CLOSE ENCOUNTERS: JESUS AND THE MAN BORN BLIND
Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
March 2, 2008 Fourth Sunday of Lent
John 9
A father and his son, 2 1/2 years old, went on an overnight trip. It was the first time they had been away by themselves, just the two of them, no Mom near by. They checked into a hotel that night. Before turning off the light the father moved his bed a little closer to the little boys. Then when they were both tucked in he turned off the light. After a few moments a little voice said, "Sure is dark isn't it?" "Yes," said Dad, "It's dark, but everything's all right." There was silence for a few more minutes. Then the father felt a little hand taking his hand in the dark, as the little boy said, "Dad, I'll just hold your hand in case you get scared."
Ah, the fear of darkness and the hope of light. Darkness and light are two most common and powerful metaphors, in both the Old and New Testament. What does God do early in creation, right at the beginning? God brings forth light. Who is Jesus, the Light of the World. Says Paul to the Ephesians, "Live as Children of the Light." (Read John 9:1-7)
Except, this movement from darkness to light isn't quite as easy as it might first seem. I recall that time when Lucy is reading a story to Linus. "And so the king was granted his wish. Everything he touched would turn to gold. Now the next day…” Suddenly, Linus stands up and cries, "Stop! You don't have to read any further. I know just what's going to happen. These things always have a way of back-firing." To which, as we shall see, the man born blind would surely respond, "Amen!"
It all starts simply enough. As I said, Jesus, the light of the World, brings light, sight to one who has known only darkness. Actually, if a miracle can be a rather mundane miracle, this one is. It's one of the spit miracles, a little saliva, a little dirt, rubbed on the eyes and he sees. Now, of course, there's that pesky theological argument. Did this man's sin cause him to go blind? When in doubt, blame the victim. Or could it have been something his parents did? They were too easy on him, should have enforced some limits. That's what's wrong with that boy. Somebody must have done something wrong for him to deserve this. But, Jesus buys none of that. Says one scholar, “Jesus will have none of this dormitory bull session, abstract theologizing, no sitting around discussing other people's pain. Rather, he proclaims this man's plight as an opportunity to get a glimpse of God's glory. With a bit of spit and dirt, a loving touch, he heals the man. Glory!” The bandages are removed, the man squints at the light, blinks and praise God. He sees! Now there will be rejoicing, now the party, now the celebration. Right? These things always have a way of back-firing.
I know, this is tough for you UCC folks, but get ready for a little scripture here. (Read John 9:8-34)
So the man sees, and the first thing he sees is that just about everything in his life has now been taken away from him. The folks in his old neighborhood, who used to put a nickel in his cup, begin to keep their distance. His own parents are unsure of him. ‘Let him speak for himself.’ And the local religious leaders practically accuse him of blasphemy and eventually excommunicate him from the local synagogue. Thanks for nothing, Jesus. You get the feeling he begins to look back on those days when he was blind, begging for a little money, as the good old days. What's happening here?
Richard Lischer, a professor of preaching, shares a story from his days as a parish pastor. "In a church I served, one of the pillars of the congregation stopped by my office, just before worship, and told me he'd been born again.' 'You've been what?' I asked. 'Yes,' he said, 'last week visiting my brother-in-law's church, The Running River of Life Tabernacle, and I don't know what it was, but something happened, and I'm born again.' 'You can't be born again,' I said, 'You're a Lutheran and you're the chairman of the board of Trustees.' He was brimming with joy, and I, his pastor, was sulking. Why? Because spiritual renewal is wonderful as long as it occurs within acceptable channels and does not threaten my understanding of God."
Well, could that be what's going on here? Could it be that the healing of the man born blind, instead of being good news is actually threatening news? The neighbors don't like it. The religious leaders don't like it. Even his parents seem hesitant. This healing seems to create a crisis for an entire community. It's outside the norm. It's contrary to expectations. It doesn't happen within acceptable channels. Who did this to you? Who gave permission? Why you not someone else? Are you aware it happened on the Sabbath? Just who is this Jesus? You can't be born again, you're a Lutheran.
I wonder if author, Bill Bryson, had this text in mind when he said, "Newness is a threat. Newness suggests to us that things are not completely within our control. That there is a power which is available greater than our own." What do you do with people who start claiming they can see things to which the rest of us are blind? Well, you can see where this story is going. The blind can see and those with 20/20 vision seem strangely blind. The man born blind emerges from darkness, even as his neighbors and religious leaders slip further into darkness. It's as if they rewrite the words of Amazing Grace. "I once was blind and chose to stay that way." Far easier to stay that way.
I think it's interesting that Jesus is absent for most of this text. He appears at the beginning, he's there at the end, but most of the action occurs between his two arrivals. You might say that's the situation of the church. Could this be a word for the church as it seeks to be faithful to the Gospel and live out the Gospel in Jesus’ absence? And as we've seen and as the blind man discovered, the time of Jesus absence can be challenging. In the words of Fred Craddock, "Perhaps no Biblical story illustrates quite so dramatically the truth of repeated experience. God's favor more often leads into than away from difficulty."
A relationship with God does not remove one from but often places one in the line of fire. Those who preach faith as a cessation of pain, suffering, poverty, restless nights and turbulent days are offering false comfort. Just look at what happened to the man healed during Jesus’ absence. He now walks upright. Assured a place, a direction, only to discover that he has no place anymore. Who are you? Who is this Jesus? Jesus the Light of the World brings a man into the light and out of the darkness and instead of rejoicing and praise, the man is met with suspicion, anger, distrust and fear. The world isn't ready for this.
Now you may not agree with the Gospel, but honestly, as far as the Gospel of John is concerned, the world always prefers blindness. Indeed, the world distrusts the light. Especially when that light brings change or difference or new ways of seeing. And, again, when it is outside officially certified channels. It begins to occur to me that this story is no longer just a story about a man born blind, it becomes a story about me, about us, about the church and our response to this ambiguous gift of light. Do you really want to see? Do you really want to be healed? Or would you rather stay with this familiar status quo of darkness.
In 1963 when the historic Civil Rights Bill was before congress, Rick Allen was the Mayor of Atlanta. President Kennedy, in search of one single southern ally for the bill, phoned Mayor Allen, who happened to be a Presbyterian Elder, and asked for his support. Allen's immediate response was that such support would mean the end of his career. He talked it over with his wife, Louise, who encouraged him to follow his conscience. Imagine that today. A politician following his conscience and taking a risk. In his year and a half in office, Allen had been bombarded, almost daily, with disputes about the terms and pace of desegregation in Atlanta. He had concluded that real change could never succeed on a strictly voluntary basis. And so, on July 26, 1963, Allen became the only elected official in the south to endorse the Civil Rights Bill. He went to Washington, read his statement at a senate hearing, endured a hostile grilling from senator Strom Thurmond, and returned home to find a cold shoulder from all his friends, even the people in his church.
You sure you want to see? To live in the Light of Christ? To embrace this exuberant, boundary shattering, outside the lines, extravagant grace. To see means you will never be able to approach the world in quite the same way you did before. That's a wonderful truth. And it's a terrifying truth. Of course there's always the security of the same old, same old. The security of remaining blind to so very much. “Jesus heard they had driven him out and when he found him he said, ‘Do you believe in the Son of Man?’ He answered him, ‘Who is he sir? Tell me so I may believe in him.’ Jesus said to him, ‘You have seen him and the one speaking with you is he.’ And he said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshiped him.” Lord, I believe. He sees Jesus and in that moment you get the feeling that nothing else really matters, and that all the pain has been worth it. All I know is I was blind, and now I see, I really see. He chooses sight. He chooses light. How about us?