uneasy townspeople asked whether he came in peace (1 Samuel 16:4). He did. Yet just so we might hear that God’s Son was coming into the world, and we might reasonably ask whether he comes peaceably. After all, this world does not deserve a peaceable divine visit, but rather the sort of judgment that Sodom saw in Lot’s day. Yet the Son assures that the Father did not send him to condemn the sinful, fallen world, but to save it.
Interestingly, while the divine love and purpose are global, the salvation is individual. The whole world is not saved all at once. Rather, it seems that one person at a time must be born again. And that rebirth is the mysterious and exclusive accomplishment of the Spirit.
The Lord does not change -- he is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Consequently, the Trinity does not begin in the 4th century A.D. He is eternally the Triune God, and we see and hear evidence of that mystery and majesty throughout all of Scripture. The texts assigned for this week give us the opportunity to proclaim a part of the beauty of that truth.
Alternative Application(s)
Isaiah 6:1-8 -- “Reason to Rejoice”
I have spent my whole life in the Methodist tradition, and so I have been surrounded by the hymns of Charles Wesley. One of my favorites declares, “Rejoice, the Lord is King!”5 Those may not be natural words for Americans to sing, but they are an important affirmation for Christians.
“King” is something of a distant concept for contemporary American congregations. We are heirs of a national birth that cast off kings. And in addition to that 18th-century move, we don’t look around the 21st-century world and see many current kings that we take seriously and admire. To sing hymns with “king” language, therefore, may not come naturally to us.
Yet Scripture is full of the language of kings and kingdoms. In the Old Testament, it is the literal, historical reality of the ancient Near East and the Mediterranean world. Israel and Judah had their kings, as did the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Egyptians, and the Greeks. It was a world of kings and kingdoms.
The New Testament world, too, was also one that was well-acquainted with kings, yet the New Testament takes the language and imagery to another level. John the Baptist appears on the scene exhorting people to repent, and his rationale is because “the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:2 ESV). Jesus, likewise, proclaims the coming of the kingdom. He tells numerous parables in order to teach what the kingdom is like. He also sends the disciples to proclaim the kingdom, and he refers to the message about the kingdom as “the good news of the kingdom” (Luke 4:43 ESV).
Later in the New Testament, it’s clear that the apostles also understand reality in terms of kingdoms. Philip preached about the kingdom of God (Acts 8:2), and Paul wrote about it (e.g., 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, Galatians 5:21, 2 Thessalonians 1:5). John saw the transfer of kingdoms as the great eschatological transition (Revelation 11:15). Meanwhile, John and Paul also recognized that God’s kingdom is not the only issue, for the enemy has a kingdom from which we need to be saved (Colossians 1:13) and which in the end must be defeated (Revelation 16:10).
Yet long before the characters and writers of the New Testament began to bear witness to God’s kingdom, Isaiah’s vision pulled back the veil to reveal God as King. And the context was particularly significant, for he reports that he had his vision “in the year that King Uzziah died.” Uzziah was an institution in Judah. 2 Kings reports that he reigned for 52 years. There would have been only a very few old souls living in Judah that year who could remember a time when Uzziah wasn’t the king. Surely his death was an epochal moment for Judah and Jerusalem.
It was against that dramatic backdrop, then, that Isaiah was privy to a vision of the Lord. And how did he see the Lord? Seated on a throne, and in cosmic majesty.
Just when it seemed that Judah’s throne was empty, God’s people are reminded of the real throne. Just when they have been struck by how temporal and transient human rulers are, they are reminded of the one who reigns eternally. And see, then, how God’s kingdom is always good news. For while all human kings and kingdoms are frail and corruptible, God and his kingdom are perfect forever.
Wesley was right in his declaration. You and I may rejoice that the Lord is King, for the message of the kingdom is good news, indeed. For his sovereignty is our greatest security, peace, and hope.
1 Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Old Testament X, Isaiah 1-39, ed. Steven A. McKinion (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press), 51.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.
4 Reginald Heber, Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty, UMH #64.
5 Charles Wesley, Rejoice! the Lord is King, UMH #715.
I hoped that no one else in the greeting line overheard him, for his remark might easily have been misunderstood. He was referring, of course, to the Trinity as an official, explicit doctrine of the church. But said or heard with the wrong tone, and his remark could have been interpreted as saying that the Trinity was a theological invention. In reality, of course, “Trinity” is just the label that we have put on a truth that we discern in the revelation of scripture.
At a minimum, there is the so-called Trinitarian formula, which appears in Jesus’ “Great Commission” (Matthew 28:19). In addition, there are numerous other passages that feature implicit or explicit references to all three persons of the godhead. These include the story of Jesus’ baptism (e.g., Matthew 3:13-17), Paul’s discussion of the gifts of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12:4-6), and Jesus’ teachings during the Last Supper scene in John (e.g., John 14:26), among others. And once we know the truth and reality of the Trinity, then we are positioned to discern it in less obvious passages.
Is that a presumptuous hermeneutic? Is that reckless eisegesis? That’s a risk, to be sure. But there is a larger and better principle involved here.
I think, for example, of the overture that is played before the curtain goes up on a musical. That overture anticipates the songs and scenes that will follow. Could the composer have written an entirely different and unrelated piece for the minutes before the curtain goes up? Of course. But there is artistry, purpose, and unity in the introducing of themes and the weaving together of motifs.
It is when we hear things in a passage that are not echoed or fleshed out elsewhere in scripture that we are on shaky ground. But it shouldn’t surprise us at all that the one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever has eternal truths about himself reverberating all through his word. So, while the doctrine of the Trinity does not become official until a later church council, and while the Trinitarian formula is not found until the end of a gospel, Trinitarian motifs may ring through the Old Testament. And that includes our assigned passage from Isaiah 6.
On this Trinity Sunday, our task is to proclaim the truth -- and the beauty and majesty of the truth -- of the Trinity. God is revealed to us in scripture as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And we are invited to use the passages assigned from Isaiah, Romans, and John to help our people see the beauty of that truth.
Isaiah 6:1-8
The famous scene from Isaiah 6 is full of majesty and meaning. No single sermon will exhaust what is there for our people to have. Let me briefly suggest just a few ways the preacher might go this Sunday.
First, we might explore the good news of God as King. I want to give more extended attention to this particular theme below. For the present, we simply acknowledge the fact that kingship is the context for the whole scene. The episode is dated in terms of a king (that is, the year that King Uzziah died), and the Lord is revealed as king (that is, seated upon a throne). The kingship of God, therefore, is a right and natural truth to preach.
We might also preach the awesomeness of God. From ancient hymns to contemporary Christian songs, this is a theme that our people have no doubt sung. Yet I fear it is a minority of American Christians who lived with an abiding sense of his awesomeness. We do well, therefore, to meditate on the scene that Isaiah reports.
Those of us of a certain age or older will recall the indirect methods by which we were taught to view eclipses (before the advent of the popular glasses that allow an individual to look directly at the phenomenon). The idea was that a person couldn’t look at the eclipse with the naked eye, and so he had to devise some workaround for being able to witness the thing. And so it is, we recognize, with the awesomeness of God in Isaiah 6. It is not God himself who fills the temple, but merely the train of his robe. It is not God himself whose voice made the very structure shake, but that of a seraph. It is not God himself who is described, but the seraphim who are in his presence. And they become for us like the old, makeshift devices we used to see an eclipse: for we did not see the eclipse itself, but a reflection of it or the shadows that it cast. So, too, we are not privy to the awesomeness of God itself, but to the responses once-removed.
A third preaching focus might be Isaiah. He is, after all, the one who stands in our place. He is our representative in this otherwise inaccessible moment, for he is the mortal in the presence of God. And while we do not see God, we see the man who sees God. And we observe that that man is awed, humbled, and intensely aware of his own sinfulness.
We are reminded of Peter’s reaction during one of his early encounters with Jesus (see Luke 5:8). And we are struck by the fact that, in both sinful men’s encounters with the Lord, the divine response is not rejection. We are seeing clearly in his presence when we recognize our own unworthiness. But we are seeing more clearly in his presence when we also recognize his gracious response to our unworthiness.
In Isaiah’s case, that grace takes the form of a fiery coal from the altar. The image is an intimidating one. And when that burning coal is touched to the prophet’s lips, it seems especially daunting and unwelcome. Yet we recognize the cleansing quality of fire, and if we truly desire to be clean, we will embrace whatever the Lord’s method may be.
Finally, we might preach the call-and-response that marks the end of the episode. The Lord’s call seems to be an open invitation, which is an important truth to share with our people. Lest they think that a call from God is always a personal, individualized matter, we should affirm that there is always a job opening in the kingdom of God for those willing to be sent, willing to go for him. And Isaiah is our role model at this moment, for he doesn’t ignore, dither, or delay. Rather, as soon as he hears God’s call, he raises his hand to volunteer.
In the end, therefore, we might preach the Isaiah 6 episode under the theme of response: the universal response to his majesty; our response to his presence; his response to our sinfulness; and our response to his call.
Romans 8:12-17
Romans 8 is full of gospel. A preacher could live for several months of Sundays in that chapter alone. And this week, we are tasked with proclaiming one small portion of that overflowing treasure.
In our selected passage, Paul is assuming two different dichotomies, and perhaps by identifying both we may gain greater insight into each. On the one hand, there is a spirit/flesh dichotomy, which is not only familiar to students of Paul, but is a dichotomy found woven through so much of scripture. On the other hand, there is the son/slave dichotomy, which is also explicit elsewhere in the Pauline corpus, as well as implicit across the larger canon.
The spirit/flesh paradigm in Paul seems to be about two different ways of living. Yet for Paul, they are not meant to be coexisting and competing (like the proverbial two dogs of a person’s nature), let alone complementary (like a sort of yin/yang paradigm). No, Paul envisions this as an either-or choice. I cannot travel both north and south at the same time, and neither can I live according to both the flesh and the Spirit at the same time.
Some early church heresies misunderstood the dichotomy, thinking that the real issue was material vs. spiritual. But of course, scripture bears witness to God creating the material world. Furthermore, he not only made us out of flesh, he also took on our flesh himself. So we mustn’t fall prey to the sort of gnosticism that hates the body. After all, when Paul elsewhere lists “the works of the flesh” (Galatians 5:19-21), it is not only “sexual immorality” and “sensuality;” rather, his list also includes matters like idolatry, sorcery, rivalries, and envy. These are not traditionally associated with appetites of the body. The NLT probably offers a helpful interpretation, therefore, when it translates “flesh” as “sinful nature.”
So it is that we are choosing every day whether to live according to that “flesh” or according to the Spirit. Yet it seems that the apostle has in view something more profound than just choosing the right fork in the road, significant as that is. It’s not merely choosing what way we shall go, but choosing by what we shall be empowered. To put it in metaphorical language, it’s not only what road we drive on but what engine is in the car; for Paul understands that we are driven by the Spirit or we are driven by our flesh.
The other dichotomy that is prominent in this passage is the juxtaposition of son and slave. The former status is where we begin, for we are slaves of sin. Jesus himself says as much (see John 8:32). But by God’s grace, we have available a completely new and altogether different status: son; child of God.
The goodness of this part of the good news is lost on so many American church folks since we generally walk around with a flowery notion that all people are God’s children. It’s a careless belief, and a strange one in light of the fact that the New Testament is so explicit on the point that Jesus is God’s only Son. How else, then, are we to call ourselves his children -- and consequently to call him Father -- except by means of adoption.
Such is the gracious choice and initiative of God. And such is the unfathomable privilege available to us.
And so we have two dichotomies, and each might help us understand better the other. For to identify our former status as “slave” offers helpful insight into our relationship to the flesh. And to identify our salvation as adoption into the heavenly Father’s family dramatically clarifies the presence and role of the Spirit in our lives.
John 3:1-17
Among the distinctive features of the Gospel of John is its characteristic focus on individuals. While the synoptic Gospels so often depict Jesus surrounded by crowds, the fourth gospel features chapter after chapter of Jesus dealing with individuals. And famous among those one-on-one encounters is the conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus.
No other book in the New Testament tells us anything about Nicodemus, but he is mentioned three times in the Gospel of John. We’re introduced to him here in chapter 3, and we learn that he is a Pharisee and “a teacher of Israel.” In chapter 7, he reappears briefly as he tries to stand up for Jesus among the other Pharisees who are seeking to have Jesus arrested. And then, in chapter 19, Nicodemus combines efforts with Joseph of Arimathea to bury Jesus. At that time, the narrator identifies Nicodemus by reminding the reader of this moment in chapter 3, focusing especially on the fact that Nicodemus had come to Jesus by night.
That detail is, indeed, prominent in how John introduces this one-on-one encounter in chapter 3. And given the symbolic significance of light and dark in the Gospel of John, it is surely an unflattering detail. The narrator makes sure we know something about Nicodemus’ spiritual condition when we are told up front that Nicodemus came to Jesus by night.
The darkness -- ignorance, confusion -- of Nicodemus is further evidenced at the end of pericope. Or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of the ending to the pericope. Read the passage and try to find where Nicodemus exits. Try to find the resolution or even conclusion of the encounter. He arrives in earnestness, but he is filled with questions. And though he is privy to such significant teaching from Jesus, still his story is left without resolution. Nathanael, the Samaritan woman, the man born blind -- a few of the other beneficiaries of one-on-one encounters with Jesus in the Gospel of John -- their stories all conclude with faith in Jesus. But Nicodemus seems to disappear into the same night from which he came.
Nicodemus begins with two affirmations that provide a metric of his nascent faith. He calls Jesus “rabbi” and he affirms that Jesus comes from God. The former title is respectful, to be sure, but not unique. The latter affirmation is a little more vague. How many people would Nicodemus have said “come from God”? We don’t know.
As is characteristic of Jesus’ dialogues in the Gospel of John, he immediately turns the conversation to spiritual matters. No time for empty pleasantries. Jesus jumps straight to the dramatic statement that a person must be “born again.”
As has often been noted, the underlying Greek word can be translated “again,” “anew,” or “from above.” I don’t think that any one of those interpretations is untrue, but the translator of course has to make a choice. Whatever English word one settles on, the basic point remains the same: some birth is required beyond the physical, biological birth that we have all experienced.
Physical and biological seems to be the only level at which Nicodemus is able -- or willing -- to think. Jesus is disappointed, but then he goes on to elaborate, which is a benefit to us. Nicodemus’ obtuseness (like the Corinthians’ conflicts and questions) gives rise to much edifying Scripture for us. And so Jesus explains more particularly that there is spirit and there is flesh, and each one needs its own birth. For we understand from other parts of the New Testament that, while a person may be physically alive, they may be spiritually dead. Hence we need the Spirit to bring us to live -- real life, eternal life.
When Nicodemus still doesn’t understand, Jesus teaches him still more. And, specifically, Jesus teaches Nicodemus about Jesus. That was the starting place, you recall: Nicodemus’ two affirmations about Jesus. Now Jesus offers Nicodemus a fuller Christology.
The remarkable verses that follow feature these profound elements. Jesus is God’s only Son. God sent Jesus into the world out of love and for the purpose of salvation. And that salvation will be accomplished by something resembling the serpent on the pole from the days of Moses.
Application
A certain sort of Bible student or theologian might object to any suggestion of the Trinity in the Old Testament. Yet several prominent church fathers see and hear testament to the Trinity in our assigned passage from Isaiah. Theodoret of Cyr wrote, “The praise ‘holy, holy, holy’ properly indicates the Trinity.”1 Cyril of Alexandria, likewise, comments that the thrice-repeated “holy” “demonstrates that the Holy Trinity exists in one divine essence.”2 And Jerome notes that the exclamation of the seraphim serves the purpose “that the mystery of the Trinity in one divine nature might be displayed.”3
It’s a fascinating proposition. And it is certainly one that Reginald Heber underlines in his famous hymn, singing, “Holy, holy, holy! merciful and mighty! God in three persons, blessed Trinity.”4
The brief selected passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans, meanwhile, is also not explicitly a teaching about the Trinity. Yet all three persons of the godhead are mentioned, and from that simple sample of the gospel message, we are given great insight into the role of the Trinity in our salvation. God the Father chooses to adopt us as his own. While it would be sensible for us, like Isaiah, to cower, sinful and unworthy, in the presence of Almighty God, instead we are moved to call him, “Abba! Father!” It is an almost scandalous intimacy. And it would be most presumptuous if it were our own initiation; but it is the Spirit that enables our recognizing God as our Father. And it is also the Spirit that enables our living as God’s children. At the same time, mindful that the Father has an only-begotten Son, we rejoice in the remarkable truth that we have been made “joint heirs with Christ.”
Finally, the famous conversation between Nicodemus and Jesus in John 3 also contributes to our Trinitarian theology. It is God the Father who loves the world, and it is by his gracious initiative, then, that he sends his Son into the world. We might be reminded of the moment that Samuel the prophet entered Bethlehem, and the uneasy townspeople asked whether he came in peace (1 Samuel 16:4). He did. Yet just so we might hear that God’s Son was coming into the world, and we might reasonably ask whether he comes peaceably. After all, this world does not deserve a peaceable divine visit, but rather the sort of judgment that Sodom saw in Lot’s day. Yet the Son assures that the Father did not send him to condemn the sinful, fallen world, but to save it.
Interestingly, while the divine love and purpose are global, the salvation is individual. The whole world is not saved all at once. Rather, it seems that one person at a time must be born again. And that rebirth is the mysterious and exclusive accomplishment of the Spirit.
The Lord does not change -- he is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Consequently, the Trinity does not begin in the 4th century A.D. He is eternally the Triune God, and we see and hear evidence of that mystery and majesty throughout all of Scripture. The texts assigned for this week give us the opportunity to proclaim a part of the beauty of that truth.
Alternative Application(s)
Isaiah 6:1-8 -- “Reason to Rejoice”
I have spent my whole life in the Methodist tradition, and so I have been surrounded by the hymns of Charles Wesley. One of my favorites declares, “Rejoice, the Lord is King!”5 Those may not be natural words for Americans to sing, but they are an important affirmation for Christians.
“King” is something of a distant concept for contemporary American congregations. We are heirs of a national birth that cast off kings. And in addition to that 18th-century move, we don’t look around the 21st-century world and see many current kings that we take seriously and admire. To sing hymns with “king” language, therefore, may not come naturally to us.
Yet Scripture is full of the language of kings and kingdoms. In the Old Testament, it is the literal, historical reality of the ancient Near East and the Mediterranean world. Israel and Judah had their kings, as did the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Egyptians, and the Greeks. It was a world of kings and kingdoms.
The New Testament world, too, was also one that was well-acquainted with kings, yet the New Testament takes the language and imagery to another level. John the Baptist appears on the scene exhorting people to repent, and his rationale is because “the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:2 ESV). Jesus, likewise, proclaims the coming of the kingdom. He tells numerous parables in order to teach what the kingdom is like. He also sends the disciples to proclaim the kingdom, and he refers to the message about the kingdom as “the good news of the kingdom” (Luke 4:43 ESV).
Later in the New Testament, it’s clear that the apostles also understand reality in terms of kingdoms. Philip preached about the kingdom of God (Acts 8:2), and Paul wrote about it (e.g., 1 Corinthians 6:9-10, Galatians 5:21, 2 Thessalonians 1:5). John saw the transfer of kingdoms as the great eschatological transition (Revelation 11:15). Meanwhile, John and Paul also recognized that God’s kingdom is not the only issue, for the enemy has a kingdom from which we need to be saved (Colossians 1:13) and which in the end must be defeated (Revelation 16:10).
Yet long before the characters and writers of the New Testament began to bear witness to God’s kingdom, Isaiah’s vision pulled back the veil to reveal God as King. And the context was particularly significant, for he reports that he had his vision “in the year that King Uzziah died.” Uzziah was an institution in Judah. 2 Kings reports that he reigned for 52 years. There would have been only a very few old souls living in Judah that year who could remember a time when Uzziah wasn’t the king. Surely his death was an epochal moment for Judah and Jerusalem.
It was against that dramatic backdrop, then, that Isaiah was privy to a vision of the Lord. And how did he see the Lord? Seated on a throne, and in cosmic majesty.
Just when it seemed that Judah’s throne was empty, God’s people are reminded of the real throne. Just when they have been struck by how temporal and transient human rulers are, they are reminded of the one who reigns eternally. And see, then, how God’s kingdom is always good news. For while all human kings and kingdoms are frail and corruptible, God and his kingdom are perfect forever.
Wesley was right in his declaration. You and I may rejoice that the Lord is King, for the message of the kingdom is good news, indeed. For his sovereignty is our greatest security, peace, and hope.
1 Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Old Testament X, Isaiah 1-39, ed. Steven A. McKinion (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press), 51.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.
4 Reginald Heber, Holy, Holy, Holy! Lord God Almighty, UMH #64.
5 Charles Wesley, Rejoice! the Lord is King, UMH #715.
