I like this story, precisely because it’s not just Jesus doing some divine magic. It’s not just about “fixing” a poor, pitiful blind person, either. It’s about all of us. It’s about our own lack of spiritual sight, our own blindness in our interactions with one another and with ourselves. When Jesus puts damp mud on the man’s eyes in our story, Jesus is re-creating him—just like God used damp mud to fashion the first “earth creatures” in Genesis 2. When Jesus sends the blind man to wash in the pool called “Sent,” he is baptizing him with water, making him an apostle, one who is “sent out.”[2] This man is you and me: Wounded, broken, yet neither judged nor condemned; created by God in God’s image; baptized in Christ’s death and resurrection; sent out to share the Good News. This man is all of us.
So what happens when Jesus get his healing hands on us? Well, the newly healed beggar gains his sight, yet he loses his old, familiar identity. All his life, he has been a blind beggar—unable to work, a fixture at the city gates, someone from whom people avert their gaze as they pass by. But now, thanks to Jesus’ healing touch, the man is no longer a beggar slumped in the dust. He now walks rapidly down the street, purpose in his step. He is so changed that no one recognizes him. He has become an alien in his own village. He might be able to see, but if he looks in the mirror, I wonder if even he would recognize himself? By gaining his sight, he must begin the hard work of rebuilding a whole new self. If you’re reading Richard Rohr with us, you’ll recognize the challenge: the challenge of shedding your False Self—that blind mask that conforms to the world—and coming home to your own True Self—the beloved, light-filled soul that God created you to be. That shedding of the mask can feel like dying. For us, as for the blind man, the True Self only appears through great loss.
First, the newly-healed man has to deal with being grilled by the religious leaders. Imagine if you were an unhoused person suddenly dragged before the bishop and the police chief and asked to explain a mysterious public healing that you didn’t even ask for? How intimidating and frightening that would be! The former beggar is now an object of suspicion and a source of controversy—and Jesus is nowhere to be found during his interrogation. Here he is, finally able to see, and the authorities are all still blind.
And then the man’s parents refuse to back him up. His own family! They acknowledge him as their son, but, afraid what the change will mean for their own lives and reputations, they don’t stand behind his story: “Ask him,” they stammer as they wiggle away from controversy. “He’s a grown-up; he will speak for himself.”
Finally, as the man begins to make sense of what has happened to him and who Jesus truly must be, he’s once again hauled before the authorities and then thrown out of the synagogue for his support of the healer who has saved him. He’s tossed out of the community and labeled as a heretic. As Craddock writes, “A few days previous the man’s life was blessed by Jesus and now his old friends disregard him, his parents reject him, and he is no longer welcome at his old place of worship. What a blessing!” Only after the man has dealt with all of the difficult changes brought about by his healing does Jesus finally reappear and reveal himself.
Change wasn’t easy or instantaneous for John Newton, either, the author of the hymn “Amazing Grace.” He was an eighteenth-century slave trader, enriching himself through dehumanizing others. He was successful, at the height of his career. But on one voyage, he met Jesus in a book, a book about the inner light of Christ. After reading it and journeying inward, his outward journey forced him to spend days fighting a deadly hurricane on the open seas. Fearing for his life, he prayed for mercy, and he and his ship were saved. After that encounter with Christ, though, Newton didn’t change overnight. He took that encounter with him back into his everyday life. When he gave up his job as trader, I’m sure his friends and business associates thought he was crazy. When he became an Anglican priest and an ardent anti-slavery advocate, I’m sure many people rejected him. But he was “sent,” called to testify. His testimony influenced the politician William Wilberforce, who played a vital role in the abolition movement in England. Newton’s own story in his book, Thoughts on the African Slave Trade, greatly helped to secure the British abolition of slavery. [3]
For the Christians in the community to whom John is writing, Jesus has been gone from this earth for almost a century. They themselves are Jews who have been labeled as heretics. They’ve been thrown out of the synagogue for believing that Jesus is the Messiah. The animosity between their communities and the community of the Pharisees is strong, painful, and probably all-consuming. In telling the story of the blind man, John wants to encourage the fledgling Christians during this difficult time of transformation. “Stay strong in your testimony,” he is imploring them. “Even though Jesus has gone to the Father, the changes that he has brought to your lives are life-giving changes. You live in the light of his truth. In time, your coping will have its reward,” John encourages them.
Indeed, John’s message is one that resonates just as strongly today. In my years as a priest, I’ve talked with many people who’ve been through the turbulent journey from the blindness of a False Self to the grace of a True Self. They are often individuals to whom Jesus has opened their true sexuality, or their true gender, or their true worth in situations of abuse, or their true dignity in situations of domination ... These people have had a live-giving encounter with a loving Jesus. And yet, they’re left with rejection from their families, their churches, their communities—all because those groups believe that they have some special hold on the truth, that they alone can see.
As individuals and as a community, we must continually ask ourselves, where are our blind spots? Where do I need to see anew? One of my favorite poems is by the Israeli poet, Yehuda Amichai. He writes:
“From the place where we are right / Flowers will never grow/ In the spring./ The place where we are right/ Is hard and trampled/ Like a yard. /But doubts and loves/ Dig up the world / Like a mole, a plow./ And a whisper will be heard in the place/ Where the ruined/ House once stood.”[4]
And that whisper? That whisper is God’s Amazing Grace.
[1] Fred B. Craddock, “Coping in Jesus’ Absence” found at http://www.religion-online.org/sharticle.asp?title=706.
[2] See https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2020/3/17/now-i-see-salts-lectionary-commentary-for-lent-4
[3] Diane Severance, “When John Newton Discovered Amazing Grace (And Wrote the Hymn),” https://www.christianity.com/church/church-history/timeline/1701-1800/john-newton-discovered-amazing-grace-11630253.html
[4] Yehuda Amichai, “The Place Where We Are Right.” https://www.best-poems.net/yehuda-amichai/the-place-where-we-are-right.html.
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