Lent IV

John 9:1-41

As Jesus walked along, he saw someone who had been blind from birth. The disciples asked Jesus, “Rabbi, was it this individual's sin that caused the blindness, or that of the parents?” “Neither,” answered Jesus, “It was not because of anyone's sin – not this person's, nor the parents.‟ Rather, it was to let God's works shine forth in this person. We must do the deeds of the One who sent me while it is still day – for night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

With that, Jesus spat on the ground, made mud with his saliva and smeared the blind one's eyes with the mud. Then Jesus said, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means "sent"). So the person went off to wash, and came back able to see. Neighbors and those who had been accustomed to seeing the blind beggar began to ask, “Is this not the one who used to sit and beg?” Some said yes; others said no – the one who had been healed simply looked like the beggar. But the individual in question said, “No – it was me.” The people then asked, “Then how were your eyes opened?” The answer came, “The one they call Jesus made mud and smeared it on my eyes, and told me to go to Siloam and wash. When I went and washed, I was able to see.” “Where is Jesus?” they asked. The person replied, “I do not know.”

They took the one who had been born blind to the Pharisees. It had been on a Sabbath that Jesus had made the mud paste and opened this one's eyes. The Pharisees asked how the individual could see. They were told, “Jesus put mud on my eyes. I washed it off, and now I can see.” This prompted some Pharisees to say, “This Jesus cannot be from God, because he does not keep the Sabbath.” Others argued, “But how could a sinner perform signs like these?” They were sharply divided. They addressed the blind person again: “Since it was your eyes he opened, what do you have to say about this Jesus?” “He is a prophet,” came the reply.

The Temple authorities refused to believe that this one had been blind and had begun to see, until they summoned the parents. “Is this your child?” they asked, “and if so, do you attest that your child was blind at birth? How do you account for the fact that now your child can see?” The parents answered, “We know this is our child, blind from birth. But how our child can see now, or who opened those blind eyes, we have no idea. But do not ask us – our child is old enough to speak without us!” The parents answered this way because they were afraid of the Temple authorities, who had already agreed among themselves that anyone who acknowledged Jesus as the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. That was why they said, “Our child is of age and should be asked directly.”

A second time they summoned the one who had been born blind and said, “Give God the glory instead; we know that this Jesus is a sinner.” “I do not know whether he is a sinner or not,” the individual answered. “All I know is that I used to be blind, and now I can see.” They persisted, “Just what did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” “I already told you, but you will not listen to me,” came the answer. “Why do you want to hear it all over again? Do not tell me you want to become disciples of Jesus too!” They retorted scornfully, “You are the one who is Jesus' disciple. We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses, but we have no idea where this Jesus comes from.” The other retorted: “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes! We know that God does not hear sinners, but that if people are devout and obey God's will, God listens to them. It is unheard of that anyone ever gave sight to a person blind from birth. If this one were not from God, he could never have done such a thing!” “What!” they exclaimed. “You are steeped in sin from birth, and you are giving us lectures?” With that they threw the person out.

When Jesus heard of the expulsion, he sought out the healed one and asked, “Do you believe in the Chosen One?” The other answered, “Who is this One, that I may believe?” “You have seen him,” Jesus replied. “The Chosen One is speaking to you now.” The healed one said, “Yes, I believe,” and worshiped Je-sus. Jesus said, “I came into this world to execute justice – to make the sightless see and the seeing blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were nearby heard this and said, “You are not calling us blind, are you?” To which Jesus replied, “If you were blind, there would be no sin in that. But since you say, "We see,‟ your sin remains.”

Reflection by Christina Honchell

Here we have another of those great dramatic set pieces in the gospel of John: a couple of compelling main characters, timid parents for comic effect, an ethical lesson regarding the origin of sin and two choruses, the Pharisees and the disciples.

Where do I start with the things that bother me about this story? I'm a relentlessly rational person. I've always read the miracle stories with some discomfort, and I'm in good company. Thomas Jefferson cut out this story, and all of the miracle stories, when he published his version of the New Testament. This Lenten season I've been reading Leo Tolstoy's version of the Jesus story, The Life of Jesus, in which we find Tolstoy equally uncomfortable with miracles, going so far with this story that he changes the main character's blindness from a physical condition to a condition of lack of education and spirituality (the disciples ask: “Is it his fault or his parents, since they did not educate him?”).

Some of my discomfort is endemic to all of John‟s gospel: it's important to remember that this gospel was written sixty years after Jesus' death, and written in a period of great conflict between those in the Jesus movement, now in its second and third generation, and the Jewish community from which they came. And to bracket all of the language and commentary put on the lips of the Jewish Pharisees; reading John's gospel requires vigilance to recognize the anti-Semitic prejudices of the author's voice and to cut through it to find the important story being told about Jesus and his ministry.

And while it is clearly an ethical step forward for Jesus to proclaim that neither individual sin, nor inherited sin, caused the man's blindness, it feels like a step backward when he completes the lesson by saying that the man is blind in order to let “God's works shine forth.” I don't believe for a moment that God intends for some to suffer so that others might learn.

So setting aside those things that give me ouches, there is much to love about this story. Beginning with the healing ritual itself: nothing ethereal, just a gob of mud and spit smeared on the man's eyes. Washed clean in living water. Earthy, sacramental, messy. The young man, and we, are healed by the things of this earth, materials available to all of us, and it speaks to me of the importance of our life in the here and now.

When I drill down to what speaks to me in this story, it takes me back to that rationalism that I carry around with me, and that keeps me from seeing – I relate to those Pharisees.

Not so much in their obsession with sin abounding – sin in Jesus, in the young man, in his parents, but in their hubris about their religious rules and practices. They are sure that they are doing religion right. When Jesus heals on the Sabbath, the Pharisees are unable to see beyond the limits of their doctrine, and actually unable to acknowledge what has happened right before their eyes. Tolstoy changes “Pharisees” to “the Orthodox” in his retelling of the story, to indict the religious authorities of his age and of ours. No matter what our beliefs, we can all benefit from a season of bracketing our tightly held assumptions so that we can be open to what is happening right in front of us.

When Jesus says “but since you say "We see," your sin remains,” I hear a call to moving beyond the relentless rationalism that keeps me from seeing miracles around me. That keeps me from being open to the miraculous, compassionate healing that Jesus offers in this story and throughout the gospels (and that I frankly need – I have a badly broken foot that has dramatically impacted my life and challenged me to deal with discouragement and despair). That keeps me from entering into the mystery of God's Oneness.

As James Carroll says in the concluding chapter of his new book, Jerusalem, “God is greater than religion, and greater than meaning too.”

My prayer this Lenten season is to know that I don't know, and to live in that knowledge.

• Has religion or religious practice blinded you to God's love and compassion at some point in your life?
• What is the cost of letting go of those closely held assumptions that keep you from being open to the miraculous around you?
• How do you reconcile the gifts of rational thought and the gifts of God's unexplainable miracles?