4^th Sunday of Lent - March 2, 2008

Kingswood UMC - Buffalo Grove IL

Texts: John 9:1-41; film clip of that chapter from The Gospel of John

Before we turn to consider this amazing and beautiful story of Jesus healing the man born blind, I want to remind you of another story ... this one from the Old Testament. It is also about vision and focuses on the choosing of leadership for the people Israel.

The young boy Samuel – before he was three – had been dedicated to God’s service by his mother Hannah. It had been a promise she had made while still barren. Samuel was raised in the temple and grew up to be a true prophet of God, the leader of the people. And the people listened to him and he led them wisely and well. But when he got to be old, his sons didn’t turn out to have the same wisdom he had shown ... and the people demanded a king. And so, with God’s guidance, Samuel anointed Saul to be king ... to lead the people. It was a time of war with the Philistines and Saul turned out to have great instincts for the battle. But it wasn’t long before Saul preferred to follow his own head instead of following God’s instructions ... taking loot where there was no need. And so God repented of choosing Saul and sent Samuel out again to anoint a successor.

The Lord does not see as mortals see. This truth sets our theme and our question for today. How is it that God sees? And how can we gain that sight?

In the Gospel story for today, the setting is quite different on the surface. The itinerant preacher and teacher Jesus is traveling with his followers when they come upon a fairly common scene of suffering. A blind man — blind from birth, we are told — sits by the side of the road with his begging bowl and draws upon the pity of those passing by as he calls out for alms. He’s been there all of his life and has become a part of the landscape. Folks may pass by and drop a few coins in his bowl, but he isn’t a curiosity, just a constant presence for them. They don’t think much about. Or even see him, really.

But Jesus slows his pace when he comes upon him, noticing him. We’re not sure what it is that he sees .... just that he does see him when others don’t. The disciples’ eyes follow Jesus’ gaze and, smart students that they are, they seek to engage Jesus in a common philosophical or theological debate: what is the cause of this man’s suffering. Who is at fault? Why did this happen? They see this man as an example, an object lesson. Distracting themselves from the need at hand ... unable to stay present to the suffering ... they opt for a theological debate, hoping to ease their discomfort by making it a phenomenon, by finding a category for it, explaining it, assigning blame. What caused this to happen? ... the news anchors begin to reflect before the bodies are even removed from the scene. Was it this man? Or his parents? Who is to blame here? Why is there blindness in the world? Or shootings on college campuses? Why is there poverty, illness, suffering? Why do our parents or our children struggle? Why do we find ourselves without work, or lonely, or rejected? If only we had the answers, maybe that would ease the pain.

I was sitting in the emergency room with my mother and sister on Valentine’s Day afternoon. My mom had fallen in the vestibule of her condo and broken her hip. She couldn’t remember what had happened and couldn’t figure out why she was there. My sister and I kept repeating the story. Finally, to relieve the litany and to distract ourselves from the suffering, we decided to turn on the TV. It was then that we heard the early reporting: there had been a shooting at a university somewhere in the country ... there were cop cars and ambulances ... and then a picture of a building that looked remarkably familiar. It began to be clear. This had happened in Dekalb, at NIU, on a campus that we all knew, where we’d attended classes, where I had participated in Annual Conference and heard the call to ordained ministry, where I had visited the bookstore many times. We know people with kids there, or who teach there. It wasn’t long before we heard the intercom message in the Emergency Room announcing a code yellow .... this trauma center in which we were sitting was awaiting incoming victims from the shooting. In the midst of our own family crisis ... the world was also in crisis all around us. Why? How can this be? What does it mean? Who is at fault? My mom was blaming herself ... and feeling bad for Dad, who was blaming himself. My sister and I began to wonder if we should have let them live on their own so long ... the questions were only beginning in our family and at the university and in the families of the shooter and his victims.

Admittedly, there is a time to look for causes, for understanding what has happened so that future tragedies can be avoided. But those aren’t the eyes that Jesus brings to such situations. To those disciples eager to debate the meaning and assign blame, Jesus offers instead, a radical presence and compassion. And he sees an opportunity for God’s works to be shown forth. What an amazing way to interpret human need or suffering! When Jesus sees someone in need, he does not use that person’s plight to develop a political or moral agenda. Jesus sees an opportunity, a chance to recognize and reveal God’s work. And God’s work is revealed, not in a moral statement, but in an act of mercy.

Jesus moves toward the man, touches him, covers his eyes with a mud paste made with his own spittle and the dust of the earth. And he sends him off to participate in his own healing by washing in a nearby pool. The important thing isn’t who was at fault, but that God’s mercy is shown. Jesus moves toward the suffering, not away from it. And he offers healing that requires the man to move out of his usual place, where he has blended into the landscape, to become visible in the world in a new way. The healing propels him into engagement in a new way with the world around him.

And that is what happens. The neighborhood is buzzing. Everybody wants to know how this has happened because it changes everyone’s landscape when one person moves.

And now the story comes full circle. Back on the streets, the man is again encountered by Jesus and the conversation about what has happened goes to a deeper level. Do you believe in the Son of Man? Jesus asks him. As simply and honestly as ever, the man who has received his sight asks who this Son of Man is. Jesus declares that it is he ... the one whom he sees and with whom he is speaking. And the man declares his faith and worships him. With that proclamation the healing is complete. The man who was born blind, has been born again, into sight ... seeing not only the world around him but also Jesus himself, God’s presence that brings clarity even out of the dust and spit of our pain and suffering.

God reminded Samuel that the Lord does not see as mortals see. Now we find Jesus inviting us to also see with the eyes of God. This story began with a blind man sitting on the side of the road, invisible to all except those with the eyes of God. It is no small irony that this story now ends with the religious leaders, who have self-importantly claimed the wisdom and vision of God, being declared blind by their own self-assurance.

Because we are among the religious folk of our day, we need to listen to this story with great care. We are not given the authority to judge one another’s pain or our own. Nor are we to expend great energy in laying blame. Instead, Jesus invites us to join him in being present to the suffering of our world and to notice his presence moving toward us as we sit blinded by tears in the emergency rooms or the ICU units or the funeral homes of our lives. There are few answers in those situations ... or in war, or poverty, or the violence of our streets or homes. There are few answers. But if we follow Jesus’ gaze, and move with him toward the pain, the tears may turn from bitter to sweet, healing and opening us all to knowledge of God’s mercy and grace.