When bad things happen to people, one of our first responses is to try to figure out what caused the misfortune. And the disciples are no different, as we hear in our gospel from John today.
If you spend some time reading and re-reading our gospel passage, you will notice certain words being repeated over and over again. Fourteen times we hear the word “blind,”—more than the twelve times we hear some version of the verb “to see.” Ten times we hear the word “eyes,” and nine times we hear the word “sin.”
The first time sight is mentioned, it is that Jesus sees the man born blind, starting right in verse 1. The disciples then obviously see this man and ask Jesus about his state of sinfulness. In asking this and in Jesus’s answer, it is made clear that the disciples do not see this man clearly, much less the role that sin was believed to play in misfortunes such as being born blind. Once again, we are reminded that we only see what we are actually looking for. And that is truly a theme we can take away from this long gospel passage.
It is interesting to trace the arc of the story line: Jesus and his disciples are walking along, talking. They see a blind man, and the disciples reflect a common understanding of illness and disability at the time that those who were disabled were being punished for sin. They see a man whose disability isolates him, and want to know whose sin caused him to be punished. They define him by his disability and make that disability his identity. That’s a tendency that can play out in this time of anxiety over COVID19, too.
Some of us might think this kind of thinking is primitive. Or maybe others of us might admit that this kind of thinking sometimes pops up in our thoughts too? How many of us have thought “Why me, Lord?” when faced with a crisis? It’s not that uncommon even today when some disaster happens to shake us. We want to know “why?” even when that question has no provable answer. And sometimes, that demand to know why is so we can BLAME someone or something else for what is happening. We are already seeing that pop up, even from people who are supposed to be our leaders.
And in our gospel, since last week’s encounter between Jesus and the unnamed woman at the well, we have skipped right over some things. In chapter 8, the chapter before our reading today, Jesus makes one of the seven “I am” statements that are so characteristic of John’s gospel, when he says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
He then spends the rest of chapter 8 expounding upon that claim.
Jesus repeats that claim in our gospel today, and this story is meant to illustrate the same point that Paul did in our reading from Ephesians—that without light we cannot see. The claim of Jesus to be the light of the world adds an entire other dimension to statements made both at the beginning and the end of this gospel about the responsibility that seeing places upon us. And here, just as our epistle pointed out, it is the light that makes someone able to see. The light of the world. Jesus.
Being able to see is both a blessing and a responsibility. Just like Jesus, once we see suffering in the world, we are called upon to then look for how we can help care for each other. Especially in a time such as this.
Our gospel is a gift to us to remind us that even as we are in unfamiliar circumstances, and maybe can’t see the way forward with any certainty, that God is nevertheless alongside us and calling us to put our claim to be God’s children to work.
It is an irony, perhaps, that as we hear this story in 2020, we are seeing tangible proof of our interconnectedness. The challenge is to see that interconnectedness as a blessing— and maybe push back against the modern delusion that we really are able to put up walls and defenses between us and those who carry the burden of illness and contagion, for instance.
Our gospel today urges us to consider how well we keep the eyes of our hearts open to see God’s providence and care for us, even when the darkness seems overwhelming. Our response to this pandemic is an opportunity to make visible the light of Christ in a time of darkness.
Even as situations are at play which may divide us physically, we can deny the power of darkness and be the good people long to see in times such as these.
How we care for each other will directly impact the duration of this time of trial, make no mistake. During this crisis, we are being called to choose unity and charity, across every boundary we use because we think they protect us, and realize that God calls us to draw the circle ever wider. We can choose enlightenment and empathy, instead of allowing ourselves to give in to fear and mutual suspicion because of our own blindness and hardness of heart.
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| the COVID19 virus |
Up until these last few weeks, perhaps some of have thought that times of pandemics were a thing of the past—or at the very least were a thing of places without access to modern medicine. Perhaps we reassured ourselves that viruses like COVID-19, hopscotching from country to country, were
really only the thing of movies like I Am Legion; The Stand, and about a hundred zombie movies. But now we have seen how quickly the entire world can be enveloped in anxiety and a sense of helplessness and suspicion.
We are being brought face to face with our own vulnerability in a way that seldom happens.
But here’s the thing: that vulnerability was there all along. Our gospel today invites us to consider our interconnectedness, which is a vital lesson to learn from this challenge before us in the coming weeks. We are being given a gift to remake the priorities in our lives from a position of adversarial competition to one of caring for each other—even if we start only because it is in our enlightened self-interest.
Maybe from this crisis, our eyes can be opened to embrace some vital truths, truths that are the backbone of God’s dream for us to live our very best life. Maybe we can come to see truths like:
We are all only as well as the sickest person among us, and that doesn’t mean to shun each other, but to care for each other, to be considerate of each other, and to make sure that people have expanded access to food and preventive medical care so that they can have the luxury of staying home and out of harm’s way.
May we see another truth: every single person you see is someone’s loved one, so only take what you need.
May we see this truth, too: this illness, like most illnesses, is no respecter of rank or privilege or station. And what that means for all of us is that it is in our own best interest for everyone to be able to pay their bills while abiding by physical distancing, to engage in the luxury of sheltering in place for all our sakes.
Even in this time of lockdown, the most vulnerable among us will see their ability to feed themselves and their families become even harder. The lonely and isolated risk becoming more so. What happens to our unhoused neighbors when all the soup kitchens close, and all the places they gathered to seek shelter from the elements are no longer available?
May we never again forget this truth: Medical staff—and in particular nurses, nursing home aides, EMTs, and caregivers-- are the backbone of this fight—and we need to treasure and value them accordingly.
Farmers, food plant workers, truckers, and grocery workers have never been more important in keeping us all supplied as we begin to shelter in place. These are vital jobs that makes our lives possible, and they too should be treasured and respected, commensurate with how much we rely upon them.
But even more, perhaps as we are given the opportunity to rise to this challenge, as the Body of Christ, we can be that light to the world that Jesus claims as central to his identity. We can reach out to those who are vulnerable or frightened and reassure them, just like our psalm does, to truly see with vulnerable, tender hearts, that we are never alone. We are always beloved. God has chosen us and anointed us, and provides us with all our hearts and souls need.
We just have to have the eyes to see, and the courage to be vulnerable, to open our hearts to each other, fearlessly.
Amen.
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