4th Sunday of Lent - The Blindness of Those Who See

We are halfway through Lent. Laetare! Rejoice!. The rose vestments worn today are a gentle mercy — a reminder that even in the desert, there is an oasis. Easter is coming. And so the readings today do not give us ashes and sackcloth. They give us something far more startling: light breaking into darkness.

The Gospel focuses on Jesus' encounter with a man born blind. His disciples are with him and, seeing him they are not moved with compassion, but curiosity:  "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" They are debating the cause of his condition rather than seeing the person before them. Jesus has to refute the question: "Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him." (John 9:3). Jesus heals the man who returns after washing in the Pool of Siloam and is able to see, a miracle. Laetare! Rejoice! ...right? Nope. 

What unfolds next seems more akin to a courtroom drama. The Pharisees drag the man in for questioning. Then they drag in his parents. Then they question the man again. They are looking, hard but they are not seeing. Why? Because they have already decided on the outcome. Their minds are made up before the evidence arrives. They know, with certainty, that Jesus cannot be from God because he healed on the Sabbath. And if Jesus cannot be from God, then whatever happened here cannot be a work of God. Case closed. 

This is the great irony of this passage and it is devastating. The people with sight are blind. The man who had no eyes to see his whole life is the one who sees with perfect clarity. Look at the progression now that his blindness is gone. When strangers ask him what happened, he says simply: "The man called Jesus." When the Pharisees push him, he tells them Jesus is "a prophet." And when Jesus finds him again at the end of the chapter and reveals himself, the man falls down in worship and says: "I do believe, Lord." He went from "the man called Jesus" to "Lord" all in a single day. And the Pharisees went from certainty to deeper certainty choosing to remain in their spiritual blindness.

The key to all of this is found in the first reading with Samuel's interactions with Jesse's sons, from whom God has chosen one to be the next king of Israel. He sees Eliab, firstborn; tall, strong, impressive, and thinks, "Surely the LORD's anointed is here before him." But what the Lord says to Samuel, should stop us cold: "Do not judge from his appearance or from his lofty stature, because I have rejected him. The LORD does not see as mortals see; humans see the appearance, but the LORD looks into the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7)

What blinded the Pharisees? Firstly, Certainty: They already knew the answer, no need to look further. Secondly: self-interest: Accepting that Jesus performed this miracle would require them to change, to reconsider their authority, their interpretation of the Law, their entire framework. And that was too costly. Thirdly, they judged by appearance: Jesus was from Galilee, a nobody from nowhere. He had no credentials they recognized. He broke the Sabbath. He used mud and spit. A true prophet of God, they reasoned, would not work this way.

Brothers and sisters, where are we in this story? Lent call us to hold up a mirror. How we see people? Do we see the homeless person on the corner, or do we look past them the way the crowds looked past that blind beggar every single day? How do we see our coworkers, the difficult family member, the person who voted differently, the immigrant, the addict; or do we see a category, a problem, a threat, a type? What if the Lord saw us as we see them? Thankfully,  The LORD does not see as mortals see; humans see the appearance, but the LORD looks into the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7) 

Saint Paul, writing to the Ephesians, gives us the alternative. He says: "You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth." (Ephesians 5:8-9)

This Lent, as we prepare to renew our baptismal promises at Easter, let us ask for the grace of real sight. Not the sight that confirms what we already believe. Not the sight that looks past the poor and the suffering. Not growing so comfortable with our darkness that we fear the light.
Let us ask for the sight that falls to its knees and says: "I do believe, Lord."

Laetare! Rejoice! The Light has come!

Peace.

​Deacon Michel