Nicodemus, grinding his teeth, rose from bed. He could not sleep. The day before, something extraordinary had happened. Nothing like it had ever occurred. Jesus of Nazareth had caused an uproar in the temple. He had scattered all the traders. The busiest days. Money flowed like a river. The boys could barely keep up driving the lambs. And then… The merchants, as if paralyzed, watched the destruction of their stalls, watched the sheep scatter from the broken pens, doves fly away, and silver coins spill everywhere—and only muttered to themselves.
The extraordinary words, truly unprecedented audacity that Jesus spoke aloud: "Do not make My Father's house a house of trade!" Sleep now. The money troubles him, but the day is not yet over, we shall earn again. The sheep scattered—nonsense, we'll catch them. Who is He? What power is in Him? And how can one speak thus of the temple? "My Father's house!" I must speak with Him. I must. I'll go in the morning; I heard He's staying at Bartholomew's. If I go in daylight and our people see—I'll never wash it off. They'll peck at me. Call me a sectarian, add more lies. He fell upon the now-cold bed. He tried to calm himself. But blood pounded in his temples. His head churned with thoughts. Who is He? No, I must go…
He rose. Dressed. Went out. Darkness. No one. Not even stars. Well, good. No one will see. He found Bartholomew's hut quickly. The dog didn't bark. Thank the Almighty, thought Nicodemus. The door was unlocked. He entered. A torch burned; in the gray haze, he saw the profile of the Nazarene. He hesitated. Suddenly a thought struck him—that a night visit was unbecoming of Nicodemus. A member of the city council, a gray-haired man respected in the city, calling on this mysterious rebel.
Nicodemus drove away his fear. He offered the proper greeting. As courteously as he could, Nicodemus addressed Jesus. "Rabbi! we know that You are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that You do unless God is with him."
Jesus, as if he had expected the visit, nodded warmly and said: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." This word from Jesus tore through Nicodemus's train of thought. He wanted to know who Jesus was. What power was in Him? But He suddenly turned the conversation. About God's kingdom one had to ponder. And Nicodemus did acknowledge God's authority.
But what is it to "be born again?" How is this possible? Nicodemus was still thinking when Jesus answered: "That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not marvel that I said to you, 'You must be born again.'" The conversation continued.
Nicodemus listened and pondered. Flesh. Spirit. Birth from the Spirit! And whoever is not born again cannot enter God's kingdom. What a thing! And I think of sheep. Of profit. Of power. I cannot sleep from grief that the doves flew away. And He speaks of eternal life! "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." Yes! Nicodemus was shaken. This modest young man speaks of the Almighty as of a Father! He speaks of God's kingdom as of a completely real kingdom. Of eternal life he speaks so simply, yet so persuasively!
This is the Messiah. This is the Son of God! "I believe that You are the Son of God, the King of Israel!" whispered Nicodemus. He felt an unearthly light illuminate his mind, his heart filled with peace, and his spirit rejoiced in indescribable freedom. The conversation lasted until dawn.
Happy Nicodemus returned home, fearing neither gossip nor threats. He flew as on wings. He understood what it meant to be born again. He was born again. He accepted Jesus, the Son of God.
And you, my blessed friend, do you believe in the Son of God? Do you have eternal life?
