"How do we begin again?"
John 3:1-17
Rev. Emily Labrecque, Westmoreland UCC
Mar. 1, 2026
How do we begin again? We have all begun again over and over in our lives. New jobs, new partners, new family members, new pets, new diagnoses ... with every moment of newness comes a new beginning. Sometimes these are very literal, physical new beginnings. Sometimes they are more metaphorical or spiritual beginnings.
Our gospel story for today reflects one such moment. Nicodemus, a teacher of the law, comes to Jesus at night. This is an important detail in the story. Nicodemus was a devout Pharisee – a careful student of the law. He understood faith as something you learned, practiced, mastered. And now Jesus is talking about being born from above. Nicodemus was used to mastery, but Jesus was inviting him into mystery. Nicodemus couldn’t be seen coming to Jesus. It would threaten his position with the other Pharisees.
But still, he risks it all to approach Jesus and ask some really vulnerable questions. He says, ‘Teacher, you are obviously someone who has come from God. The signs you are doing are proof that God is with you.’ Just even this admission was a big step into the unknown. Then Jesus responds with a comically quizzical response: ‘Only someone who experiences birth for a second time can hope to see the kingdom of God.’ Nicodemus, used to the literal reading and interpretation of the law responds literally: ‘But, I am a grown man. How can someone be born again when he is old like me? Am I to crawl back into my mother’s womb for a second birth? That’s impossible!’
Jesus answers questions Nicodemus hasn’t even formed yet. He shifts the conversation entirely. This isn’t about mastering the law or refining your understanding. It’s about being born from above – born of water and Spirit. This new life isn’t something Nicodemus can reason his way into or manufacture for himself. It is something God does. Beginning again is not about willpower or working harder. It is about letting the Spirit do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. And it is possible for one reason: because God so loves the world.
In our staff meeting on Tuesday, I read John O’Donohue's poem, “For a New Beginning.” The reflections of our brilliant staff were particularly poignant, but I want you to hear the poem and its resonance with the Nicodemus story. This poem describes what I imagine was happening inside Nicodemus long before he ever knocked on Jesus’ door.
For a New Beginning
In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life's desire.Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.
Interestingly, our conversation at staff meeting immediately turned to the process of moulting. Now, lots of creatures moult. Dogs and cats shed, hens and penguins swap out feathers, snakes shed their skin, going temporarily blind in the process… But for insects and crustaceans it is risky business. For some creatures, moulting isn’t optional – it’s the way they grow into the life waiting for them. Some bugs grow wings, some change color, some change shape… and none of them know it’s coming.
This is the question Nicodemus faced. If I really believe this Jesus guy and follow him, what’s going to happen to me? What will the Pharisees think of me? How will my life change? Is it worth the risk? What will I have to shed so I can embrace this newness? What beliefs about myself, about my faith, about the world might I have to let go of so I can begin again? Be born again? It’s never just an easy change.
None of us get married expecting to get divorced. I know I certainly didn’t. So when I was faced with the challenge of separating from my spouse after five years of marriage, I felt like I was drowning. I felt like a failure. I felt like I might actually die from the change and the heartbreak and the grief. I felt like everything had been turned upside down. But the only way out was through. So I turned to mush, much like a caterpillar, and hung out in a chrysalis for a few years before I realized what a gift this new beginning was. Much to my surprise, God was not absent in the midst of my despair, God was reshaping me. I had no idea that wings of freedom would be waiting on the other side.
And Nicodemus? Well, he didn’t change overnight either. We won’t hear about him again until he comes to Jesus’ defense in the midst of an intense conflict with the religious authorities in John chapter 7, although even then his response is lukewarm. But then ... his final appearance in the gospel is to help Joseph of Arimathea, a secret disciple of Jesus, with the burial of Jesus’ body. At night. In that moment we are reminded of how he came to Jesus originally at night with his vulnerable questions, unsure of how this conversation would change his life.
Nicodemus saw the risk of beginning again. And slowly but surely, he ‘unfurled himself into the grace of a new beginning.’ Beloveds, may the Spirit who hovered over the waters of creation, the Spirit who met Nicodemus in the dark, and the Spirit who meets us in our unraveling, birth something new in you. Even now.
Amen.
