We might call this passage from John a healing story – because a man who was blind from birth is able to see after his encounter with Jesus, a little mud, and a dip in a pool. A healing story, and yet isn’t it interesting that, while the healing takes place in verse 7, the story goes on and on for 34 more verses!
Healing, where Jesus is concerned, is more than a just a physical condition. So often in these stories, healing actually encompasses a broader sense of wholeness. Those who are healed by Jesus have their physical ailments addressed, certainly, but they also find themselves restored to relationship and community and the fullness of life.
For this reason, this particular healing story seems lacking. Here is a man who can see, for the first time in his life, and yet the response of his neighbors and the religious leaders in his community is not celebration, but blame; not rejoicing, but contempt. The very people who knew him his whole life – knew him as a child gingerly following the voices of his playmates, knew him as the man begging at the gate – could not even recognize him apart from the condition of his blindness. Rather than marveling with him at his newly-acquired sight, these neighbors talk over him, doubting that he could possibly be who he says he is.
Then, having established his identity, they quickly shift their attention to Jesus. Who is he? How has he done this? The man who now sees is badgered with questions. They drag him in front of the Pharisees, badger him some more, hunt down his parents and question them, and then brush aside his astute responses because they don’t confirm what the people expect to hear. Finally, fed up with the man’s reflections, the Pharisees dismiss him, with contempt dripping in their voices: “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.
Is this really healing? Is this what wholeness looks like? Certainly not.
Hearing that the man had been driven out, Jesus goes looking for him. As the story has unfolded from the beginning, the man sees with growing clarity who Jesus is. While at first he simply recounts that “the man called Jesus” made mud and spread it on his eyes and sent him to wash, he later calls Jesus a prophet, and then declares that Jesus must be from God in order to perform such a healing. Finally, in this encounter, the man sees Jesus in person for the first time – right? He had not yet received his sight before leaving Jesus to wash in the pool of Siloam – he sees Jesus, though he doesn’t know it at first.
Finding the man, Jesus asks him, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The man answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” Unlike the man’s friends and neighbors, who brushed aside his own insistent “I am the man”, in this encounter the man responds with trust and assent to Jesus’ words identifying himself – “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him.
Even as the man is further separated from those in his community, he is joined to a new community – the community of Jesus’ followers. Perhaps more than anyone else does, this man truly sees Jesus, truly understands who Jesus is because he himself has been seen. He has experienced Jesus’ grace, mercy, and welcome. He believes, as fully as one can, that Jesus is Lord, the Son of Man, one who is from God. Now this is healing and wholeness!
Questions about healing, and wholeness, and community weigh heavily on us these days. Why must we stay home and away from others if we are feeling healthy? Can we place the needs and risks of the most vulnerable among us ahead of our own comfort and desires? What will happen to our loved ones, our neighbors, ourselves? How will we manage an extended isolation from our routines and jobs and school and friends? What does community look like when we can’t actually be together?
These are big questions! And I won’t say that I have the answers – I don’t. But here’s what I do know: when we are feeling isolated and alone, Jesus seeks us out. Through Jesus, we are connected to one another in the waters of baptism, in the meal we share, in the Scriptures we read and proclaim. The church is not our buildings. The church is not some precise algebra of singing plus prayer plus preaching plus communion. No, the church is the people – the ones found by Jesus and gathered across time and space to confess together that Jesus is Lord. Wherever and however we gather, we know that Jesus is present – in word, in water, in bread and in cup.
It might seem that wholeness and healing from the situation in which we find ourselves looks like the end of this pandemic, the end of sickness and death and fear - and certainly that would be a good thing! I wonder, though, acknowledging the unlikely possibility of all this just going away, what healing and wholeness might look like in the midst of it.
I think we’ve seen glimpses already – neighbors caring for neighbors from afar, delivering food and essentials to those who are sick or otherwise unable to leave home; joy found in sharing our creative gifts on a wider scale, whether it’s authors reading their stories to the whole internet, or museums and zoos broadcasting scenes we might never see in our lifetime, or musicians singing and playing from their living rooms as a way to infuse some joy and hope into our anxious hearts. I know you can think of other examples, too! This is wholeness! This is community!
We don’t know what the days and weeks ahead of us will look like. I imagine they will be filled with increasing amounts of disappointment, heartbreak, and loneliness. I trust, though, that in the midst of our grief and longing, Jesus will continue to find us and draw us into wholeness, into community, and into life.
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| Photo by Daniel Sturgess on Unsplash |
Healing, where Jesus is concerned, is more than a just a physical condition. So often in these stories, healing actually encompasses a broader sense of wholeness. Those who are healed by Jesus have their physical ailments addressed, certainly, but they also find themselves restored to relationship and community and the fullness of life.
For this reason, this particular healing story seems lacking. Here is a man who can see, for the first time in his life, and yet the response of his neighbors and the religious leaders in his community is not celebration, but blame; not rejoicing, but contempt. The very people who knew him his whole life – knew him as a child gingerly following the voices of his playmates, knew him as the man begging at the gate – could not even recognize him apart from the condition of his blindness. Rather than marveling with him at his newly-acquired sight, these neighbors talk over him, doubting that he could possibly be who he says he is.
Then, having established his identity, they quickly shift their attention to Jesus. Who is he? How has he done this? The man who now sees is badgered with questions. They drag him in front of the Pharisees, badger him some more, hunt down his parents and question them, and then brush aside his astute responses because they don’t confirm what the people expect to hear. Finally, fed up with the man’s reflections, the Pharisees dismiss him, with contempt dripping in their voices: “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.
Is this really healing? Is this what wholeness looks like? Certainly not.
Hearing that the man had been driven out, Jesus goes looking for him. As the story has unfolded from the beginning, the man sees with growing clarity who Jesus is. While at first he simply recounts that “the man called Jesus” made mud and spread it on his eyes and sent him to wash, he later calls Jesus a prophet, and then declares that Jesus must be from God in order to perform such a healing. Finally, in this encounter, the man sees Jesus in person for the first time – right? He had not yet received his sight before leaving Jesus to wash in the pool of Siloam – he sees Jesus, though he doesn’t know it at first.
Finding the man, Jesus asks him, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The man answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” Unlike the man’s friends and neighbors, who brushed aside his own insistent “I am the man”, in this encounter the man responds with trust and assent to Jesus’ words identifying himself – “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him.
Even as the man is further separated from those in his community, he is joined to a new community – the community of Jesus’ followers. Perhaps more than anyone else does, this man truly sees Jesus, truly understands who Jesus is because he himself has been seen. He has experienced Jesus’ grace, mercy, and welcome. He believes, as fully as one can, that Jesus is Lord, the Son of Man, one who is from God. Now this is healing and wholeness!
Questions about healing, and wholeness, and community weigh heavily on us these days. Why must we stay home and away from others if we are feeling healthy? Can we place the needs and risks of the most vulnerable among us ahead of our own comfort and desires? What will happen to our loved ones, our neighbors, ourselves? How will we manage an extended isolation from our routines and jobs and school and friends? What does community look like when we can’t actually be together?
These are big questions! And I won’t say that I have the answers – I don’t. But here’s what I do know: when we are feeling isolated and alone, Jesus seeks us out. Through Jesus, we are connected to one another in the waters of baptism, in the meal we share, in the Scriptures we read and proclaim. The church is not our buildings. The church is not some precise algebra of singing plus prayer plus preaching plus communion. No, the church is the people – the ones found by Jesus and gathered across time and space to confess together that Jesus is Lord. Wherever and however we gather, we know that Jesus is present – in word, in water, in bread and in cup.
It might seem that wholeness and healing from the situation in which we find ourselves looks like the end of this pandemic, the end of sickness and death and fear - and certainly that would be a good thing! I wonder, though, acknowledging the unlikely possibility of all this just going away, what healing and wholeness might look like in the midst of it.
I think we’ve seen glimpses already – neighbors caring for neighbors from afar, delivering food and essentials to those who are sick or otherwise unable to leave home; joy found in sharing our creative gifts on a wider scale, whether it’s authors reading their stories to the whole internet, or museums and zoos broadcasting scenes we might never see in our lifetime, or musicians singing and playing from their living rooms as a way to infuse some joy and hope into our anxious hearts. I know you can think of other examples, too! This is wholeness! This is community!
We don’t know what the days and weeks ahead of us will look like. I imagine they will be filled with increasing amounts of disappointment, heartbreak, and loneliness. I trust, though, that in the midst of our grief and longing, Jesus will continue to find us and draw us into wholeness, into community, and into life.
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