The Way of Flesh and the Way of the Spirit
Text: John 3:1-17; Rom. 4:1-8, 13-17; Gen. 12:1-9
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today we have before us a familiar text, John 3:16, perhaps the best-known verse in all the Bible. But sometimes familiarity keeps us from seeing the surprising, even shocking, nature it has. The entire conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus in our Gospel reading—if we allow it to—will force us to recognize that there is something here very foreign to the way we know the world to be, according to our fallen reason and senses. If we will let ourselves be pushed off-balance by it, as we should, we find pretty quickly that we can forgive Nicodemus for not perfectly following the conversation, for Jesus Himself says, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” That is to say, the way of the flesh—the way we know the world according to our mortal minds—and the way of the Spirit—the way God works in this creation of His—these two ways operate by entirely different logics. And until we understand that difference, we’ll keep reading this text the way Nicodemus first heard it: a little confused, constantly looking for leverage that simply isn’t there because Jesus is not bending to our way of thinking.
It’s a common misunderstanding that heavenly things operate the same way that earthly things do. But Jesus calls this out: “If I have told you earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you heavenly things?” And yet, we fallen humans are quite good at assuming that we can fully comprehend both. But take, for example, the account of Abraham. In our Old Testament reading, we’re given a glimpse into the ancient past, when the Lord called Abram to go out from his country and away from his family and the inheritance he had in Ur, to a land that the Lord would show him at some point in the future. We might ask, why did the Lord choose Abram? Of all the people who lived, of all who could have potentially been the ones that the Lord could bless and make into a great name, through whom all the families of the earth would be blessed—why Abram? We might think that God chose Abram because he was a standout in Ur. He must have deserved it, in some way, we might assume. He must have already been righteous, perhaps in an age of unrighteousness. He must have already been obedient. There must have been something that earned God’s favor. It only seems reasonable to our sensibilities, doesn’t it? And that is precisely the way of the flesh that is being contradicted in Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus.
For that was the particular error of the Pharisees and teachers of the Law in Nicodemus’ time. They trusted their genetic inheritance of what was spoken to Abraham. “We have Abraham as our father,” they boasted, even to John the Baptizer, the last prophet; even to the Son of God, Jesus Himself. They believed the blessing promised to Abraham was sealed by their fastidious obedience to the Law and the traditions of the elders. In their way of thinking, the way of the flesh, God’s blessing was not a gift. It was something owed them—a wage. St. Paul points this out in our Epistle reading today: “Now to the one who works, his wages are not counted as a gift but as his due.” They were not wanting something to be given to them freely. They expected payment for their work.
But before we start wagging our fingers at the Pharisees, we must take an honest look at ourselves. This is our flaw too. It’s the assumption of our fallen flesh that God owes us some sort of blessing because of what we do—our attention to the works of the Law, our moral lives, our kindness, our being on the right side of whatever issue we deem most important in the moment. We too have that same sense of grievance that the Pharisees had whenever something goes wrong. “Why did this bad thing happen to me?” we wonder. Or we try to trade with God: “Lord, if you just do this for me, I promise I’ll do that, or I’ll stop doing this other thing.” We see ourselves as having a seat at the business table, working a transaction, giving us a sense of control over our destiny.
But Jesus tells us, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit… If I have told you earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you heavenly things?” For the Lord in His Law has told us earthly things: You have not kept up your side of the commandments. You have not done what was required of you. You’ve tried to give excuse after excuse when it was shown to you. If those earthly realities are not believed, how can the heavenly realities be grasped?
How then are we to move past this way of understanding that the flesh so stubbornly clings to? God blessedly gives the words of Moses, the Apostle Paul, and Jesus Himself to tell us that heavenly things, the things of the Spirit, are not the same as earthly things. They require a different understanding. And these three agree—the heavenly things spoken of today require the understanding of faith.
St. Paul leaves no doubt and no wiggle room. “The promise to Abraham and his offspring that he would be heir of the world did not come through the Law but through the righteousness of faith…That is why it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his offspring.” The promise does not rest on the performance of mortals—not Abraham, not Paul, not Nicodemus, not you. Everything that God gives rests entirely on grace. And that’s important, because if it rested on our abilities, our strength, our keeping of the Law, it could fail. It could be lost. In point of fact, it would fail and be lost. But when it rests on the fact that it’s ours simply because God wants to give everything to us, it means that it can’t be lost, not through our failure, not through anything that world can throw at us, not by anything at all.
Abraham is the example that proves the rule, that sets the tone for all of his descendants—us—who would become his children not by through bloodlines, but by sharing the same faith as him. Abraham believed before circumcision, that sacred covenant that was observed by God’s Old Testament Church. He believed before the Law existed, centuries before it was even given at Mount Sinai. He believed before he had done anything at all to make himself worthy of being chosen by God. Instead, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness.” The promise came first. God’s grace came first. The faith that held on to that grace, that promise, through the years of wandering and the trials and the tests and the drama—that was what came first. That’s what counted as Abraham’s righteousness. Anything good that he did was the fruit of that faith, the result of having been made righteous, having been chosen by the Lord.
That choosing, that grace, that work that the Lord does in order claim those who will be His, reaches its pinnacle in Jesus’ words—the Gospel that we have come to know so well that nearly anyone in this room can recite it. Jesus tells Nicodemus that the Son of Man must be lifted up. “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up”—suspended in the air between heaven and earth, Jacob’s ladder in its final form, the salvation that everything in the Exodus was pointing forward to, the completion of the covenant between the Lord and Abraham and all his descendants through faith—“that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.” And now the words that we know so well, but that I hope you will hear again as if for the first time: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” Not whoever obeys. Not whoever earns it. Not whoever is worthy. Whoever believes in Him.
The free gift, what Abraham received, what Paul preached, what Jesus offered Nicodemus in their meeting under the cover of night, what He offers to you here in this sunlight dappled sanctuary—the free gift is eternal life. It’s not a wage or a contract. It’s a gift, freely given, received through faith alone. That is the way of the Spirit. He gives the gift and He creates the faith that receives that gift. It’s not what the flesh expects, but thanks be to God for that. Receive the gift anew, through your hearing, through eating and drinking, through the Word made flesh that comes to you now in promise. In the name of Jesus, the Son of Man who was lifted up. Amen.
