I. INTRODUCTION  (John 2:23-25)

Our passage this evening begins shortly after Jesus cleansed the temple for the first time. He has overturned the tables, driven out the merchants, and called out a corrupt system that sold sacrifices but had no space for repentance. And now, John tells us, “many believed in his name when they saw the signs that he was doing” (John 2:23). This sounds like success, doesn’t it? Crowds are stirred. People are talking. Miracles are happening. Faith is rising. But then we hit a hard stop: “But Jesus on his part did not entrust himself to them…” (John 2:24)

John says, “Many believed in his name when they saw the signs.” But what were these signs? Most agree that the signs included the temple cleansing. After all, who else walks into the temple courts and shuts down a corrupt system with just cords and conviction? Others argue that Jesus may have performed other miracles at this time that were not recorded by John. What matters most here is not how many signs Jesus performed, but rather it’s how the people responded to them.

They were impressed, but not converted. Their faith was fascinated, but not surrendered. It was a faith built on spectacle, not on repentance.  And that brings us to the next verse.

“But Jesus on his part did not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people” (John 2:24)

Jesus discerned between outward admiration and inward transformation. In other words, they believed something, but they had not yet been changed. They were spectators at a miracle, not sons and daughters of the kingdom. Jesus knew this, and he would not let their shallow faith drag his mission into something it was never meant to be.

This is the tension that sets the stage for what follows: Nicodemus in the next verse steps out of the shadows. He, too, has been watching the signs. He, too, is intrigued. And like the many, his faith is forming, but it is not yet whole.

This is an important lesson for us to learn today. Jesus doesn’t just want to impress you. He wants to transform you. Jesus is not looking for crowds who clap at his power. He’s looking for souls who surrender to his lordship.  He is not flattered by our applause. He’s after our allegiance. So let’s be careful not to mistake excitement for conversion.  

II. NICODEMUS COMES BY NIGHT (John 3:1-2)  

We’ve just seen Jesus surrounded by crowds. People were amazed, even professing belief, stirred by the signs He performed. But something was missing in their faith, something shallow and easily swept away. And now, the camera lens of John’s Gospel zooms in from the many to focus on one person.

John doesn’t waste time with vague introductions. He tells us directly:  “There was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews” (John 3:1). 

This is no ordinary visitor. Nicodemus is a man of rank, influence, and reputation. He’s a Pharisee, part of a movement known for its deep reverence for the Law, its strict observance of purity, and yes, often, for its spiritual pride. But he’s not just a Pharisee. He’s a ruler of the Jews, likely a member of the Sanhedrin, the ruling religious council.If anyone could be called a “good man,” it was Nicodemus. Not all Pharisees were hypocrites. Some, like Nicodemus, were devout, sincere, and searching.

John tells us, “This man came to Jesus by night” (John 3:2). Why at night? Now, some suggest it was for privacy. Others say it was out of fear of what his fellow Pharisees might say if they saw him speaking with this carpenter from Nazareth. And they’re probably right. Nicodemus had a great deal to lose: his place in the council, his status, perhaps even his safety.

But there’s more than fear at work here. John loves symbolism and in his Gospel, “night” is never just a time of day. It’s a spiritual condition. It symbolizes both confusion and incompletion. It is wandering in the dark, eyes adjusting but never quite seeing. Nichodemus had caught a glimpse of something divine,  but he was still groping toward it in the shadows.

He opens the conversation with both confession and curiosity: “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” (John 3:2). Notice that. He calls Jesus “Rabbi” meaning teacher. That’s respectful. And he acknowledges that the signs Jesus performs could only happen if God was with Him. That’s insightful. But it’s not enough.

Nicodemus sees Jesus as a man empowered by God, not as God in the flesh. He’s impressed, but he’s not yet awakened. He doesn’t recognize that he’s standing in the presence of the very One who gave the Law he loves. To him, Jesus is a messenger. He does not yet see the Messiah.

And did you catch the plural? “We know…” Who is “we”? It’s as if Nicodemus is carrying the cautious consensus of a nervous committee. Some of the religious elite, perhaps, acknowledging among themselves that Jesus can’t be dismissed, but still unwilling to openly follow. 

And here is where it gets close to home. Nicodemus had the right credentials. He came to the right place. He even said the right things. But he did not yet have the light. He walked toward the Truth in the dark, carrying questions that centuries of law-keeping and rule-following had not answered.

But here’s the good news,  Jesus welcomes the seeker in the dark. He doesn’t shut the door on latecomers. He doesn’t rebuke Nicodemus with sarcasm or scorn. He meets him right where he is. Jesus didn’t say, “Come back when you’re bolder.” He didn’t say, “It’s late, come back in the morning.” He spoke clearly, powerfully, and kindly to a man who was curious, cautious, and conflicted.

III. THE NECESSITY OF NEW BIRTH (John 3:3–8)

Jesus responds to Nicodemus by cutting straight to the soul: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). The Greek word Jesus uses for “again” can mean both “from above” and it also means “again.” The word is pregnant with meaning, and Jesus means both: “You must be born from above” and “you must start over.” Not reform. Not improve. Not add religion to your life. You need to be remade.

Nicodemus came asking for insight. Jesus says, in effect, “You don’t need more insight. You need new eyes.” Nicodemus is bewildered and responds: “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” (John 3:4). He takes Jesus literally, which shows he is thinking in earthly categories. He cannot grasp that Jesus is speaking of spiritual realities. And here is Jesus’ reply: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God” (John 3:5).

Jesus is echoing Ezekiel 36:25–27: “I will sprinkle clean water on you… And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you.”

Jesus continues:  “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 wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit” (John 3:6–8).

In Greek, “pneuma” means both wind and spirit. Jesus uses this double meaning to explain the mystery of the Spirit’s work. Like the wind, the Spirit cannot be controlled or predicted. You can sense its presence, but you cannot map its origins or direct its path.

This is divine sovereignty at work. The Spirit moves in hearts when and how He pleases. New birth isn’t engineered by a prayer, a formula, or a parental legacy. It is the wind of heaven blowing life into dead souls.

Christianity is not ultimately about a moral upgrade. It’s not about better habits or improved behavior. It is about supernatural rebirth. It is always a good question to ask, “Have I been born from above? Or have I simply been raised in church?” You can know the language. You can know the verses. You can even revere Jesus, like Nicodemus did, and still be spiritually dead. The good news is that this new birth is not hard to find, nor is it a reward for the good. It is a gift for the humble and for all who are willing to repent and believe. 

IV. THE REVEALER FROM HEAVEN (John 3:9–15)  

“Are you the teacher of Israel,” Jesus asks, “and yet you do not understand these things?” (John 3:10). This is not sarcasm. The question lands not to humiliate, but to awaken. Nicodemus is brilliant in the Law, respected in the Sanhedrin, yet blind to the Spirit. Why? Because spiritual birth precedes spiritual sight. And Nicodemus, at this moment, is still spiritually dead.

The Spirit of God had filled the Old Testament with signs: the cleansing waters, the purifying hyssop, the birth of Isaac, the healing of Naaman. All of these were types and shadows pointing to the new birth. Yet Nicodemus, like many religious leaders then and now, knew the words but missed the message.

Jesus then shifts the conversation, grounding His authority not in Nicodemus’s credentials, but in His own divine identity:  “No one has ascended into heaven except he who descended from heaven, the Son of Man.” (John 3:13)

Do you see what Christ is doing here? He is not just claiming insight, He is claiming origin. Heaven is not His destination; it is His dwelling place. He is speaking of heaven as one who came from there. And even as He speaks to Nicodemus on earth, He says that the Son of Man “is in heaven” a declaration of His divine omnipresence and eternal union with the Father. Christ alone bridges the infinite gap between man and God because Christ alone has descended from heaven to dwell among us. He came down so we could be brought up. And how will He bring us up? By being lifted up. 

Jesus references a scene from Numbers 21, a story Nicodemus surely knew:  “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” (John 3:14–15). In the wilderness, when Israel rebelled and was struck with fiery serpents, God gave a strange remedy: a bronze serpent on a pole. Whoever looked at it lived.

That image, Jesus says, was always about Him. The serpent represented the curse, the bite of sin. But that lifeless image, lifted high, became the means of healing. So too with Jesus: He who knew no sin became sin for us (2 Cor. 5:21). He took on the likeness of sinful flesh, not because He was a sinner, but so that He might crucify sin in the flesh.

The serpent was lifted up so the people could see and be healed. Christ was lifted up so the world could look and live. This is the gospel in its simplest form: Look to Jesus and live.

Salvation doesn’t come by climbing up to God; it comes by God coming down to us. It’s not something we achieve; it’s something we receive. Not by works, not by ritual, not by status, but by faith. Jesus is not just the teacher of heavenly things. He is the staircase to heaven, and the first step is always the cross.

V. THE HEART OF THE GOSPEL (John 3:16–17)

Then we come to the most famous verse in all of scripture, and rightly so: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16, ESV).

We begin here not with our faith, not with our sin, not even with the cross, but with God’s love. “For God so loved…” that’s where the gospel begins. Not with us reaching up to God, but with God reaching down to us. The subject is divine. The verb is love. And the object is “the world.”

Let’s not forget that “the world” in John’s Gospel is not a neutral word. It refers to fallen humanity in rebellion against its Maker. The world that would mock Him, reject Him, nail Him to a tree, that is the world God so loved. This is not love earned. This is love given. And not just any love. Chrysostom marveled at the sheer intensity of it: “The immortal, the infinite majesty… loved those who were but dust and ashes, who were loaded with ten thousand sins.” And still, He loved.

We then read that the shape of God’s love is sacrificial: “…that he gave his only Son…” The giving of the Son is the plan from the beginning. The Lamb was slain “before the foundation of the world” (Rev. 13:8).  We should never cease to be amazed by this. This is the highest price God could pay, and He paid it gladly. I am convinced that if there had been anything more precious, God would have given that instead, but there is nothing more valuable in all of creation. 

We must also note that the Son was not coerced. He came willingly. He “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant… and humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:7–8). From Abraham placing Isaac on the altar to Moses lifting the serpent in the wilderness, the wood of sacrifice has always pointed forward. The cross is God’s chosen means to display His justice and His mercy, His wrath and His grace.

And why did He love us so? “…that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” The stakes could not be higher. Perishing is the default. Apart from Christ, we are not neutral. We are not slowly drifting. We are dying eternally. But here, in a few words, is the breathtaking offer: eternal life.

Eternal life is not just existence beyond the grave, it is life with God. It is communion with the Father, through the Son, by the Spirit, forever.

And who is this offer for? “Whoever believes.” The offer is inclusive, but the result is exclusive. Eternal life does not come to those who are good, but to those who “believe.” It is not our merit but His mercy. Not our works but His wounds.

And the message does not end at verse 16. Verse 17 is the echo, the amplification, the assurance: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” (John 3:17).

This is the time of grace. Judgment will come, but it did not come at Bethlehem or Calvary. The first advent is not for vengeance, but for salvation. The Great Physician does not come to scold the sick but to heal them.  And now the gospel stands open. Wide as the world, yet with one gate: faith in the crucified and risen Son of God.

VI. LIGHT AND DARKNESS (John 3:18–21)

Jesus then declares, “Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already” (John 3:18, ESV). Judgment, in this sense, is not merely something that God imposes in the future, it is something that reveals itself in the present. When Christ came into the world, He brought with Him the dividing line between light and darkness, salvation and self-destruction. His arrival didn’t cause the crisis; it exposed it.

Some think: judgment is far off, a thing for another day. But Christ says it is already here. “Whoever does not believe is condemned already.” Not for murder, not for theft, but for “unbelief.” Why is unbelief so devastating? Because it shuts the door on the only cure. Jesus is not a moral option. He is the only way to life. The sickness of sin is terminal. Unbelief is the refusal of the medicine.

Then in verse 19 we get the tragedy: “And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.” (John 3:19). Light didn’t come to condemn, but to save. But people loved darkness. It’s not just that they lived in darkness, they preferred it.

This is the true crisis. People do not hide from Christ because they are uninformed; they hide because they fear exposure.  Jesus showed up with grace. And still, many ran because the light unmasks. The soul knows what’s beneath the surface and the light of Christ threatens the whole fragile facade. 

Those who persist in evil don’t want light, they want cover. “Everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed” (John 3:20).

Yet even in this refusal, judgment isn’t something God hurls down from the sky. As the ancient Church Father Irenaeus said, “The separation from light is not inflicted by the light; it is chosen.” We damn ourselves by preferring shadows to sunlight.

However, there is always hope: “But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.” (John 3:21). This is the other path. This is the beauty of belief. It is not flawless perfection but rather humble honesty. This is to step forward, to allow the light to reveal both the sin we’ve confessed and the new life Christ is forming in us. 

The only people who come are those who have first seen the ugliness of their own sin, and still choose to step forward. Their transformation becomes visible, and it’s clear that it wasn’t their own doing. “That it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.”

Conclusion: 

Nicodemus began his journey in the shadows. He comes under cover of darkness, a man with questions but no answers, with position but no peace. He is cautious, curious, and confused. He had knowledge, status, and religious credentials. Yet, something was missing. He had seen the signs. He had heard the rumors. He came not with accusation, but with guarded admiration: 

But Jesus doesn’t indulge Nicodemus in theological small talk. He goes straight to the soul:  

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.” (John 3:3)

That’s the heart of it. You can be a leader in the synagogue and still be blind to the kingdom. You can be morally upright, theologically trained, and still spiritually dead. Religion cannot rebirth you. Position cannot purify you. Nicodemus needed not more signs, but sight, and that sight comes only through the Son.

Nicodemus fades from view after John 3, but he resurfaces. Quietly, significantly. After Jesus is crucified, it is Nicodemus who comes to bury Him with costly spices, alongside Joseph of Arimathea. Something happened in the shadows that night. The seeds of faith were planted in the soil of confusion. And somewhere along the way, that seed broke open and bloomed. He came by night, but by the end, he steps into the light.