Rev. Emily Wilmarth, First Presbyterian Church of Highlands, NC

“Blindness”

March 26, 2017

John 9:1-41

Our gospel lesson comes from the 9th chapter of John. It’s a story about blindness and sight, about healing and belief. Listen for God’s word to the church today.

My friend Kate’s brother was driving home from a basketball practice one night near the end of his sophomore year in high school. He dropped off a teammate at home, and then somewhere between his buddy’s house and his own, an SUV hit the driver’s side of his Camry. It took emergency crews over 45 minutes to extract J from the car. He was in a coma for 19 days having suffered a traumatic brain injury. Doctors didn’t expect J to ever regain consciousness.

So, here’s the question: was J a sinner? Were his parents sinners? If this had happened 2000 years ago, perhaps that’s how we would have explained his accident. That his suffering, and the suffering of his family as they worried and grieved, was the result of some sin they had committed.

“By the grace of God,” Kate says, her mom was sitting at J’s bedside when he woke up from the coma and asked her for some orange juice.

Doctors predicted J would remain at a third-grade intellectual level for the rest of his life. But J refused to let those doctors predict his story. He graduated high school on time, attended Elon University, and earned a degree in exercise sports science. He now has a master’s degree occupational therapy. Kate, the daughter of two pastors and ordained preacher herself says, “He’s [now] making more bank than the three Fiedlers who work for Jesus!”

No one knows how J was healed. Doctors can’t explain his recovery. Kate says her family believes in the power of the prayers that surrounded J and their family. They believe in miracles. “I know Jesus heals,” Kate says. She also says this: “I don’t believe God put my family through this ordeal to reveal God’s strength and faithfulness. You can’t convince me God caused my brother’s accident, even though now I can see God’s grace woven throughout the story.”

Stories like Kate and J’s do show us how God’s work can be seen in tragic situations. I think we cling to these stories because we hope that we’ll experience God’s presence and work in our own moments of tragedy. I agree with Kate. I don’t think God causes us to suffer so God can show off. I think when we suffer, we have the opportunity to look for God’s presence, and to trust that God is there with us. We have the chance when we see others suffer, as Jesus says, to do the works of the one who sent him.

I’m grateful that Jesus’ teaching has helped us understand that sin had nothing to do with J’s accident. It was unfortunate, painful at the time, a tragedy, for sure. But we don’t blame the accident on the inherent sinfulness of J or his family. We aren’t like the Pharisees. We don’t ascribe illness to sin.

Right?

Or do we? The truth is, I think it happens all the time. Obesity, addiction, heart disease, depression, eating disorders, HIV/AIDS, are just a some of the afflictions that often get blamed on the one who suffers from them.

“If she ate better, she wouldn’t have gotten sick.”

“If he would just get over it, he wouldn’t be so depressed all the time.”

“If she made better choices, she wouldn’t suffer from her addictions.”

We know better…we try not to…but it still happens. People who suffer from illnesses also suffer from the stigma of their illness, and from the blame others place on them.

Why do we do it? I think fear makes us blame. We fear what we can’t understand, or what we can’t control. Putting the blame on some ’sin’ of another gives us the false peace of mind that whatever happened to them won’t happen to us. And rather than trying to help, or even just drawing near to be with people in their suffering, our discomfort with another person’s suffering, often causes us to distance ourselves.

And we don’t just that we blame people for their conditions. We allow their conditions to determine their moral standing. In the case of the blind man, he was left to beg for his survival. Instead of helping him navigate life, his community (even his parents!) ostracized him, forcing him to be an outcast in society.

But Jesus says we must do the work of the one who sent him. We’re called to do God’s work.People don’t suffer because God wants them to suffer. Rather, their suffering is an opportunity to try to bring healing or comfort. When we see others in pain, we can’t necessarily fix what causes their misery. But we might be able to come alongside them. To show them they don’t suffer alone. To try to ease their pain. It’s interesting: the blind man doesn’t ask for healing. Jesus just heals him. Because he sees the suffering. The question is whether we, too, see suffering and move in to help.

Maybe Jesus saw that this man suffered, not because he couldn’t see, but from the stigma of his blindness. The heartbreaking thing is that even when the man is no longer blind, his people – his community, his religious leaders – can’t just simply rejoice. They can’t throw a party to celebrate the man’s newfound sight. Instead they badger the man to try and understand what has happened. And when he tells them, they can’t accept it. Because his explanation means they will have to change. They’ll have to believe that this man, Jesus – who breaks the law and heals on the Sabbath – is a man of God. And, they’ll have to stop blaming the man’s blindness on his sin. They’ll have to stop being judgmental and start being compassionate. They’ll have to open their hearts to see the suffering of others as an opportunity to help, rather than a means to judge and distance themselves. But they can’t – or don’t want to – make that change.

And so instead, this moment of true glory so confounds his community that they throw the blind man out. He remains an outcast, even though the thing that made him so undesirable before no longer plagues him.

If we’re open to it, this passage can teach us about our own spiritual blindness. It can show us the ways we turn a blind eye to suffering in the world, or to those who are different, or to those we see as sinners. Jesus came to heal us – all of us – of the ways we fail to see light and life in all of God’s children. But if we insist, like the Pharisees, that we don’t need such healing, then we’ll never really see. Despite our best efforts, our biases and prejudices can and do affect our judgment. And Jesus, the Light of the World shines a light on that blindness.

Think about the people that make you squirm, that make you most uncomfortable. Think about the people whose physical or mental differences or disabilities make you feel awkward or annoyed. Jesus calls us to show true, authentic love and compassion to those people, especially. I’m reminded of a friend of mine who once broke both of her ankles at the same time. She was relegated to a wheelchair for several months during her recovery. It opened her eyes in ways she couldn’t have imagined. She realized how hard life really is when you are stuck in a wheel chair. And she learned how lonely life is. People, she said, would make a point to avoid making eye contact with her. Good people, “normal” people. They didn’t know how to treat her, or didn’t want to get involved.

The healing miracle that Jesus performs on the blind man turns the world as we know it on its head. People born blind don’t see. But Jesus shows another way. Jesus shows that the power of God is mightier than all our assumptions and judgments. The power of God, made manifest in the compassion and love of Jesus, makes all things possible. Sometimes healing doesn’t look like we might expect. But when compassion and love are the means, I believe lives are transformed for the better.

I heard a story this week about one such transformation.[i]Therese Wood, a Registered Nurse Case Manager, was working at an assisted living home when a young man in his twenties came to her. His father had early onset Alzheimer’s, and had really declined and needed to be placed. This man wanted to preserve his dad’s dignity, but did not know how to do it. His father had been a physician, well-loved, well-traveled. He still thought he was a physician, though he was going to an adult day care every day at the time.

So Therese brought him into the assisted living and faked an interview with him. She told him they had a position for an onsite physician. She toured him around the facility, and introduced him to all the staff. She showed him an empty room and told him that would be his office. She took him back to her main office, got out an employee form, and handed it to him. She told him they couldn’t afford to pay him, but could offer him room and board in exchange for his services.

She says that he was tickled. He was thrilled. His son was in tears. The dad signed and moved in two days later.

Therese didn’t heal the man’s Alzheimer’s. She didn’t restore him to his former self. But she created an alternative possibility in the midst of what must have felt like a dead end to a heartbroken son. She shined a light of creativity and compassion.

Jesus says, “I am the light of the world.” And while he shines a light on all our blindnesses, he also shines a light in the world to show us how to live and love. When the light of Jesus shines, it illuminates “the place where the life-giving power of God is generating alternative possibilities. These new possibilities require reorientation and receptiveness.” The Light of the World transforms us, if we open ourselves up and let it in.

[i] Therese Wood, recorded by the Moth Radio Hour, March 14, 2017,