Fourth Sunday in Lent; March 2, 2008; Bethel Lutheran Church, Rochester.
John 1:1-41.

Dear Friends in Christ, Grace to you and Peace, from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. AMEN.


Our gospel story for today is a story of inversion. The Pharisees start out on top. They have the power. They control the action. They are the ones who know about God. They have the right to put a blind man on trial and expel him from the synagogue. They seem even to have the authority to judge Jesus for healing on the Sabbath. Powerful men, these Pharisees.

Conversely, the blind man starts out at the bottom. Unlike today, the blind in Jesus’ day were relegated to a life of begging. They could do no meaningful work, and, in fact, their blindness was often attributed to some sin—either theirs or their parents’. This blind man is nothing but a beggar.

Blind from birth. That doesn’t necessarily refer only to physical sight. The gospel writer, John, intimates that humans are spiritually blind at birth. How will they be healed? One chapter earlier in John, Jesus calls himself the light of the world. Is he a light for all who are blind?

Author Michael Lindvall tells a delightful tale about James, an overactive seven year old who talks a mile a minute, who sleeps sporadically, and who is boundlessly enthusiastic about everything.
James loves the company of Angus and Minnie, a retired farm couple in their 80s. For the most part, they enjoy his company as well. It’s Halloween. James bursts into Angus and Minnie’s living room. In deep anguish, he complains that his mom bought him a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume to wear. “No one cares about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles anymore,” he says desperately. “My mom should have known that! I’m going to die if I have to wear that! What am I going to do? I can’t wear that costume. Everyone will make fun of me. What am I going to do?”
Minnie thinks for a moment and suggests that perhaps James could be a ghost. Her boys had been ghosts each year growing up. Those ghost costumes are probably still up in the attic. Angus is quick to accompany James up the attic stairs to look for the costumes. And there they are! Not much to those ghost costumes. Just a sheet with holes for the eyes and a belt to hold it all together. Angus and Minnie insist on a reflector belt because it has already snowed in Minnesota, and you can’t see a ghost in the snow. The little boy can hardly stand still long enough to get the belt on.
He is going trick or treating alone, so Angus says he’ll trail along behind to make sure the boy is OK. Before Angus can get his coat on, however, James races out the door full speed . . . and runs smack dab into their maple tree. Angus rushes out to be sure he is okay, but little James picks himself up and runs full speed ahead again. This time he runs into the neighbor’s box elder tree. And this time, he knocks himself out cold.
Angus races over to the little boy. “James!” he hollers. “James, are you all right?” When he reaches the little boy and looks down, he realizes that the eyes of the costume are not lined up with James’ little eyes--not even close. The little guy can’t see a thing. Angus reaches down and adjusts the costume so the boy’s eyes line up with the holes in the costume.
By now little James is awake. In surprise, he opens his eyes, and says, “I didn’t know I was supposed to be able to see!”

The fact of the matter is that God’s children are supposed to be able to see! We may start out spiritually blind, but somewhere along the way a journey begins with the splashing of water and Word on the head. The light begins to shine for us and for others. Through a process called sanctification we grow in wisdom and light through the years. Sometimes it is through a traumatic experience that we know the presence of God.

Rev. Dr. Lewis Smedes tells about a health crisis he experienced sometime back. He had not slept well that night and was not feeling quite right in the morning. His wife came in and found him lying on the kitchen floor, belly up, his face a battleship gray, eyes wide open but not looking at anything. She did all the things she had learned in first aid class, and then called an ambulance. The paramedics loaded them aboard and they skidded along an icy road to the emergency room of a hospital in St. Cloud, Minnesota.
There they found that his lungs were peppered with blood clots, a killer situation for sure. They told him later that he had no better than one chance in twenty to pull through. But a few mornings after he arrived, a physician leaned over his bed and said: “Mr. Smedes, congratulations! You have survived something more deadly than the worst heart attack conceivable.” He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
A few nights later, however, in that melancholy hush that settles over the intensive care ward in a hospital at two o’clock in the morning, it happened. No warning. No preparation. It happened. Alone in the dark, says Lewis Smedes, his spirit was possessed by gratitude. It came on him like a seizure, a fit of frenzy, of pure, unadulterated joy. He says he became an instant Pentecostal! He waved his arms and shook his hands in a delirium of gratitude.

The blind man in our gospel story is grateful. He is so grateful that he is willing to stand up to the Pharisees. He rises to their level as he declares to them that the one who healed him is a prophet of God!

Meanwhile, the Pharisees shrink in stature. They no longer have the upper hand. Oh, they think that they do, but their light is growing dim. They are reduced to verbally abusing the blind man, the blind man’s parents, and then Jesus, relegating him to the status of sinner.

Jesus comes onto the scene, and the ship is set straight. The blind man has been accused of being a sinner. Jesus has been accused of being a sinner. Jesus came into the world to offer light, to make the blind see and make the seeing blind.

The Pharisees seem to understand the meaning. They are the ones with clarity of sight. They used to stand on top of the world. “Jesus, are you saying that we are blind?” Jesus allows them to condemn themselves by their own words.

Did you catch the inversion in the story? The Pharisees start out at the top, but their sin remains and they end up as the losers. The blind man who cannot see at the beginning is able to see both physically and spiritually at the end. He is able to proclaim Jesus as one sent from God. The blind man, through Jesus’ work, rises to the top. As the Pharisees sink through their own ego, the blind man raises through the sight given him in Jesus.

We are blind in so many ways, people of God. But the light of the world is here. The light comes to us in many ways. In this season of Lent, may we humble ourselves that the light might shine ever brighter in us. AMEN.