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“Now I Can See”
John 9:1-41, selections
“So, for the second time [the Pharisees] called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, ‘Give glory to God! We know that this [Jesus] is a sinner.’ He answered them, ‘I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know: that though I was blind, now I can see.’”
Let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
I.
It has been said that the Pharisees of Biblical history were much like the Puritans of American history: they were nowhere near as bad as their reputation has made them to be; and yet that is not to say that you would enjoy living life under their direction.
At bottom that was because both Puritans and Pharisees saw life from a negative point of view – though that surely is not what you could have got them to admit about themselves. But it was true, nonetheless. If there were a fault to be found, they would find it. If there were a criticism to be leveled, they would level it. If there were disagreements to be had, they would have them. If there were nits to be picked, they would pick them.
So it was that the Pharisees could encounter a grown man who had been born blind, and had then received his sight from Jesus, and be angry about it. Can you imagine that? A man you have known as blind for, say, thirty years is suddenly healed; and instead of celebrating and congratulating him on his new sight, you completely ignore the miracle that has happened and see only that it has been obtained in a way with which you disagree. You don’t recognize the miracle that has happened, but you see only the violation of custom, and begin venting your rage both against him and against the one who healed him. Can you imagine that…?
But that’s the way things happened that day, nonetheless. In response, the man who was born blind but now could see could do one of two things: on the one hand, he could deny his new sight and go back to living as if he had never been healed; or, on the other hand, he could affirm his new sight, and live the new life that vision had revealed to him.
He chose the latter. Rather than going back to that dark, negative, critical world from which he had been rescued, he chose a life of affirmation and clear sight: having been healed by him, the man affirmed Jesus, even in front of hostile witnesses.
For now he could see not only the world around him; but now he also could see the world within. He could see how frightening and destructive was that world where the Pharisees were lords, yet how inviting and constructive was that world where Jesus was Lord.
Not only had his physical eyes been opened; but his spiritual eyes had been opened too; and he could see clearly the difference between the two worlds – the dark, negative world of the Pharisees, who wished he were still blind; and the bright, positive world of Jesus, who wished him more sight and insight yet.
He might well have been the inspiration for the famous Helen Keller. One day someone said to her, “What a pity that you have no sight.” Replied Keller, “Yes, but what a pity that so many have sight, but cannot see.”[1]
II.
You and I might not live among the Pharisees. And that, I’m sure, is a great blessing for which we can be thankful every day.
Yet, at the same time, we need to admit our temptation. Because our temptation is always to build a world just like the world that the ancient Pharisees built – a world that majors in minors and minors in majors; a world that lives by fault-finding and critique; a sick and hurting world that chooses to be blind to the prospect of healing, because we can see there only the violation of custom and tradition; a world that has sight, but cannot see.
It used to be said among the doctoral candidates at Princeton that it took ten years to get a Ph.D. there; but it took twenty years to get back your humanity – if you ever did. Because so much of any doctoral program is learning the art of critique. And, having learned it, it’s hard to get back to seeing things and people affirmatively and positively.
That, of course, can be and is true almost anywhere. It’s so easy to slip into the negative point of view – and so hard to regain a positive outlook.
Look at what has happened to American mainline churches in the past thirty years. We have allowed ourselves to see things negatively and to be torn apart by factionalism. Indeed loud voices across the country seem to be telling us that dissension is what Christianity is all about – that schism is the cure for dissatisfaction, and the road to the “true church.”
It’s an “I and me” centered point of view: let my opinions be central, or I will leave. And they do. And the result is crumbling congregations everywhere.
Which is why one of the largest Christian denominations in this country has recently launched a massive new study. They have noted that, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the south to the north, more of their congregations than ever seem to have become embittered and tangled in feuds. They want to learn why; because the leaders are aware that the situation must be treated and healed effectively, or the denomination will fall apart.
Well, we all await their conclusions with bated breath; because it’s likely that what’s true for one denomination will also be true for another. And yet I would bet we all already know the answer – or have a strong suspicion of it, anyway. Could it be that many Christians have somehow so fixed their eyes on critique of what is wrong, that they are blind to what is right? so somehow fixed their gaze on themselves that they are blind to the healing work of Christ in their midst?
Frederick Buechner puts it this way: “People are prepared for everything except for the fact that, beyond the darkness of their blindness, there is a great light…. They are prepared for the potluck supper at First Presbyterian, but not for the marriage supper of the Lamb.”[2]
III.
Prepared or not, however, we have come to the Supper this Morning. We have come to the Lord’s Table. And, as we arrive here, we find that he wants to heal us too – just like he healed the man born blind: he wants to give us the sight we never had, or restore the sight we once had and have lost. But today it’s not via mud and saliva that he would spread on our eyes; but it’s via bread and wine that he would touch to our lips.
Nonetheless, the result is the same. If we come to this Supper and accept his healing food, the eyes of our eyes will be opened, and we will see life differently. The eyes of our eyes will be opened, and we will perceive a new way of life. It is a way of life that never ceases to talk about him, while we talk less and less about ourselves. Even more, it is a way of life so much better than the dark and negative world we leave behind, that we would never go back.
And, if we accept it, though we may not be theological experts, this we will know, this we can affirm, over and over, with the man in today’s Gospel: “Once I was blind, but now I can see.”
Come to the Table, encounter Him, know his healing touch in the bread and the wine; and then see your world in a way you’ve never seen it before.
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In the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
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