Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17; John 3:1-17
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
As a child, I remember my friends talking about being “born again.” I didn’t understand what they meant. I was Roman Catholic at the time, and in my experience, one did not get “born again” at church—or anywhere else. My friends tried to explain. They described putting on a white robe and being dunked by the preacher in front of the whole congregation in a large pool of water. Even with their explanations, I still had very little understanding of what this whole “born again” concept was about.
First, it was a very public ritual. It took place in front of the entire congregation, usually on a Sunday night. In the Roman Catholic Church—and even in the Episcopal Church until 1979—baptisms were typically private affairs, with only family and godparents present. I remember my sister’s baptism. It was just my parents, her godparents, the priest, and me. It felt intimate, quiet, contained.
Second, my sister was a baby. In fact, I had never seen an adult or even an older child baptized. Infant baptism was all I knew. I had been baptized as a baby. My parents had been baptized as babies. My sister was baptized as a baby. I could not understand why anyone would wait. The idea of being “born again” through baptism was confusing to me because babies, as far as I could tell, had just been born. Why would they need to be born again?
Finally, being “born again” seemed impossible—or at least improbable. Even after my friends explained that it was about rededicating your life to Christ, I struggled to understand. In the Catholic Church, baptism was described as cleansing us from sin. Infant baptism was practiced, at least in part, as assurance that if a child died, they would go to heaven. Baptism did not prevent future sin, of course, which is why Confession and Absolution were available as a means of ongoing reconciliation.
My “born again” friends did not go to Confession in the way I understood it. I sometimes wondered how they expected to make it to heaven, since surely they would sin again. Even their preachers seemed to assume that, since sermons often included a lot of hellfire and brimstone as what they could expect in the afterlife. The whole thing felt confusing to me.
Nicodemus seems to have some of these same questions in mind when he asks Jesus, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” Even after Jesus explains that he is speaking of being born of water and Spirit, Nicodemus still questions, “How can these things be?”
It is an honest question. How can these things be?
Perhaps we do not ask that question often enough.
As Episcopalians, baptize resonates in deep and abiding ways with us—even if we were baptized as infants. If you read the rubrics “Concerning the Service” on p. 298 of the Book of Common Prayer, the first thing you notice is that Holy Baptism is described as “full initiation” into Christ’s Body, the Church. It is not partial. It is not provisional. It establishes an indissoluble bond between God, the baptized person, and the Church.
One of the most significant changes in the 1979 revision of the Prayer Book was moving baptism from a private ceremony into the principal Sunday liturgy. Baptism became something done in the midst of the gathered community. That shift was not cosmetic. It was theological. Moving baptism from a private affair to a public act of worship means we all bear witness to one who is being baptized, and vow to support them in their life in Christ.
When someone is baptized, we are not merely observers. We are participants. After the candidates or their sponsors make their promises, the Celebrant turns to the congregation and asks, “Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support these persons in their life in Christ?” And we answer, “We will.”
That is not a casual question or response. It is not a polite formality. It is one of the most serious promises we make in worship because we are making this promise to God.
To say “we will” is to commit ourselves to the lifelong work of building up another person in Christ. That commitment does not end when the liturgy concludes. It unfolds over years and decades. It means we are responsible to one another and for one another. It means that whether or not we particularly like someone, we are still bound with them and we are to treat them with dignity and respect. It means striving for justice and peace among all people. It means seeking and serving Christ in all persons—even when it is difficult to see Christ in them.
It means loving our neighbor as ourselves—and our neighbors might be the people next door or in Washington D.C. or in Ukraine and Russia, or Iran, or even China. They are immigrants and U S citizens. They are black and white, Republican and Democrat. They are all those whose lives are bound up with ours in ways we will never fully understand. We live in a global neighborhood. Accountability matters. For Christians, accountability is not about judgment, much less punishment; it is about love shaped by truth.
Supporting one another in baptism also requires tending to our own discipleship. We cannot nurture faith in others if we neglect it in ourselves. Living our baptismal promises means participating in the Eucharist, gathering in fellowship, resisting evil—which often looks like resisting our own ego—and when we fall into sin, repenting and returning to the Lord. It means we read the Bible go to church, and pray regularly so that we can offer God’s Good News to others through our words and actions. It means allowing God’s grace to transform us.
Baptism carries profound responsibility. And when we say yes to supporting someone else’s baptism, we are simultaneously renewing our own. That is why the Baptismal Covenant follows immediately in the liturgy after promising to support a person in their life in Christ. Each baptism is not only the birth of one person into Christ; it is a reawakening of the whole community.
In that sense, every time we witness a baptism, we are being “born again”. The waters of baptism may not flow over us, but the Spirit certainly does. We are reminded who we are: people claimed by God, sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked as Christ’s own forever.
But this new birth is not limited to the font.
Every time we come to the Eucharistic table, we participate again in that life. Every time we sit down at a table with another person and break bread, every time we forgive, every time we turn away from resentment toward mercy, every time we act in love rather than fear, we are being born again. We are living our new birth.
Being “born again” is not simply about coming to church and getting splashed with some water. It is not about a single emotional experience or a dramatic public moment. Nor is it about securing a future destination called heaven. It is about seeing and entering the Kingdom of God here and now.
Jesus tells Nicodemus that no one can see the Kingdom without being born from above. The implication is not that the Kingdom is elsewhere, waiting beyond death. Rather, it is that the Kingdom is already present—but requires new eyes to perceive it.
This earth is not separate from God’s reign. Creation is not abandoned territory waiting to be discarded. In Christ, God has entered this world fully. Jesus says, “For God so loved the world,” not “for God so loved heaven.” Through Christ, this world is reconciled, redeemed, and claimed.
To be born again is to awaken to that reality.
It is to walk down the street and recognize that the birdsong and children’s laughter are not background noise but signs of God’s ongoing life. It is to understand that cooking meals, teaching students, arguing cases, diagnosing illness, repairing roads, raising children, and even taking out the trash can all be participation in God’s Kingdom when done in love. Nothing is merely profane when seen through the eyes of Christ. The ordinary becomes sacred when we are born again into the knowledge of Christ’s visible presence on earth.
When we are born of water and Spirit, we are not removed from the world; we are returned to it with new sight. If we only have eyes to see and ears to hear.
That is eternal life—not simply life without end, but life lived in communion with God beginning now.
Nicodemus asked, “How can these things be?”
They can be because God loves the world. They can be because in baptism we are born from above—not to escape this life, but to live it as citizens of God’s Kingdom.
To be born again is to discover that the Kingdom of God is not somewhere else. It is here. And we are reborn into it every moment we are willing to wake up to that life.
The kingdom of God is here. It is now.
And by the grace of God, so are we.
And now, I invite us to remember our own baptismal covenant by beginning with the questions of our candidacy on p. 302…
Amen.