Jesus replied, “I assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit.  John 3:5 NLT

Jesus answered Nicodemus’ questions about being born again.  He said it happens through two things: Water ~ the Word of God, and the Spirit ~ the One who brings understanding to what’s been heard.  Preaching of the Word alone is not sufficient.  It must be accompanied by the breath of the Spirit who moves over a darkened mind. Regeneration is not produced by another’s eloquence, ability to debate, or even clever exposure to Scripture. God must breathe over spiritual blindness.

Think about your favorite scripture; the one you’ve cherished for years, the one you’ve typed out, highlighted, and dated in your Bible. Share that verse with someone whose heart has not yet been awakened to Jesus.  Don’t be surprised when they are unmoved.  That’s because the wind of the Holy Spirit hasn’t yet brought the same insight to them in a personal way.  

The Word and the Spirit have also been necessary agents of change in my sanctification. There were lies about God that held me hostage. I quoted Scripture against them, but I was still held captive. I memorized promises, repeated them faithfully, and wondered in secret why they were not changing me. My lack of victory embarrassed me.  I hid my weaknesses from others, wondering why scripture appeared to be ineffective.

I needed more than a verse retrieved from memory.  I needed truth to penetrate what repetition could not reach. The Holy Spirit needed to take the Word, breathe over me as I internalized it, and then press it into human flesh. My Father longs to give His child understanding accompanied by feelings.  

  Continue to blow over my barren landscape.  Write Your Word with indelible ink on the pillars of my foundation.  Amen

Jesus replied, “I tell you the truth, unless you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of God.” “What do you mean?” exclaimed Nicodemus. “How can an old man go back into his mother’s womb and be born again?” John 3:3-4 NLT

The new birth is no small thing. Scripture is startlingly honest about my condition before Christ. I belonged to another kingdom. Jesus used severe language for it: I was “of my father the devil.” I could behave well, appear moral, even do admirable things, but the deepest center of my life was self focused. The captivity was so ironclad that I could not even see the chains.

But oh, there was a day when God lit up my understanding. Christ rose before the eyes of my heart, unseen yet unmistakable, and I was born again. The old bloodline of rebellion no longer named me. I was adopted into the family of God, and His likeness began its slow engraving upon my soul. My new birth felt like gift because Jesus bore its violence. He entered death so I could awaken to resurrection life..

Yet the invisible kingdom keeps breaking through. A hardened heart softens. Provision arrives. A body is healed. A decades-long prayer suddenly flowers. Seasons turn with unbroken faithfulness, and creation quietly reminds us that resurrection is written into God’s eternal narrative.

I remember Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem about earth being “crammed with heaven.” Perhaps the problem is not that God is hidden, but that I am still learning how to see. The kingdom is always pressing against the veil, and everywhere I look, there are fingerprints.

Give my spirit eyes 20/20 vision. Amen

Nicodemus said, “We know that you are a teacher come from God.” John 3:2
Jesus said, “You are a teacher from Israel and yet you do not know these things.” John 3:10 [NLT]

It’s safe to generalize. “We all think you should do this or that.” Or, “We all believe this is a problem.” The person speaking feels it’s safer to do this than share his own opinion. To personalize is so much more vulnerable.

John tells the story of Nicodemus coming to Jesus at night. The ruler of the Jews begins with a generalization. “We know that you are a teacher…” He must be speaking on behalf of a group. Other teachers? Other Pharisees? Who is ‘we’? Jesus quickly moves the topic to metaphors without pinning Nicodemus down. Eventually however, the moment comes. Jesus has spoken of new birth, the wind of the Holy Spirit, the contrast between things of the flesh and things of the Spirit, and all the while Nicodemus has been under the spotlight gaze of the Savior.

“You are a teacher from Israel, Nicodemus, and yet you do not know these things.”

Nicodemus began with ‘we know’. Jesus exposes his spiritually bankrupt understanding by telling him that he ‘doesn’t know.’

When it comes to the kingdom of God, the things I believe I understand may be the things I have understood least. I’ve stopped asking questions, and in doing so, I’ve stopped listening. Heaven does not operate by the logic of earth. Biblical principles do not fit neatly inside my categories. His kingdom overturns instinct and reverses values. If I could sit with Nicodemus now, I imagine he might lean toward me with the humility of a man whose certainties were once dismantled by Jesus and say, “Christine, believe me. What you think you know, you probably don’t.” Wisdom begins again when I become teachable.

I am Your student who seeks understanding. I begin on my knees. Amen

There was a man named Nicodemus, a Jewish religious leader who was a Pharisee. After dark one evening, he came to speak with Jesus.  John 3:1-2 NLT

Nicodemus was a ruler of the Jews, a notable person, the equivalent of one of our supreme court justices. He came to speak with Jesus but here’s the thing. Jesus felt no pressure. He didn’t sit up straighter because of who it was that paid him a visit. He didn’t try to elevate His illustrations to impress. He went the other direction. He spoke of spiritually infantile things, the stuff of wombs and being born again.

It’s the middle of the night and while pondering all of this on my bed, a vision came to me. I was half-awake. I was in a gladiator arena. I was the lone believer in the center, about to become a meal for the lions who were being released at any moment. The roar of the crowd was out of my radar. It didn’t matter to me if there were ten people in the stands or several hundred thousand. My focus was the faith test in front of me and how I would face the large cats. They would see me as prey; I would see them as predators.

Then, the Spirit of God spoke to me. “In the kingdom, they will not consume you. They will dwell with you as companions for your enjoyment.” And so, I stood and awaited their arrival. They circled me and I began to turn and look at each of them. I marveled at their power, the beauty of their features, all given to them by Creator God. I asked if I could pet them. I approached the first, petted the top of his head, and scratched him behind his ears. His eyes closed and I began to hear him purr. I was in the kingdom and context had been transformed. I was not their meal; I was their friend. The audience were spectators of the power and glory of God.

God promises to tame the lions. We can exist in Babylon but not be consumed. The need to perform, to be accepted, to excel, to impress, to compete and win, will no longer be lions of prey. Nicodemus may grace our stage but so will the nameless widow who brought her mite to the temple. King Saul may summon us to calm oppressive spirits but so will the notorious demoniac who lives among the tombs. None of these, famous or infamous, will need a statesman. They will need a Savior and we will be the beggars who bring them to the One who saves.

Lord, I hear it again ~ your great commission. I will travel lighter, trading in my heavy robes for a simple tunic. I’m laying aside such weights and temptations. Amen

Jesus didn’t trust them, because he knew all about people. No one needed to tell him about human nature, for he knew what was in each person’s heart.  John 2:24-25

Jesus knows the human heart—how deeply it can love and how easily it can fail. He never asks me to stop needing people. He created me for relationship, for the giving and receiving of love. But He also knows that no human being can carry the full weight of my heart. What others cannot give, Christ does not leave empty. He has given me His Spirit to fill me and live through me.
Perhaps you know the ache of loving someone who does not yet love you well. You’ve been honest, shared your needs, and waited for them to come through. But loving you in the ways you need would require something costly of them like growth, courage, surrender to God, and perhaps they are unwilling or unable to go there. Disillusionment settles in when I see the distance between what I hoped someone would give and what they are actually capable of giving. In proportion to the need, the love they sometimes offer feels like crumbs.
  
This is fertile ground for the enemy. He points relentlessly to what is missing until deprivation fills my range of vision. But Scripture takes me somewhere deeper. Paul prays that I would be “rooted and grounded in love.” Roots live underground, drawing life from a source no one can even see. My ability to love should not rise and fall according to how well others love me. I am to sink itself into the inexhaustible love of God.

Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong.  Ephesians 3:17

This is the freedom I want. Not to need people less, but to need them without making them my savior. Not to become invulnerable, but to remain tender without placing my heart entirely in another person’s hands. When I know I am already held, I can receive human love as gift rather than demand it as proof that I am safe.

Lord Jesus, root me so deeply in Your love that others’ limitations cannot convince me that I am unloved. Amen

But the Jewish leaders demanded, “What are you doing? If God gave you authority to do this, show us a miraculous sign to prove it.” “All right,” Jesus replied. “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.”  John 2:18-19

Jesus overturns the crooked commerce of the Temple, and chaos erupts around Him. Coins scatter. Tables fall. The innocent watch in alarm while the guilty feel their anger rising. The religious leaders confront Him. “What sign can you show us to prove your authority to do all this?”

The verb tense is in the present. “What  are  you doing?” Jesus answers from the future. “Destroy this temple and I will raise it up.” 
 
They demand an explanation for what they can see, but Jesus points to something they cannot yet understand. His authority will ultimately be revealed through His death and resurrection. They want proof now. Jesus gives them a promise instead.
  
I know this tension. Do you? I ask God questions from inside the moment I am living. What are You doing? Why are You allowing this? Where are You in it? Pain makes my present feel like the whole story has been written. Chaos looks like it has the last word when I cannot yet see redemption. But so much of faith is lived between what is and what God says will be.

God’s promises are written in future tense because much of His faithfulness can only be understood looking backward. Trusting God does not mean I stop asking why. It means my questions change posture. I can weep and still praise. I can ache without accusing. I can say, “I do not understand You,” while still believing that God is good.

Why Lord?” always has an answer. As a beloved child of God, my greatest hopes and dreams lie in future tenses

Teach me to live faithfully inside the unfinished sentence, trusting that what I cannot yet see is already held within Your resurrection purposes. Amen

It was nearly time for the Jewish Passover celebration, so Jesus went to Jerusalem.  In the Temple area he saw merchants selling cattle, sheep, and doves for sacrifices; he also saw dealers at tables exchanging foreign money. Jesus made a whip from some ropes and chased them all out of the Temple. John 2:13-15 [NLT]

Each of us have things that are almost sacred to us. We display them on a wall, under glass, or in a shadow box. If it’s a commendation or award, we laminate it or frame it. We put important papers in a folder and wouldn’t think of folding them in half, lest we crease them. And then there are the preservation methods of saving love letters. We fasten them with a ribbon and tuck them away somewhere safe. We handle them gently because they carry more than material value.

My mother, the year before she died of cancer, made a quilt for Ron and for me. There was no sewing machine involved. Every inch of it was hand stitched. I often told her that it looked like she used a machine – so precise were her hem stitches. About ten years ago, I took it out of my cedar chest to discover that there were rips along the corners of more than a few patchwork squares. Years of tugging at it during the night had taken its toll. Grief was in my throat. Out came my needle and thread to mend what had torn.

If something like this could evoke such emotion, what did Jesus feel when He entered His Father’s house and saw its holiness being violated? This was the temple where His Father’s glory dwelt. This was the place where atonement was made for sin. This was the place where the rich and the poor alike could bring their sacrifices and seek God’s mercy. But on this day, everything holy got trampled on. The business of the day was about extorting people, making profits from the everyday Jew who had traveled long distances.

But even more importantly, if the priests were crooked, the ones who represented God’s likeness, then God would be considered crooked as well. Those wounded by religion may come to believe that God Himself is hard, exploitative, or unsafe. God still gets angry when His people are misled. For this, Jesus made whips and disrupted commerce. Jesus would not stand quietly while His Father was slandered in His own house.

Woe to the shepherds who cause the sheep to stumble over the God who loves them.

Even Your anger clears a path for sinners to come home. You burn against those who keep the wounded from knowing Your Father’s heart. Amen

This miraculous sign at Cana in Galilee was the first time Jesus revealed his glory. And his disciples believed in him.  After the wedding he went to Capernaum for a few days with his mother, his brothers, and his disciples. John 2:11-12 NLT

Before Cana, those closest to Jesus had known Him within the boundaries of ordinary life. He was Mary’s son, the brother in the house, the new rabbi whom people had begun to follow. Then He turned the water into wine. Jesus was not simply rescuing the hosts of the wedding from humiliation, He was finally revealing who He was. After this event, no relationship will stay the same.

Mary saw her Son turn 180 gallons of water into wine.  She knew He could do it.  But knowing someone can do something and seeing them do it are two different things.  Mary had carried the mystery of Jesus for years. She had heard Gabriel’s words, felt the unborn Christ within her, and treasured prophecies too vast to understand. But after Cana, how will a mother return home after seeing His first miracle? Jesus was still her son, but her love for Him would have to make room for worship.

The siblings of Jesus experienced His sinlessness throughout their childhood.  Holiness caused friction.  As toddlers, they felt it, as Jesus was praised for His obedience. As teenagers, they felt it, as the sparks that His perfection caused intensified greatly. Whether they felt convicted, or jealous, His presence was polarizing.  When Jesus went back to Capernaum after His first miracle, fame accompanied Him.  The One the brothers had known all their lives was becoming impossible to explain.

The disciples were changed because of the miracle.  They were stunned by what had happened but they were only in the honeymoon stage of their relationship with Jesus. Their worship was immature.  They hadn’t been in a boat with Jesus during the worst storm of their career only to wonder why He wasn’t doing anything.  They hadn’t seen Him arrested yet, only to fight the disillusionment that broken dreams bring.  

The miracle of Cana changed the dynamics in relationships.  A glorious revelation, while beautiful, is rarely uncomplicated.

Lord Jesus, to live as one stunned by Your glory, bathe me with grace for the after affects.  Teach me to love You when wonder becomes costly. Amen

Standing nearby were six stone water jars, used for Jewish ceremonial washing. Each could hold twenty to thirty gallons. Jesus told the servants, “Fill the jars with water.” When the jars had been filled, he said, “Now dip some out, and take it to the master of ceremonies.” So the servants followed his instructions.  John 2:6-8. NLT

A wedding celebration was underway when the wine ran out. In a culture shaped by honor and shame, this was more than an inconvenience. The joy of the bridegroom’s household was about to be swallowed by public humiliation. And Jesus cared. Before He healed the sick, fed the hungry, or raised the dead, He responded to the distress of a family. No human need is too small for Him to car. In the details of daily life, where joy is fragile, families carry burdens no one else can see.

Jesus performed a miracle for the hosts, for the bride and groom, and it involved using six stone water jars that stood nearby.  Each held thirty gallons of water that were used exclusively for ceremonial washing.  But that was not their purpose that day.  At Jesus’ command, the servants filled them to the brim. Then, somewhere between the filling and the pouring, water became wine. Not merely enough wine, but an astonishing abundance. Six jars, holding thirty gallons each, produced approximately a thousand pitchers of wine. The miracle showcased the unmistakable extravagance of God.

This was the first time, publicly, that He messed with Jewish traditions.  He took vessels set apart for holy things and used them for something else.  In the next three years, He would turn ceremonial laws upside down.  He would stretch Jewish leaders to the max when He chose to work on the Sabbath or when He introduced talk about the heart being more important than rule-keeping. 

Years later at Pentecost, the crowd believed Jesus’ disciples to be drunk with wine when the Holy Spirit descended upon them.  This ‘running over the Spirit’ still happens as I pray for God to make me a new wineskin, flexible to hold the full outpouring of His Spirit.  

Lord Jesus, Fill me to the brim, then pour my life out for Your glory. Amen

The next day there was a wedding celebration in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the celebration. The wine supply ran out during the festivities, so Jesus’ mother told him, “They have no more wine.” “Dear woman, that’s not our problem,” Jesus replied. “My time has not yet come.” but his mother told the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” John 2:1-5 [NLT]

Jesus gently rebuked His mother. What had she done? Mary’s suggestion to her son didn’t feel self-serving. The rebuke couldn’t have felt very good if you put yourself in Mary’s place. It’s taken some years for me to begin to understand why it happened. The clues come from other places in the Gospel where Jesus addressed members of His family in ways that probably wounded their pride.

In this particular public setting, Mary presumed upon Jesus’ divinity at the wedding feast but Jesus exalted his sonship to His Father in heaven above his sonship to his mother.  He had a radical allegiance to God’s will above his mother’s will.  Jesus worked against Mary’s assumption that perhaps she had an inside track.  He made it clear that no physical relationship on earth would control him.  His mother would have no special advantage to guide his ministry.  Water being turned to wine would not be at a mother’s bidding. As the story unfolds, we’ll see that Jesus turns to His Father for permission.

I recall the time in Luke 11 that a woman in the crowd raised her voice and said to Jesus.  ‘Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts at which you nursed!’  But He replied, ‘Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it!’

Jesus said later on in Luke, ‘If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple.’  Luke 14:26  ‘Hate’ in this context means preference; deferring to the One who takes priority.  As adults, we are to leave the ways of our parents if what they expect of us conflicts with the ways of our Father in heaven. When we struggle with the tension it brings in relationships, we are comforted that Jesus knew what was like and He walked this out before we did.

There was a time when the Holy Spirit addressed me about the ways I caved to certain family members’ whims and suggestions. It was easier to give in than face the tension. I sensed Him saying, “Christine, don’t do that anymore. Tell them you need to talk to me about it.” It did rattle the relationship but I look back and I’m amazed at the courage and grace that was supernaturally made available to me.

For every one who has to say no to family today for righteous reasons, let them feel the warmth of Your favor. Amen