Second Birth

I have no memories of my first birth. I’m assuming you cannot remember yours, either. Legal documents can tell us the details of our arrival — date, time, location, the name of the doctor who first held us, how much we weighed and how long we were. Family lore can tell us about the events surrounding our arrival.

From what I understand, there wasn’t anything too unexpected about my entry into this world other than my birth weight. When I was handed to the nurse to be weighed, I came in at an even ten pounds. (Any woman who has delivered a baby just cringed a little. I’m confident my Mom cringed a lot!) While my story may not be that spectacular for anyone except my mother, I do have friends & family members with dramatic stories surrounding their births or the births of their children.

My step-dad was born in the usual way — by doctors and nurses. It was simply the location that was unusual. His parents lived in a major city, so they took a taxi whenever they needed to get somewhere that their feet couldn’t take them. When the time arrived for my step-dad’s grand entrance into the world, a taxi-driver was hailed. Unfortunately, they didn’t quite make it in time. My step-dad was delivered in the backseat of the taxi — while still in the parking lot outside the hospital.

Another friend of mine didn’t even make it that far. As he was hurriedly driving to the hospital with his wife at 3:00am, he had to pull into the parking lot of a pancake house and deliver his child himself while the ambulance was on it’s way!

I’ve met people who gave birth at home with a midwife guiding the process & a plethora of family members observing. I’ve met people who gave birth in remote parts of the world where the birthing-room was questionably clean and the medical staff were questionably trained. I’ve even met people who didn’t know they were pregnant until they arrived at the hospital complaining of persistent abdomen pain.

The events surrounding a child’s birth are the stuff of legends. Stories told for years to come to anyone who will listen. My children’s births are no different.

I was in my first semester of seminary when the arrival of our first-born was pending. Unfortunately, my graduate school was three hours away from my hometown which meant I had the potential to be late to his arrival if circumstances didn’t play out in our favor. As the semester neared it’s end, so did my wife’s pregnancy. The due date of my child was dangerously close to the due date of my finals. I remember the moment of surprise when the doctor told us our child was most likely going to make his arrival a week earlier than expected. He was evidently measuring big — like father like son!

Thankfully, I only had class on Tuesdays so the odds were in our favor that our baby would make his arrival while I was home rather than away at school. We were still nervous, though, especially when our doctor revealed our revised due date was slated to be a Tuesday. I decided to skip class that day just to be safe. I had just two weeks left until final exams, and I was skipping one of those two weeks. Probably not the smartest decision a graduate student could make!

That fateful Tuesday went by with no hint of our baby’s arrival. The next day passed uneventful as well. As did the next day and the day after that. We suddenly found ourselves sitting at home on Monday night discussing the fact that I needed to be on-campus the next day as it was the final class session before final exams.

I woke early the next morning and checked on my wife before leaving the house at 5:00am for the three-hour drive downstate. Karen said she was fine, but she revealed to me she had a recurring back pain throughout the night. I told her to monitor it throughout the day and keep me informed. I kissed her goodbye & walked out the door. (Please tell me you see where this story is going!)

All of this took place before the advent of texting, so I had to sit through three hours of driving and 90-minutes of my morning class before I could call home during a scheduled break. The back pain was still occurring, and it had become fairly regular in it’s appearance & disappearance. She began to track the time between the lapses of pain. They were about 20-minutes apart. I hung up the phone and went back into class for another 90-minutes of lecture.

After that class ended, it was time for lunch and another phone call home. The back pain was still there and the time between occurrences was diminishing. It was now 15-minutes. I was frantic to come home, but Karen calmly reassured me that it was false labor and told me to stay at school. I’ll be honest…I was looking for any excuse to get out of my afternoon class. Biblical Hebrew wasn’t my favorite subject, and I assumed the imminent birth of my child would be an excused absence!

But I listened to my wife and trudged obediently into class. Another 90-minutes of lecture passed before my next call home. I’m sure the information taught that day is stored somewhere in my brain, but I couldn’t even begin to tell you what the professor talked about. My mind was fixated on one thing and one thing only…

How fast can I get home without getting a speeding ticket?

I called my wife during our scheduled break only to discover the recurring back pain was now just 10-minutes apart. I chose to ignore her calm reassurance that all was fine. It was time to hit the road. I returned to the classroom and informed the professor of the circumstances.

I dashed to my car in the parking lot and drove home much faster than I should have…thankfully without receiving a speeding ticket. I screeched to a stop in the driveway and burst through the front door expecting to find my wife anxiously waiting for her ride to the hospital. Imagine my surprise when my eyes landed on her calmly sitting on the couch reading a book. She was still convinced it was false labor, so she saw no need for desperate measures. Needless to say, she was not happy with my incredulous tone as I began to usher her towards the still-running car parked in the driveway. I didn’t realize it in the moment, but I had just become every Hollywood cliche about the bumbling, anxious father-to-be. I grabbed the bags we had packed a week prior and hurriedly drove across town to the hospital.

Less than five hours later, we were introduced to our baby boy. Seven days later, I proudly showed pictures of my newborn son to my professors in hopes of leniency during the final exams. I think it worked!

Three years later, it was a baby girl placed lovingly into the arms of my amazing wife. Thankfully, I had already graduated from seminary so I was much closer to home when my daughter made her grand entrance. Of course, I have to give credit to my wife for keeping me close. I had foolishly planned a Student Ministry ski-trip in another state just days prior to our daughter’s due date, but Karen convinced me to have a good friend lead the trip in my place. I’m sure you remember how that story turned out!

Do you have a spectacular story surrounding your first birth? What about your second birth?

There was a man named Nicodemus, a Jewish religious leader who was a Pharisee. After dark one evening, he came to speak with Jesus. “Rabbi,” he said, “we all know that God has sent you to teach us. Your miraculous signs are evidence that God is with you.”

Jesus replied, “I tell you the truth, unless you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of God.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Nicodemus. “How can an old man go back into his mother’s womb and be born again?”

Jesus replied, “I assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit. Humans can reproduce only human life, but the Holy Spirit gives birth to spiritual life. (John 3:1–6)

Nicodemus was a respected spiritual leader in the first-century. He had obviously heard rumors about Jesus and had possibly even heard him teach in-person. History doesn’t tell us much about the relationship between Jesus & Nicodemus, but it does give us a glimpse into one poignant conversation that took place late one night.

Theologians have speculated for centuries about why Nicodemus came to Jesus in the middle of the night. Most believe it was because he didn’t want to tarnish his reputation as a Pharisee. It wasn’t kosher among the spiritual leaders of the day to associate with this unknown and possibly heretical Nazarene. Knowing what I know about the disdain most first-century spiritual leaders had for Jesus, I would tend to agree with theologians on this point. But I also wonder if there wasn’t something more personal & practical about the timing of Nicodemus’s questions.

Perhaps Nicodemus came to Jesus in the middle of the night because that was when he had time to think.

I began writing this chapter early in the morning on the day after Christmas. I’m assuming your experience around this peace-filled holiday is much like mine — it is anything but peaceful.

If you are like me…you have spent too much time running around buying last-minute gifts, attending last-minute Christmas parties and sending out last-minute Christmas cards. You’ve probably spent too many hours in the car traveling to spend time with family before rushing back home for work & children’s activities. And if you are like me…the candle-light Christmas Eve service at church was the only moment during this holiday season when you actually took time to slow down, catch your breath and ponder the incredible blessings God has given you.

If we are honest with ourselves, we live lives that are entirely too hectic with entirely too little time for rest & reflection. It’s no wonder we struggle to sleep at night. Countless thoughts roll through our heads like waves crashing against the shore. At times, these thoughts are more detriment than benefit as we battle fear & anxiety over past regrets and future concerns. At other times, though, we gain clarity of thought as our brains stop focusing on the immediate & superficial and begin contemplating the deeper things of life.

Who am I?
Why am I here?
What is my purpose in life?
What happens after I die?
What do I believe about God?

Just like the conversation that took place between Nicodemus & Jesus, some of the best conversations I have ever had with God and my friends have occurred in the middle of the night. Laying in a field under a star-filled sky as I contemplated the ever-expanding universe. Riding shotgun next to my Dad in the station-wagon as we talked about life & drove through the inky blackness of the night — the rest of the family sleeping soundly in the back. Standing in my friend’s driveway at 3:00am leaning against our cars as we debated the existence of God. Fighting off sleep during a wilderness adventure as I eased my weary body into a sleeping bag and began baring my soul to my closest friend. Staring at the ceiling in my Freshman dorm room in the middle of the night while contemplating the whirlwind my life had unexpectedly become.

It is in this last moment — the one in the college dorm room — that I feel most connected to Nicodemus. This was the moment when I finally approached Jesus with honesty & sincerity. This was the moment when I no longer cared about my reputation. This was the moment of my second birth.

It was around 2:30am and my roommate was fast asleep in the bottom bunk as I laid wide-eyed & wide-awake in the top. My mind raced as I processed all that had happened in the last couple of years.

My parents had divorced during my final year of High School. My brothers & sisters were all living their own unique lives. I had moved away from home for the first time ever and was now living on a college campus that was ten times larger than my hometown and unbelievably more diverse than anything I had ever experienced. My roommate was a good friend, but my closest friends were back home or at other colleges. My long-time girlfriend had recently broken up with me.

And it wasn’t just the world outside of me that was changing. My inside world was changing as well. I began to sacrifice my long-held convictions about under-age drinking. Late-night partying on the weekends became my new normal, and I’m not proud to admit that there were nights when my “friends” had to fill in missing gaps of time for me.

As I laid in my bunk that night processing all of these unprecedented changes in my life, I remember crying out to God: “Will there ever be anything in life that doesn’t change? Will I ever find solid ground on which to stand?”

It was in that moment that the Holy Spirit brought to mind the words of Hebrews 13:8, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”

I had heard the words before, but they had held little theological or practical meaning for me. In this moment, though, they took on a whole new light. In this moment, I realized the one unchanging constant in my life could be God. He alone could become the solid rock upon which I could stand. I surrendered my life to Jesus that night and was given a second chance. This was the moment of my second birth.

In the church world, we call this personal story a “testimony” — a public retelling of your conversion experience. It is the story of your transition from death to life, from darkness to light, from worship of self to worship of God.

Testimonies are incredibly powerful. Every follower of Jesus has one. Some are dramatic stories of being rescued from the pits of hell to discover the glories of heaven. Others are much more mild in comparison. Stories of growing up in a Christian home with church & youth group involvement as a regular occurrence and a slow awakening to the truths of Scripture.

As a pastor, I have had the privilege of hearing many personal testimonies. Those individuals with the most heart-breaking stories still bear the scars of their past. They often say they are grateful for their histories because it helps them understand the depths of God’s love for them. But if you listen closely, you can still hear the pain & regret. And if you watch closely, you will see a hint of jealousy as they listen to those with less-dramatic testimonies.

Throughout the years, I have discovered that those with spectacular testimonies often wish their stories were less spectacular.

So what’s the story behind your second birth? Regardless of whether your testimony is dramatic or seemingly mundane, Jesus reminds us that a party occurs in heaven for every life transformed by the radical love of God. “There is joy in the presence of God’s angels when even one sinner repents.” (Luke 15:10)

So what’s your story? I would challenge you to gather with friends in the coming year and take turns sharing your testimonies. You will be amazed at how quickly & deeply this simple act of story-telling draws people together.