The question I have for you today may be one you’re reluctant to answer, even if it is a simple one. The question is this: Have you ever watched Geraldo? Or perhaps Donahue or Opah? Or any of the other investigative talk-shows? Well, if you have, you’d be right at home with today’s Gospel reading. Can’t you just see them on an afternoon TV program? Here’s the guy some people say was blind at birth. Folks claim he was cured by a miracle worker. Sitting next to him are his mom and dad, who don’t look too happy about being there. Next to them is a friend of the family, a woman who knew the blind kid but isn’t really sure whether this guy is that same kid. And there are a couple of Pharisees, just to add some spice to the talk among the guests on today’s show.
I could go on with a story about the interview and the questions from the audience but, instead, I’d ask you to reflect on another question, the question which is the focus for today’s homily. The question is this: What do you need to do see in order to believe? After all, in our so-called modern age, a lot of people say, “seeing is believing.”
Let’s begin our reflection with sinners. Sinners are always a good topic, in a lot of churches and among a lot of people who attend church services. Sinners. How can you tell when someone is a sinner? Two thousand years ago, it was easy. All you had to do was look for someone who had leprosy, or who was crippled. Someone who was deaf or blind. Anyone who had a disability which cut them off from the rest of the community. Surely, they must be that way as a punishment from God, who condemned them as sinners.
Yes, back in those unenlightened days, the visible sign of separation, of being different, was seen as being the result of some bad action which separated the person from God. After all, this is one definition of sin, something which separates us from God. Since blindness separates a person from the rest of the community, it must mean the person had sinned.
But sometimes back then, it wasn’t always clear-cut. What did it mean if you were born with a disability? Since you, yourself, couldn’t have done something to displease God, well, it must have been something your parents did that angered him. Aren’t we lucky our attitudes have changed over two thousand years? We now know people are not punished by God with genetic diseases because their parents are sinners. We know God does not inflict blindness, or cripple us, because we have angered him by our actions. And who, in 1993, would believe a person who is HIV-positive is that way as God’s punishment? Or a child born with pediatric AIDS is made to suffer because God wants to punish the parents for their sins? Who, at the beginning of the second millennium, would believe illness is a sign of God’s displeasure with us and of God’s punishment for us1? Who, today, believes if you are happy and healthy, it is because God is rewarding you for your good actions? And if you are poor and homeless, it is because God wants you to suffer for the evil you have done?
Two thousand years ago, the disciples of Jesus had different ideas. They were able to ask whether afflictions are the result of personal sin or sin committed by their ancestors. And what was Jesus’ response? Neither one. Rather, sin, or separation from God, was merely an opportunity for God’s healing, for God’s forgiveness. An opportunity for the person to be reunited with the community from which the separation had occurred. For Jesus, it would appear a reunion with God, and with others, is more important than trying to figure out whose fault it is.
Reunion with God. Reconciliation. Forgiveness of sin. Salvation. These are more important than dwelling upon past transgressions. And so it was that he encountered the man born blind and cured him. The condition separating him from the community was taken away. Now, there was an opportunity for the man’s return and participation in the life of the community. But what happened? Was there rejoicing with the man’s return? Were his friends and parents overwhelmed with the miracle? Did they welcome him with open arms? Were the Pharisees, who sought perfection, pleased with the perfection of the man whose sight was restored?
No way! Rather than rejoicing about the miracle, they began to question him about the whys and wherefores. “Who cured you? How were you cured?” they asked. And “what motivated the man who healed you? Was he a sinner, too? What is he hiding? How can he take away the external signs of your sin? Who does he think he is? God?”
Oh yes, there were a lot of questions to be asked. After all, didn’t I say this would make a great show on Geraldo? But has anyone in the audience really looked at what was going on? What did they see? First of all, they saw Jesus take some dirt and mix it with his spit. Then he smeared the mud on the man’s eyes. Next, he told the man to go and wash it off. And the man did! He went to the pool and washed it off and was able to see.
But why did the man go? Why did the man cooperate with Jesus? In fact, why did Jesus even ask for the cooperation? Why didn’t he just heal the man straight-out? Could it be somewhere in this story told by John, there is a message for us, today?
The man-born-blind did not know who Jesus was, yet he cooperated with him. He followed this stranger’s advice and washed his eyes with water from the Pool of Siloam. He was cured with Christ’s initiation and his own follow-through. Perhaps, the message we hear in today’s Gospel reading has something to do with our need for both God’s gift of healing and our cooperation with that gift. After all, the man-born-blind did not ask to be healed. Jesus initiated the encounter, but the man-born-blind, without fulling recognizing the one who touched him, did what was asked of him.
With that action, there began a new belief. A belief subject to questioning by others. A belief that was not dependent upon either the witness provided by his parents or by the friends of a lifetime. He, himself, knew he was once blind. He acknowledged he had been separated from his community. He was blind. But now he was able to see. Now, he had the capacity to be reunited with his community, if only they would allow it. If they would accept his healing and permit him to return.
Of the many questions he was asked that day, there is one set of questions which is more important than all of the others. Do you recall him, standing there before Jesus at the end of today’s reading? Jesus, knowing the man was in trouble, had sought him out and asked this question, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” And the man-born-blind answered with his own question: “Who is he, that I may believe in him?” And the direct response he received, “You have seen him. He is speaking to you now.”
Is it not the case that he would not have been able to see Jesus the Christ if he had not washed the mud from his own eyes? If he had not cooperated with the stranger and followed his instructions? Was this not the sin of the Pharisees? They did not see they were separated from God by their actions. They had eyes but could not see the Christ standing there in their midst. They said they had faith in God, but did not seem to practice what they preached. And so, they remained blind. They remained separated from God.
But the man-born-blind admitted his blindness. He acknowledged his separation from others. He co-operated with Jesus. He was able to see. At first, he said he saw a prophet. One who speaks for God. This is what the woman at the well, whom we heard about last week, said when she first encountered Jesus. But when her eyes had been opened, she was able to see he was the Messiah, the Anointed of God. And the townspeople last week, they listened to her. But it was only after they, themselves, had encountered Jesus personally, it was only, then, they were able to say he was the Messiah. And today the man-born-blind finally is able to call this stranger, “Lord” once he had truly seen him, encountered him.
From these Gospel readings of the season of Lent, it would appear we are each called to experience the risen Lord in our own ways. Each one of us must have a personal encounter with him. We come to believe in him on our own, rather than because of what others tell us about him.
And how do we encounter him? Perhaps, in the people we meet each day. Perhaps, in the events of our daily lives. Perhaps, in the miracles which surround us. Miracles of sunshine and springtime. Miracles of rain and of thunderstorms. We can often see these physical manifestations and yet fail to see the divine in them. We say, “we see,” but we remain sightless.
Perhaps, it’s a case of failing to follow up on what is being asked of us. Perhaps, we have encountered Christ and still stumble in our darkness because we have not cooperated with his healing powers. Consider this: if you or I were the man-born-blind and appeared on Geraldo, what would be the most important question someone in the audience might ask? Could it be the question, “Do you still have mud in your eyes?”
Fourth Sunday of Lent; March 21, 1993
1 Sam 16:1b-7, 10-13a; Eph 5:8-14; Jn 9:1-41
- Unfortunately, this was still the attitude of many Christians, particularly “fundamentalists,” back in 1993. It is still prevalent decades later.