Blinded by the Light

sermon by Torin Eikler
John 9:1-41 Psalm 23

The image of Christ as a shepherd is one that we are all familiar with. Psalm 23 was probably the first scripture some of us memorized – not surprising since it has imagery that is so easy for children to grasp hold of. And the image of a flock of sheep following behind a trusty caretaker continues to provide us reassurance as we our ability to understand the complex metaphors grows along with us. That’s one of the reasons that the Psalm is often read at sick beds and funerals. There is an undeniable sense of peace and comfort that comes with hearing that the Good Shepherd walks with us even through the darkest times of our lives.

Can you imagine what your life would be like if you didn’t have that reassurance? If you lived in a time and place where the common understanding was based on a scripture that claimed that the sins of the parents would be visited upon their children for seven generations? If your child was born blind and the blame for that fell on you? If you had lived in darkness for your whole life?

What would it mean for you to meet the Good Shepherd … the Light of the World? How would you respond to his touch on your life?

That’s the question faced by the characters in the story we just heard read. Jesus has performed an unquestionable miracle. Giving sight to someone blind from birth was much more profound than healing an illness in the worldview of the time – a much more challenging proclamation of otherworldly power. It was unheard of even among the greatest healers of Jewish tradition. In some ways, it was more threatening … or more inspiring than bringing the recently dead back to life.

As you might expect, the Pharisees were troubled by it, and I suppose that might be understandable. Not only did it threaten their authority to have a prophet of such power wondering around teaching and healing with neither their oversight nor their control, it challenged generations of teaching and theology about the nature of sin and punishment. It flew in the face of the doctrine that the priests had worked out from passages in Deuteronomy, Leviticus, and the Mosaic traditions.

They believed that the righteous were blessed and the unrighteous cursed. “There was no death without sin and no suffering without iniquity” (a word that refers to lesser disobedience to the law as opposed to inadvertent “transgressions” or willful “sins”). In their understanding, every person’s suffering was an indication of the measure of their guilt in the eyes of God. In addition to the assumption that punishment could carry on down the generations, it was also thought that a child could sin while in the womb or possibly even in the pre-existent state while the soul waited for a body to fill. So, even those whose suffering began at the moment of birth were suspect.

Jesus healing of the blind man along with the words that accompanied it threw all those teachings into question and put them in a bind. (Delicious isn’t it, how Jesus seems to be able to tie our assumptions in knots at will). If Jesus was right and the man’s blindness was not the result of sins, then his healing miracle was not all that threatening but the doctrine they had believed and taught for hundreds of years was wrong, implying that their entire theological system was flawed. If, on the other hand, the doctrine was correct, then Jesus was a prophet of unparalleled power with authority, even, to forgive sin which would make them somewhat … redundant to say the least.

To give them credit where credit is due, the Pharisees do at least research the situation before coming to their decision. When they hear about the confusion that has been caused by Jesus, they call in the healed man and ask him what happened. He confirms the troubling gossip they have heard, and they call in the parents to be certain that this isn’t all just some chicanery cooked up by a passing snake oil salesman. Once their questions have been answered, they can no longer avoid their quandary. A decision must be made: embrace the new possibilities illuminated by the Light of the World or turn a blind eye to the power and promise.

The blind man, of course, faces a similar choice … at least once he has been given his sight. We might think that it was an easy decision for him, but I wonder about that. None of us have been in his position, but there are stories about people who are given sight or hearing through new medical procedures after a lifetime of living with only four senses. They usually experience quite a difficult struggle. Sometimes the light or sound can cause pain, and they always have a sense of disorientation as they work at assimilating the new input. Essentially they have to relearn just about everything as they come to terms with a new dimension of the world around them.

In addition to the physical changes, the blind man also had to deal with a shift in position and a change in relationships. He was no longer a “sinner,” no longer restricted to the margins of society. He was a fully functioning human being and, in theory, he was allowed and expected to take part in the daily life of all the other “normal” people in his city. In reality, though, he would have had quite a struggle to overcome the habits of a lifetime. His neighbors would not have forgotten the past in the instant it took for his life to change. They questioned if he was really who they thought he was, and I suspect that their ongoing wondering and suspicion would have been hard for him to make friends and build a new social support system. The same thing is true for recovering addicts and reformed outcasts today after all.
On top of all that, he would have had to find a new way to support himself. I can’t help remembering one scene from “Monty Python’s Life of Brian” when I think about that struggle. So bear with me …

In that movie, the life of the title character, Brian, seems to be following along in the wake of Jesus for better or worse (usually worse), and upon entering the city gates one day he is approached by a jaunty man who calls out, “Alms … alms for an old ex-leper?” Brian responds, “Did you say ‘ex-leper’?”, and the conversation goes back and forth ….
Ex-Leper: That's right, sir, 16 years behind a veil and proud of it, sir.
Brian: Well, what happened?
Ex-leper: Oh, cured, sir…. bloody miracle, sir. Bless you!
Brian: Who cured you?
Ex-leper: Jesus did, sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business,
all of a sudden, up he comes, cures me! One minute I'm a leper with
a trade, next minute my livelihood's gone…. Bloody do-gooder.
Brian: Well, why don't you go and tell him you want to be a leper
again?
Ex-leper: Uh, I could do that sir, yeah. Yeah, I could do that I suppose.
What I was thinking was I was going to ask him if he could make me a
bit lame in one leg during the middle of the week. You know,
something beggable, but not leprosy, which is a pain in the ass to
be blunt and excuse my French, sir.


The ex-blind man in our story was in a similar situation. He was no longer blind. He could no longer rely on the alms from passersby or support from the synagogue that had been his to expect under the law, and he probably had no marketable skills. That left him – and his parents – with one less source of income to cover their expenses.

With all of the painful struggles coming his way and the added weight of the disapproval and ill-will of the authorities, I would not be surprised if the healed man was less than completely happy – perhaps more than a little frustrated by the new life opening up before him. But, that doesn’t seem to be the case. He embraces fully the promise offered to him, and responds in faith with worship.

And so everything is wrapped up nice and neat with the paradox that the man who was blind sees the truth more clearly than those who have who have always had sight. Right?

But what about the other people in the story? What about the nameless witnesses – the neighbors and friends of the healed man? What about his parents?

We aren’t told anything about the general public other than their amazement at what they have seen. His parents are a different story. We would expect that they were happy for their son … and maybe relieved to have the burden of a blind dependent taken from their shoulders, though they may have understood the struggles lying ahead of their family better than the man himself. Yet their response seems to be more than a little ambivalent. They don’t throw a party to celebrate the miracle. They don’t go dancing in the streets. They don’t follow their son to find Jesus. They are not even willing to say more than a few words of confirmation about their son’s identity when they are asked by the Pharisees.


I wonder why? I wonder what held them back? Was it just concern about what the future would hold? Were they worried about angering the authorities or offending the community? Or was there something deeper at work? Was there some part of them that didn’t really want things to change, that was afraid of what it might mean to accept the truth illuminated by Jesus teachings and the power of his actions? Would they have been happier to live in the shadow of their son’s blindness and the family’s shame than to step into the light healing – of new life brought by some traveling prophet – new life threatening joy in the place of accustomed pain and offering new struggles to replace the old standbys?


A shepherd is not all powerful. He can lead the sheep to still waters and show them the way to green pastures. He can heal their hurts and protect them from danger. But only if they follow him … only if they stay near him … only if they listen and come when they hear him calling.

The Good Shepherd, the Light of the World, God’s Love Made flesh, can restore our souls. He can offer us the bread of life to feed and sustain us. He can lead us to the still waters of peace and lead us through the darkness to infinite joy in the light of God’s love.

Are we willing to follow him though doing so may take us beyond everything we know? Are we strong enough to open ourselves to his healing touch, molding and shaping us to his design even if it bring painful changes? Is our faith strong enough to answer his call and let him fill our spirits or will we turn away, blinded by the Light?

I wonder.