Jesus said to the man born blind “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The man born blind said, “And who is he, sir, that I might believe in him?” From the ninth chapter of the gospel of John in the name of God -- creator, word and spirit. Amen.

Amen.

The man born blind was not looking for a miracle cure on that Sabbath day when he met Jesus. The way the story unfolds, it sounds like the passers-by noticed him, called him to Jesus’ attention and said, “Hey, see that guy over there? He’s blind from birth. Who sinned? What sin is he being punished for? His parents or his own?” The question people in our line of work get every so often. I don’t know the answer to it, I certainly don’t think that birth defects are punishment for sin. What they are in the eyes of God is a hard one for me; I haven’t figured that one out. I’m sort of reconciled to the fact that I never will in this life. But I do know this, that what Jesus said about it is absolutely true, and that is, he said that neither this man’s sin, nor his parents’, but that the works of God might be revealed in him. And that is true, because this sort of suffering provides opportunity for the works of God to be revealed; and what kinds of works are those? Well, we know from Jesus that those are works of mercy and kindness and compassion and love. And that is indeed, what the man born blind encountered out of his darkness on that Sabbath day; he experienced blessing that he had not asked for, love that he had not expected and grace that he had not earned.

This was not the result of his own efforts, not something under his own control, not a concept, not a theory, not a philosophy; but a presence. A presence, emerging out of that darkness; a presence incarnate in the flesh of the world. Now, of course, then the religious authorities came along -- the Pharisees, the clergy, the official religious fun patrol -- “How did the man fix your eyes?” “Well, the man made mud and rubbed it on my eyes, and for some reason I could see.” And they said “This man is not a prophet, he doesn’t even follow the rules of his own religion. He knows perfectly well that you can’t do spiritual healing on a Sabbath day; and what’s more, he ought to know anyway, you’re not allowed to knead, you’re not allowed to spit on the dirt and knead it into mud either; because kneading dough is contrary to the Sabbath. If you’re going to make bread -- you don’t make bread out of mud of course, you make bread out of flour and stuff like that; but you have to knead it, and that’s labor and you don’t do that on the Sabbath. And so any observant Israelite would know that. This man is obviously a sinner. Look at him! He’s got mud on his hands!” And the man born blind said, “Well, here is an astonishing thing; you say that he is a sinner; but one thing I know: [0:05:00] I was blind, and now I see!”

And they drove him out; well, and then he ran into Jesus again and Jesus said to him, “Oh, it’s good to see you. Seems like you’re doing real well. Do you believe in the Son of Man?” and the man born blind says, “And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?” In a way that’s what they asked me when I was in my early teens and my parents dragged me to church; because they said “Oh, when you were baptized, we promised you were going to get confirmed when you became of the age of discretion, so we think that this will be a good thing for you.” And I said, “Well, I don’t think so.” I didn’t feel any need of it whatsoever; but nonetheless they insisted, so off I went and they started to say, “Now, when the confirmation comes, the Bishop’s going to ask you ‘Do you believe in God the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord, etc, etc?’” And in effect, I think I was saying “And who is that, that I might believe in him?” But the more I heard that talk about Jesus, the less unfamiliar it seemed and I’ll tell you why that is. It’s because of the experience I had had throughout my life, even though I didn’t ever go to any church and didn’t have a religion. And that’s because in my life I had on many occasions experienced blessings that I did not ask for, love that I had not expected and grace that I had not earned.

That was not the result of my own efforts and not something that was under my control. It wasn’t a theory, it wasn’t a concept, it wasn’t a philosophy; but rather a kind of a presence. And where I first experienced that was from my mother in particular, and also my father; but the first time that I was conscious of it and have any kind of recollection of it was because of our dog. When I was one year old, my parents took in a stray dog; they named him Chief. He was part German shepherd and took it upon himself to be my guardian. At the time, we lived on a naval base in Florida. It was an area that had been recently cleared; there was a lot to worry about when you have a toddler, where there’s all these insects and reptiles and spiders and such. And Chief would, wherever I was, he would station himself in a place to defend me from any such threat; and if I pulled his tail or his ear, he would forgive me; and if I cried, he’d comfort me the way that dogs do. As I say, this was not the result of any effort of mine; it wasn’t something I controlled or created, and not a theory, not a concept or philosophy; it was a presence. A presence incarnate in the world; it was embodied and therefore vulnerable. Chief died when I was four. I do not remember the event; I remember the feeling -- a feeling of irreparable loss, and that was my first awareness of death.

Well, at the church, when they eventually -- you know, they kept asking me over and over, did I believe in the Son of Man in effect; and I sort of began to catch on, began to learn who he was that I might believe in Him. At church, I learned, not a concept, [0:10:00] not a theory, not a philosophy, but of a presence. A presence that I experienced as vastly expanded; incarnate in the flesh of the world; incarnate in the blessed companionships that I came to know there; incarnate in the sacred writings, and traditions and songs; incarnate in the holy food and drink of new and unending life in Him. I am guessing that your experience, however it may differ from what I’ve been speaking of, is more like that of the man born blind than might first appear.

In our time, we experience a blindness every bit as dark as his, and it afflicts all of us. It is a darkness no laser surgery can cure and no lens can correct. In spite of all of our high technology and our human achievements, we remain unreconciled to ourselves, to our neighbors and to our planet. And we remain unreconciled to the God whose works we have forgotten how to recognize. And in this darkness, we find our way to places like this; much like the man born blind, groping his way towards the Pool of Siloam; and what we find here, I believe -- because I don’t think you’d keep coming back if it weren’t true -- what we find is blessings that we didn’t even know how to ask for, love that takes us by surprise even though we’ve experienced it before, and grace that we did not earn. And when this happens, it’s not the result of our efforts; it’s not something we control. As I say, it’s not a theory, a concept or a philosophy, but a presence that has expanded to fill every graceful encounter; that fills every act of love, however clumsily expressed; it fills every reconciliation accomplished beyond all reasonable hope. A presence that shares our blindness, our irreparable losses and our pain.

The man born blind asked Jesus “Who is this one, that I might believe in him?” and Jesus said “You have seen him and it is he who is speaking to you.” And the gospel says, the man born blind said “I believe” and worshipped him. Let us do the same.