Welcome to this Fourth Sunday of Lent, and a slight relaxation of the rigours that Lent sometimes puts upon us. And especially to all mothers today — Happy Mother’s Day.
After the Gospel of Jesus, source of living water, we hear today of the One sent by God, opening the eyes of a man born blind. A long meditation on one of Jesus’ “signs,” this passage occupies an important place in John’s Gospel, and singularly in the “Book of Signs,” where the rather short narrative of what Jesus did is flanked by long discourses. However, the composition of the Gospel of the man born blind is different. The healing itself is very briefly reported in three verses. But it provokes a whole series of reactions and questions that give to this passage the proportions of a discourse. Furthermore, Jesus intervenes very little: — in the beginning, for the cure, and at the end, for short addresses to the healed man, then to the Pharisees. However, he remains in the foreground all the time. For it is he who is subjected to a trial through the various questionings imposed on the man and his parents. We must therefore, read and re-read this passage with as much care as John used in writing it.
This text lends itself to readings on several levels. The first one is that of diverse reactions sparked by a healing. The style here is remarkable, lively, captivating. But by the end of the passage, we cannot help thinking that the evangelist did not write this story only to report the counterpoint of bystanders’ behaviour following a miracle worked by Jesus. Of course, we could draw valuable lessons from his cure, especially in the field of apologetics: if Jesus was able to open the eyes of a man born blind, it was because he came from God. Nevertheless, the interest of such a reading would remain quite superficial.
More interesting is the reading focusing on the way in which the story plays with opposite words like “knowledge” and “ignorance.” The blind man — who, by the way, has not asked for anything — passes from ignorance about Jesus to recognition of his identity. The man’s parents knew that their son was blind, that he has been cured; but they do not know what happened.. Finally, the Pharisees, assured in their knowledge, find themselves charged with culpable ignorance. In the same way, the text plays with the words “blind” and “sighted.” The man born blind becomes capable of sight, not only in the literal meaning of the term, but also in a spiritual sense: his eyes opened to faith. Whereas, others, enjoying normal vision, are blind when it comes to discerning spiritual realities. We are also struck by the titles attributed to Jesus— “Light, the One sent, prophet, Son of Man, Lord” — that appear according to a progression following that of the passage from darkness to light. Finally, we hear the accusations against the cured man and Jesus, who are charged with being sinners, then the accusations of Jesus against his accusers, who are blind persons whose sin remains.
This reading is not only interesting but profitable. It spontaneously becomes meditative and leads all of us to question ourselves about our so-called knowledge and ignorance and about the meaning given to the titles attributed to Jesus, to take sides in the proceedings against him. In doing so, we discern more and more the great theological depth of this text, which is not mere news coverage. And we look at the reading again to follow it to a deeper level.
From the beginning of his Gospel, in the introduction called the “prologue,” John speaks of the coming of God’s Word into the world as that of light which enlightens everyone and which the darkness can and does refuse to accept. The cure of the man born blind shows Jesus in the exercise of this mission—this work— for which the Father sent him. Such is the meaning of the miracle. There is no place here for questions about the origin or the causes of the man’s condition, as Jesus meets him on his way. “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents? Neither this man or his parents, Jesus answered, he was born blind so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” The question here is whether or not we recognise in Jesus “the Light of the World,” and this is a question that remains asked of all readers of the Gospel. But how is Jesus the light? How can we recognise him? He tells us plainly: “As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”
Further, the answer is confirmed in John’s Gospel, given also by Jesus himself. To those who say, “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly,” Jesus retorts, “The works I do in my Father’s name testify to me”(10:24:25) These works are a greater testimony than any human can give, even John the Baptist himself. Jesus often comes back to this point, going as far as saying, “If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me; but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me, believe the works, so that you may realise [and understand] that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.” Truly, the works he accomplishes are the decisive credentials that show him to be the One sent by the Father as the Light of the World. They are perfectly coherent with all that the Bible reveals about God. Those who do not see must ask themselves whether or not they are blind. Together with being a principle of action pleasing to God, the light of Christ should enable us to recognise good wherever it is, to unhesitatingly identify it and finally, to see God at work in it. But we often refuse to do this, or we dare not express our opinion. Thus the parents of the cured man. They cannot deny that this man is their son, that he was born blind, and that he has recovered his sight. But they are evasive when asked, “How does he now see?” “We do not know how he sees now….”
Not uncommonly, we hide behind such a statement of ignorance through fear of what could be the consequences of giving testimony. We fear getting involved in a deeper and deeper commitment. We usually do not go as far as denying the very possibility of God’s intervention. But silence becomes complicity when we should speak: It gives free play to those who reject God’s intervention and contributes to entrenching the timid in their timidity. Who will describe the ravages caused or fostered by timorous neutrality? It is written in Revelation that God spits out from his mouth the lukewarm: “Hot or cold I will take you, but lukewarm I shall spit you out of my mouth.” (Rev 3: 15-16)
The man Jesus met was very simply cured of his blindness: a little mud applied to his eyes, afterwards washed off in the Pool of Siloam, and upon returning, he could see. By contrast, it is only little by little, progressively, that his inner eyes were opened, that he was brought to faith. Obviously, the evangelist wants to rivet his readers’ attention on his gradual way of recognizing the Lord. In fact, this is itinerary that believers never cease to follow.
John makes no mention of anything the blind beggar might have done to attract Jesus’ attention. But who could say why, one day, one makes a gesture, dares one step, that will set in motion a whole chain of events? Must we not recognise, in the end, that we unknowingly were moved by the initiative of God?
Often the change that happens surprises not only relatives and acquaintances, but also its beneficiary — the person who has received the change. However, we must admit it, “It is really me.” How did this happen? Very simply yet in an extraordinary manner. By reflecting on events and also by answering the queries of people, we become more and more aware, and our faith grows more and more explicit. At this level of reading, the theological significance of the Gospel of the man born blind appears; it is a sort of illustrated treatise of the journey towards faith, under the action of grace from beginning to end; the summit is reached when we prostrate ourselves and confess:
“I believe, Lord, you are the light of my eyes.”
Christian readers of this Gospel cannot read this passage — especially on a Sunday in Lent — without thinking of the catechumenate (those under instruction) and baptism. Like a catechumen, the blind man, once cured, goes towards the progressive recognition of him who opened his eyes. This recognition advances in rhythm with the questions asked, which are not unlike those of the old “scrutinies.” Finally, this Gospel reminds the baptised that they will have to testify to their faith at the risk of being rejected by some or henceforth ignored by others.
By celebrating Christ Light of the World, the Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year A, calls Christians and the entire Church to a new impetus in their journey following the Lord. We may say of some people that they are lights, because their doctrine, their wisdom, their teachings, and their examples shine like beacons on the road, or because they attract and fascinate us. But it is in the proper and not in the metaphorical sense that we speak of Christ when confessing that he is the Light of the World, “Light from Light,” because,
”True God from True God.”
In him and through him, believers become “children of light” and can, like him, perform works that are pleasing to God. It is a marvellous transformation that turns a blind person into one who lives by light and is called to walk from light to light.
“I am the light of the world, says the Lord; anyone who follows me will have the light of life.”
