Lent 2A (John 3:1-17)

For those who follow Jesus, life itself can be understood as an incarnate project. To live incarnately is to inhabit the flesh and circumstances we never chose and to maturely accept life’s inherent unfairness. None of us decided the conditions of our birth—our color, body, culture, or place. It’s valid to say, “I don’t recall choosing to be born this way.” So much of what we call success arises from circumstances given rather than chosen. In truth, there is no purely self-made person.

Within this contingent and uneven world, Jesus invites us to be born again. Whatever our starting point, the call is to move inward—toward the very breath that sustains us. Breath, at its most basic level, equalizes us: every human being, every living creature, shares it. It quietly levels our distinctions and achievements and reminds us that life itself is a gift.

When Jesus says, “Be born of the Spirit,” we might also hear, “Be born of the Breath.” This rebirth is what I mean by the incarnate project: our bodies, formed from dust, are continually being renewed by the Breath of God. Baptism marks this renewal—a sign of our daily, hourly, even moment-by-moment turning toward new life. To be born again is not to escape our embodied conditions but to inhabit them more deeply, in the likeness of Christ.

Yet this renewal does not end in quiet introspection. Filled with the Breath of God, we are sent outward into the world. The more attuned we are to this divine Breath, the more clearly we perceive how our identities are entangled in social labels and expectations. Franz Kafka once observed with melancholy, “I was ashamed of myself when I realized life was a costume party.” We might say that life indeed feels like a costume party—but instead of shame, we can embrace the play. We learn to put on whatever costume may serve love, turning pretense into compassion, and alienation into connection.

This is what I call skillful self-ing—our ongoing, others-oriented practice of identity-making. We do not destroy the party but participate with awareness, knowing that our customs are not our own. In freedom, we can wear what love requires for the sake of others.

During this Lenten season, let us stay awake to our breathing, attuning it to the Breath of Jesus. He tells us, “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.” But we do know where our breath begins and where it leads: from and toward Jesus of Nazareth.