Michael Craven

New life is not something achieved through knowledge, logic, or status. 

I have been regularly attending St. Alban’s with my wife, Anne, for about 17 years, and our two daughters were baptized here. I currently serve on the Advisory and Finance Committees.

Click here to read the appointed scripture for the Second Sunday in Lent.

Devotional

Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night—older, respected, certain of his standing, yet unsettled enough to seek a private conversation with a younger teacher. He begins with curiosity and respect, but when Jesus speaks of being “born from above,” Nicodemus retreats into literalism: “Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb?”

It’s hard not to hear resistance in that question. Whether from confusion, defensiveness, or a need to stay in control, Nicodemus reduces Jesus’ invitation to something manageable. Jesus responds with firmness that borders on frustration: “Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?” This is not condemnation, but truth pressing against comfort.

Jesus insists that new life is not something achieved through knowledge, logic, or status. What is born of flesh remains flesh. The life God offers comes by the Spirit—uncontrollable, unseen, like the wind. It cannot be reasoned into existence; it must be received.

Then Jesus reveals the heart of it all: God’s love. God does not send the Son to condemn the world, but to save it. Eternal life is not for those who have it figured out, but for those willing to believe.

The uncomfortable truth is that many of us stand exactly where Nicodemus stands. We want faith to make sense. We trust our logic. And when Jesus presses beyond what we can understand, it can feel as though he is questioning our faith rather than reassuring it. The invitation remains the same: not to understand more, but to trust more—and to allow the Spirit to do what our reason cannot

Direct answers to questions

What does the text make you wonder or ponder? Alluded to, but explicitly: I don’t believe God gets frustrated—if God did, he would have given up on us long ago. Jesus’ repeated use of “Very truly, I tell you” feels sharper than reassurance. Across the Gospels it (along with "truly I tell you") appears 75–80 times, and here it almost sounds condescending. I'm not sure what to do with this. While the story still has a point that's worth noting even if you remove these words. Bottom line, I'm not sure what to do with this thought. It undermines. 

What does the text have to do with the Season of Lent or your spiritual journey? Lent is a season that allows discomfort to remain. It is a time for sitting with questions and relinquishing control. It prepares us to receive new life by loosening our grip on certainty and control.

Prayer

God, when your truth unsettles us and your Spirit moves beyond our understanding, give us courage to stay present rather than pull away. Help us trust you even when we are uncomfortable. Amen.