March 10, 2002
Fourth Sunday in Lent
John 9:1-7

1. As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth.
2. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
3. "Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.
4. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work.
5. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
6. Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes.
7. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.

EXTRAVAGANT

Webster's Collegiate Dictionary: "exceeding the limits of reason or necessity. . .; lacking in moderation, balance, and restraint. . ."

SILOAM

Smith's Bible Dictionary: . . ."a mere suburban tank of no great size . . .a little way below the Jewish burying-ground, but on the opposite side of the valley, is the fountain of the Virgin. . . At the back part of this fountain a subterraneous passage begins, through which the water flows, and through which a man may make his way, sometimes walking erect, sometimes stooping, sometimes kneeling, and sometime crawling, to Siloam. This conduit is 1708 feet long, 16 feet high at the entrance, but only 16 inches at its narrowest tributaries which sent their waters down from the city pools or temple wells to swell Siloam. It enters Siloam at the northwest angle; or rather enters a small rock-cut chamber which forms the vestibule of Siloam, about five or six feet broad. To this you descend by a few rude steps, under which the water pours itself into the main pool. This pool is oblong, about 52 feet long, 18 feet broad and 19 feet deep; but it is never filled, the water either passing directly through or being maintained at a depth of three or four feet."

John 9.1-41 tells a very complex story, characterized by an extravagant promise: "I am the light of the world." It contains all the appropriate literary elements–including mystery, pathos, tension, humor, resolution, "round characters." It offers roller-coaster emotion, and intellectual challenge.

So finely nuanced, it is almost addictive as literature. Yet spiritually, John 9.1-41 prods us towards a precipice, challenges us to open wings and fly, begs an exquisite response. Nevertheless, in all wisdom God provides ballast; I find twenty-five lessons in John 9.1-41 for we who would "act justly and love mercy" as a lifestyle. . . .

Justice is a subject dear to my heart. I come from a people and a spiritu-cultural tradition in which justice-in-action is, virtually, a religious imperative. How quickly we will say to each other "Show me your faith without your works and I'll show you my faith by my works." How quickly we will say "You cannot preach the gospel to a hungry man."

It is a tradition in which material injustice and spiritual evil are on par. We often speak, even frame our lives, in the language of "struggle," and posit that victories and defeats in the arenas of justice have their spiritual correlate–in essence, that injustice has a cause, and not simply a result.

We encourage one another with these words: "Resist the devil and he will flee from you" as written in James, chapter four. We speak often of spiritual warfare in the tradition of the Apostle Paul, against whom the psalmist David suggested was an "enemy" to our souls.

We have discovered that that love and justice are twin passions, and that their opposites are not abuse and implacable hatred but fatalism and apathy.

In John 9.1-41 Jesus' disciples had to struggle with those spiritual dichotomies before they could have a material effect on the darkness oppressing the man on the road. In them, we find that our odyssey can begin in the commonest places, on the paths that we tread every day. When we are walking with the presence of the One Who Banishes Darkness, we risk encountering the divine in every bend, at every step of the way!

John 9.1-2

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"

Our journey begins with open eyes, an inquisitive mind and a tender, impressionable heart. Tradition says that the Buddha became Himself because he questioned the meaning and existence of suffering. We question not just authority but "authorities" as suggested by Ephesians 6.12.

We are not afraid to "ask the Rabbi," to search the Spirit for answers to life's unanswerable questions. And we engage in immediate and fearless, multifaceted critique–of the moral, social, spiritual and religious.

But a note of caution! Critique without compassion can lead to ethics without justice! We may begin to think that blindness is an acceptable feature for a moral society, and that the resulting lack of mercy is a virtue!

But Jesus set it right; he provided a greater-than-temporal vision, and made an extraordinary and extravagant promise: "When I am present, darkness–blindness–cannot reign."

John 9.6

Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes.

We discover that the work of restoration requires us to get our hands dirty. Restoration is a process of manual, not ideological, labor. Ethics is ideological, justice is ideological, even mercy is ideological, but restoration is action.

It requires mud in our hands, mud made from our own blood, sweat and tears; mud that is made from the essence of our own bodies; mud that has traces of our DNA in it so that when we apply it, pieces of ourselves go with it! . . .

. . . .Mud that is icky sometimes: when we have nothing else, we will make it with our spit! And you know, we don't like people who. . . spit.

Having rolled up our sleeves, poured out our lifeblood, and dirtied ourselves in the eyes of the keepers of the status quo, we must still apply the remedy to injured, to the ruined and battered eyes of the blinded. And who is to say that the remedy will not hurt, or be frightening in its unfamiliarity?

How does it feel to have light in our eyes once we have become accustomed–like it or not–to the darkness? Our lessons are about "risk." Whomever shall take upon herself social justice ethics and action as a lifestyle, shall take upon herself risk!

John 9.6b-7a

. . . he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent).

Emblematically, Jesus had been "Sent." The symbolic topography of the Siloam Pool was not lost on the writer, nor was the symbolic significance of being touched, washed and Sent.

There is a call involved in social justice and action, and an empowering touch upon a person, group or organization!

Jesus was Sent, the disciples would be sent, and the man to be healed would be sent if, . . if, . . if. . .

John 9.7b

So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.

It would appear that everyone has a part to play! Jesus' role is to carry us beyond the former limitations of our reason, and spread our wings wide enough to enfold the poor in heart, the broken-bodied, the poor in spirit.

Our appropriate response is wonder, and gratitude, and joy, without moderation or restraint. . .

. . .to scoop up from the abundant earth to give sight to the blind, voice to the previously silent, and freedom to the formerly constrained and painfully bound. While we are in the world, we are the light of the world–"Christ in [us], the hope of glory!"

We've looked at seven lessons of twenty-five. We know, however, that the one real lesson of John 9.1-41 is for those who cannot–but wish to–see. Zora Neale Hurston, an anthropologist and writer of the Harlem Renaissance said: "No matter how far a person can go, the horizon is still way beyond you." A person with her or his eyes fixed on God is looking into eternity, and from there borrows the power to transform today: faith informing ethics, ethics informing justice, justice tempered by mercy–our blood, our sweat and our tears mixed in to the medicine we prepare for the world.

May we each be the agent, the witness, or the recipient of the miracle of restoration that we seek. Amen.