“Born from Above: Learning to Live Authentically before God” - Fr. Pete's Sermon for the 2nd Sunday in Lent, March 1, 2026

Genesis 12; Psalm 121; Romans 4; John 3:1–17 ​

Many of us can remember a moment in life when our faith stopped being something abstract, hypothetical. Just something we claimed, in general. A moment when our faith became real.  
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For many people, that happens late at night—in a hospital room, or a quiet kitchen after an unexpected phone call, or in a darkened bedroom, seeking answers.  

It happens when the distractions are gone and life’s noise fades. That’s when the questions surface. Not the easy ones, but the real ones. Questions like: 

What am I doing with my life? Is my life lining up with what I say I believe? What really matters? Where do I go from here? 
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Questions like those rarely arrive in the morning light. They come in the dark, when we are tired enough—and honest enough—to stop pretending. 

That is where today’s Gospel lesson from John 3 begins. 

Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night. Not because he lacks faith, but because he takes faith seriously. He is a respected religious leader, deeply formed by the Hebrew Scripture, the Law, and yet something in him knows that the old answers are no longer enough. He comes quietly, cautiously, carrying questions he is not yet ready to ask in public. 
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In other words, Nicodemus comes to Jesus the way many of us come to God--seeking, sincere, and still somewhat guarded. 

And Jesus meets him there. Not with shame, not with dismissal, but with an invitation: an invitation to begin again, to be born from above, to learn how to live honestly, authentically before God. 

Today, Lent takes its next step. Once we begin telling the truth, the next question is not What have I done? It is Will I trust God enough to live differently?

That question is embodied in Nicodemus. Yes, Nicodemus is a Pharisee, and they are the frequent object of Jesus’ disdain. But he is not a villain. He’s not a caricature of religious hypocrisy. He is a faithful, serious, thoughtful leader—respected, educated, committed. And he is full of questions. That alone should give us comfort. Questions are not a failure of faith; they are often its beginning. ​

So Nicodemus comes to Jesus. But he comes at night. He comes quietly, cautiously, privately. He wants understanding without exposure. Curiosity without risk. He is drawn to Jesus—intrigued by his teaching, unsettled by his authority—but not yet ready to step fully into the open. 
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Jesus does not shame him for this. He does not dismiss his questions. But neither does he allow Nicodemus to remain safely unchanged. Jesus meets him where he is—and then invites him into something far deeper. 

“You must be born from above,” Jesus says. Born anew. Born of water and Spirit. Born into a life that cannot be fully managed, explained, or controlled. But wholly open to God. 

To be born from above is not to become more religious. It is to become more alive. More open. More vulnerable. It’s the beginning of an authentic life before God. 

I was reminded of this recently when my fourth grandchild, Maya Rae, was born, 10 months ago now, joining her sister Mia. We visited my son’s family in January. And we witnessed that, like every newborn, Maya was beautiful--but utterly dependent. Everything was new. Everything was open. No defenses. No strategies. Just alive, entrusted completely to others. 

Jesus says that is where spiritual life begins. Not with mastery, but with trust. Not with certainty, but with openness. Not with control, but with surrender. 

And this is not a one-time experience. Being “born from above” is not something we have checked off long ago. It is a response to God that we return to again and again. Each day, the Spirit invites us to begin anew—to loosen our grip, to breathe more deeply, to live more honestly before God. 

Eugene Peterson captures the heart of this in The Message. Jesus tells Nicodemus: 

“You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. 
You hear it rustling through the trees, 
but you have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. 
That’s the way it is with everyone born of the Spirit.” 

The Spirit, Jesus says, is already at work within us—moving through our lives like wind through trees. Sometimes gently. Sometimes disruptively, like we’ve had lately here. Stirring up questions. Creating restlessness. Calling us toward growth we did not plan or expect.  

Lent is a season for paying attention to that movement of the wind of the Spirit. 

But Nicodemus struggles. He wants clarity. He wants faith that fits neatly within what he already knows. And Jesus keeps pressing beyond that. Faith, Jesus says, is not something you can fully grasp before you live it. 
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Oh, there is a lot of Nicodemus in us. Over time, we learn to protect ourselves. We manage our expectations. We guard our hearts. We grow cautious with hope. Slowly, almost without noticing, our inner lives become layered with habit and fear and self-protection. Not malice, just guardedness. 

And then Jesus comes along and speaks of new birth, of radical trust, of love that risks everything—and we hesitate. 

But if we are willing—if we desire to become true of heart—the Spirit can begin blowing through the cracks of our life. Softening what has hardened. Loosening what has grown rigid. Making room for something new…. 

Then Jesus brings the conversation to its great crescendo. He tells Nicodemus what this risky, authentic life is grounded in: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…not to condemn the world, but to save it.” 

God does not wait for us to become authentic before loving us. God’s love comes first. God’s love is what makes authenticity possible. 

Jesus offers Nicodemus—and us—what he calls “a whole and lasting life.” Isn’t that what we long for? A life that is real, meaningful, connected, alive? 

We search for that life in so many places: career, success, security, relationships, approval, control. And again and again, those things fall short. Jesus offers something simpler—and far more demanding:  

Trust me. Believe in me. Live in the truth of God’s love. 

That belief is not just intellectual agreement. It is a way of living. It shows up in the choices we make when trust is costly. When we forgive instead of protecting ourselves. When we say yes to a call that stretches us. When we stop hiding. Every day, Jesus places before us little invitations to live more honestly and openly and responsively before God. 

Last week, Lent asked us to tell the truth. 
This week, Lent asks us to trust the promise. 

For now, hear this: you do not need to have everything figured out to follow Jesus. Nicodemus didn’t. Abram didn’t. None of us do. 

You only need the courage to begin again—to be born from above—to become true of heart. 

As we continue in Lent, may we learn to live more honestly before God.  

And may we have the courage to let the wind of the Spirit carry us where our loving God leads. 

Amen.