John 9:36=41 (excerpt)
Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He 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."
He said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him.
Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, 'We see,' your sin remains.
“Some of the Pharisees near [Jesus] heard this and said to him, ‘Surely we are not blind, are we?’”
This is the besetting and revealing question of this story from the 9th chapter of the Gospel of John that I will come back to later.
But first…
I’ve been thinking a lot about trout lately. I am not seeking sympathy here, but only sharing the fact that this passion of mine, fly fishing for trout, has gone unindulged since I was elected to serve as Bishop of the Northwestern Minnesota Synod of the ELCA over three years ago. This summer I’ll have a sabbatical, and high on the list of things to do is fly fishing for trout. I find this animal to be one of the most enchanting creatures in God’s good creation - Beautiful and elusive and residing only in the most pristine places.
I would categorize myself as a slightly above average practitioner of the art of fly fishing for trout. But I have one glaring deficit. I am unable to catch a trout unless I am sure that there is one there to be caught. I must see trout in the stream, and that can be challenging, adapted as they are to being almost invisible to the unpracticed observer. If I don’t see fish in the stream, I lose all confidence and get frustrated quickly. So, I spend a lot of time observing trout streams.
This last fall my wife and I traveled to beautiful Oberammergau Germany and our lodging was right along the gorgeous Ammer River. The water is crystal clear.
“Good,” I thought, “this is clearly a trout habitat, and it should be easy to spot them.” But
for days a sighting of a fish eluded me. Then one afternoon I was just sitting there beside those rustling waters taking in the beauty of the Ammergau Alps and the Bavarian Forest when I looked… and there it was, in all of its dappled beauty, just finning away in the stream, gently feeding on passing aquatic insects.
Then there they all were, suddenly available to my previously failing eyes – pods of German brown trout, beside this bank, behind that rock, feeding in the current. And I knew - they had always been there; I just couldn’t see. Surely, I was not blind, was I?
I think what I love about the sport of fly fishing for trout, is how closely the experience of looking for trout seems to match my experience of the living God. The sightings feel few and far between, but when they happen, it seems obvious that it was there all along. God was there all along, I just didn’t see.
There was that time between flights at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport (a place where I am usually surly and unapproachable) when suddenly every person seemed to my eyes to shine with the beauty and love of God. To my eyes they visibly glowed with blessing. It seemed I walked through Terminal 2 as if carried along on a conveyor, (because, well, in fact I was on a conveyor!) but now I was seeing with eyes newly opened to my newly cherished fellow travelers.
Surely, I was not blind, was I?
And there was that early morning sunrise over the Red Mountains of Wyoming as we left our campsite at Yellowstone Lake. The sun broke over the pass and shone down upon me, and I knew, I knew even at the (now seemingly impossibly young) age of 32 - that I had lived a full and complete life and could die happy at any time.
And there was Frank, a member of a little inner-city 200-year-old Swedish congregation that was now all old white people. They were discerning whether they would host a new Latino congregation in their building. Frank was a constant roadblock, and his protestations often contained not-so-thinly veiled bigoted pronouncements. Then, after months of dwelling together in God’s Word, and after weeks meeting his new Latino neighbors (albeit reluctantly) – Frank stood up at a congregational meeting sealed the deal for that Congregation to invite their new neighbors from the south into their midst by proclaiming – “All I need to know today is how do I say the words, ‘welcome in the name of Jesus Christ’ in Spanish?”
And there was when I held my first child and later my first grandchild.
And the list could go on (though, sadly, not that much longer).
When these things happen, you know, you just know, that it is not an anomaly. You know that the anomaly was you and that you have somehow been blind to how God had been and is deeply, richly, and powerfully present – always acting in the world and in our lives.
And now we return to Jesus and the pharisees, and their desperate question: “Surely we are not blind, are we?”
Well, are we? Are we?
The question is rank with defensiveness. It’s as if they’ve just had a personal apocalypse. Their blindness has been unveiled for all to see.
I can guess what is behind their defensiveness because their experience, even though separated by cultures and centuries, may not be that different from our own.
They haven’t seen anything remotely divine for a long, long time. It’s been years since they hung on the possibility of hearing the voice of God in their prayers or their study of the Torah.
Now they are just going through the motions of religion – holding on to whatever scant benefit it may accrue to them. Their confession of faith tells them that God is there, always speaking and acting, but their ears don’t hear, and their eyes can’t see.
So, they pretend.
But Jesus sees them.
No wonder they react. No wonder they want to kill him. I’d be surprised if we didn’t want to as well.
In John’s Gospels our human senses are supposed to be for more than hunting and gathering. They are also supposed to offer us a door into something transcendent. Our ears are supposed to apprehend not only the wind, but also the voice of God’s Holy Spirit. Our tongues are to taste and appreciate the goodness and salvation of the Lord. Our eyes are supposed to see the miracles that are unfolding all around us all the time. But we are blind.
There is much that blinds us.
In John’s Gospels our human senses are supposed to be for more than hunting and gathering. They are also supposed to offer us a door into something transcendent.
There’s the closed nature of this “immanent frame” in which dwell that does not allow for a narrative that includes anything beyond what can be measured and owned and exchanged. This has been well described by philosophers and theologians of the 20th and 21st centuries – most recently by Dr. Andy Root in his book, Churches and the Crisis of Decline.
There is the stuff that clings to us from our experiences in this world – such as the lingering mistrust, anger, resentment, and feelings of betrayal that many religious leaders and their congregations and also families and friends felt and may continue to harbor toward each other – held over from when they had to navigate the impossibly difficult years of pandemic and political upheaval.
And, of course, there’s the good old-fashioned sin of unbelief. I mean if we actually believed that God would speak to us through God’s word and in our prayers wouldn’t every church council meeting begin with an hour of dwelling in God’s word and in deep and fervent prayer instead with a financial report and an argument about which bills to pay?
We must confess that in the story of our lives, we have been both the man born blind whose eyes were miraculously opened to the living Lord of all standing right in front of him --- and we have been the Pharisees who either refuse to or are incapable of seeing.
And Jesus sees it all. All of you and all of us. Jesus sees you, saint, and sinner that you are. And seeing you, even still, willingly, and in John’s Gospel, magisterially - ascends his cross and pours out his life for you and for a mostly unseeing world.
...if we actually believed that God would speak to us through God’s word and in our prayers wouldn’t every church council meeting begin with an hour of dwelling in God’s word and in deep and fervent prayer instead with a financial report and an argument about which bills to pay?
Numerous studies of John’s gospel deal with the metaphor of sight – what people see or do not see in Jesus Christ. But few, as far as I am aware, deal with what Jesus sees.
The verb that translates from the Greek “to see” is used frequently in John’s Gospel but only rarely is Jesus the subject of the sentence, and so when this happens, it is significant.
Jesus sees the man born blind - and opens his eyes.
Jesus sees the hungry, desperate crowd - and feeds them.
Jesus sees the paralyzed man by the pool of Siloam - and frees him.
Jesus is invited to come and see his deceased friend Lazarus - and raises him from the dead.
And Jesus sees his mother and his beloved disciple at the foot of his cross - and gives them to each other to love and care for.
And Jesus sees you. Blinded to him. Hungry for life that is really life. Paralyzed by fear or uncertainty. Dead in your sins and unbelief. Longing for true community. Our faith proclaims that this is happening always even now, and our experience knows that only rarely do we see it.
“I can’t see Jesus!” And “It’s okay, Jesus sees you.”
While you wait for the next revelation of the living God, the resurrected Christ, know this:
Jesus is opening your eyes. And you can participate while you wait by setting aside time to meditate upon a text of scripture or making room for silence and prayer in your life or risking a deeper more vulnerable conversation with a trusted friend.
Jesus is feeding you. And you can participate by partaking of the Lord’s supper the next time it is offered at a congregation near you and/or by volunteering in feeding ministries and programs in your neighborhood or town.
Jesus is setting you free. And you can live into that now, by joining your neighbors in standing up for justice for oppressed people or by serving your neighbor in simple and practical ways.
Jesus is giving you to each other to care for and love. And you can experience that now by risking human community: telling someone of the burdens you are bearing and doing all the little things we do that say, “I care. I am here with you.”
And, indeed, ready, or not: Jesus will raise you up on the last day.
Jesus is setting you free. And you can live into that now, by joining your neighbors in standing up for justice for oppressed people or by serving your neighbor in simple and practical ways.
In the book “The Stand” by Stephen King, one of the protagonists is told by a prophetess that he will need God to face the tribulation that is about to come. He confesses that he does not believe in God. She tells him, “It’s okay, God believes in you!”
The Gospel of John equivalent might be, “I can’t see Jesus!” And “It’s okay, Jesus sees you.”
Dear ones in Christ, while you wait for the next time that you hear the voice of God or for your vision to clear and you once again behold the beauty of the Lord, I invite you, for now, to cling to this: You are seen. Jesus sees you, and he loves you with an unfailing love that will not never turn away. AMEN.
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