GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD (John 3:16)

Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. He was a man of position and power, a ruler of the Jews, a teacher of the Law, a man who had studied the Scriptures his entire life. He knew the prophecies, the promises, and the longings of Israel for the coming Messiah. But like so many others in his day, Nicodemus was looking for a political deliverer, not a spiritual Savior. He expected the Messiah to overthrow Rome, to restore the throne of David, and to make Israel great again.

So when he slipped through the darkness to speak with Jesus, he came respectfully, but cautiously. “Rabbi, we know that You are a teacher come from God, for no one can do these signs unless God is with him” (John 3:2). Nicodemus thought he was beginning a theological discussion, but Jesus went straight to the heart. Without introduction, without easing into the topic, He said, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3).

That statement must have hit Nicodemus like a bolt of lighting. Born again? He had expected talk of kingdoms and crowns, not birth and new life. He had physical descent from Abraham, circumcision according to the Law, and a life devoted to the Torah. Wasn’t that enough? Yet Jesus shattered every religious illusion with one simple truth: the kingdom of God is not inherited by lineage or earned by law, but received by new birth through the Spirit.

Nicodemus tried to make sense of it with wooden literalism. “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter again into his mother’s womb?” (John 3:4). Jesus answered with divine patience, “Unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). In other words, this is not a physical birth but a spiritual one. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit” (John 3:6).

Nicodemus, the scholar of Israel, stood puzzled. The Scriptures he had taught for years were now standing before him in living flesh, unfolding their true meaning. He had been reading prophecy through the eyes of tradition, expecting an earthly kingdom. But Jesus spoke of a heavenly one, a kingdom that begins not with swords or banners, but with rebirth.

And then, to explain the mystery, Jesus reached back into one of the oldest stories in Israel’s history—the wilderness wanderings of Moses. He said, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:14–15).

It was a story Nicodemus knew well. In Numbers 21, when Israel grumbled against God, fiery serpents came among them, and many were bitten and died. The people cried out in repentance, and God told Moses to make a serpent of bronze and lift it high on a pole. Whoever looked at the bronze serpent lived. The poison in their veins was deadly, but healing came not by effort, not by ritual, but by faith — by looking.

Jesus used that story to teach a divine lesson. The serpent of brass was a symbol of judgment already borne. The image of the curse became the means of healing. In the same way, Jesus—the sinless One—would bear the curse of sin on the cross. He would be lifted up before the world, just as the serpent was lifted in the wilderness, so that whoever looks to Him in faith would live.

That was the gospel in shadow. The bitten Israelites could not save themselves. No medicine, no self-help, no strength of will could draw the poison out. They had to look to something outside themselves. Salvation came through a look, not a long look, not a perfect look, but a believing look. And that is still true today.

We, too, have been bitten by the serpent of sin. Its venom runs through the human race. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). We may try to cover it with religion or morality or good intentions, but no human effort can cure the soul. Healing comes when we turn our eyes from ourselves and look to the crucified Christ. The moment we look—truly look—life enters in. “Look unto Me and be saved, all the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 45:22).

It is not our strength, our heritage, or our knowledge that saves us. It is the grace of God revealed in the lifted Savior. The cross is heaven’s remedy for earth’s sickness. There the Son of God was lifted up, bearing our sin, enduring our shame, paying our debt so that through His wounds, we might be healed (1 Peter 2:24).

That’s when Jesus spoke the words that have echoed through the centuries, words Nicodemus would never forget: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).

We often quote that verse so quickly that we miss the weight of it. But imagine hearing it for the first time as Nicodemus did. His world was small. His faith was national. He believed God loved Israel, but now Jesus said something far greater: God loves the world.

That would have stunned him. The word “world” in that moment broke every boundary and shattered every prejudice. God’s love was not limited to one people, one tribe, or one tongue. It stretched beyond the walls of Jerusalem, beyond the borders of Judea, beyond the bloodline of Abraham. God so loved the world—the Jew, the Roman, the Samaritan, the Gentile, the pagan, the proud, and the poor. Every color. Every culture. Every sinner.

Nicodemus had believed that salvation came through birth. That being a child of Abraham was the key. But Jesus revealed that salvation comes through new birth, a birth that opens heaven to all who believe. “Whoever believes.” That is the heart of grace. Not whoever earns, or deserves, or performs. Whoever believes. The door is wide enough for the world to walk through.

God’s covenant with Abraham had always pointed to this. When God told Abraham that through his seed all nations of the earth would be blessed (Genesis 12:3), He was not speaking of one nation’s privilege but of one Savior’s promise. The blessing was not political. It was redemptive. It was Christ Himself, the true Seed, through whom salvation would come to all who believe (Galatians 3:16).

So when Jesus spoke those words in the quiet of the night, Nicodemus was standing in the presence of the fulfillment of every promise. The Messiah he sought was not here to overthrow Rome, but to overthrow sin. He came not to sit on an earthly throne, but to hang on a wooden cross. Not to destroy nations, but to redeem them.

The greatest surprise of John 3:16 is not that God has power, or wisdom, or justice. We expect that of God. The greatest surprise is that God loves. And not just that He loves, but that He “so” loves—so deeply, so completely, so freely—that He gave His only Son. Love gave. Love lifted. Love saved.

When Nicodemus heard those words, he must have been silent. But the seed was planted. Later in the gospel, after the crucifixion, it is Nicodemus who helps take Jesus’ body down from the cross and lay it in the tomb (John 19:39–40). The one who came in darkness now stands in the light. Grace had done its work.

The message of John 3:16 still calls to us today. Look to the lifted Savior. Believe. Receive. “For God so loved the world.” And that means He so loved you.

His love is vast enough for the world and personal enough for your heart. It is not earned. It is not deserved. It is given. And all who look to Him will live.

Bryan Dewayne Dunaway