My dad recently bought a coat. It’s a big, red, super-duper
coat from Land’s End. He’s been eying it for a while, and my mother snatched it
up while it was on sale. This past weekend, when they were in town for our son’s
first birthday, he took time to show off his jacket. “Only $65.00,” he said,
proudly. I was excited, too. I love a good deal. And my dad knows that. Which
is probably why he told me (and everyone else in the house) at least four times
that the jacket was only $65.
On Saturday morning, my father and I went to the grocery
store. On the way back, the conversation turned to the weather and how it gets
bone-chillingly cold every time my parents come to visit. (You’d think
residents of Baldwin County, Alabama, could manage to bring warm weather with
them.) As we pulled up to a red light, I chuckled to myself. “What?” my dad
asked. “Oh nothing,” I replied. “I was just going to ask how much you paid for
your jacket as a way of joking about how many times you’ve already told me…but
I was afraid you wouldn’t get the joke and would actually answer my question,”
I explained. My father pretended to be amused.
I usually find it funny when someone doesn’t get a joke or a
subtle jab. Sometimes it can be frustrating, but often the misunderstand itself
becomes a source of comedy.
Early this morning, I had breakfast with some of our youth.
After we ate, we played a game called “Psychiatrist.” In this game, one person (the
psychiatrist) leaves the room while the other people (the patients) make up a
condition, which they all share. Then, when the psychiatrist returns and asks
questions about the condition, the players betray the ailment in their answers.
For example, all the patients could decide that every time they give an answer
to the psychiatrist’s questions they will touch their nose. If that seems
obvious, it is. But, when you pick something far more subtle, the game is fun.
For our third or fourth round, we decided that the third
word of every answer we gave would be “the.” It proved to be as tough for the
patients as it was for the psychiatrist. When one of the patients broke
character and complained about how hard it was, I whispered back at him to stay
with the game. He looked at me disapprovingly. “You weren’t listening,” he
said. Sure enough, when I replayed his comment in my head, I realized that the
third word had actually been “the.” He was being clever, and I just didn’t get
it.
In today’s gospel lesson (John 2:23-3:15), we read about
Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews who has a hard time picking up on what Jesus is
saying. Jesus stresses the need to be born anew, but Nicodemus is lost in the
literal: “How can someone climb into his mother’s womb and be born a second
time?” Of course, as Jesus makes clear, he is talking about a spiritual
rebirth. And, just when we think Nicodemus will grasp what is being said to
him, he stumbles again: “How can this be?” Jesus shakes his head in
exasperation.
I used to think this passage of the gospel is about the
religious tension between Jesus and the Jewish authorities. I used to think
that Christians (like me) were able to see what the rest of the world (like the
Pharisees) couldn’t grasp. But then, thinking about my visit to the
psychiatrist this morning, I realized that the problem isn’t a Jewish-Christian
issue. It’s a human issue.
God is God, and we are not. God shows his love to the world,
and we’re still trying to use words to describe it. And guess what! We don’t
get it. We’re obtuse. We’re slow on the uptake. We’re like Nicodemus, trying as
hard as we can to understand what God is doing, but we’re looking through
flesh-colored glasses.
God’s salvation is bigger than we realize. God’s love is
more powerful than we know. What it means to be a disciple of Jesus is more
involved than words can describe. We’re still using images and analogies to
explain it. Perhaps the whole Jesus event—Incarnation, Death, Resurrection—is itself
a pronouncement of a deeper truth (God loves us). My prayer today is that the
scales might fall off my eyes long enough to get even the tiniest glimpse of
what God is really doing in my life and in the world around me.
As I have outlined many times in this weblog, to help make such a dedication, the physician has to take into consideration the moment, pervasiveness, persistance, and very subjective quality of a indication.
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