John 3: 14-21, 4th Sunday of Lent (Laetare Sunday)

When I was formator in San Jose Seminary, we had seminarians from a college seminary in the province, run by very traditional priests. The priests themselves were trained in Europe by a group of clerics we Pinoys would call katoliko-sarado-de-candado; Roman Catholics of the strict persuasion. Our guys said they had to wear their sotanas every chapel service. They were to look like each other as much as possible: haircut, shoes, carriage, etc. In public, they were to be identifiable as seminarians: wearing the Roman collar, walking, standing, sitting always together like God’s platoon. Prayer was chanting the breviary and reciting the rosary. Classroom religion meant memorizing the catechism and proof-texting them off of official Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and Rome. They were duly warned to never take liberties wth Church doctrine, because the snake of heresy always slithered nearby.

Until they came to San Jose Seminary and became Josefinos. They now had the option to not wear the sotana for liturgy, so long as they were shevelled (if that’s a word), so long as they didn’t look like unmade beds. Why the option? Well,  reverence for Mass wasn’t measured by sotana points, we told them. And Jesus, by the way, he blended in with the rest of humanity. Secondly, they still recited prayer formulas together. This time, though, we committed them to more time for solitude and quiet meditation. Why? Because if prayer is dialogue with God, there should be more listening than doing all the talking in our heads. Thirdly, the Theology classroom! Oh, the biggest shock of all. We still expected them to know the whats and whens of doctrines. But this time, with guidance, they were to learn how to crack each doctrine open, and tell their strengths and weaknesses. Finally, we quizzed and graded them not for how much they had memorized, but how deeply they theologized. To do that, they must be able to appropriate centuries-old doctrines to the spiritual and practical needs of people today. Because the best way to preserve our Faith is to adapt it.

So, our seminarians from the Catolico-sarado-de-candado seminary soon realized the many “puwede-pala-‘yon’s” in religious formation and theology, and the many “hindi-pala-magagalit-si-God’s,” in our Faith. It was all quite scandalizing at first. But eventually, it was liberating, they said. Jesus surprised the Josefinos by revealing to them many things about himself they never imagined they were allowed to even think about him. It was “a whole new world; a new, fantastic point of view.”

Now imagine our guy in today’s Gospel: Aladdin, I mean, Nicodemus; Pharisee; Jew of the strictest persuasion. Alas, he wasn’t quite as fortunate as our Josefinos. Nicodemus furtively listened in on Jesus, peered into his world from a distance, and envisioned the God in his parables. Nicodemus was horrified. How different, how unscriptural, how permissive and rebellious, how sacrilegious, blasphemous, how defiled this Nazarene’s theology was! Yet, how strangely comforting, how sensible and refreshing, how compelling and touching and beautiful Jesus’ God was! I bet Nicodemus already entertained the possibility that God loved the world so much, not hated it, and that he’d really send a son, not a king. I bet Nicodemus already had a feeling that the Messiah would come not to condemn the world but to save it. Hearing Jesus say out loud what Nicodemus dared not voice, only quickened the beating of his heart. Should he jump out of the dark and join Jesus as a disciple? Tempting. But alas, he was too far along as a Pharisee. He was already fully invested in the deposit of rabbinic rules, the treasury of Temple purity. He already had a banker, a god who counted merits and demerits; isang dios na mapagbiláng at mapaningil. So, one side of Nicodemus might’ve wanted to give up everything and follow Jesus. But the other side just sucked him right back in, like a black hole. His heart saw the bright light of Truth that brought him secret joy. But everything else about him had already bled into the monotony of his black-and-white theology, his either-or life. The poor guy. It must’ve felt like finally meeting the love of your life, pero may pamilya ka na at mabuting asawa. Must’ve felt like being a Josefino for a day, pero malapit ka nang maging pari d’un sa strict persuasion seminary. “Too late, too darn late!” Nicodemus must’ve screamed inside. If Jesus heard it, he would’ve assured him: “It’s okay, Nicodemus. Everyone who believes in me will have eternal life. Including you, Nicodemus. I know you believe in me, though secretly and from afar. But for God, there’s no such thing as ‘afar.’”

Sisters and brothers, believing in Jesus and belonging to our religion should not feel like a prison. We’re not supposed to feel trapped. It’s all over the bible: God has always been a liberating, freeing God. If ever we feel like a cornered Pharisee, may we be gutsier than Nicodemus. So that when we hear Jesus say something that quickens our hearts, we jailbreak from the insipid formulas we force ourselves to say but no longer mean, from pious routines we force ourselves to do but no longer know why, and we go straightaway to the Lux Mundi, the Lux in Domino, the luceat Lux; the Light of the world, the Light in the Lord, the Light that shines in the darkness.

After fidgeting in Jesus’ enlightening presence, Nicodemus slunk back into the darkness that night. He went back to the seminary of strict persuasion he called home. I don’t think Jesus meant to break his heart. Jesus was just cracking it open, little by little, to let Nicodemus out. Sisters and brothers, may Jesus do the same with us: crack us open, so new light may break in, to surprise us with “a whole new world, a new fantastic point of view” on many more Good News sides to our infinitely surprising God.

*image from the Internet