Fourth Sunday of Lent
Part of moving into a new house, as I did last July, is getting used to it. A foreign house, especially if you live in it alone, can be a little scary. Probably a few of those first weeks, as I went to bed, my heart started to beat a little faster as I heard creaks and different noises in my house. Of course, there was nothing there, but because it was a new house, I wasn’t used to the different noises it would make at night. What didn’t help was that Flint does not have the reputation of being the safest place in Michigan (though I have to say I have not had any problems here). The other big issue was that, especially immediately after going to bed, the house was dark, and the fact that I couldn’t see and wasn’t familiar with the different parts of the house and how the shadows fall probably kept me alert without any real cause for concern.
Not being able to see can often change the way we approach things. To a child, those clothes hanging in the closet or the stuff underneath the bed can seem like monsters. But even adults, in an unknown area might try to be more attentive as they walk to their car from a restaurant. Law enforcement is always trying to keep their eyes open, especially these days, so that they are not taken by surprise by someone trying to harm them.
Our readings today remind us of the importance of seeing correctly. In our first reading, even one of the great prophets, Samuel, does not see as God sees when trying to find the next king of Israel among the sons of Jesse. Samuel was looking at outward appearances; God was looking at the heart.
And St. Paul in the second reading reminded us to take advantage of the light of Christ, since we are children of the light, not of darkness. We do not belong to the night or the darkness, no matter what Pat Benatar sings. In baptism, we were given the light of Christ, and Christ always gives us the light of His grace to help us know right from wrong. He does that through our conscience, but even our conscience has to be formed by the light that the Church gives us. Especially living in an age which, in many ways, are contrary to the teachings of Jesus, our conscience is not always a sure guide for the choices we should make.
The Gospel we heard, about the man born blind, is one we hear maybe every year, but definitely every three years. Ironically, in this passage, the person who sees the best (besides Jesus) is the Blind Man. Neither the Pharisees, nor even the disciples, see as Christ sees. The disciples think the man is blind because of some sin. Christ corrects them and says that it’s so that God may be glorified and His works be more visible. The Pharisees cannot see that Jesus is displaying His divinity in healing the man. They do not accept Jesus’ miracles, and therefore do not accept Jesus Himself. Even the man, now formerly blind, exclaims, “‘This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. […] It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.”
But, if we are honest, sometimes we do not see as God sees. We do not let the light of Christ illumine our lives. We have a type of spiritual glaucoma, and no marijuana, medical or not, will cure our spiritual glaucoma. Only Christ can heal us; only he can restore our sight.
Throughout the history of the Church we have examples of people who saw with the light of Christ. They had 20/20 spiritual vision. We call them saints, and we should strive to follow their example in our own lives. I’ll mention just a few.
St. Martin of Tours, who lived in the fourth century, was a soldier, and later became a bishop. But one of the stories about him mentions that, as a soldier, he was riding a horse in the cold. He saw a poor man on the side of the road, with very little clothing. St. Martin cut his cloak in half, and gave half to the man. That night, Martin had a dream where Jesus was wearing his cloak. St. Martin did not simply see a poor man, but saw Jesus, and tried to help him.
St. Francis of Assisi needs almost no introduction. But how many of you have heard the story of how St. Francis, who had started to give up his father’s wealth, saw a leper, whose skin was rotting away from his body, but dismounted from his horse, gave him money to help, and even kissed his hand. As hard as it was, Francis saw past his fear of contracting leprosy, and dared to touch, and even kiss, the lepers as a sign of his love for Jesus.
In our own more recent times, St. Teresa of Calcutta is someone who saw with the eyes of Jesus. In the streets of Calcutta, Mother Teresa would see the “untouchables,” those whom society had rejected, literally rotting away in the streets as they died, flies likely laying their eggs in the putrid flesh, and Mother would care for them and show them the respect and love that she had for Jesus. I worked in Rome with the Missionaries of Charity, Mother Teresa’s order, not so much with the dying, but with the poor and neglected of the Eternal City. I will admit: I struggled to see Jesus. But for me I knew that my sight was not quite right, and that I need the healing of Jesus not to be blind to Him in the least of His brothers and sisters. I’m sure I’m not there yet. I still pray that I can see. How is your spiritual sight?
