If his name isn't familiar to you, he is a Pharisee who shows up three times in John's gospel. Once, he investigates who Jesus is at the beginning of Jesus' ministry (John 3). Another time, he tries to convince fellow Pharisees to seek more information about Jesus before arresting him (John 7). Finally in John 19, he along with a "secret disciple" name Joseph, claim Jesus' body and lay it in a tomb.
Nicodemus' first interaction with Jesus is his most famous. In this interaction, we find Jesus talking about the need to be "born again" and the famous John 3:16 passage occurs ("For God so loved the world that he gave is only begotten son, so that however believes in him will not perish, but will have eternal life."). Nicodemus' other occurrences are rarely mentioned.
I went into this project unsure whether I was going to portray Nicodemus as convert, or as a curious person who was reluctant to make a final decision about Jesus. It is difficult to accurately portray someone's response to the resurrection when their entire story is left so open ended.
But it was the open-endedness of Nicodemus that intrigued me so much. In his first interaction he approaches Jesus under the cover of night, and with pretentious flattery. By the end of the conversation he is dumbfounded and silent. This is not uncommon for Pharisees in the gospels. What is unusual about Nicodemus is that he comes back. He advocates for Jesus (if ever so slightly) in front of his peers and he steps out of the night to ask for Jesus' body. Remember, the night of Jesus' crucifixion, every disciple except for John bailed on Jesus. Nicodemus was there.
I think that Nicodemus should be the model of the gradual conversion. He let Jesus and his words haunt him. When Jesus humbled Nicodemus, he let himself become affected at a deep level. Nicodemus had a ton to lose, and some church lore says he indeed lost it all, eventually becoming a church martyr in the 1st Century.
I admire disciples who immediately follow Jesus. Levi, James, John, Peter...these guys had the guts to drop everything to follow Jesus. Maybe Nicodemus doesn't measure up to them. But the good news of the gospel and of Easter is that it is not about measuring up. I know so many more Nicodemus' than Peter's. I know many who are on the Nicodemus road right now; trying to decide if Jesus is trustworthy and worth the risk.
Below is the rough draft on my monologue. Seems appropriate to post it here, since everything I write here is a rough draft. Please take a look at it. And if you are so moved, pray for a Nicodemus in your life. You never know where people really go when the step back into the night.
There are two things in my life that I have really wanted; to be a Pharisee and to see the Messiah. I fear that it has been revealed in my actions which was more important to me.
I should go back to the beginning. My name is Nicodemus. I
first met Jesus a few years ago, during Passover. I came to see at night, after
he had made a scene at the Temple. I came at night because it had been a long
day.
No.
I came at night because I was afraid. Even then, Jesus was
not well-liked by my companions. The spoken reasons were varied; he wasn’t
educated, he was a rabble-rouser, he was irreverent. I think at that point
though, we were angry that he didn’t need us. He held sway over the people; our
people, and we weren’t part of his world. The council asked me to go and talk
to him.
I was nervous. I had heard about his healings and was transfixed
by his boldness in the temple. I think it was my nervousness that caused me to
blurt out how we knew he was from
God. I tried to endorse him. I would learn that evening that Jesus never wanted, or needed endorsement. I
have never met a man who was less concerned about other people’s opinions of
him. I thought that he was stonewalling me after that. I thought that our
conversation was all about him keeping me at arm’s length. I thought that I
blew it.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that he was
actually inviting me to be “born again”. He longed for me…FOR ME, to be born of
the Spirit of God. He talked about freedom; being like wind. No one knew how
trapped I felt; no one but Him. By the time he spoke about the “Son of Man
being lifted up”, my head was spinning. I forgot that the snake in the desert
was for the healing of the people. I stumbled back into the night. Exhilarated
and confused.
You know, I thought that just maybe this was all going to
work. It seems so naive now. I thought that if my brothers could meet him, he
would exhilarate them too. But as you know, it never happened. First it was
Sabbath healings. Then his claims of being God’s son. But throughout it all, it
was his indifference towards us. They
were so angry that he would heal on the Sabbath, but they were so much angrier
that he never wanted to debate us about it. He didn’t care about proper
channels. He wounded their theology, sure. But he more so wounded their pride.
In my self-deception, I still thought the relationship could
be saved. Jesus was clearly from God, we were teachers of the Torah…there had
to be hope right? I believed that right up to the next Passover. Jesus again
appeared in the courts, now declaring Himself the living water. You should have
seen the faces of my brothers, they were furious. They sent guards to arrest
him. When the guards came back empty handed, only with their own amazement
about Jesus’ teachings, my brothers exploded in anger. I mustered up the last
bit of my courage and reminded them that our investigation of his claims were
still incomplete, but stopped short of saying what my heart was screaming, “he
may be the one!”
I am not sure why I was surprised when they shot me down.
But I did, finally know then that it was over.
I have told myself since then that I didn’t leave because I
still had hope. Maybe I could do more from the inside than I could from the
outside. But in reality I didn’t leave because I was a coward. When I stumbled
out from my meeting with Jesus into the night…I never really left. More and
more, I wanted to be born again. I was tired. I was tired of my life and my
politics, but I also felt increasingly stuck in them. Not to mention that being
a Jesus follower went from being crazy to dangerous.
During the trial, I just watched. Horrified, I just watched.
Whatever nerve I had to speak up was lost. I was silenced. Silenced by the
darkness.
It wasn’t until he was up on the cross that something
happened. For years I had been living in a fog, but when I looked up at him, I
remembered his words; “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the
wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up,[f] 15 that
everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.” He told me three years prior that it would come to
this. He knew. He knew me, he knew us, he knew the people. We were dying, he
was the cure.
I
didn’t know how to respond, but I knew Joseph was going to ask Pilate for His
body. I went with him. I spent a fortune on aloes and spices. I know…too
little, too late, but I had to do something! Have you been in that position;
when everything becomes clear and you have to respond; even if that response
seems woefully inadequate?
When
I heard that he rose from the dead, my response surprised me. I believed, even
when I expected to be cynical. I tried to be objective, but I knew…no, I KNOW
that it is true. For the first time in…I don’t know how long, it feels like
daytime. Three years ago, Jesus created a deep discontent inside of me. Now, I
have no position other than being a disciple of someone the world thinks of as
a failure and crackpot. My family thinks I am crazy, and many of my new
brothers doubt my worthiness. In many ways I agree with both my family and
fellow disciples. I think I am crazy, and I cannot say why anyone should count
me worthy. But I can’t go back. I can’t go back to the darkness. I bought a
tomb, and ended up more alive than I have ever been before. I will not go back.
