This commentary is based on the sermon entitled “My Name is Nicodemus” by Matt Woodley. C.S. Lewis once observed how stories help us see or hear truths in fresh and non-defensive ways. Lewis claimed that we all have “watchful dragons” that keep guard our hearts and minds, detecting and then repulsing truths that have become too familiar. At times, Lewis argued, we can get past those watchful dragons by couching these familiar truths in the shape of a good story. As Lewis wrote in his book On Other Worlds, “But supposing that by casting all these [truths] into an imaginary world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday school associations, one could make them for the first time appear in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful dragons? I thought one could.”

Lewis wasn’t writing about preaching, but I think he’s presented a strong case for the occasional use of an effective sermon form called “First-person expository messages.” First, notice that important word expository. Expository sermons all have one thing in common: the sermon’s ideas and outline are based on a specific biblical text. The text drives everything in the sermon. That doesn’t change. But these sermons do have a unique form. The text is exposited by retelling the biblical story through the perspective of one of the characters in the text.

As Haddon and Torrey Robinson wrote in their book It’s All How You Tell It, “Using a first-person point of view changes the angle and provides freshness and insight into what at first might seem pretty familiar stuff.” In other words, sometimes it’s good to get out of our ruts and try a new form of preaching. As the Robinsons argue, “Dull, insipid sermon not only cause drooping eyes and nodding heads, they destroy life and hope. What greater damage can we do to people’s faith than to make them feel like God and Jesus Christ and the Bible are as boring as the want ads in the Sunday paper?”

I don’t use this preaching form often, but since Jesus encounter with Nicodemus has become such a familiar story, I wanted to try something different. Besides, as I started my exegesis I became fascinated by the spiritual journey of Nicodemus. I wanted to capture the drama and tension and ultimate spiritual breakthrough in his life. A first-person expository sermon seemed like the best way to do that for this sermon.

Introduction (Framing the sermon)

Based on some sound advice I received from Desmond Soh at the Singapore Bible College, it’s also helpful to “frame” your first-person narrative sermons. So I set up the sermon with this introduction. This introduction allowed me to do three things: (1) help orient my people to a very different sermon form; (2) help me move from “Pastor Matt” to my Nicodemus character without wearing a costume; (3) to orient people to the biblical text, providing come contextual work that that would feel pedantic if I gave it in the body of the sermon.

This morning I will be doing something different in the sermon. I will retell the gospel story from John chapter 3 through the eyes and voice of Nicodemus. Because I don’t normally preach this way, let me explain a few things before we begin.

First, I will say a few things that are fictional. These elements help create a sense of story and drama. But for the most part I will simply follow and quote from the biblical text as found in your Bibles in John chapter 3. The point of every sermon is to preach the Bible, not my personal opinions. This sermon does that as well, paying careful attention to the cultural context, original language, Old Testament background, etc. This sermon form doesn’t provide a short cut. Actually, this sermon required more exegetical/background work than most of my typical deductive sermons.

With that in mind, let me provide some background to the person of Nicodemus. From John 3:1 we learn that he’s a man of power and influence. He has achieved success and respect as a religious leader. But he’s lacking something—a personal faith in Jesus and life in the Spirit that comes “from above.” In contrast, at this point in the Gospel of John Jesus is a somewhat obscure but controversial new rabbi who has burst on the scene. Jesus invites Nicodemus to be born from above.

Nicodemus is mentioned three times in the Gospel of John. In chapter 3 he appears as a halfway seeker, someone who is intrigued but confused by Jesus. In chapter 7, Nicodemus steps forward to defend Jesus among his religious leader peers. Then in chapter 19 he takes a surprising risk: he joins a man named Joseph of Arimethea to give Jesus a decent burial. Each time we read about Nicodemus he’s moving closer to Jesus. Based on his commitment to risk almost everything to care for Jesus’ body after the crucifixion, I believe that Nicodemus has become a true believer in Jesus. This is my conclusion based on a study of the Gospel of John. I needed to give this information upfront because the sermon focuses on a man at first resisting, then struggling with, and finally opening up his heart to Jesus as Lord.

Assuming that’s true, I’m imagining Nicodemus reflecting on that initial midnight conversation with Jesus in John 3. How did Nicodemus struggle with Jesus’ message? How did Jesus change Nicodemus? And how does Jesus want to change you and me today?

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“Where are you going?” my wife asked. “Where are you going?” my wife asked.

Yes, there is nothing in the Bible about his wife. You could begin with something less obviously fictional, but I thought it added a human element to Nicodemus’ spiritual journey. He’s a normal person. He had a wife (that’s probably a very safe assumption based on what we know about the Pharisees). I wanted my people to connect with Nicodemus, to see that they have some things in common.

“Out,” I said. “You know how it is with the Pharisees. So many urgent matters.”

She said, “But Nicodemus it’s midnight. What is it? Is it that young troublemaker again? I say, Nicodemus, ever since you heard about that Jesus you have not been yourself. I thought you said he was dangerous.”

“Yes, he is,” I said. “Or, no, he isn’t. I don’t know. I must talk to him myself. Face to face.”

She said, “You know he spends time lepers, criminals, outsiders, prostitutes, sinners. You know, those people. They aren’t our people. Be careful, Nicodemus.”

And with that I quietly slipped into the night. It wasn’t hard to find Jesus. There was always a crowd around him—an unsavory crowd, as my wife noted. Simple people who practically fell down and worshipped him.

What about Me? I first saw him when he was in our temple with a self-made whip in his hands, acting deranged, knocking over tables, spilling coins on the temple ground, screaming some nonsense about rebuilding our magnificent temple in three days. We all laughed! There was something dangerous about him—but something fascinating too. “I first saw him …”

This is a summary of what happened in John 2:14-20.

So I came to see him but at night. A man of my stature must guard his reputation. There he was standing around a charcoal fire with his “disciples”—an unlikely bunch for sure! I went right up to Jesus, introduced myself, and started with a compliment. I said, “We know you are a teacher come from God, for no one can do the signs that you do and less God is with him.” “So I came to him at night.”

Again, this is straight out of the biblical text. The idea of Nicodemus’ (and his wife’s) contempt for the disciples is based on passages like Matthew 9:9-11 or Luke 15:1-24. Yes, I made up the detail about standing around a charcoal fire, but if he came to see Jesus at night, it’s not a stretch to think that someone had a fire going.

He stared at me, the charcoal fire lighting up our faces. There was something about his eyes. What was it? Urgency? Love? Like he had been waiting my whole life to tell me a secret.

Then he spoke. But he completely ignored my compliment. He just said, “Truly, truly, I say to you unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

I wanted to have an honest conversation about religious and philosophical ideas. He made it about me—“I say to you!” He might as well have been pointing his finger right into my chest.

“I say to you unless one is born again from above he cannot see the kingdom of God.” It was so clear, so emphatic, so authoritative. He was young; I was seasoned. He came from the margins; I came from the center of influence. But suddenly I sensed the power shifting to him—the young, untrained rabbi, the outsider.

I was confused and angry. Despite my respectable standing, my religious commitment, my wealth and success, he was basically saying, Nicodemus, you have a serious problem that needs your urgent and immediate attention: you are spiritually dead. You don’t just need a few improvements to your life. You need to come to life spiritually. The Living God who has come down to save you, restore you, fill you like an empty vessel. “I was confused and angry.”

Biblical commentators offer a few different takes on what was happening inside Nicodemus. I went with what I think is the most likely option: at first, Nicodemus is clearly curious but he’s also wary and skeptical. As Jesus confronts him with his need, Nicodemus also gets defensive and angry. I wanted to two things: first, get underneath Nicodemus’ reactions in this text; second, relate his reaction to people’s lives today.

I swear, in less than a minute in our first encounter he was trying to convert me!

I said, “How can a man be born again when he is old? Can he enter second time in his mother’s womb be born?” Sure, it was sarcastic and cynical. But part of it was serious. I knew our Bible stories about God intervening, doing miracles, breathing new life into a valley dry bones, giving our people a new heart.

But me, a respectable leader, converted, changed, born again? I do my duty. I am a good person. Sometimes I wondered about the deadness inside me. But then I would think, I’ll do better, achieve more, keep doing my duty. Instead, he seemed to be saying, “You must become a whole new man. But it’s not something you do. It’s something that happens from God, from above, from the Holy Spirit.” “I do my duty. I am a good person.”

I often hear people assert this “I’m a good person” line—which often means “Therefore I don’t really need Jesus or salvation.” I wanted to use Nicodemus’ journey in the text to challenge that attitude.

Then he said it again: “Truly, truly I say to you, unless one is born of water and the spirit and you cannot enter the kingdom of God. Do not marvel that I said to you, you must be born again.”

Jesus was talking about John the Baptist. For a few years this rebel led some kind of fringe religious movement. People came from all over to get baptized in the Jordan River—a few rich folks, but mostly underclass people. I can still see the long line of people waiting to confess their sins out loud and get baptized—sickly men with bandages around their head, old women with canes, young foreign women with their children. All kinds of hopeless cases.

My friends and I went and watched the spectacle. John saw us and yelled, “You brood of vipers. Who told you to come out here?” So, fine, we said. Baptize those simple, irreligious people, but you won’t find us in that line of ragged, crooked humanity. “You brood of vipers.”

In a typical deductive sermon I would have quoted from Luke chapter 3. In the first-person expository sermon the Luke 3 text gets woven into Nicodemus’ story.

Suddenly the wind picked up, making the charcoal fire expand and dance. He stared at me again and said, “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sounds, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes, so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

I knew he was inviting me into something I longed for. Something I could not achieve or control with my own efforts, even my best religious efforts. A life beyond mere rule keeping and law keeping. A life in the Spirit. A life of quiet power. But I held back.

I said, “How can these things be?” I really meant much more by that question: Can lives burdened by sadness find joy? Can captives be set free? Can the guilty ever be forgiven? Can lost sons and daughters find their way back to the father’s house? Can our hard and crooked hearts ever be replaced with new and living hearts? Can a valley of dry bones put on flesh and come to life again? Can God bring resurrection out of death?

He said, “Are you the teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?” He was right this time. At one time I knew the answers—at least I thought I did. But then my heart became dead inside and I lost my way. But now in his presence something was stirring again: Is this the promised one? Is this the one our God promised would be the YES to all these haunting midnight questions? “But then my heart became dead inside …”

Again, I wanted to connect Nicodemus’ story to peoples’ lives today. As I wrote this paragraph I thought about a few successful men and women of our congregation who may be struggling with some of the same questions.

He continued, “No one has ascended into heaven except he who descended from heaven, the son of man.” I started the conversation by calling him a teacher, Rabbi. He accepted that title, but now he was claiming so much more. He was claiming that he was the only one who has descended from heaven, that he and he alone is the exclusive personal bridge between heaven and earth, between God and human beings. “He continued, ‘No one has ascended into heaven …”

Notice my outline for the sermon basically follows the biblical text. I tired to follow the story as it actually appears in John 3. But, again, I’m trying to crawl into Nicodemus’ skin and tell it from his viewpoint, with his struggles, questions, feelings, objections, etc.

That was another thing—his claims about himself were so outrageous, arrogant, ludicrous, scandalous, egotistical… unless, of course, they were true.

There was another long pause. But now I knew that there had been a complete reversal. I was no longer the seeker. He was the one seeking me.

Then he said something that made it so utterly clear and simple. I could quote the exact words but as I think about it now these many years later it went something like this: God is so in love with this troubled world, Nicodemus, that he couldn’t stand it anymore. So He sent his only son, ME, the one who came down, the one who will be hoisted on the cross, to heal and forgive and restore and bring this sick world back to himself. And here’s what he’s looking for from you—believe me. Don’t just believe me and then live your life anyway you want. Believe me like it’s the most important thing you’ve ever believed in your whole life. Trust me with your whole heart. Trust me with your whole will.

At the time, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t believe. I couldn’t believe. But I couldn’t just return to my old life either. So I walked back into the dark.

I didn’t see Jesus for three years. Oh, but I sure heard about him. Reports kept coming in—people healed, lives restored, broken hearts mended. He kept saying strange things about himself—the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the Resurrection and the Life.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I started to change. Once the Pharisees called an urgent meeting to discuss Jesus. He was out of control. Too many people were falling for him. Everyone agreed—he was dangerous. Everyone but me, that is. I cautioned patience. I said, “Let’s wait and see.” I shocked even myself: I was actually defending Jesus! “I’m not sure how it happened …”

This paragraph merely summarizes what happened in John 7:45-52. The next few paragraphs summarize what happened in John 19:38-42.

Then a few years later, my friend Joseph came to see me. He looked exhausted and heartbroken.

“Jesus is dead.” He said. “The Romans crucified him last night. You may know, Nicodemus, I believed him. I pledged my life to him, but secretly because I’m afraid of people like you. Come with me. Help me bury his body.”

I hesitated but then I went with Joseph. I was ready to believe, to commit my life, to risk everything now. No more wavering. I was ready to be born again.

I am not a man who weeps, but when I risked my reputation and career to help take Jesus down from the cross, his body wracked with pain and agony, I wept in despair. I remembered his words from three years earlier about being hoisted up on a cross. Now it all made sense. His greatest defeat was his greatest glory. But it was also too late for me. It was too late for me. But then when I met Jesus again after the Resurrection—alive, in glory, fully restored—I wept again—for joy this time. Someday I must tell you about that conversation with Jesus—in broad daylight this time. “But then I met Jesus again after the Resurrection …”

This meeting is not recorded in Scripture, but if Nicodemus became a believer (which I believe is based on sound exegesis), then he would have had to meet Jesus after the Resurrection—at least in a spiritual sense.

But it all started with that midnight meeting. I’ll never forget the intensity, the urgency on his face. What will you do, Nicodemus? Will you go along in your own power? Or will you be born from above? Will you let the Living God fill you with his Spirit?

For Jesus, my response was a matter of life or death. He acted like it was every person’s ultimate fork in the road. The fork that really matters... He acted like every human being will have to face him. “Do not marvel that I said to you, you must be born again.”

I know how I had to respond. It was a slow, painful process, but I was willing to give everything for him. How about you? What will you do with Jesus? What will you decide? “What will you decide?”

I didn’t want to end with Nicodemus doing an “altar call.” On the other hand, I wanted to challenge people with a response to Jesus. I would also ask our worship leader to follow up with another invitation before the sermon was over. But I did not all of that to come from “Nicodemus.”

TWO QUESTIONS ABOUT FIRST-PERSON EXPOSITORY SERMONS:

Is this a biblical sermon form?

Yes and no. No, because there is no single form of sermon that is more biblical. Every sermon imposes a form on the biblical text. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s part of preaching. Robinson and Robinson argue, “First-person preaching isn’t the only way to preach or even the most commonly used method. Scripture itself comes in a variety of genres. To some degree, biblical sermons should reflect the literature from which they are drawn. In many instances, first-person sermons do that best.”

What about delivery?

I did not get into a costume for this sermon. I think it’s effective without it. However, there is one non-negotiable for this type of sermon—No notes! None. Not a scrap of paper. But that doesn’t mean you have to memorize the sermon. Don’t recite it; just tell the story as naturally as possible. Robinson and Robinson note, “First-person sermons remember themselves.” Just tell it as a story and do the best you can.

Matt Woodley is the pastor of compassion ministries at Church of the Resurrection in Wheaton, Illinois.