Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

Jim Teeters has taught adults for over three decades.  He's the author of the book Teach With Style, a resource for other professional teachers.  Several years ago he took a part-time job teaching a beginning-level sociology class at a community college near his home.  "I approached this class with a smug attitude," he says, "because I felt that these local students were no match for the intellectuals I was used to teaching."

Everything went fine -- meaning, the students were impressed with him -- until Jim got to a lesson on statistics.  "Suddenly, I found myself losing my grasp of the idea I was teaching," he says.  "I rambled on as I watched the students' expressions turn from interest to confusion.  Incoherent, with a mouth as dry as the chalk I held in my trembling hand, I told the students to get into their assigned study groups and discuss what I had just covered.  Then I quickly left for the restroom, where I scooped handfuls of water into my mouth.  When I returned to the classroom, I sheepishly asked for group reports, dismissed the class early, and headed home, relieved but devastated -- I wanted to quit."

As he thought about what had happened to him, Jim realized he had gotten into that mess because of his pride and egotistical attitude.  He felt awful.  The feelings intensified, especially that Sunday during church.  "I was awash with shame," he says.  Toward the end of the service, the congregation was singing the hymn "I Surrender All," and he felt compelled.  He almost ran down the church aisle, fell to his knees, and began to cry... more like wailing.  A "sophisticated, intellectual professor, keeling at the altar, letting go of all that tension by pouring it out into God's lap."  The church emptied, until he was left with a couple of puzzled church elders touching his heaving shoulders.  "At last my crying stopped," he says, "and I stood up and said to the elders, 'I am nothing, and it feels so good.'"

At the next class he brought a film about communication, titled Hello, I Need to Tell You Something, and then he told the class his whole story.  The class forgave him and thanked him for his self-disclosure.  He had been "real" with them, they said.  And he swore that he would always put his students' learning ahead of his need for recognition, and to try to approach his work with a bit of humility. 

The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.  So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

Susan Lowrey took her daughter to Kanuga, the Episcopal conference center in North Carolina, looking forward to some quiet time.  (As far as I know, no kin to our family of Lowreys, Bill, Margaret and Meg.)  She had been in a state of constant questioning and confusion.  So she took a walk around the lake at Kanuga, walking and talking to God, asking over and over, "What now?  When?  Where?"  Like a broken record, "What now?  When?  Where?" 

Kanuga is a beautiful place -- the lake, the mountains, rock formations, magnolia trees arching over the path.  It made her feel glad to be alive.  "About halfway around the lake," she says, "I noticed that the questions about my future had faded and two words filled me up: 'Yes, Lord.'

"That's it, I thought!  'Yes, Lord.'  That's all I need to know!  It no longer matters what the questions are or even what the answers are; my response will stay the same: I will say 'Yes" to [God].  Wow, what peace and relief that brought me!" she says. 

Further around the lake, the path split, and she went toward the right, descending to a footbridge over the mountain stream that feeds the lake.  "When I reached the other side of the bridge," she said, "I turned to look back at this beautiful place -- it almost matched the feeling I had inside, and there, I saw the sign for this spot: LOWREY'S CROSSING.  God did speak to me!" claims Susan Lowrey.

If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?

Sixteen year old Dilara Khasianova grew up in Russia.  She remembers a trip with her family visiting a place called Blue Lake when she was about seven.  Somehow she got separated from her family.  "I had the simple urge to lie down on the forest floor -- I often did this, and my parents thought me a weirdo for it," she says, "but on this occasion, it was different.  It wasn't me, a seven-year-old girl, who was lying on the forest floor; it was my purest, unchanging self that was part of a whole and infinite community.  I remember looking at the trees and understanding that the trees were me, and I was a tree.  I looked at my coat, and saw a centipede and an ant crawling on me.  I normally would have screamed and tried to get rid of the insects, but I looked at them, and we seemed to have a common understanding that they were there, and I was there.  I felt that instead of my having one soul, I had thousands of billions of souls; my soul was part of each of those thousands of billions of souls.  There was absolute peace."  She says that experience showed her how she could live and be; it showed her what her place in the universe is.

These are three stories that were submitted to the current edition of the magazine Spirituality & Health following an article a few years ago by a New Mexico professor writing about his study of quantum change.  Quantum change happens when we feel like we are "being acted upon by something greater, something outside ourselves."  There is a sudden shift, and we are changed.  Usually there is a sense of peace in the wake of such an experience.

We don't know whether Nicodemus' encounter with Jesus was a quantum change experience for him.  We know that he was invited to be born from above, to be born of water and Spirit, to let the mysterious wind of the Spirit blow where it chooses, and to let that wind carry his life.  We do know that some time later, when the authorities sought to arrest Jesus, it was Nicodemus who spoke up boldly in his defense, demanding a fair tribunal.  We know that after the crucifixion, Nicodemus brought the spices and materials necessary to prepare the body for burial and joined Joseph of Arimathea to place Jesus' corpse in the tomb.

Something changed.  This tentative man who came to Jesus at night with his cautious curiosity, who seemed baffled and befuddled by the enigmatic words of Jesus, became strong and fearless, able to speak light to darkness and willing to risk his position of power to befriend a dead criminal's body. 

A curious Pharisee finds backbone; a proud professor tastes humility; a lost woman says "Yes"; a wandering child finds her place in the universe.  The wind of the Spirit blows.

It blows upon you as well.  Filling the earthly with the wonder of heavenly birth. 

Where is the tentative curiosity in your life today?  How has your pride and arrogance betrayed you?  Do you yearn to know "What now? When? Where?"?  Can you lie down and know yourself to be at peace, one with all that is? 

Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.