From the Bottom of the Lamp
Sermon text for September 6, 2009:
John 9
Preached at First Presbyterian Church, Lakewood, Colorado
I was standing in a souvenir shop in the Palestinian settlement of Selwan, just outside of Jerusalem. Among the trinkets were some genuine antiquities: Roman coins and ancient vases. A few feet away, and down about thirty steps was the pool of Siloam. I was perturbed because I couldn’t quite remember the significance of the pool. Its greenish sluggish water didn’t seem very noteworthy, but the name rang a bell and I knew I should know about it.
I picked up a small oil lamp from the shelf. It looked like Aladdin’s lamp except that it was smaller and made of clay. It was the kind that was used in Jesus’ day to offer light to a small house. I turned the lamp over and on its base was a tag that gave a price and identified it from the “first century A.D.”, and I began to remember. In my imagination I could see a scene I had never seen before. Travelers walking through the valley approaching the steps which would take them through the gate into Jerusalem. A blind man, spiritual kin to Bartemaus, begging for a handout. People pointing at him and whispering, speculating on the terrible sin which either he or his parents committed so that he was born blind. Feeling good about themselves because no sin-triggered malady had struck them.
In a strange way the ancient lamp was still giving off light. As I watched the crowd, a man who just had to be Jesus came walking by, surrounded by Peter, Andrew, James, John and all of the disciples. Upon seeing the blind man, one of the disciples asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Master, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?”
The blind man showed no outward sign of aching deep inside, but I knew the pain must be there. How many times had he heard that same question? How many times had he endured pious speculations about the state of his soul? I hurt for him, but he gave no hint that the words had pierced his heart one more time. He merely stood there passively, with his hand outstretched to receive a coin, his back bowed so that his whole body looked like it was pleading for mercy.
Jesus knew what the disciples and the Pharisees did not, that illness or debilitation is not the result of God’s punishment. It may be the consequence of bad choices, but never of God’s wrath. And I could see in Jesus’ eyes that he felt the blind man’s pain even more than I. He turned toward the beggar and surprised everyone within hearing distance by saying that God did not cause his blindness, but God would return his sight.
Jesus bent down and spit on the dusty ground and made clay of his spittle. He put the clay over the beggar’s eyes and told him to go and wash in the pool of Siloam. I watched as he felt his way down the path until he came to the pool. And then it hit me, it was right here on this spot, that the blind man received his sight. As he washed away the mud, suddenly he could see. But he could not foresee what would happen next. People he had known all of his life were so surprised that he could see that they didn’t recognize him. And it meant nothing when he told them that a man named Jesus healed him. It was like they themselves had a blind spot. But they weren’t nearly so blind as the Pharisees.
The man’s friends took him to the Pharisees who were curious at first, but who gradually became upset and finally outraged by his story. It wasn’t right to do any work on the Sabbath, including making mud or healing people, and so they hammered away at the man asking him the same questions over and over. They insisted that Jesus could not be from God because he broke the law of the Sabbath. And I noticed that every time they questioned the man, he gained more strength and more spiritual insight. It seemed to me that with every question, he stood up just a little bit straighter. But with the Pharisees, it seemed the opposite happened. The more they looked for the truth, the less they could see, and with every question they became more hardened in their position.
For all their twenty-twenty vision, they could not see the truth. I wanted to help them, or at least warn them that they were making a terrible mistake in the name of faith, but of course, I couldn’t. Faith in a god who plays by human rules blinded them. It was like somebody drove a hot spike through their spiritual lenses and left them groping in the darkness. And the saddest part is that they didn’t even know they couldn’t see. The vision they created for themselves, this figment of their own imaginations, gave them all the light they could handle. And I was sad when in their blindness they excommunicated the man whom Jesus healed. I was sad for them and I was sad for the man. In the name of righteousness and faith, the Pharisees turned their backs on the miracle of God. And the beggar? Just when he had the chance to become part of the community, he was driven away.
In truth, I had seen more that afternoon than I wanted. The lamp in my hand was still shining brightly after laying buried for centuries; its only oil was the Word of God and my imagination. As I watched, I saw Jesus approach the man whom he healed. He was rejoicing in sight, but mourning being cut off from the community. It was then that Jesus gave him a chance to join an even larger community, in effect to become a brother to each of us who trust God for sight. He asked if the man believed in the Son of Man, and he responded, “I believe”.
As I put the lamp back on the shelf I began to reflect on the vision I had seen. I wondered how many times I had helped drive someone from the fellowship of believers because I couldn’t see the truth. I wondered where are my blind spots? I thought about the things that I think are non-negotiable, that may cause God to cringe.
I thought about the times I took a stand that I said was on principle, or faith, but really might have been about ego, or position. I thought about the people that the church says are outside of God’s love, or those whose sin we speculate about, and I wondered if maybe some of them are here to show the glory and power of God.
Maybe God placed this story in the Bible to convince us that we are never so blind as when we choose not to see. At the very least we should take from this story our need to read God’s word with great humility, because sometimes God surprises us in ways that we can hardly imagine. Maybe our prayer needs to be: “God, give me a lamp to light my way. Shine brightly into the dark corners of my soul, and illuminate those parts of me that have made you in my own image, so that I can see who you really are. O God, help me let you be God.”
Copyright © 2009 by Dwight R. Blackstock
John 9
Preached at First Presbyterian Church, Lakewood, Colorado
I was standing in a souvenir shop in the Palestinian settlement of Selwan, just outside of Jerusalem. Among the trinkets were some genuine antiquities: Roman coins and ancient vases. A few feet away, and down about thirty steps was the pool of Siloam. I was perturbed because I couldn’t quite remember the significance of the pool. Its greenish sluggish water didn’t seem very noteworthy, but the name rang a bell and I knew I should know about it.
I picked up a small oil lamp from the shelf. It looked like Aladdin’s lamp except that it was smaller and made of clay. It was the kind that was used in Jesus’ day to offer light to a small house. I turned the lamp over and on its base was a tag that gave a price and identified it from the “first century A.D.”, and I began to remember. In my imagination I could see a scene I had never seen before. Travelers walking through the valley approaching the steps which would take them through the gate into Jerusalem. A blind man, spiritual kin to Bartemaus, begging for a handout. People pointing at him and whispering, speculating on the terrible sin which either he or his parents committed so that he was born blind. Feeling good about themselves because no sin-triggered malady had struck them.
In a strange way the ancient lamp was still giving off light. As I watched the crowd, a man who just had to be Jesus came walking by, surrounded by Peter, Andrew, James, John and all of the disciples. Upon seeing the blind man, one of the disciples asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Master, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?”
The blind man showed no outward sign of aching deep inside, but I knew the pain must be there. How many times had he heard that same question? How many times had he endured pious speculations about the state of his soul? I hurt for him, but he gave no hint that the words had pierced his heart one more time. He merely stood there passively, with his hand outstretched to receive a coin, his back bowed so that his whole body looked like it was pleading for mercy.
Jesus knew what the disciples and the Pharisees did not, that illness or debilitation is not the result of God’s punishment. It may be the consequence of bad choices, but never of God’s wrath. And I could see in Jesus’ eyes that he felt the blind man’s pain even more than I. He turned toward the beggar and surprised everyone within hearing distance by saying that God did not cause his blindness, but God would return his sight.
Jesus bent down and spit on the dusty ground and made clay of his spittle. He put the clay over the beggar’s eyes and told him to go and wash in the pool of Siloam. I watched as he felt his way down the path until he came to the pool. And then it hit me, it was right here on this spot, that the blind man received his sight. As he washed away the mud, suddenly he could see. But he could not foresee what would happen next. People he had known all of his life were so surprised that he could see that they didn’t recognize him. And it meant nothing when he told them that a man named Jesus healed him. It was like they themselves had a blind spot. But they weren’t nearly so blind as the Pharisees.
The man’s friends took him to the Pharisees who were curious at first, but who gradually became upset and finally outraged by his story. It wasn’t right to do any work on the Sabbath, including making mud or healing people, and so they hammered away at the man asking him the same questions over and over. They insisted that Jesus could not be from God because he broke the law of the Sabbath. And I noticed that every time they questioned the man, he gained more strength and more spiritual insight. It seemed to me that with every question, he stood up just a little bit straighter. But with the Pharisees, it seemed the opposite happened. The more they looked for the truth, the less they could see, and with every question they became more hardened in their position.
For all their twenty-twenty vision, they could not see the truth. I wanted to help them, or at least warn them that they were making a terrible mistake in the name of faith, but of course, I couldn’t. Faith in a god who plays by human rules blinded them. It was like somebody drove a hot spike through their spiritual lenses and left them groping in the darkness. And the saddest part is that they didn’t even know they couldn’t see. The vision they created for themselves, this figment of their own imaginations, gave them all the light they could handle. And I was sad when in their blindness they excommunicated the man whom Jesus healed. I was sad for them and I was sad for the man. In the name of righteousness and faith, the Pharisees turned their backs on the miracle of God. And the beggar? Just when he had the chance to become part of the community, he was driven away.
In truth, I had seen more that afternoon than I wanted. The lamp in my hand was still shining brightly after laying buried for centuries; its only oil was the Word of God and my imagination. As I watched, I saw Jesus approach the man whom he healed. He was rejoicing in sight, but mourning being cut off from the community. It was then that Jesus gave him a chance to join an even larger community, in effect to become a brother to each of us who trust God for sight. He asked if the man believed in the Son of Man, and he responded, “I believe”.
As I put the lamp back on the shelf I began to reflect on the vision I had seen. I wondered how many times I had helped drive someone from the fellowship of believers because I couldn’t see the truth. I wondered where are my blind spots? I thought about the things that I think are non-negotiable, that may cause God to cringe.
I thought about the times I took a stand that I said was on principle, or faith, but really might have been about ego, or position. I thought about the people that the church says are outside of God’s love, or those whose sin we speculate about, and I wondered if maybe some of them are here to show the glory and power of God.
Maybe God placed this story in the Bible to convince us that we are never so blind as when we choose not to see. At the very least we should take from this story our need to read God’s word with great humility, because sometimes God surprises us in ways that we can hardly imagine. Maybe our prayer needs to be: “God, give me a lamp to light my way. Shine brightly into the dark corners of my soul, and illuminate those parts of me that have made you in my own image, so that I can see who you really are. O God, help me let you be God.”
Copyright © 2009 by Dwight R. Blackstock
posted by Dwight Blackstock | 3:45 PM
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