March 15 ~ What are Our Blind Spots That Prevent Us Celebrating the Joy of Others?

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Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23

Ephesians 5:8-14

John 9:1-41

Sermon by Joel Crouse

We have in our gospel this morning an amazing miracle and an equally amazing reaction. A man who has been blind all his life has been given sight. And do the people he finally sees rejoice? No, they have question after question. Who did this and how? What day was this miracle performed and what rules might have been broken? Are you sure it was a good person who restored your sight? Can you say exactly how it was done?

By the end of this inquisition with the Pharisees, everyone’s joy is ruined. The now-seeing blind man is given an interrogation, not a celebration. His parents are challenged rather than congratulated. Everyone is looking for what’s wrong with this healing miracle, instead of rejoicing in its happening.

In such miracle stories, we tend to get focused on the small details: how did Jesus really give a blind man sight with mud on his eyes? Was it truly a miracle? Was he ever really blind, or only injured? And so on, and so on.

But I don’t think the miracle is the point of our gospel passage. The lesson we have to learn here is how we respond when good things happen to other people. And why, we don’t always respond with the joy they deserve.

This week, on my Facebook feed, a cartoon popped up, offering the secrets of a happy relationship. The first one was: happy couples don’t compete with each other. The second was: happy couples rejoice in each other’s success. The third: happy couples work as a team. And I thought, “Is this really a reminder we need – to view the success of our partner as lifting out own boat?” Surely, when Erin succeeds, I also rejoice, and vice versa. Our successes and failures are, after all, tied to each other.

But it reminded me, if we need to tell couples not to compete, what chance did the blind man in our gospel have – when confronted with the suspicion and jealousy of his own community?

And yet, let us step back for a moment and consider what is driving these reactions. First, the neighbors are full of suspicious questions. For one thing, they doubt the miracle is true – are we sure this is the guy? And then they question the miracle provider: who and where is he?

What makes them - and let’s face it, us - react this way to another’s joy? This is an excellent question to pose during Lent, when we are forced to look honestly within ourselves. Psychologists have many theories concerning why we’re jealous about good news stories that don’t affect us. Perhaps we feel bad or insecure about ourselves – and when someone we know gets ahead, that makes those feelings worse, reminding us of our own failures. Or we hold to a scarcity mindset – there is only so much success to go around, so when someone else gets it, my chances fall. We fail to see the hard work behind the success, and assume the person just got lucky, and therefore did not truly deserve it. And we worry about being forgotten, left behind as others get ahead.

And yet, as you can see from the list, none of those beliefs have anything to do with the one succeeding. Our sense of worth, our own hard work, our own mistakes, our limited view of the world -- are all held by us. And the beauty of ideas that we hold ourselves is that we ourselves can let them go. In this case, we can say: “I have value. I can learn from my mistakes. That person worked hard and deserved it; I can also work hard for good things. The world has space for many successes. I won’t be left behind, because we are not in a zero-sum race: success is different for every person.”

Those are the neighbors, flawed but human. The religious leaders in our gospel are another story. Perhaps their inability to celebrate a miracle as a sign from God is also influenced by the human failings listed above. But something else is at play: the religious leaders feel threatened; their power is at risk. If some preacher-man trained to be a carpenter can make blind men see, how can they hold the attention of the people, which is what leaders out for themselves must do.

So, they cast doubts on Jesus, as a person. On the miracle for the day it happened. They threaten the parents of the man because they need witnesses to sell their story. Not once do we hear those in the gospel say, “How amazing it is that you can see after all these years.” A miracle they have not controlled, a success they didn’t make happen, good news that they haven’t created is unacceptable and not to be tolerated. If anyone can perform a miracle, then how will they hold our attention? So, whoever else performs a miracle must be denigrated, and discredited.

Who does that sound like? Certainly not a leader I want to follow. A leader would rejoice in every success, lift up all achievements, be curious about how they happened, and want to know if there was a way to repeat them. I am certain there were other blind men and women and children: do you hear anyone ask, how can we help them as well?

In asking questions to serve their own purposes, silence their own insecurities, and hold on to their own power, they fail not only the miracle, but also themselves. For the real beauty and freedom in life comes when we celebrate success, when we lift up another’s joy – in those moments, as the wise among us know, we are not brought down but instead lifted up.

Reading this gospel, I sat for a bit and reflected on the man in the centre of this tale. From what we know, he was blind for most of his life. A miracle has suddenly given him sight. Imagine what that must have been like. He was a pauper forced to beg, living in endless night. And suddenly, he can see the sun and the trees and the sky. He can see the faces of his parents. He can see his own face. He can walk without stumbling. Dance without falling. He can see an apple and pick it from a tree. He can pet a dog and look into its gentle eyes. His world has been transformed. And all anyone around him can do is ask: How did it happen? Who did it? Were any rules broken? And then they are so consumed with fear and suspicion that they drive the man out of the community, making the man even more of an outcast than he was when he was blind. Because when he was blind, everyone was very comfortable looking down on him.

How sad. How sad for us, as well, if we miss those moments because we are too consumed with what is inside ourselves to see someone else.

Jesus, however, not only sees the man; he seeks him out. Having been blind when the miracle happened, the man needs Jesus to clarify who he is, before confirming his faith.

Then Jesus tells him: “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.”

And so, with this line, Jesus draws a distinction between the two groups; first, the regular villagers, whose blindness stems from fear and anxiety and low sense of self-worth, for whom the gospel offers the vision of resilience, generosity, and meaning; and secondly, those who tell us they can see simply to hold onto power, to press a thumb upon the lives of others. Those people will be made powerless.

In our Lenten journey, let us consider the joy of the blind man, the gift of that miracle. Consider our own blind responses to another’s success. The lesson of the gospel is that we all have value, but it’s the curious and open among us who live best. The next time a metaphorical blind person tells you they have sight – challenge any negative thoughts that arise and respond to it with joy and praise. This is one important way that we who are blind shall all come to see.

Amen