I’ve spent countless hours sitting in bleachers, auditoriums, and crowded church pews, watching.
Watching my kids in whatever endeavor they were attempting. Soccer. Plays. Musicals.
Sometimes my kids loved my “spectating,” other times they would have rathered I be invisible because my loud “spectating” was embarrassing for them.
Odds are we all have a little “spectator” in us.
There’s a comfort in being a spectator—the distance protects us from the risk of vulnerability, the pain of disappointment, or the embarrassment of failure. Observing quietly from the sidelines, we can applaud when things go well and slip away unnoticed when they don’t.
Nicodemus understood the safety of observation. As a Pharisee, he was familiar with watching, assessing, and evaluating from a careful distance.
I imagine him on the edges of the crowd, thoughtfully studying Jesus as he healed the sick, challenged authority, and taught in ways that both fascinated and troubled him. Observing from afar meant Nicodemus could remain in control, quietly deciding how much of Jesus he would let into his carefully constructed life.
But here’s the thing: faith has never been a spectator sport. It is not a kid’s soccer game.
At some point, Nicodemus’s quiet curiosity demanded a decision—stay safely hidden in observation or step out into the messy vulnerability of active participation.
He couldn’t simply watch from a distance forever; true faith always calls us from sidelines into center stage.
The book of James nudges us toward the same uncomfortable truth:
“Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like.” (James 1:22-25)
When we read these words, do we recognize ourselves?
How many times do we nod along to a sermon, read something deeply inspiring, or feel moved by someone else’s brave act of faith—and then simply move on without allowing that truth to interrupt my routine or challenge my comfort?
Nicodemus didn’t step from the shadows to active participation overnight. It began quietly, tentatively, with questions whispered under the cover of darkness. It grew slowly into public gestures of solidarity, each step leading him further away from safe anonymity and closer to open vulnerability. It ended with him openly participating, finally stepping into daylight alongside Joseph of Arimathea, unmistakably identifying himself with Jesus—even when it seemed too late to matter.
We can find comfort in Nicodemus’s slow journey from spectator to participant because it mirrors our own hesitant steps. Participation in faith isn’t reserved for the exceptionally brave or spiritually advanced. It’s for all of us—slow, careful, sometimes reluctant believers who gradually learn that showing up, speaking up, and stepping forward transforms us far more than safe observation ever could.
Today, let us ask ourselves: Where are we lingering safely on the sidelines? Where are we called to move beyond quiet applause into active participation?
What could our lives be if, instead of watching God’s story unfold around us—we participate fully in it?
Reflection:
Where might God be inviting you to stop observing and start participating actively?
Prayer:
Living God, gently yet firmly move me from the safety of observation into courageous action. Grant me the boldness to step forward, fully engaged in your unfolding kingdom. Amen.