Invincible Blindness

Sermon by The Rev. David R. Anderson

John 9:1-41

 

This morning, in the tense drama of John chapter 9 Jesus heals a man born blind. And the stuff hits the fan. Jesus mixes his odd but healing potion of saliva and dirt on the Sabbath, and this so-called “work” sends the Pharisees into a frenzy. Sabbath-breakers were “sinners,” and how, they demanded, how could a sinner perform such a miracle? Ergo, it never happened. The man who now sees is not the same old blind man the whole town knows like family, and has for years. They deny it. It’s like a scene in one of those mob movies where an eye witness sees a criminal act, and some guy in a trench coat and fedora steps out of the shadows and whispers, “You saw nothing. You know nothing.” And when the police arrive on scene the eye witness says, “I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”

What strikes me about this whole encounter is the emotional tension. The Pharisees have to deny the truth of Jesus’ miracle because they’re so invested in the opposition. And, you know, when you have to defend your position against the facts, it can get ugly…like the spin rooms after political debates.

The Pharisees interrogate this poor man, and when they don’t get answers to their liking, they drag in his parents and interrogate them. They get pushy. They personalize the conflict—How dare you speak to us like that? Don’t you know who we are? And when the man—compelled to testify again—says, “If Jesus were not from God, he couldn’t do such a miracle…” they say, “You were born entirely in sin, and do you teach us? And they drove him out.” Get out of our sight!

What strikes me is the emotional tension, because I’ve been here before.

There’s nothing I hate more than that moment when I’m out of sorts and Pam says, “You know you’ve spent the last week either over in your office at church or upstairs in that office up there. You’ve been physically absent, and when you are here you’re emotionally AWOL. You’ve lost sight of the most important things in your life— and that’s why you’re fighting with everybody. That’s why you’re so miserable!” Well, my back arches and my chin rises and I say, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just fine, thank you very much. You’re the one with a problem!”

And then I withdraw (men always do this—high anger and then the highway), and I sit in my office and lovingly coddle my anger. It’s the emotion that makes me feel alive and vital and powerful . . . just like a drug. And a good gauge of my spiritual health is how long it takes for the drug to wear off, how long it takes to realize that if I’m this exercised about something, the problem is with me.

That’s what strikes me about this conflict. The Pharisees are in a rage, and that’s a bad sign. When we know we have the truth, we don’t have to foam much at the mouth, do we? There’s just a simple confidence. But when we’re not sure and someone challenges us, then we personalize things and accuse the other person in high dudgeon.
A few weeks ago I went to see my father for his birthday. He now lives with my older sister in Knoxville. The Anderson clan has always cared most about the two things you’re not supposed to talk about in polite company: religion and politics. That’s about all we talk about!

Now, my older sister and I are polar opposites in both matters. And during one debate I challenged Kathy, and she responded with a comment that sent me through the roof. In the old days you could tell when I was “through the roof,” but now that I’m older I’m much better at swallowing my apoplectic rage and appearing calm. Of course I parried her comment with one of my own and protected my pet position. But when it was over I walked away feeling like one of these Pharisees, my gut churning.

As I listened to that churning I had to admit finally, grudgingly, that she was right. She had presented me with a truth that did not fit my worldview and I had to reject it. I had to protect my position.
What I want you to think about is that moment when you’re being challenged with a truth you refuse to see, that moment when the anger rises. That should be your clue. When you’re so angry with the person on the other end of this argument, it always means the problem is with you.

Well, about now we could convince ourselves that St. John just wants us to be more open to contentious people and their inconvenient truths. We can just sing that old Johnny Cash song, “I keep my eyes wide open all the time,” and go home.

Not so. From its opening, poetic prologue, in which Christ is the “light [that] shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it,” John’s gospel has presented Jesus as the Light of the world. Listen to Jesus today: “As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” If we want to see, we must have light. You can have 20/20 vision, but without light we are all blind. John presents us with the Light of the world—the ultimate illumination, in the light of Whom we see aright, in Whom we see the truth that saves us from the darkness of our own private and selfish prejudice.

The way I can be willfully blind in this or that relationship only illustrates a troubling human tendency. It’s one thing to refuse to see what Pam is showing me; it’s one thing to turn a blind eye to the inconvenient truth in my sister’s comments, but if I refuse to see the truth of Jesus—if I turn a blind eye to the Light of the world—I am in real danger.

This is John’s emphatic message. “Walk in the light,” he urges us (1 John 1:17). Walk the Jesus path. Be careful to take in the light that’s offered. Because if you repeatedly spurn the light, it goes out. “Take care,” in the words of Matthew Arnold, “that your light be not darkness.” Because finally, if we reject the light, if, like the Pharisees, we choose the shadow of our own self-righteousness, our light becomes in fact darkness.

If, then, you see a glimpse of that Christly light, move toward it, walk into it. Live there, John says. Every day. Until, by this light, all else seems a dim and fading shadow. Until one day you join the millions who sing that old refrain, “I once was lost but now am found, was blind, but now I see.”