Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Open our ears, open our hearts and open our minds to make us aware of Jesus Christ, the Living Word, in our midst. Amen.
Gospel Reading: John 9:24-38
If you’ve ever walked from a dark room into bright sunlight, you know the momentary shock—the world was there all along, but only now can you truly see it. Today we’ll look at the story of a man who didn’t just step from dim to bright; he moved from lifelong darkness into dazzling sight. Yet the greatest contrast that we’ll hear about isn’t only physical—it’s spiritual. A man who could not see recognizes Jesus as the Light of the World, while those with perfect eyesight stumble in unbelief.
The story begins with Jesus and his disciples walking through the streets of Jerusalem. One of the major festivals of the Jewish faith, the Festival of the Booths, had just ended and so the city was still crowded with travelers who had made the pilgrimage to come and worship at the Temple. And as Jesus and his disciples walk along, they see a man who was born blind.
The first thing the disciples do is ask Jesus, “’Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’” Their question reveals a common assumption of their day—that sickness, disease, or disability was always the direct result of sin. If you committed a wrong, God would punish you with some physical ailment. But the belief went further: if you yourself had not sinned, perhaps the guilt of your parents or even your ancestors could be passed down to you in the form of suffering.
This was the way which the disciples viewed the blind man. Instead of seeing him as a person in need of compassion, they treated him as a puzzle to be solved. Rather than asking how they could help, or rejoicing in the possibility of healing, they focused on blame. Their response showed that they, too, were suffering from a kind of blindness—not physical, but spiritual. They were hindered by the blindness of biblical misunderstanding. They had Scripture, but their interpretation was distorted. They knew God’s Word, but they misapplied it in a way that brought judgment rather than mercy.
And before we judge them too harshly, we should admit that we sometimes fall into the same trap. How often do we try to assign blame when we see someone suffering? How often do we assume that hardship must be the result of someone’s mistakes or moral failings? The disciples remind us that it is possible to know the words of Scripture yet miss the heart of God’s message—grace, compassion, and the desire to bring healing rather than condemnation.
Jesus then said to the disciples, “’Neither this man nor his parents sinned, he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.’” In saying this, he rejected the common assumption that personal suffering is always a direct result of someone’s wrongdoing. Instead, Jesus shifted the focus from blame to purpose, teaching that God can work through hardship to reveal his power, grace, and glory. By removing the stigma of guilt from the man and his family, Jesus invited his listeners to see human suffering not as a punishment, but as an opportunity for God’s redeeming work to be displayed.
So, what is the work of God? It is to lead men and women to faith. In John’s Gospel, the people asked Jesus, “‘What must we do to perform the works God requires?’” Jesus answered, ‘The work of God is this: to believe in the One He has sent.’” (John 6:28-29) In other words, God’s work is to awaken and nurture belief in the hearts of people, drawing them into trust and relationship with his Son.
That’s the heart of the matter. This is the work of God: that men and women might believe in his one and only Son. And that everyone who believes may have eternal life: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)
And to make an example of what he was saying, this is what Jesus did, “…he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, ‘Go, wash in the pool of Siloam’. Then he went and washed and came back able to see.”
But the crowds couldn’t accept the miracle, we’re told, “The neighbours and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, ‘Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?’ Some were saying, ‘It is he.’ Others were saying, ‘No, but it is someone like him.’ He kept saying, ‘I am the man.’” But they kept asking him, ‘Then how were your eyes opened?’
And Jesus got frustrated with them, because their inability to see what was right in front of them really was a sign of deeper problems, of an inability to see God at work all around them, to open their eyes and their minds and their hearts to a God who comes to us often in ways we would never, ever expect, and asks us to take a leap of faith.
The neighbours were blinded by denial. They had walked past this man for years, seeing him in his helplessness, identifying him by his condition as much as by his name. Now, as he stood before them whole and able to see, their minds could not grasp the change. They asked one another again and again, “Is this really the same man?” Some were convinced it was, but others dismissed the idea—because if he truly could see, then everything they thought they knew about him, about the world, and even about God would be shaken. He himself assured them, “I am the man,” yet they still could not accept it. Their denial clouded their vision as surely as blindness had once clouded his eyes.
Denial, after all, is another form of blindness. It is not that the truth is hidden, but that we are unwilling to look at it. Denial is essentially disbelief—it is the refusal to accept what stands plainly before us. In that moment, the neighbours’ eyes worked perfectly, but their hearts could not comprehend what they saw. Denial kept them from celebrating a miracle and from recognizing the One who had made it possible.
So, in their denial and blindness, this is what they did, “They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, ‘He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see.’ Some of the Pharisees said, ‘This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath.’ But others said, ‘How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?’ And they were divided.”
Now we come to the Pharisees. They suffered from the blindness of righteous indignation. Their anger was not just about the healing itself but about the way it had been done. To them, the Sabbath was sacred—yet in their zeal to protect it, they had lost sight of what the Sabbath was meant to be. When Jesus restored sight to the blind man, they could only see a rule being broken, not a life being restored. “How can a man, who is a sinner perform such signs? they said. They labeled Jesus as a sinner simply because he had dared to act outside their narrow framework. In their blindness, they failed to see that God himself was at work in their midst.
This same danger exists for us. Rules and traditions have their place—they provide order, identity, and continuity. But when they become barriers that keep us from showing compassion, they no longer serve God’s purposes. Sadly, there are times when our own devotion to customs or procedures prevents us from reaching out to others or blinds us to opportunities where God is calling us to be channels of his grace. Instead of being open to the movement of the Spirit, we become rigid. Instead of being flexible enough to see God doing a new thing, we grow resistant and suspicious of change.
The Pharisees remind us of how easy it is to cling so tightly to what is familiar that we miss the very presence of Christ. They thought they were defending holiness, but in reality, they were shutting their eyes to the Holy One standing before them.
To prove their point, they call the parents of the once blind man and ask them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?’” This was their reply, “‘We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.’” They suffered from the blindness of selfishness. They didn’t want to lose their seats in the synagogue. They were afraid of the Pharisees; for they had declared that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Rather than believe their own son, they chose to distance themselves from him in order to save themselves.
In the end, it was only the once blind man who truly had sight. The Pharisees questioned him a second time, saying, “‘Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.’” This was his reply, “‘I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.’”
The blind man found himself surrounded by a community that, in truth, was just as blind as he once was—though their blindness was spiritual rather than physical. Tragically, no one paused to celebrate the miracle that had taken place. No one lifted their voice in praise to God for the gift of sight restored. No one even thought to ask what it was like for him to gaze upon his family for the very first time. Instead of rejoicing that God’s power had broken through and given sight to a man, they rejected him simply because of his confession of faith.
And isn’t that often true for us as well? Once we were blind, but now we see. We can see that God is at work among us—sometimes even in spite of ourselves. Yet too often, we resemble one of the other groups in this story, suffering from our own kind of spiritual blindness. Fear keeps us from opening our eyes. We resist change because it unsettles our sense of security. We cling tightly to familiar rules and traditions simply because they are comfortable. It feels easier to remain in the darkness of the familiar than to allow God to open our eyes and bring our vision into his light.
Those words of the blind man challenge us. We may not have all the answers to suffering and evil, but we can still say, “One thing I do know. I was weighed down by guilt; now I walk in forgiveness. I was trapped in fear; now I live with a deeper peace. I was chasing lesser lights; now I see the Light of the world.” When your faith falters, return to your “one thing.” Tell the truth about what Jesus has done in you and remember those words of the blind man “‘I was blind, but now I see.’”
Let us Pray:
Lord Jesus, Light of the world, thank you for opening our eyes today, to your grace, your truth, and your presence among us. Where we are blind, bring clarity; where we are afraid, give courage; where we are stubborn, grant a teachable heart. Let the mercy that touched the blind man’s eyes touch our lives as we go. Send us out seeing more clearly, speaking more boldly, and loving more freely in your name. Amen