I find a great degree of wisdom and insight in the opening words of Dante’s “Inferno”.

 

“At one point midway on our path in life,

I came around and found myself now searching,

Through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.”

 

With these words, Dante began his famous tale of the journey of a man, from a place of confusion and uncertainty, through the various levels of hell, and eventually towards a restored and renewed life in a more heavenly state of being.

What is interesting for us to realize is that Dante’s words have the power to connect with every one of us, at one point or another on our journey through life.  I recently heard it said that it is sad that many people are forced to read the great works of literature in high school or university, at such an early age, before they have the experiences of life which will help them to understand the real meanings and the real power of those works of art.

 

We are all, after all, midway on our path in life.  Each one of us is not at the beginning, nor are we at the end of our mortal journeys – and each and every one of us either has, or will, come to a moment when we will be able to relate to Dante’s words.

 

“At one point midway on our path in life,

I came around and found myself now searching,

Through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.”

 

In all likelihood, Nicodemus could relate to those words as well.  Today’s Gospel reading from John chapter 3 contains the most famous verse in the New Testament – that being John 3:16 – but what we sometimes forget is the context in which those famous words were set.

 

The scene is described in words that are both illustrative and symbolic.  Nicodemus, a leader in the community, came to Jesus at night.  The reason why he came in a somewhat secretive fashion is not explained, but our speculations are legitimate.  Perhaps Nicodemus came at night because he was concerned that others might see him conferring with the young Jewish teacher; perhaps Nicodemus, himself, was not sure what to think, and did not want to share time with the disciples and crowds that seemed to occupy so much of Jesus’ attention; perhaps Nicodemus thought that the questions that he was wrestling with would undermine his authority or his standing in the community, and he wanted to ask them without jeopardizing his reputation or his status.

 

Or perhaps the Gospel’s intention was to signal the internal state of Nicodemus’ spiritual situation – that he was a man longing to find light, a man who – like Dante – had come to a place in his journey in life where found himself “now searching /

through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.”

 

It was to that man, perhaps in a time when clarity was lacking, perhaps when life seemed a bit confusing, perhaps when the steps that he wanted to take, he feared, might put his reputation and his status at risk, that Jesus spoke strange and surprising words – words suggesting that the way forward was to start again.  Jesus knew that Nicodemus needed a change so radical that it was if he was starting life again, and that without that rebirth, he would not be able to fully understand or experience the new life that Jesus had come to offer.

 

Our familiarity with Jesus’ words, and the history of their interpretation in the recent course of Christian history, sometimes distracts us from just how strange and how shocking they must have seemed to Nicodemus, and how strange they actually are; but also, this familiarity can distract us from the wonderful, incredible, beautiful promise that these words contain.

 

What Jesus was saying to Nicodemus was this – I know your life; I know what has been happening in you; I know that you are searching; and I desperately want to give you what your heart desires.  I want to set you free from this present confusion, and incomprehension, that you are experiencing.  I want to give you the abundant, peaceful life for which you are searching.

 

But in order to do so, I need you to give me your life.  I need to let go of the past.  I need you, instead, to place your trust in me, and in that trust, discover that I can, in fact, give you new life.  I know that you are seeking and searching, Nicodemus, and I have come to this world to give you precisely what you are seeking, though you do not even fully know what it is that you are looking for. You are filled with questions, uncertainties, unfulfilled hopes, unrealized dreams; you have regrets about the past, and a lack of clarity about the future.

 

But I can satisfy your soul’s longings.  I can give you a life that is as new, as fresh, and as filled with potential as is the life of a newborn infant.  I have come into this world because God loves this world, and sent me to save it.  So come to me, and you will find your salvation.

 

They were words of incredibly good news.

 

And they are words that are as good today as ever.

 

Consider.

 

Like Nicodemus, and like Dante, we find ourselves in uncertain times, times when it seems as if we have lost a sense of direction, or that we seem to have wandered from the path that we thought that it was right for us to be walking on.

 

Such thoughts are common at this time of year.  It is also almost inevitable, at this time of year, that most of us try to “take stock” of our lives, as the old year ends and a new one begins.  And the past year has not always been an easy one on a personal level, for many.  Many have journeyed into times of sickness and illness, others have lost loved ones, still others have experienced breakdowns in their relationships, in their job prospects, in their sense of confidence about the future.  So many of us, in one way or another, can probably relate to Dante’s words on a very personal level.

 

But what we feel as individuals is, in some ways, also felt as a wider culture.  I was getting some exercise on a treadmill this past week, and was struck by the fact that they were advertising their New Year’s Eve broadcast by stating that we were coming to the end of a divided and emotional year.

 

There seems to be a sense of discontent, melancholy and malaise in our culture at the present time.  The past year has been a difficult one for many.  Not only have we mourned the loss of a significant number of creative cultural artists and performers – people who put words to some of our most significant emotions, longings and feelings; but those who are our leaders seem as divided and conflicted as anyone else.  Those conflicts have led to terrible conflicts in many parts of the world, not least of which being the carnage and devastation in Aleppo.  But even over the past few days, we watch with concern, about the rising tensions in Israel and Palestine, with outgoing and incoming politicians trading barbs and criticisms, to say nothing of the posturing and possible renewal of animosities between the United States and Russia.  The divisiveness of the recent American election causes concerns for people on all sides of the ideological spectrum, and the implications of new policy decisions for peace, economic security and environmental decisions are yet to be discerned.

 

We stand, together – as individuals, as a community, and as a culture — at the dawn of a new year.  We all know, deep down, that the passage of one year to the next is a fairly artificial cultural construct.  There is nothing, after all, that is all that different between December 31 and January 1, regardless of whether or not we stayed up late enough to count down the final seconds of the year and give our loved ones a hug at the stroke of midnight.

But even though today might, in some ways, be an artificial construct, we have a sense – perhaps a hope — that something new is at hand.  We count down to midnight to signal the end of an old year, and act as if a new year has been born.  Or perhaps, that the year has been born again.  We are back to January again. What is past is past, and cannot be changed.  What lies ahead is yet to be discovered.  There will be challenges yet to be faced, and difficulties yet to be overcome; but we all feel as if there is some great “reset” that happens on January 1.  Or, at least we live in the hope that there is.

 

But on this particular New Year’s Day, I would invite us – all of us – to ponder Nicodemus’ experiences in the middle of that dark night as he sat with Jesus.  I would invite us to ponder Dante’s experience of coming, midway on his journey, to that dark wood in which the right way had become blurred and lost.  And I would invite us to ponder our own life’s experiences, and consider what it would mean for us to truly hear, and perhaps even to embrace Christ’s invitation to turn to him, in order to find the right way to begin again, to be born anew, to turn our back on a past that we cannot change, and turn instead to the One who can give us a new and eternal life, and who has the power to lead us into the new and eternal creation.

 

To hear Christ’s words, and make such the decision to turn to him does not free us from the struggles and challenges of life – to the contrary, there was a lot of difficulty that Christ himself had to face.  But what such a decision does is remind us that we are reborn into a life that is grounded and rooted in the faithful confidence that we do not walk the right way alone – we walk the right way with the One who wants our lives to be blessed with peace, with grace, with joy and with love, regardless of what lies ahead.

 

We walk it with others who are here to share our joys and our challenges, to provide inspiration and encouragement.

 

And we walk it with the One who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine; and to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.

 

Amen.