Always Present
John 3:14-21
And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.
‘Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.’
The passage we just heard contains what is probably the most quoted verse from the New Testament: John 3:16, for God so loved the world that he gave his only son so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. A beautiful reminder of how much God loves us, to be sure. But the verse is complicated and contextualized by the rest of the typically Johanninely ambiguous passage; and it was suggested in Bible study that in this sermon, I should highlight and give an explanation of sorts of the word “condemn,” a word that is all over this passage. It was a great suggestion, because as much we want to focus on how much loves us, (and I should say that I think, ultimately, that God’s unconditional love is the takeaway here), it’s hard to ignore a word as extreme and negative sounding as condemn. Kind of puts a damper on all the love and salvation, right? And as much as John loves to work with seemingly cut and dry, black and white language, this passage is anything but straight-forward.
When we think of condemn, we think of it in terms of say, someone being condemned to prison, condemned to Hell, condemned to some horrible ends with no escape. But in the context of this passage, in the translation from the Greek, it’s actually more referring to an absence of knowledge… specifically to an absence of the knowledge that God loves you unconditionally…. the absence of love. Think about it—God loves us so much that God sent God’s only child to us… so that we could look upon Jesus and truly understand and truly know that God loves us. Not to tease us and take love away, not to dangle it like some carrot on a string—but to show clearly, to anyone who is willing and able to see it that we are all so loved.
Condemnation feels like such a future and final thing, right? But it’s very unclear that John is talking about any kind of apocalypse, death, or end times here, even though the language does sound a little apocalyptic. But I want to pay attention to some of the present tense that’s used here: “…those who do not believe are condemned already…”. This present tense helps me to understand it in this way: if we can’t accept the fact that we are loved, if we can’t accept the fact that we all deserve love, isn’t that a sad existence? What good is a life that is absent of love? So if we can’t embrace the fact that we are truly, unconditionally loved, we’re really living a sad, condemned life.
So now that we’ve tackled condemnation, the next struggle comes: do people who don’t know Jesus or people who aren’t Christian automatically receive this condemnation, as John seems to imply here? After all, he says “for whoever believes,” “those who do believe,” “those who do not believe…” I just don’t think it’s that straight-forward, Church. I just can’t believe that the same God that loves us enough to give us Jesus, is also a God who isn’t big enough to love those who still walk in the light, but walk in the light in a different context, in a different culture, a different religion. Especially considering that last line: But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God. Those who do what is true come to the light.
It’s also important to note here, to put this passage into more context—this is all part of a lecture that begins at the beginning of chapter 3, spoken to Nicodemus, a leader of a local Jewish tribe who comes to Jesus in the middle of the night, (weird) all excited, proclaiming, “Rabbi, we know that 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.” But then Jesus gets a little annoyed, because at this point, Nicodemus doesn’t believe in Jesus out of any kind of real faith or reverence or real commitment; he just believes in Jesus because he saw Jesus perform a miracle or two. This just isn’t genuine belief, or genuine faith. Without real faith and commitment to the good works of truth, doing what is true, the thing that Jesus calls us to, we are stuck in the dark.
There are so many so-called Christians today that absolutely walk in the dark. So many Christians who don’t love their neighbor, who don’t love themselves, who can’t recognize the truth of the unconditional love of God. “For those who do what is true come to the light…”. Plenty of people who profess to be believers in Christ surely are not doing what is true and what is light-filled. And plenty of people who believe in a different God, or no God at all, do what is true all the time. And God did not send Jesus to condemn. Jesus was sent out of an unconditional, and unimaginable love.
And I think this love, for some people, is truly unimaginable. I think for some people, they are stuck in the dark—not because of a lack of love for Christ, but because of a lack of love, period. For whatever reason, personal history, mental illness, addiction, religious trauma, general trauma, a lot of people tragically can’t believe they are worthy of love. When I was working as a hospice chaplain, I had a patient, I’ll call him Mike, who was a lapsed Catholic. He was such a kind man, but because of a divorce, and various other things in his life that didn’t go quite the way he wanted, or the quite the way in which the church would approve, he felt he wasn’t worthy of communion. He had such a desire to take part in the ritual, but he had so much emotional and religious baggage and trauma that weighed him down and he wasn’t able to see clearly, the love God would have for him no matter what. Once a month, here in the UCC, we make it clear that all are invited to the communion table, but for those who have been told that that’s not the case, it’s hard to shake that, no matter what your desire, your need for that holy communion may be. So people become self-hating and self-destructive, and they convince themselves of the utter lie they are just not worthy.
And I need to reiterate here, Jesus did not come into the world to condemn. Mike wasn’t being condemned by Jesus, wasn’t condemned by God—he felt condemned by the restrictions and rules of mortal, earthly world and was in turn, condemning himself. It took a lot of listening and a lot of gentle nudges and assurances, but Mike did eventually take communion, and was able to get out of the dark he was in.
But it’s so hard—it’s so hard to leave the dark and come to the light. Because it means making yourself really vulnerable. In the case of Mike, he didn’t really do anything wrong, but because of the shame-based culture he came from, he believed that he did, and so coming out of the dark is that case is just as difficult and painful as it would be for someone who truly did wrong. Because coming into the light means admitting to wrongs, and exposing some deep-seated fears and shame, really humbling ourselves. We already live in a world of so much exposure, a world where every little thing is recorded, posted, screenshotted; a world where we’re always trying to one-up each other, a world of trying to look the best of the best all the time, no matter what we’re really feeling. All this results in is a lot of narcissism and a lot of hiding in the dark. It results in feeling like you’re never able to admit you’ve messed up because that will ruin your image—because we’re afraid that we’ll look vulnerable and weak to others, and it may force us to come to some hard realizations about ourselves.
It’s written in this passage, For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. Sounds harsh, I know—but you know, I find hope in this. I find the most hope in this line because it means that those who have done wrong, those who continue to do wrong, there’s hope for them, because they know they’re doing wrong. Because it means that they’re choosing to stay in the darkness, not because they love doing evil, or that they take pride in their horrible deeds; it doesn’t mean that they actually hate the light, that they hate good; they’re just scared of the light. They feel shame and fear for the vulnerable, naked feeling they’ll feel when their wrongs are exposed. It means they know the light is good, and they want to go to the light, but before they can get there, it means repenting. It means asking for forgiveness, it means practicing some pretty serious humility. Church, folks who appear to hate the light, appear that way not because they’re bad people, but because they don’t feel they deserve the light. They don’t feel they deserve love. Now, I’m saying they, but let’s be honest, we’ve all messed up, we’ve all been there—we’ve wronged someone we love, or ourselves, and we want to come clean, we want to apologize, but we don’t want to feel exposed, we’re scared to face the tough stuff before we can get to the light. Even if, deep-down, we know that God loves us, and will always love us, that we are always forgiven it’s so hard to shake that shame. It’s so hard to know that that love is never absent, is always present, is always there when we’re ready for it. We just have to ask for forgiveness and look for that love, hidden in plain sight, bogged down in our own shame and self-hatred.
We’re right in the middle of Lent, Church. It really is a perfect time, as we lead up to Jesus’ death and resurrection that took place out of God’s unconditional love for us to, a. know that we deserve that love, and b. to confess—to repent, to turn away from evil so that we can truly, and fully feel that love that is always there. But sometimes we find ourselves in rough spots, and we can’t feel that love. But let me assure you all, it is always there. Sometimes we’re just too low, too bogged down and overwhelmed to see it. When we’re that low, filled with self-doubt, shame, guilt, there’s no room for love—it feels so empty and absent.
But let me end this sermon by going back to the very beginning of this passage—“And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up…”. This line is a reference to a strange story in Numbers in which the Jewish people are freed from slavery, but continuing to wander in the wilderness, and complaining a whole lot, being super impatient—so a very angry God sends a bunch of poisonous snakes down to attack them, but then instructs Moses to make his own snake, then to hold it up—when the people look upon the bronze snake that Moses makes, they will be saved. (Super bizarre story, I know, and it’s a whole other sermon for another time)—but Jesus, through John, is telling the story to emphasize the lifting up—to emphasize that all are saved by looking up—first upon a snake made by the hand of Moses, and then by looking up at Jesus, rising from death, and rising up to be with God in Heaven.
Jesus did not come in this world to condemn. We don’t need any help with that—we are condemning one another and condemning ourselves just fine on our own. So it’s up to us to look up. It’s up to us to look up and see the goodness that surrounds us all, to look up to the light. It’s up to us to look up and ask for forgiveness and know we are loved no matter what we have done. It’s up to us to know that as long as we are brave, as long as we are not too scared to be human, to admit to our mistakes, our transgressions, to humble ourselves, and to walk in the light and to do what is true to in order to accept that love that is never absent, that is always present.
Accept God’s love, Church. You deserve it. Amen.
