The full moon. Just by saying that brings visions in all of our minds. All I have to say is full moon and our minds begin to race toward various tales of lore and superstition.

For generations our society has been captivated by tales of strange things occurring on nights that boast a full moon.

Tales of werewolves that roam the forest howling at that big ball of light hanging in the night sky.

Tales of escalated crime that come from the police stations,

And tales of babies that seem to be drawn by the light that a full moon produces.

Many people would tell you that these are more than just folklore, that in fact crime and babies occur more often when basking in the light of a full moon!

I wonder how many of us were born under a full moon? I wonder whose mother grabbed the arm of her husband and screamed in a whisper ‘IT’S TIME’?

And I wonder how many of our fathers quickly loaded up the car with clothes and a pregnant woman and raced to the hospital, or waited outside for the doctor to come to the house straining to see by the beams of that full moon. BECAUSE WE WERE COMING!

Our poor fathers, you know, I’ve always thought (now this is something I’ll never find out for sure) but I’ve always thought that fathers go through more during childbirth than mothers do.

Now I know that are a few mothers who think that I have no idea what I’m talking about, that fathers go through NOTHING compared to what the mothers go through, but just hear me out for a moment.

During labor, the mother has no choice but to think about the job at hand, she is focused on that baby coming out!

But the father, especially if he is outside the delivery room, has no choice but to think about EVERYTHING! Will the baby be okay, will the mother be okay, will we be able to provide for this baby, what college will he or she go to, will they be a doctor or a teacher, and WHAT IF THE BABY LOOKS LIKE ME?

Granted the mother may be a little uncomfortable at the moment, but the father is in agony with his mind racing about this baby.

You can always tell who’s expecting a baby in the hospital waiting room. The face of that new father is pale, all the color has long since been drained.

The father is pacing backing forth and doing pushups, whatever to work out some of the nervousness that is flowing through his body.

The father is jumpy, every time a doctor, nurse, or janitor walks around the corner, he runs and grabs their stethoscope or broom and asks if everything is okay!

He’s scared. He is about to assume a responsibility that is beyond all other responsibilities. He will soon be a father. He’ll be changing diapers, watching Barney and Mr. Rogers, read bedtime stories and sing nursery rhymes.

He’ll go to Little League games and dance recitals. He’ll help with homework and he’ll do science projects. He’ll hold the back of the bicycle and let go at the right time.

He’ll listen to noise that his child calls music and he’ll negotiate the phone line. He’ll drill the guy that comes and picks up his daughter for a date and embarrass his son when he brings his date home.

He’ll hand over the keys to the car and take them back after that first speeding ticket. He’ll tear up and graduations, all of them, and he’ll smile when they finally move out of the house.

He’ll walk her down the aisle and give her away. He’ll hand him the ring and pat him on the back. And he’ll foot the bill.

He’ll be a father, an awesome responsibility.

Will I be a good father? Will I instill in my child morality and values? Will I be distant or will I be active in the life of my child? What will my child think about me?

All of these thoughts and questions will flood the mind of that pale, nervous, jumpy man while waiting for the birth of his child.

And just as he checks his watch for the millionth time he hears it. It was as clear and loud as a gunshot. It went away for a moment but then he heard it again, louder this time, the cry of a newborn child, his child, his baby.

The doctors and nurses come and get the father, put him in a gown with a hairnet and booties that cover the shoes and take him in the room to see the baby.

And he understands what people meant when they called this moment a miracle.

That little creation, with the ten little fingers and ten little toes, he’ll count them a thousand times over the next day or so. The little ears and nose.

He watches that new creation cry for the first time. He watches that new creation smell it’s very first smell and taste it’s very first taste. As it feels for the first time and as it sees the world in a brand new light.

As the full moon pours light in the windows, the new father holds this new creation, this new life in his arms.

He counts the fingers and toes again. And he marvels at this incredible creature in his arms, THE GREATEST GIFT FOR A FATHER.

He’ll never forget that moment. As the years come and go, and the hair changes color and as he forgets this and that he’ll NEVER forget the feel, the smell and the sight of that new creation. He’ll never forget that birth.

I wonder if Nicodemus was remembering a moment such as that when he was talking to Jesus? I wonder if Nicodemus was thinking about that first moment when he held his child for the first time, and counted those fingers and toes over and over again?

I wonder if Nicodemus was reliving that incredible miracle of birth that he experienced, as he talked with Jesus under the moon that ruled the night?

Maybe that is why he couldn’t understand what Jesus meant by being born again. Maybe Nicodemus was thinking about the incredible event that he witnessed in the birth of a child, an event that was simply indescribable that he couldn’t possible fathom a grown man doing it all over again.

It was astonishing enough to experience the birth of a small child, so how could it be possible that a grown person go through birth?

Maybe he couldn’t shake that image of his child. Maybe he couldn’t shake that first smell, touch, and sight of that new creation. That was a miracle, but what Jesus was talking about is impossible!

‘How can this be?’

Weeks before the birth of a child, before that miracle happens, mothers can feel something. It comes from their mid-section and it feels like something is moving! They may go to the doctor for an answer.

Is it indigestion? No. Is it a virus? No. Is it my imagination? No. Then, what is it? It’s the baby, kicking and moving around.

She comes home and grabs the hand of everybody she sees, CAN YOU FEEL IT? She grabs the hand of her husband and puts it on her belly and asks him if he can feel it.

YES! I CAN! What is it? He asks.

It’s the baby!, she says. He is feeling his child. He is experiencing his child moving around punching and kicking, stretching and ready to come out.

They go to the doctor for an ultrasound and they see the heartbeat, they can see the hands, they can see the feet, and the ears and the eyes, they can see their child!

It is alive! It is without a doubt, unquestionably alive!

Surely Nicodemus must have felt the kick of his child in the womb of the mother before the birth. I bet there was a time when he pressed his ear against the womb and listened for the heartbeat, when he felt for that stretch and kick, when he knew that his child was alive.

Children are alive before they are born. We can see them on ultrasounds and we can all feel them as they stretch and kick, we know that they are alive, because we can see it, feel it, and hear it. But they are yet to be born!

And when that wonderful time comes when they enter into this world for the first time and stretches and cries, we call it a miracle of life and marvel at this new creation.

Jesus was getting frustrated with Nicodemus. Surely a man of his intellect, a Pharisee and a member of the Sanhedrin, and a man of his experience should understand what he was trying to show him.

Jesus said, you must be born again.

Nicodemus responded, ‘how can this be?’

We go through our life kicking and screaming. We stretch to free ourselves of our surroundings.

We may have even found ourselves confined by a space, situation, or habit.

People can hear us, see us, smell us, and touch us. They can all testify that we are alive.

But have we been born? Our spirit exists, it’s there, it’s alive per se, but has our spirit experienced birth?

Is our spirit kicking trying to get out, stretching to expand its space, trying to find freedom in the confines of our life?

Has our spirit experienced birth?

Has our spirit experienced the birth that comes when we lift our faith in Christ?

Have we experienced the freedom that comes with that birth?

No longer held to captive to the world, no longer held captive to the slave masters of hate, envy, lust, greed, selfishness, pride, and evil.

Have we seen the world for the first time in Christ?

Have we seen the beauty of the creation?

Have we seen the beauty that exists in one another?

Have we seen the beauty that lives within us?

Have we felt the world for the first time in Christ?

Have we felt the needy hands of those who cry for our help?

Have we felt the loving arms of our brothers and sisters?

Have we felt the breeze of God’s Spirit brushing against our cheeks?

Have we heard the world for the first time?

Have we heard the cries of our world?

Have we heard the cries of one another?

Have we heard the voice of God, those loving, comforting words that speak to us through scripture, worship and prayer?

Have we, our spirit, experienced birth?

Have we cried out joys of freedom and love?

Have we been born?

Have we looked into the eyes of our Father as he counts our fingers and toes over and over again?

How can this be? How can someone be born again?

Jesus tells us to embrace his love and grace.

Jesus tells us to believe.

Jesus tells us to believe so that we will have hope.

And so that in that hope, we will find peace.

We will experience birth, we will be born into a new world.

We will be a new creation! Smiling in the arms of the God, the greatest gift for a Father!

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.