The man
answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from,
and yet he opened my eyes.” (John 9:30)
There’s just so much I dig about the ninth chapter of John’s gospel. It’s rich in characters: a young man who has his life so radically changed that he can get snarky with the religious authorities, religious authorities who are so set in their ways they couldn’t recognize God’s actions if they bit them in the butt, a set of parents so afraid of ostracism they’re ready to throw their formerly disabled son under the bus, some bystanders who don’t believe in miracles even when they see one, and the usual clueless disciples. Also Jesus.
Anytime I write or speak on John Chapter 9 I feel I have to reference the disciples’ classic question in verse 2:
“Rabbi, who
sinned—this man or his parent—that he was born blind?”
The disciples have concluded that being born blind has to suck. Admittedly, blindness has its drawbacks. Being a sighted person, however, I may be making a judgment about something I don’t know anything about. If you’re born blind, it’s just part of who you are and how you roll. But, the disciples think because this poor guy has to sit on the street corner with his Solo cup in hand asking for spare change that God must be mad at him or his folks for something. It must be comforting for the disciples—and for the rest of us, too—to think there’s a reason for everything.
But sometimes there isn’t.
I recently re-read Elaine Pagels’ emotionally withering memoir, Why Religion? In it the Princeton University historian of religion recounts how her two-year-old son Mark was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension, a rare but invariably fatal condition. Elaine notes how, when Mark succumbed to the condition four years later, she was overcome with feelings of guilt. She would later recognize that, however devastating these feelings might be, they somehow felt better than feeling bewildered and helpless. It is a bizarre trait of human beings that we look to find blame in order to find comfort. But Jesus isn’t about blame. He sees in affliction an opportunity for God to be revealed.
In this story the Pharisees are again cast in the role of the bad guys, and they really live up to it. In fact, I think their behavior here in John 9 is a quintessential example of what it is to be real dumb-assed jerks.
Javert - Novel illustration 1862
As an illustration of jerkness, I think of one of my favorite literary villains, Inspector Javert from Victor Hugo’s mammoth classic Les Miserables. I actually read the whole unabridged novel once. It’s about a thousand pages and Hugo digresses almost as much as I do. He’d never get that bad boy published today without some serious editing (But I digress). If you know the story—and perhaps you’ve seen the wonderful opera based on it—you’ll know (spoiler alert) Javert is a police inspector and former prison guard who has been on the lookout for decades for the hero, Jean Valjean, a guy initially imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread. Valjean has committed a minor parole infraction, but Javert can’t let this go. In his legalistic brain all crimes have to be punished and all criminals are rotten down to their Fruit of the Looms. At the end of the story Valjean saves Javert’s life and forgives him for decades of persecution. This is a crisis for Javert, because he can’t accept that a criminal could do a merciful and grace-filled act. The contradiction is too much for his world view. Rather than surrender his life-long beliefs, Javert throws himself into the River Seine and drowns.[i]
So how’s this like our Pharisees? These guys have such a rigid world view that nothing can shake them. Jesus can’t be holy because a truly holy person would observe the Law of Moses and never do any kind of work on the Sabbath. Period. End of sentence. End of book. Forget compassion. Forget mercy. The law is the law, and they are its smug and self-righteous guardians. They are absolute.
This makes me ask: what absolutes might we believe? Every word of Scripture is divinely inspired and literally true. All abortion is wrong. There is but one true expression of the Christian faith. Male homosexuals are all pedophiles. Women are not as smart as men. Every American should have the right to own a firearm. My daughter-in-law is lazy. My son is a moron who will never make anything of himself. Big business is out to screw you. Foreigners sponge off our country. Everybody should pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Some people never change. Everything is their fault.
Conservative or progressive, rich or poor, Black or white, we all have ideas in our heads which we think are unshakable. We think we see it all clearly, but maybe we don’t. And sometimes we just need to surrender. That’s what repentance is—changing our minds. Admitting there’s another way to look at things. Remember, the 18th century ship captain John Newton once believed it was okay to transport Africans to the New World as slaves, but God opened his eyes to the truth. In return, Newton, who went blind in later life, wrote the poem which became the lyrics for “Amazing Grace:”
“I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind,
but now I see.”
Is there a place in your life open to mystery? Or a place in your heart open to change? Can you accept you might be wrong? That you might see differently if looking through the eyes of Jesus?
God bless you. I hope this journey through Lent is meaningful, and—perhaps—is bringing you a new vision. Thanks for reading. Please come again.
[i]
BTW: If you haven’t seen Les Miz on stage, you really should. It’s a great
piece of theater, and the scene of Javert’s suicide has one of the coolest
stage effects I’ve ever seen. There hasn’t been a Broadway production in years,
but I suspect it will get a revival
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